[What arrives on Oswald's device is a text pulled from the history of Anders' phone, no better than a salacious picture for the description.]
Is that what you want first, love? My tongue? Perhaps put to use on the line of your neck? Or maybe you'd prefer it lower, delivering well-deserved attention to those planes of muscle I very much appreciate. Or maybe lower still? Perhaps that's where I should start? With your cock down my throat.
[Receiving the message, Oswald doesn't really clock what he's reading until about part-way through and by that point it's too late to turn back. The confusion briefly flickering at the start of the text is completely swallowed up by a internal wave of warmth at the involuntary mental image of Anders--because he knows that's who this is from at the very least--swallowing him down is humiliatingly appealing. Which also makes him shove his device down, face face, to stop himself from re-reading the message again. Damn this city.
And then the reality returns to his bird brain and Oswald manages, finally, to send back a reply.]
Vivid a mental image as that is, I am under the distinct impression that this was not intended for me.
[He hadn't even realized the older message had been sent to someone else. Not at first, when he reads Oswald's message, his brow furrows in confusion before he scrolls up to see what it was he'd supposedly sent.
Ah.
Damn this city, first that picture now this...it liked to play, didn't it? Well, there could be some fun here, as embarrassing as it was on paper.]
Ah, Oswald. I'm sorry, it wasn't.
Not that I mind too terribly that you read it. I hope you at least enjoyed it.
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text; un: panacea (Misfire)
Is that what you want first, love? My tongue? Perhaps put to use on the line of your neck? Or maybe you'd prefer it lower, delivering well-deserved attention to those planes of muscle I very much appreciate. Or maybe lower still? Perhaps that's where I should start? With your cock down my throat.
no subject
And then the reality returns to his bird brain and Oswald manages, finally, to send back a reply.]
Vivid a mental image as that is, I am under the distinct impression that this was not intended for me.
no subject
Ah.
Damn this city, first that picture now this...it liked to play, didn't it? Well, there could be some fun here, as embarrassing as it was on paper.]
Ah, Oswald. I'm sorry, it wasn't.
Not that I mind too terribly that you read it. I hope you at least enjoyed it.