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Jayce is experimental.
Or…he likes to think that he is.
From taking a gap year after finishing his schooling, exploring faraway deserts looking for a way to make sense of magic gems, to figuring out efficient methods to solve equations, he doesn’t shy away from the unknown.
And yet, he realizes, he is shying away from this.
It started easy enough: a collaboration. To be exact, with students from the Academy’s medical department, upon Heimerdinger approaching him and you, his roommate, with an opportunity to make some extra cash, he’d accepted. It was nothing too wild, or too fancy; just Piltover athletes pumping money into the improvement of vibration therapy. Something about muscle regeneration, bone density, Jayce hadn’t looked all that deep into it. His sole job had been to work alongside you and a few others to increase the vibrational output of certain medical devices, allow for their finetuning, and improve performance time. All in all, not a difficult job, especially not for Jayce. And not for you either.
Maybe two months into the project, after a short night out with a few of your friends, you’d returned to your shared apartment, and had both found yourself restless, slightly inebriated, and you’d decided to work a little more on the project. Which, even in retrospect, hadn’t sounded like a bad idea. A little less to work on tomorrow, something to put your minds to sleep after hours of laughing so much your voice had gone hoarse. You found yourself derailing from your purpose. Snorting with laughter upon recalling something that had happened earlier than night, or just your mind playing tricks on you.
Jayce should have known better than to inquire further after you’d looked him dead in the eye, perfect little shit-eating grin on your lips — fuck, those lips — and had leaned in ever so slightly, index and thumb on either side of his hand to still it from its writing. “You know what would be really funny?” You’d asked.
Jayce should have said no.
Jayce should have done anything but let out a punched out, amused “what?”, Jayce should have done anything but slap his hand over his mouth and snort into his palm with laughter, Jayce should have done anything but spend the whole night designing totally ironic blueprints for a vibrating stroker with you.
“Might as well put vibration to use in all ways, right?” You’d justified.
And he hadn’t managed anything but a half-drunk, half-flustered, half-nonchalant — shit, that’s one too many halves — shrug. “Right.”
It’s not like he was supposed to actually go through with it; the jokingly made blueprints for a vibrating stroker were supposed to be it. They really were, he’s serious.
But then, a good few days after that night, you’d dumped a bag of spare parts on him from another one of your projects, and he’d been looking through it because his mother had taught him better than to throw potentially useful things out. It’s really, really not his fault that so many of the spare parts you’d discarded were exactly what he would have hypothetically needed for the totally jokingly designed toy. Add to that the fact that he had some leftover hypoallergenic silicone from another one of his projects, and it seemed like it was just begging to be built.
So he did. In silence. At night, after you’d long fallen asleep, he took his time with it. There was no rush, no client waiting, no deadline approaching, and it’s…it’s not like he hasn’t used anything but his hands his whole life. Jayce doubts he’ll actually need the toy. This — building it — is just a pastime.
Which is why, he supposes, he’s still in denial after it’s finally done. He’d found excuses to not use it up until now. Doing it in the same apartment as you, even after you were long asleep, was something that didn’t even come into question. Jayce couldn’t. As far as you knew, the blueprints had remained nothing but a silly little inside joke, and it would be weird for you to find out otherwise. Especially by hearing, or, even worse, catching him in the middle of jacking off. Speaking of hearing, he had no idea how loud the thing would be — but if the buzzing of the medical devices he’d designed with the same mechanism in mind was anything to go by, it would not be silent. You were friends, and yes, maybe you didn’t mind talking about your sex life here and there, sharing a vulnerable moment or two when it was just the two of you sipping away on espressos and hunching over textbooks — no. Absolutely not, Jayce could never put the bond you share in jeopardy. Not over a silently developing crush, and most definitely not over some…silly sex toy either.
But Jayce is experimental. And curious.
You’re out and about tonight, with some friend of yours Jayce doesn’t know or care to know too well. If there’s any time for trying out the thing, it’s now.
Jayce double checks that the door to his bedroom is closed, draws the curtains, flicks off all lights except for the one on his small nightstand, makes himself comfortable. He lays himself down on his mattress, remembering, in passing, what your bed had looked like this morning when you’d left the door to your bedroom open: unmade and messy and definitely smelling like you. He tries to ignore the urge to go over there and retrieve one of your pillows and press his face into it. He’s not a weirdo. He’s not going to cum to the thought or the smell of you, because he knows that would forever taint his perception of your friendship.
