Fics like just to know your name

They're about fifteen minutes into the Skype call on Tuesday night when this guy wanders straight out of one of Derek’s wet dreams and into the frame, wearing nothing but black boxer briefs and a tight grey Guns N’ Roses tee. He’s lithely muscled, with a cute upturned nose and some of the most beautiful bone structure Derek has ever seen. Derek can see his nipples through his shirt. He feels all the blood in his body rushing to his dick. “There should be a note about that on page nineteen,” Scott is saying, distantly, while Mystery Guy yawns adorably, nose scrunching, and runs a hand through his messy hair. He looks like he’s totally oblivious to Scott’s webcam, or to Scott. He looks like he just woke up. He looks like something out of an underwear ad, or softcore porn. Mystery Guy bends down, thigh muscles flexing, and starts digging through Scott’s dresser drawers for a pair of sweatpants. Scott doesn’t ever turn around. He just keeps talking about… something. Something unimportant. Mystery Guy has a mole high up on the back of his right thigh and Derek wants to lick it.

Fics like just to know your name

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