Study Hour



His fingers are cramping up, bent around the curve of his dick for what feels like forever. He's always been here, caught on the cusp of coming, body straining, yearning, screaming.

Always.

He stares through tear-blurred eyes at the winking lights of the city and waits.

Blair will tell him he can come soon. Will stop writing, making notes. Will decide his theory's proven, his point made.

Sentinels need senses to come.

And no matter what he's thinking about, who he's fucking hard and fast in his head, it's not until he's allowed to smell Blair again that he does.


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