Willing all thoughts of you out of his head, Jayce lays flat on his back, letting his head fall against the pillows, closing his eyes with a tremble of his lashes. He knows his body has a tendency towards eagerness, which is exactly why he coaxes himself into hardness slowly. A hesitant trailing of his hand downwards, meat of his palm pressing into his stomach just above the elastic band of his boxers. A mere skim of his fingertips past it, cupping his rough palm over his still soft cock, a languid, mattress-creaking rock of his hips against it. He takes himself out of his underwear, trails the pads of his fingers over the underside at first, from tip to base, barely ghosting over his balls before he draws his hand back up again, gripping himself gently.
He lets out a soft exhale at the sensation. Gods, it’s been way too long since he’s actually taken his time with himself. Way too long since he’s not bitten his lip, his left index, his cheek, to keep in the sounds that want to burst out of him. Jayce wonders, briefly, if you’d go as slow on him too, eager to see every shivering inhale, every hiss, every twitch of his willing body. If you’d tantalize him, teasing every pathetic reaction you know for a fact you can get out of him, or if you’d be merciful, take him in your mouth the moment he’d ask—
Fuck.
Stop. Stop, stop, stop, he needs to stop.
While his mind definitely manages to throw the mental images (of you circling your tongue around his cock) out the window, his body reacts. All thoughts of taking it slow are long gone, now that his dick is swelling into hardness with a needy twitch and that the smooth skin of his length is growing taut and scorching. Jayce grips himself hard, almost as if he’d want to punish himself for thinking of you, and at the same time, giving in to his fantasies by squeezing the tip of his cock in a tight ring between his index and thumb. His foreskin slides back along with the stutter of his hips into his fist, revealing the tip of him, leaking already.
Just this; just a simple, fleeting thought of you taking him in your mouth — gods, he’s twitching again — and he’s already worked up? No. No, he’s just…tired. Pent up. This is normal. And has nothing to do with you.
Jayce gives himself a moment of reprieve, dropping the hand he’d been rubbing himself with at his side, and the other, over his eyes. He takes in a few calming breaths, holds them so deep and long that his chest hurts. His mouth has gone dry enough to make him swallow thickly, with a painfully parched sound to accompany the bobbing of his throat.
He cracks his eyes open to look down at himself, bringing his index and thumb to his cock, just enough to circle the slit. In a trance-like state, Jayce watches the string of precum stretching between his dick and slick pads of his fingers. It feels good. Not good enough to throw his head back in bliss or to have him gripping the sheets, but still like weight is being lifted off his shoulders, like warm pleasure softly sparking in every nerve ending on his body. Jayce lets his feet slide down the mattress, until his legs are nearly straightened out, sprawled out across the sheets, hanging off the bed. Then, he gives himself what he’s been aching for: friction.
There’s too much of it all at once: his grip is dry. Jayce’s first instinct is to spit into the palm of his hand and have a go at it. Not today, he reminds himself, loosening his grip before he finally lets go of himself. Not now.
Jayce turns around to readjust the pillows behind his head to cushion his shoulders, to lift him up a smidge more, to make sure he can actually see what he’s doing. What he will be doing. He hates the fact that there’s a tremor of excitement going through his hands as he takes the device he’d been avoiding for well over two weeks from his drawer. Along with it, he retrieves some lube, elbows the drawer shut.
The toy is cold when he sets it on his abdominals — it’s metal, after all — and pumps some lube into his hand instead. Jayce does his best to avoid bringing himself any pleasure as he slicks his cock up. No need to edge himself closer than where he is right now, lest he cuts the…testing time short.
He finds himself admiring just how well you’d designed the device as he sticks two fingers inside it, lathering it up with the silky substance. It’s cushioned with silicone inside, soft, and, soon enough, it’ll be warm, too. You’d designed a built-in warming system, made to be permeated by vibrations throughout its entirety, but focused primarily around the glans. The device also hinges open at the middle for easy cleaning after use — smart. All of it. All of you.
Jayce groans with frustration once he realizes his thoughts have circled back to you again, but this time, he lacks the necessary patience to force them out of his head as thoroughly as before. He simply tells himself no, firmly so, before he switches on the heating feature with his thumb, and positions the entrance of the toy over his drooling, flushed cockhead.
There’s a moment (alright, maybe a bit longer than just a moment) of hesitation before he starts inching the stroker onto himself.
Bliss.
“O-oh,” Jayce stutters out against his attempt to stay quiet. The device seals around his skin perfectly with the lube he’d applied, almost like an open-mouthed kiss to the very tip of his dick, that maddeningly descends downwards. The silicone cushioning had been a good choice, too; soft enough to make for a sensation that’s nearly lifelike, firm enough to press up against all the right spots. Jayce stops once he’s bottomed out, barely rutting up into the toy, tightly clutched in his hand. The heating’s working, too, tender warmth starting to seep into his sensitive skin. Just what he needs.
