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The archive remains silent for the most part, dan heng always worked in silence—except for the nights he's busy after an expedition, or that he’d missed blade too much to bother holding onto his dignity, trusting the engine hums to shield away his dribbling moans as he’d worked his pussy until its nearly numb.
Desire, however a strange topic Dan Heng hadn’t done much research on, but he’d explore it on his own far too many times to be able to recall each detail from sheer embarrassment alone. Partly because—shamelessly, he’d always wanted to see his own face contorted in pleasure—wondering how Blade feels if he gets to see this side, and whether Dan Heng would be met with shame or as equal anticipation.
And so as doubts, plaguing his mind every waking moment—striking where he’s most vulnerable and leaving him an empty husk deprived of any sense of blissfulness after each.. Self-pleasuring session, if he wanted the name to be a bit professional.
He thinks of Blade to escape those thoughts—dependency, perhaps, but if not the swordsman then who had fucked him raw when he’s nothing but a mess covered in his own filth? It’s the swordsman too who hadn't spoiled him with anything but slurty praises that sounded far too gentle for someone who held such an aloof facade—who’s in Dan Heng’s mind for most of the time, who’s behind his sudden want of.. filming, something, to send it to Blade.
Bold, isn’t he? Despite the danger his mind threatened him with, Dan Heng felt his abdomen churn in anticipation at the thought. Well, if that footage remains in secret between them then it wouldn’t hurt for a try, right? Besides, the angle won’t show off much of his face, if Dan Heng’s calculations were correct—that exact angle only shows the fullest view of his whole lower region.
His folds, his legs, the round view of his backside and perhaps the mess pooling on the quilt—Dan Heng blushed halfway, embarrassed even to his own lewd narration.
His thoughts screamed shyness, his actions didn’t. Hesitation still clung on his trembling fingers as he locked the archive door with a click shut—heartbeats echoed as though his sternum is caging a wild bird, mind racing as he tried to form one last thought that would make him come ashore.
None ever came. Only the tightness in his panties answered him, wetness bled by breezy fabric—already wet, already aching for that addictive feeling of coming undone, of lust that sank down the ridges of his mind, drowning him from any sense of rationality.
The nest greets him with the shuffling of scattered blankets and pillows—evident of his desperate need to keep warmth, keep his guards low so that his mind can fill in the gaps with the familiar figure of Blade—cuddling him, squeezing his body flush for him to feel their difference. His slenderness and the other's rigidness, and how the sheer difference of them can turn him on far easier than his feeble attempts to get off.
A shame, Dan Heng stacked his book to have something his phone can stand on, watching the things that kept him knowledgeable now reduced to a makeshift stand. For what? Porn. He’s too far gone to bother sugarcoating his own words to something more presentable—himself is a mess, his ‘nest’ is a mess, nothing worth so savoring his dignity for.
Truthfully, this isn’t the first time this place ever watched him pleasuring himself. Moans bouncing across archive logs of ancient civilizations and long-dead philosophers all pushed aside for something as filthy and as equally hard to resist as lust. Maybe this act of lewdness wouldn’t be deemed.. ‘too much’, right?
Luminescent bluish glow of the platform contrasted his pinkish blush evidently, soft heat from the express’s engine only make the fume beneath his skin worse—before Dan Heng could ever spiral far more, his hands moved on their own, inching down the damp spot resting by the crotch of his grey pants.
The smell of filth and arousal fluids was palpable, almost as replacing the ozone notes lingering around the enclosed space. His cunt gave a feeble clench as his trembling fingers pressed at the damp fabric—testing, teasing himself and then gasping once the heat coil inside his abdomen replied with increasing pleasure.
Refusing felt like denying, the archivist had learned far long ago to not push down his needy desires—but a promise made when his mind was drunken by lust wasn’t linear, Dan Heng found himself swallowing his own wantonness once again, so deprived of pleasure that sensations bloomed once he gave in.
His free hand didn’t rush to undress this tight fabric caging in his throbbing cunt just yet—instead, rummaging through the mess of books he purposefully left out—to reach for a vibrator. A hand-held one, at its finest.
Even for an archivist, his desires blinded his eyes sometimes, leading to unprompted decisions, thoughtless decisions that he would not think much about after. And only now did Dan Heng realize how far gone his neediness had led him to—the vibrator was unused still, and he can recall each microsecond of him buying this thing without shame.
At the slightest recall of memory, his cunt endorsed with much anticipation, aching needily beneath restricting fabric—starved of attention, almost as yelling at him for hesitating again. Each tiny throb caused Dan Heng to shiver as pleasure raked up his spine, much to his defiance and reasons.
He missed the bandaged fingers pumping into his drooling pussy, how sweet-tonged Blade was knuckles deep inside of his warmth, curling and scissoring so that Dan Heng has nowhere to hide his needy moans. Every sheepish little plea that followed up when the swordsman quickened his pace just enough, tethering at the brink of overstimulation yet not quite enough for an orgasm—a menace, Blade still is, yet why do he miss that man so much?
