Chapter Text
A long, heavy duffel bag was set so delicately against the hardwood floor, the hum of lightbulbs (two amber colored lights propped from the wall above the bed frame,) and the sound of delicate breathing the only sounds in the room. A slender hand slid against the leather, finding a zipper that was pulled slowly, separating the teeth. There were large windows behind him, twenty floors high, a pleasant look to the night of the city behind him, lights, lights, buildings, and it was all so quiet in this tiny room with the Far Too Large bed being its occupant, with the thin man pressed into a suit.
Across from the bed was a small nightstand, a laptop opened atop it with a small light watching the thin man - he felt the many eyes behind it so soon and so quickly, he was exhilarated. Of course, his expression didn't display this, and yet his throat was tight and the blood was hot under his skin. Reaching into the bag, the man retrieved a long black metal bar, two handcuffs fastened to the ends of it, and looked back into the bag, his face composed, stoic - he soon retrieved a small, black, velvet bag (one of many, perhaps?) tossing it onto the bed as well. The black bag was removed, the thin man acting as if there were no camera watching him, the potentially millions of eyes not providing him any sort of alter in his composure. Sitting down on the side of the bed, he carefully removed the jacket upon his shoulders, followed by unbuttoning the vest, setting them carefully upon a bench that breached from the large window, an unknown location to the frame of the lens.
Looking out to the horizon, the man watched cars move steadily along the streets below, many lights on and off and away in the many buildings that lined his sight, sliding the stark white shirt from his shoulders, folding it carefully and setting it with the other articles. The thin man stood, swiftly and quickly pulling his belt from its loops, shucking his trousers and everything underneath along with it, folding it all neatly to follow suit. Shutting his eyes a moment, he took a deep breath. He could hear his pulse in his ears. He timed it with the watch on his wrist before removing that as well, setting it on the nightstand before turning his attention back to the laptop, raven-dark hair slightly disheveled over his eyes. The sheets were soft against his skin, splaying his legs over the bed, slowly and fluidly, keeping his attention on the eyes watching him. The long bar, the small bag, were set aside, for now, the thin man settling himself, naked, now, onto his knees in the middle of the Far Too Large bed, fit for a king.
His hands slid down against his thighs, his eyes looking down to them. His thin hand moved to take hold of his cock, moving his hand along the shaft, sliding his fingertips against the head briefly before sliding back up and down its length. A slow sigh escaped him, hair sliding from its normal places and into his line of vision, biting his lip as his attention looked up to the screen. Interesting how such a small piece of plastic and metal and glass could uphold such terror for some, and yet vanity for him, as well as millions and billions elsewhere, for whatever purpose. His just happened to be much more filthy. Working himself hard soon enough, a small hum left his lips as his hand left his cock, brushing some hair from his face, he slid back up onto the bed, his back against the headboard. Not too terribly far away from the lens, well enough to still see him entirely. It's exactly everything he wanted, to be gazed upon with wanton behavior.
Turning his head to attend to the small bag, he pulled at the fastens holding it together, strings giving way to the inside, retrieving what appeared to be a cock ring, a vibrating cock ring at that (something new, he might say). Looking at it a moment before unraveling the cord attached to a small remote device, he gripped it tightly in his hand before moving to slowly, slowly slide the black ring over his length, a small sound erupting from his person through his thin, parted lips. Breathe, breathe, he thought a moment as he felt himself adjust to the tightness of his bind, turning his attention to the camera a moment. This is just the easy part, he thought.
The thin man reached for the long metal bar, metal cuffs dangling from either sides of it. Shuddering a moment, he felt his cock throb as he struggled to grip it tightly, the ring around his base tightening as he rolled his hips against the bed. A thin wrist slid into one of the cuffs, sliding his bones against it a moment to be sure he wouldn't bruise them too badly. Using his free hand, he slid the metal gears together, grinding them against each other with a click, one hand fastened tightly. Another small sound left him, lifting the bar over the head board, a divider held it behind him, restraining his movement. Swiftly, he put the remote device in his bound hand, before sliding his wrist into the free metal cuff. The pressure in his cock was building up here, lack of friction was maddening, he would have to work quickly, he didn't want this to drag on for too long, of course. For his sake as well as his lovely audience.