Jayce swallows as he looks down at the stroker, at the way it fits his cock so snugly, like it’s made for him (which, he digresses, it is). Would you feel better? Tighter, softer, alive? Walls fluttering around him, pulling him deeper, like you need him?
Damnit.
Frustrated at his mind’s wanderings and at just how much they make the heat in his stomach churn and turn and threaten to burst, Jayce whimpers, throwing his head back against the pillows. He sinks into them, imagines the folds in the fabric around his shoulders are your fingers, not the pillowcase, imagines your scent, you’d be so close, so warm, and there’s no way he can describe what you smell like because it’s just so uniquely you; but he can picture it, gods, he can picture it like it’s right there—
Jayce is hit with a particularly dizzying whiff of your scent when he turns his head to the side, nearly cumming once he realizes it’s not just a figment of his imagination. He lacks the presence of mind to notice the knee-jerk response of his body, the eagerness with which his hips slam up into the stroker; a slick, wet sound echoing the movement. He needs more of you, and that’s all that matters as he covers his mouth with his free hand and starts looking for something to sate his craving.
He finds it.
One of your hoodies is behind his bed. He briefly remembers a late night conversation where you’d showed up in his room with it draped over your forearm. After he’d said something annoyingly funny, you’d thrown the piece of clothing at his head, he’d ducked just in time for it to fly past him, against the wall, then fall behind his bed. You’d probably had a smart reply of your own at the ready, forgetting about your hoodie.
Jayce doesn’t stop to think twice about what this makes him. A degenerate, he concludes with surprisingly little remorse, a creep, but he’s horny out of his mind, can’t help a small moan as he fishes the hoodie out from behind his bed. He hugs it close with his free hand, burying his nose against the neckline. You. You, you, you, it’s all you, like you’re there.
He needs— “More, please—“
In spite of his tone, he thrusts himself into the stroker with successive, obscene squelches, takes what he needs. Jayce thinks he’s lost his mind at this point, imagining he’s begging you for a flicker of mercy, kindness, anything, that it’s you on him, your mouth, anything of yours you’d be willing to give him. There’s no-one to take pity on him but his own person, and he realizes that he is much more self-indulgent than he’d like to admit.
When he finds the button with his thumb out of something akin to muscle memory (he has co-designed and built the damn thing, mind you), he’s done for.
Jayce doesn’t bother fooling around anymore, and goes for the medium setting right off the bat. The first thing he notices is that it’s loud, but that thought lingers hardly at all, brain flooding and frying at the same time with nerve-buzzing pleasure unlike any he’s ever had.
His body sings with the vibration that rattles him deep, intense enough to sink in his bones. Jayce positively arches his back off the mattress, throwing the hand he’d been holding your hoodie with over his head. There, it scrambles for purchase he doesn’t really need, but desperately wants. He wonders, if by some unlikely circumstance, he’ll be the first human being to combust from pleasure alone.
“Ah, hnn, fuuuuck—“ He chokes out. With a half-thought he can’t categorize as neither pavlovian nor innate, Jayce’s hand picks up in speed as he works himself closer to his rapidly approaching release, syncing itself with the messy, uncalculated jerking of his hips. The sound that accompanies it is filthy: a carnal, slick cacophony along with the constant buzzing of the stroker.
And it’s perfect. The vibration hugs the entire length of him, focusing on the sensitive ridge where the underside of his cockhead meets the rest of his dick. Jayce whimpers, pressing his face into your hoodie as he desperately fucks into the toy.
Bombarded with everything — from the mind-blowing vibrations overstimulating his nerves, the scent of you so deep in his nose that he feels as though there will always be some part of you lingering in the back of his throat, to the images his brain rushes to create: You bouncing on top of him, you letting him rut up into your mouth, moaning around him, you being the one that’s stroking the toy up and down his waiting, needy cock while he just watches and moans — it’s too much. It’s too much, it’s too much, he’s— “Gonna cum,” Jayce babbles. “Fuck, feels s-so good. (Y/n), I’m ah— almost…”
“Good boy, come for me.”
The rendition of your voice can only be a product of his imagination — and gods, is it good — good enough that Jayce can only nod, muttering silent words that dissipate into his moans, before he arches off the bed and does exactly as told.