The vibrator won’t be able to replicate his partner’s pace, nor could it pour dripping praises in his ears—but with no one else around, with neediness rising high and replacing itself with Dan Heng’s reasonable worries—he’s just, a mere scumbag.
Stripping, holding onto what little dignity left—Dan Heng spared himself in a piece of clothing, bared from waist down just so he could record the mess splattered messily across his thighs. Grayish pants pushed to the far end of the mattress, barely visible amongst the mess of quits and spare pillows all bundled up as though a pile of discarded clothes.
But the archivist has no mind to care about such trivial matters now—only the vibrator in his hand, and his slick pussy already trembling for more friction, dribbling fluids down to drenched folds, aroused by the camera before him had started to record—capturing the sight of his lewd pussy, capturing the quivering of his thighs. Well, hiding wasn’t a choice now.
It’d been long since Dan Heng last felt so vulnerable—or perhaps he was so used to intimacy with the swordsman that the concept of vulnerability didn’t register in his mind, it’d been revoked again by the reminder that he’s being filmed, and that his pussy is actively pulsing for attention.
“Mng..” With a moan, Dan Heng pushed through while heat fumed beneath his skin. Instincts screaming at his thighs to close shut against once he introduced the intruder, back arching off the mattress with both worry and anticipation as though he had longed for some time where he could use this thing again. Breath quickening once the rubber head came into sight, its rounded head touching the fatty skin of his pussy, smearing the head with his arousal fluids with something near a shy gasp.
The archivist couldn’t help but think of how his nerves were gonna be messed up when such vibration met his throbbing clit—feeling as his slick dripped onto the mattress, aroused by sheer fantasy alone. With each little contact of the rubber head meeting his pussy only sent waves of electricity up his spine, nearly drowning him in pleasure.
“ Ah– oh–!” Dan Heng couldn’t care less of what the others would hear, whether it was the rough vibrating sound as he pressed the highest notes available or his needy moans—those concerns weren't anything to the deprivation he felt. Without further ado, he’d already rubbed slow circles around the sensitive bud, moaning at each slip because himself’s just so wet for the rubber head to move predictedly.
The waves of vibration mixed with pleasure felt like a drug to his system, keeping himself tethering near the brink with hiccuped sobs, drunken by pleasure that he couldn’t shy away from, all while being exposed to something that could capture his every emotion.
Each press around his aching clit caused stars bursting behind his eyelids, etching vibration into skin, sending slick gushing out from the channel below, forming a filthy pool onto the mattress—a physical reminder of a mess he’s making,
His body wasn’t used to such stimulation—azure scales visible by the archive’s low lighting, inches of his flushed skin gleamed by sweat, thighs trembling to close, breathing and moaning much erratically—coming undone all by a vibrator that he hadn’t used for a long time.
Split tongue sticking out of heat, dripping wet down his chin, dampening his shirt—breathing labored, gaze merely on feeling at his aroused cunt—pupils thinning as he saw it clenched and throbbed, gleaming of clear fluids as he pulled away the vibrator. Only to slam back in, rubbing filth onto the mound of his hairless pussy whilst thin streaks of squirt drooled out from his aching urethra, then travelled down to the already-soaked folds, milking himself more.
He lets pleasure eat him as though a five star cousine, jamming the vibrator into that tight heat then whining frustratedly when its blunt head slipped from his tightness—unable to turn back to that reserved composure but is too deep in pleasure to bother turning off the recording for himself to masturbate in peace.
“Please– M-more..” Words moaned out aimlessly, there wasn’t anyone to catch his needy mewls but archives of long-dead researchers and ancient civilizations. Deep within, Dan Heng still longed for Blade to witness this ruined sight of himself, to croon at him with those dripping wet praises—encouraging him to pump more, to press the buzzing bud to his soaked taint and sob as it ruins him thoroughly.
Mind blank, the whirring noise filled his eardrums, each wave of buzzing etched deep into the reddish skin of his sore cunt, pressing in hard enough for his clit to throb in pain-pleasure, enough for each wave of piss never gushed out in one clean dribble but instead messed up by such erratic humming. The sheets beneath him were palpably stained, damp and reeking the smell of filth—and yet, Dan Heng couldn’t find where to stop.
Sobby moans replacing thoughts as shockwaves of bliss passed through inches of sore muscles, a trail of sobs and barely held back whimpers spilled out—body coiling up as he squirts, thighs trembling, strained by how long the archivist’d kept himself spread out like a course.
“Mgh–! Ahh.. h-here..” Dan Heng spreads out his sleek folds with his free hand, showing Blade how ruined he is, how his pussy was grappling for penetration, oozing out fluids that casted over his twitching asshole a lewd glistence. So sex-drunken that he threw away last bits of dignity, admitting how starved he is to be loved—by Blade, much to his reserved demeanor.
But was he done yet? Was the record long enough? Perhaps, but with Dan Heng’s bottomless desires, he’s far from done, not when he’d pushed tonight’s works away completely just for this.
