Chapter Text
Elias imagines, then, that the eyes he’s Seeing through belong to someone else. He’s not alone – no – in fact he is surrounded on all sides (the number of observers an arbitrary ‘enough’; more specificity is hardly relevant to the scene), of course he is, those viewpoints he’d experimented with each belong to – the little crowd transfixed by watching him, nameless, powerless men, alphas and strangers to him, relevant only in how palpable it is that they each want to do more than look. Each of them hard and aching and miserable, their pheromones doing some of this work for him (well, he can dream), frozen in place. For him.
He imagines the man whose gaze he is borrowing, a better place to mentally transpose the furious, frustrated need that Elias won’t be able to put so much as a dent in than many – so imagine him, then, unable to do so much as touch himself and actively in pain with it, his skin crawling with the way this scene makes his body flush hot from the back of the neck outward, like someone’d gripped him there with a hand made plasma and forced him to sit and stare and that’s why he’s just – looking, helpless and silent and ruefully aware he has, if anything, the best seat in the house. Watching his thighs strain – and he’s slick for inches of skin down now, catching the light, demanding the eye of any observer look further – and his pussy stretch taut around the dildo, so obviously oversized in his hands and yet perfectly able to be worked into his body, like a human cock might be except they don’t deserve that because all they could possibly do to satisfy him is wait and strain and watch –
When it does get all the way in – the fat head of it palpably hitting his cervix, the sort of thing that would just be intolerable any other day and currently makes him see stars and almost lose his balance with how much that is exactly where a cock knotting him belongs – it knocks the breath out of him and shakes his focus clean out of that vantage point. He claws his way back to watching himself move the dildo in tiny, sharp thrusts, almost by reflex.
Elias is panting openly, eyes screwed shut, and has to fumble inelegantly for the control dangling off the fake cock inside him so he can make the knot swell in earnest. Then he’s got it in hand and can prolong that too-much-enough stretch on the thrust out, back in, thicker every time when he’d be getting used to it. His thighs tremble and his hips work mindlessly for stimulation that by and large won’t come and – there there there, perfect, he times it just so he’s genuinely concerned that he did inflate the knot too far on the pull outwards, fumbling his slippery one-handed grip on the heavy silicone so that he’d pulled the shaft out all the way to the head as he did, and then it punches inside him instead in one long thrust and his toes curl so urgently he almost loses his balance with it.
He presses the heel of one hand against the base of the dildo and inflates it the rest of the way as fast as he can with the other – registers dimly that he’s whining through gritted teeth, that even his shoulders are barely touching the bed at this point – gives it a few extra, clumsy pumps just to make sure when he thinks he’s gotten to the maximum extension – rubs his own cock almost as an afterthought, more interested in the palpable contouring of the fake dick inside him, but the direct and electric stimulation still proves to be what he’s missing as he comes –
This orgasm finally feels coordinated, as it were, it makes his vision go black and his body go limp and brings him as close to whole-body satisfaction as he’s going to get. His pulse beats urgently between his legs as his thighs twitch with aftershocks and his cock starts to go soft.
Won’t be for long, of course, but – this is nice. This is the closest he’s going to get to enough, and he intends to enjoy it.
Elias can’t close his legs entirely, what with the width of the base of the dildo lodged in him, so he just stays like that for a bit, pleased and boneless. There’s the pseudo-tinnitus whine of anxiety and dissatisfaction looming as if over his shoulder, sharp but quiet enough that, for now, he can use it to highlight the moment to himself by way of its limitations, as he absently pets over the slight bulge under his navel.
A few more rounds of this – at most – and he’ll have hit the point where he has to get actually creative, but he’s more than up to the challenge.