His orgasm is unlike any he’s had before. Like a vice-tight grip that takes over him in its entirety, wringing him of all he can give. He lets the vibrations continue, until they hurt, until Jayce can’t decide if he wants to stop or if he wants to continue fucking his cum into the stroker, to indulge in the pain.
Turns out, that choice is not his to make.
As he sits up, chest heaving to catch his breath, Jayce flicks the toy off. The vibrations die down suddenly, but the heat is still very much there, like a real hole, and he takes a moment to imagine it’s yours, that you're not pulling off of him just yet, watching him with a familiar glint in your eye.
A glint he doesn’t have to picture. Not after he cracks his eyes open with a fucked out whimper, and notices that the door to his bedroom is hinged open ever so slightly.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, there you are, the light from his nighstand barely casting the faintest shadow over what little of your face peeks in through the crack of the door, and somehow, even in this light, your eyes have lost none of their sparkle. If anything, they shine even brighter, with something newfound and unfamiliar that burns.
It takes Jayce well over two seconds of staring at you, still in his fucked out state, to realize where this puts him. He’s naked, his release dribbling out of the toy you’d jokingly co-designed with him, and onto your hoodie.
“I’m—! I-I, uh, this is—“ Jayce begins, but can’t, for the life of him, muster up a reply other than the increasing hotness of his face, that seeps all the way down his chest.
He expects the worst. Expects you to take your hoodie and everything else too, maybe call the enforcers on him for — well, he doesn’t know what sort of crime this can be qualified as, but he’s sure it’s some kind of offense — and leave, for good. He couldn’t blame you.
“Keep going.”
That reply alone knocks the wind out of him. Your gaze drinks him in; from the pleasured crease of his brows to the cum dripping down his twitching abdominals. Jayce doesn’t get a chance to catch his breath, much less formulate a reply, when you nudge the door open further apart with your foot, and lean against it with a nonchalance that has him growing hard once more. You bite your lip in an attempt to hide your grin, and suddenly, your confidence makes sense. He’d moaned out your name as he came, hadn’t he? “Or do I have to beg for a demonstration of a device I helped design?”
Oh. So you’d caught onto that, too.
Jayce shivers under your ravenous, scrutinizing gaze. You don’t come any closer, don’t move an inch, only lick your lips once he swallows.
“No,” He rasps, realizing the dryness of his mouth only after he speaks.
“Then,” Your eyes lower to his cock, buried deep inside the stroker, motionless. “Show me.”
Emboldened by the hunger in your gaze, Jayce finds himself demanding what he needs.
“Come here.”
You comply, with boldness that leaves his breath stuttering as you crawl onto the bed, resting your knees on either side of his thighs before you sit back on them. The smirk that grows on your face is not sadistic by any means, but playful no less, especially when it hits you that the hoodie he’s pressed against himself is yours.
“Was wondering where that was,” You laugh, expression growing even more amused when Jayce opens his mouth to defend himself.
“I really didn’t mean to— This is the first time I— it just happened, I’m not—“
“I don’t mind.” You inch forward from where you’re sitting on his lap, shutting him up once more. “Would you prefer the real thing?”
Jayce wonders if that’s even a question, or if you’re just looking to tease. No matter what your intentions are, he only grows redder before he nods, sitting up, and you pull him in by settling your hand on the back of his head, scratching lightly at the trimmed hair there. The second you’re within reach, he latches onto the side of your neck, and decides that this is vastly better than your hoodie. The scent of you is fresh, warm, alive, Jayce finds himself drowning in it, biting into the tendons of your neck to ground himself. It doesn’t work, not with the whimper you let out, that goes straight to his cock. When your hand settles atop the toy, over his own, Jayce finds himself weakly rutting up into it.
Filled with his cum, it’s even wetter now, sloppy squelches filling the room as you start to move it in tune with his thrusts. It’s too much, Jayce thinks, far too much, it hurts, and yet he can’t find it within himself to stop.
“Is it working as intended?” You ask with a small grin, speeding up your movements. Jayce’s first instinct is to writhe, but, with his legs trapped under you, even that is a distant dream. He can only nod, letting his head fall neatly against your shoulder.
“Y-yeah,” He confirms. “I couldn’t— hah, last long.”
“I can tell.” Your index swipes at the base of his cock, right above his balls, gathering a dollop of cum, which you deposit on the tip of your tongue. Jayce wonders if he’s dreaming. “Think you can come again?”
No, he’s definitely not dreaming. His brain’s too fried to come up with something this hot.
“Fuck.” The smile you give him is so coquettish that he finds himself scrambling to fold his arm around you, moaning unabashedly. If he’s being honest, he’s never come in such a quick succession, not without a small break, a glass of water, something. But for you, he wants to try, more than anything, so he nods, leans forward. “Yes. C-can I kiss you?”