Beads of sweat rolled down his cheeks, or was it tears of overstimulation? Nevertheless, the archivist was too far gone to care, dazedly lolling his head against his incense-scented pillow, chest heaving with something near a chuckle as he slowly came to realization that the archive reeked of sex and smut—not the calming smell of books and ozone.
Each reverent shift of his body caused the puddle of filth beneath him to slosh, warm fluids now have gotten cold, gentle vibration of filth against skin nearly tipped Dan Heng over and over again. Aware of how much he’d squirted merely by the help of a hand-held vibrator, aware by the screen that captured every angle of his lewdness.
Succumbing to this blissful torment, Dan Heng adjusted the vibrator by one note higher—then nearly screamed when the silicone head whirred with a much stronger force. Instead of a half-hearted scream, what came out was a noisy trail of moans as he failed to predict how strong this thing could get—worse, his phone had captured every second of that embarrassing noise.
Urging himself towards overstimulation, he’d let the buzzing head graze the throbbing tip of the clitoris—gasping once his aching urethra contracted, squirting a trail that splattered itself messily against the already ruined sheets. It didn’t stop there, even though Dan Heng’s visibly struggling to hold the wand with one hand—yet unable to reinforce his grasp as another wave of climax wrecked him again.
“O-oooh..” Dan Heng’s head lolled against the pillow, stars popping behind his eyelids as pleasure wrecked him open. With the vibrator sets on high, his channel below gushed out without much control—built up juices nestled deep within his warm heat now spilling as though a broken dam, body couldn’t offer much reaction rather than these relentless waves of quivering as of soreness now embedded deep within his muscles.
The sweet smell of sex filled his nostrils, effectively building up to the mental image of Blade caressing his trembling thighs and slurtily commenting about how much of a mess he is down there. And how much Dan Heng wanted the swordsman around—if only he’d mustered up the effort to send a message, not mustering up the effort to fuck himself sore by a vibrator then records it.
Inching the whirring head down further, disturbing the stream of filth overflowing from his tight heat just to milk himself dry—almost as though he’s preventing such neediness from ever reaching him again, leading from one trouble to another.
Confidence slowly builds, Dan Heng grinded his lower region against the humming head reverently, back arched into a perfect bow just to meet up with his bottomless pit of desire. Hands clutching the wand with renewed vigor, wantonly pressing its whirring sensation against his drooling pussy until he felt it embedded beneath skin. Much against the hot coil sheathed within his abdomen allowed. “M-more..h-haa….”
Dan Heng now chasing his rapidly building climax, awaiting that addictive feeling of ecstasy washing over him, drawing along needy whines and mewls that sounded so unlike the reserved Dan Heng everyone sees—this side was reserved only to Blade, only him.
The assault sent him over the edge, with one last jam of the vibrator’s blunt head against his throbbing hole—Dan Heng cried out, cunt gushing out fluid and urine as his body jerked and shuddered with the force of his release. The orgasm crashed over him like strong waves to a shore, making his eyes stung as he saw stars behind his eyelids—pupils widening as if the climax were a drug to his system.
A combination of fluids and urine squirted wildly onto the silicone head, coating the wand under his filth—thighs clamped shut as though the orgasm was the last straw, pushed past his limits, milked to the core just like his needy wishes.
The tide crashing over his wrecked body was rather enormous, leaving behind strange aftershocks that sent tingles fluttering beneath his sternum—-relieved that he’d managed to get this out of his chest, somehow, though it’s not well executed, though he looked utterly ruined to be alleviated.
“Ahn–.. mgn..hn–” The archivist couldn’t help but whine as he pulled the vibrator away, shivering once excess slick tricked down his soaked folds, puddling on the mattress below—Dan Heng couldn’t care less about the mess, rather regretting about his ability to even walk after this session now that using the excuse of ‘pleasure’ doesn’t work.
Once the constant whirring noise of the vibrator was turned of, the archive felt like it’s humming back to life—back with the familiar background noise of engines, the smell of machinery masked by incense—for once did the archivist’s mind quieted down, for once he didn’t feel anything but tranquility. And bits of soreness too, of course.
The video, however, took Dan Heng numerous replays just to bear what his phone had recorded of himself. It wasn’t that he wanted every angle of himself to be perfect, rather he couldn’t realize that was how he looked whilst desire taken over—so uncharacteristic of him, so lewd of him
—for Blade.
Dan Heng doesn’t have much to say for himself once his communicator shows that the video was sent, he settled on a simple message instead, figuring he wouldn’t be able to hide it from someone who had known him so well as Blade. “Do I still look pretty from this angle?”
Much to his surprise, and nervousness, the swordsman’s reply came in an instant.
“You don’t know what you just did to me.” The usual bluntness is still there, just this time, Blade’s emotions felt clear enough for Dan Heng to see through from a screen. Though he wasn’t sure the cause of such changes was made by the video or that Dan Heng mustered up the courage to even film this.
“Rest, Heng’er. I’ll be there when you wake.”
Oh. Well, no need to be doubtful this time.