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Moist woke up with a startle, sweaty and cold. He groaned, curling up in his makeshift bed, gripping the blankets tight. His office had escaped relatively unscathed from the fire, but there was still a distinct lack of wall, and therefore a distinct presence of wind and cold. But it’s not like he had anywhere else to go.
Well, that wasn’t true.
Adora Belle had offered to take him in, she said they could probably spare a room for him. And as tempting as the prospect had been, he couldn’t have accepted: he had an image to uphold.
Gods, he should have accepted the invitation.
… Or maybe not, he caught himself as he realised why he’d awoken so suddenly in the middle of the night. Adora had been in his dreams, and there was something in his pants to hold witness to that.
He bit his lip. It was the middle of the night, and the golems had already evacuated all of the rubble, which meant there was no one left in the building. Sure, there were a few people keeping watch outside (keeping watch for what, no one knew), but he was alone in the Post Office. There was incessant groaning and creaking from the building as all the burnt parts struggled to stay upright. And he would be quick and quiet anyway. He couldn’t just go back to sleep like this.
He curled up on his side and shoved a hand down his pants, stuffing a fist covered in sheet in his mouth.
When was the last time he’d jerked off? Before going to prison, that was sure. And he hadn’t really had a. the time b. the privacy to do anything since he’d been promoted as Postmaster. Now that Mr Pump was finally out of his room, he might get a few more opportunities.
He didn’t even remember what the dream had been about. He wasn’t even sure that it had been that kind of dream. He just knew that it had involved Adora Belle, and he couldn’t help it. She made him feel all tingly when he was awake, and it didn’t stop when he was asleep.
Oh, this was bad. He groaned and screwed his eyes shut. This was really, really bad. This was awful of him. Her face kept flashing before his eyes, he couldn’t help it, he knew he wouldn’t finish otherwise. They had been on a few dates since, well, since everything, but there had not been any more big wet kisses, and Moist was aching for it. He wondered if she wanted it, too. He wondered if she would do the same as he was doing right now. No, certainly not, she was a respectable lady, and not a… A… A man like him. Well. Was she respectable? He was yet to find out. Maybe she would. Maybe she would also—
He couldn’t help the noise that escaped his throat when a myriad of images forced themselves in his brain. No, that was a lie, they didn’t force themselves in. They actually got in quite easily. Not one lockpick needed, the door was wide open, and a valet had even taken their hat and coat at the entrance. Oh, no, the images were quite welcome, and Moist drew them out. Adora, slipping out of her scandalously plain dress, exposing more pale skin, slowly working a hand under her underwear, pressing her thighs together, her lips opening around a silent moan as she—
His strokes became frantic. Gods, he just needed this to be over with. He didn’t know how long he could hold out without making any sound. He bit hard into his knuckles.
There was a noise, and he opened his eyes to check he was still alone, and he very nearly had a heart attack as he saw something moving in the shadows.
That something let out a soft coo, hopping around on the remains of his desk. The pigeon tried to peck at something and apparently came out empty beaked, because then it flew off.
Moist tried to steady his heartbeat. Pigeons! The stupid fucking—
No, nope, not going to be derailed by that, he had more important stuff to attend to. Namely, the bulge in his underwear. Okay. Where were we? Right, Adora Belle. And a tight dress. Or the lack thereof. And thighs. Oh, he’d never thought about her thighs before. Good grief. To those thighs were attached both her, erm, lady parts, and her legs, which yielded, on their ends, deadly weapons. Moist had had quite a few thoughts about those heels. Actually, even now that he was imagining her in her birthday suit, the heels stayed on. Maybe she’d been born with them, who was to say? Certainly not his fantasies, no sir.
He rolled onto his back, breathing in the fresh, although not quite clear, night air. He folded his free arm over his eyes, biting his lips to prevent any noises from slipping out. If he didn’t blow everything and they did get to the point where they got intimate each other, maybe he’d ask her to keep her heels on... Maybe she could smoke a cigarette and look at him condescendingly and pull his hair and he could eat her out, and he’d have to look at her face very, very carefully to see just how much she enjoyed it. And maybe she could wrap her thighs around his face as she came and—
And he came with the thought.
He finally opened his mouth, panting softly, and had to plaster a hand over his parted lips as he let out a spent little moan. He pulled his hand out of his pants with a shiver and reached around the bed until he came in contact with something that resembled paper. He wiped his hand and tried to tidy up a bit, all the while also trying not to think that this might have been a letter. He didn’t look at it, he didn’t want to know. He crumpled the paper and threw it across the room, whispering “sorry”.
He looked at the remaining parts of the ceiling.
He let out a long-suffering groan, hiding his eyes with his clean hand.
This was low, even for him. He didn’t mind jerking off to idle thoughts about fair maidens, a man’s got needs, but this was Adora Belle Dearheart he was talking about, for Gods’ sake! Ooo, he felt dirty, and not only because he didn’t have access to any running water at the moment.
What’s wrong with me? Well, besides the obvious. The numerous obvious. The obviouses? I just jerked off to the woman I’m, what, courting? First off, that idea was ridiculous. Him, courting anyone, was a ridiculous idea. Most of the courting he’d ever done was done in the form of wink-wink-nudge-nudge-I-know-an-unoccupied-cupboard-in-that-inn. Moist von Lipwig in a courting arrangement. Well, maybe it wasn’t that surprising for Moist von Lipwig. He didn’t know. It’s not like Moist von Lipwig had had any opportunities of courtship, because Moist von Lipwig had disappeared at the ripe old age of fourteen.
Whatever. He was pretty sure jerking off to your promised one was not something you were supposed to do, either way.
He pulled his hand away from his eyes and stared at the ceiling some more. Pathetic, he truly was pathetic. He didn’t think he’d ever had such a low drop after jerking off.
Having feelings was the worst thing to ever happen to anyone, he reckoned.