Using his thumb and forefinger, he bent his wrist down carefully, using what leverage he had to snap the metal in place, click click snap - shutting it. The hard part was done, and he'd done it so well, albeit far too tight - he would be red and bruised, for certain. The thin man turned his head, placed and bound to the headboard, unmovable from where he was propped up like an idol, offered up to whoever's fantasies he divulged in. The thumb of his hand that held the control, the cord dangled and slid against his skin, linked to the base of his cock - the thumb slid against a rolling switch with a click, a dull sensation growing onto his cock, his mouth going dry, wrists moving against the restraints. The metal was sharp against his skin, but nonetheless a lovely pain.
His mouth opened, his head tilting back as the thin man felt the slide of precome against the underside of his cock, his thumb, click, click, clicking the device in his hand, his cock red and aching, now, wrists twisting and carved against the metal that bound him, unable to move. It was such a glorious sight, such a figure torn down and apart of his own volition for his audience, his hips rising from the bed, rolling himself down against it as his arms twisted. Breathing heavily, it was easy to see his ribs poking from his skin, his chest rising and falling from being propped up on such a display. Thin, pale arms twisted, rolling his head back before dropping it forward, hair falling into his face. He was a wreck, and it was all according to plan.
Enchanted by his own behaviors, a short choke of a sound left the thin man as a bout of precome left his cock, sliding down on to the sheets, staining him before his back lurched forward, another short cry leaving him as he came, his head rolling back again as come surged forward, out onto the bed, his cock throbbing painfully under the vibrations, and yet they persisted, the thin man too stricken to even realize he was still holding the control in his hand. Hoarse breathing left him, come staining him, a thin sheen of sweat sliding over his skin, his hips still rolling, hypersensitive jolts from his nervous system shooting up his spine; it was the ultimate control.
Removing himself from these restraints had been hell, sliding himself up onto his knees to roll his shoulders forward to breach the bar from behind the headboard, bending his thumb to click-click against the fasten on his now red and sore and torn wrist, his arm dropping free, to unhinge the other one. Hissing softly as he removed the ring from his cock, he was still sensitive, rest would certainly be in order. Attention turned back to the camera, back to the laptop recording his show, such a display he had put on, today - it was a rare occasion that such depravity would be in such media, for him, of course, it had to have been a treat. He was feeling generous as he dropped the curtain. Stopping the recording for impromptu editing was ideal, but time of course was a bitter enemy of the thin man, and always had been, ever so busy with such little time for such pleasures to himself.
To say that this was an act of vanity would be correct in every respect, there wasn't anything to be hidden or to be held at arms length - no, the thin man reveled in the body he was given and he wanted nothing more than to be gazed upon with hunger, from a distance, of course. One knowing him may not agree that he holds this mentality, as a figure he was of stoicism. Resting back upon the bed, he rested a hand over his eyes, noticing he wasn't wearing his watch, remembering that he had taken it off moments prior.
The room spun; it was terribly quiet with his lips parted and no occupancy with no one other than himself. It was better this way. An age almost passed before the thin man moved, padding his bare feet to the bathroom, flicking the buzzing fluorescent light on - hues of whites and blues were almost dilapidated, here, easily significantly colder than the rest of the room on the outside. A stark opposition of blues as opposed to the amber lights behind him. Water ran warm in the trickling sink, running a wash cloth underneath, briefly running the cloth over his skin, catching his own gaze in the mirror attached to the wall. The thin man watched, a moment, sliding strands of hair from his line of sight, his lips were dry, his expression gaunt, his cheekbones hollowing the frame of his face. A soft sigh breathed through his nose, looking away from the face that opposed him, sliding his hand along the wall with caulk crumbling beneath his finger tips as the light flicked off, venturing back into the room with the Far Too Large bed, fit for a king, as he could still feel the eyes of the stars and the eyes of the city watching him wash the amber lights away.