Work Text:
Exhausted, Ben slumped into the office chair in front of his desk. Feeling his joints ache, he reached over to switch on his lamp, and then the laptop. It was 10:45pm, and he had only just got in. It had been such a long day, a long week even, and right now he felt his eyes becoming heavy and his bed calling him from the other room. Must eat first though he thought, reaching for the takeaway carton he had picked up from the place across the street minutes earlier.
Holding the neatly folded box in one hand, and a pair of cheap wooden chopsticks in the other, he carefully wound up a big ball of the hot noodles before pushing it into his mouth. It was a bit messy, but it didn’t matter. No-one was watching now, no cameras. Just the steady muffled whirr of the laptop fan, in his otherwise silent flat. Seeing an accident waiting to happen, he paused his enthused eating to unbutton his white shirt, just enough to pull it over his head, and then throw it in the vague direction of the laundry pile. As he had predicted, with the next oversized mouthful, a dribble of sauce averted his lips and dripped onto his chest. Ah-ha, I win! He thought, with a disproportionate sense of achievement.
Leaning towards the desk, chopsticks still in hand, he connected to the internet and typed Tumblr into the search engine with his index finger. He then typed his own name into the site’s search tab. Still chewing, he began to scroll through the posts. Half in anticipation, and half in dread, he scanned through them to see what new breed of crazy had manifested since his last foray on the site a week earlier. Scrolling... reading... scrolling... the content of some of the posts made his eyes grow wide.
Scrolling... the occasional quiet, yet audible gasp escaped his lips as he read some of the most detailed, and frankly dirty, comments about him. What women wanted him to do to them, or what women would do to him if given half the chance, or at least, what they’d do to his characters... Khan, in particular, was very popular for some reason, and it wasn’t just women... Scooping the remaining noodles into his mouth he pondered... There were obvious conflations between him and these fictional identities at some level. Wasn’t there? After all, it was still his face, his body, his voice. Furrowing his brow a little, he wasn’t entirely sure. They were fantasises. The thoughts of real people, yes, but fantasises none the less. Still, despite seeking solace in their fictitious nature, some were so explicit they made the hollows of his cheeks take on a light flush in the lamplight.
His hunger sated, he sat back into the chair and kicked off his brogues under the desk. Pushing his hips slightly forward, he undid his flies and eased his suit trousers down into his lap. Just low enough to be able to reach himself. Stroking himself lazily with one hand, he continued to scroll down through the posts with the other. Scrolling... reading... scrolling... when his cock became fully hard from his ministrations he leaned back from the desk and reclined into the chair letting his head drop over its back. The position exposed his neck and made his untamed curls drop away from his forehead. Staring at the ceiling, he let his mind drift. It had been such a long day. Things had gone great on set, at times he’d even felt exhilarated, but it had also been frustrating and, well, just damn tiring. He needed this now. Just the quiet, and the stillness. Just himself.
From a distance, the glare of the laptop screen in the darkened room cast his sharp profile and flexed neck, with its prominent Adam’s apple, into exquisite chiaroscuro. Jerking himself more firmly now, and with metronomic rhythm, he let his imagination wonder. His thoughts were absurd, abstracted and obscene. He imagined all of those pussies... All of those wet, and willing pussies, all over the world, open and willing to receive him. He thought about fucking every single one of them, about taking them, and greedily consuming them, about making them all his. As delicate beads of sweat began to form upon his brow, his jaw tensed as he let out a single, guttural and stifled cry. A series of pearlescent intermittent gushes flooded his tensed bare stomach, and as he came, he imagined himself enveloped in an almost uncomfortably constricting yet warm embrace.
Other than the heaving of his taught chest, he sat motionless, head still slung over the chair back as he caught his breath. His mind was blank for a moment before remembering that he was due back on set first thing in the morning. The very thought of it in his current, exhausted state, was so unappealing. Faintly aware of the now cooling fluid, gradually seeping between the fingers still encircling his softly pulsing cock, he let out a deep, and drawn out sigh. Its bass tone reverberated against the walls of his still and otherwise silent flat. Slowly raising his head, and seeing the screen saver dance across the laptop, he considered the page behind it.
Always the spectacle and never the spectator, he felt lost in the enormity of it all. When was this whirlwind ever going to slow? Who even was he now? Torn between wanting to embrace it, to savour every moment, he simultaneously wished for the Earth beneath him to swallow him whole.