You scoff out a laugh. “I just licked your cum off my finger, and you’re asking?”
That’s all the confirmation he needs; letting you take the reins of his pleasure, Jayce cups your jaw in both hands, and smashes his lips against yours. You’re warm, addictive, from the slide of your tongue against his to the subtle hum of pleasure you let out when he scrapes his teeth over your lip. It’s perfect, reassuring; you’re there, you want him, the way he wants you.
Jayce barely registers a soft click, before the vibrations start up again, featherlight and gentle — the lowest setting. Somehow, even that manages to be overwhelming; every movement of your hand has him mewling with sensitivity. The hands he’d set on your jaw fall to your shoulders, kneading the muscle there tight as he twitches and jumps.
“O-oh, fuck, it‘s—,” Jayce mutters, shaking his head before he buries it in the spot where your neck meets your shoulder, “it’s good, babe, but— it’s too much.”
On your next upstroke, you halt, only the tip of him still snug within the toy. Its humming catches near the frenulum of his cock, barely there and Jayce realizes that, contrary to the resistance his nerves are putting up, he needs more. Pain be damned, refractory period be damned, he doesn’t want you to stop, “Do you want to take a break?” You ask. “Have some water?”
If you’d asked him this a moment earlier, Jayce would have said yes. He would have taken the chance to catch his breath, to soothe his parched throat, but as you’re inching him out of the stroker, he finds himself willing to ignore it all.
Tightly, too tightly, he grasps your wrist, keeps it in place, and starts thrusting himself back up into the toy with a whimper. Your smile grows.
“Look at you, so needy,” Pressing your grin into the side of his neck, you start the pace of your hand again. He’s mewling when your strokes speed up, loud and slick with his previous release dribbling down the length of his cock. You watch it unabashedly, licking your lips when he jams himself into the toy forcefully, pushing a good amount of his own cum out of the hole by filling it thoroughly. “Good boy. Did you try the whole range of vibrations?”
Your inquiry is sudden, and Jayce glimpses down at your hand — your thumb is hovering over the button in question. Oh.
“No.” Fingers clamping down into the meat of your shoulders, Jayce shakes his head, eyes fluttering shut as your hum in a way that betrays you aren’t really pondering anything, but rather, that you already have something devious on your mind.
“Would you like to?” You ask.
Jayce nods before he’s even thought it through. That’s all you need, really, before a small click rings out, barely any louder than the delicate vibrations hugging the sensitive tip of him. They grow in amplitude almost instantly, palpably so. Jayce wonders if it’s even scientifically possible for him to feel them reverberating through him, all the way inside his fucking stomach, but that doesn’t matter. None of it matters, not when you’re watching him, entranced, as you grant him pleasure so overwhelming that he doubts he’ll ever recover from it. Jayce’s head swims with the desire to look at you, to pull you in for another kiss, to ask you to use his mouth while you jerk him off.
He parts his lips to tell you exactly that, but the words die in his throat when you pull him into a kiss, rough and loving. The dip of your tongue between his lips has him whining, until the button is flicked up further, to the highest setting, above and beyond what he’s dared experimenting with so far. It makes his brain shatter. There’s not a singular thought left in Jayce’s pretty head other than pleasure, and he’s curling forward, pressing his forehead to your collarbone, seeking out whatever he can get, whatever you’re giving him.
It turns out to be more than enough.
“Oh, fuck, babe, fuck, fuck, fuck—“ He sobs, clutching your waist tight. If he wouldn’t be overstimulated out of his mind right now, he’d probably be able to figure out if the drops that just landed on his own clenched abdomen are tears, drool or his own cum. “Don’t stop, please, pleasepleaseplease—!”
The vibrations kiss the length of him with the most brutal, unrelenting rendition of pleasure he’s ever had, overflowing into pain that bleeds back into sybaritism, mixing until they’re one and the same.
“I’m gonna cum,” Jayce chokes out. “So close, (y/n), s-so— fuck—!”
Jayce muffles his high-pitched scream into the side of your throat, jackhammering his seed into the toy as you whisper sweet praise to him, your hand constant, quick, and unforgiving as you let him give you all he’s worth.
And, to his surprise, he has a lot left to give. You fuck him into the toy him until it hurts, until his cum is sloppily gushing out of the stroker, and even then, you’re still going, gods.
“Wa-wait, wait, enough,” he sobs. Jayce’s hand finds your wrist in spite of the blurriness that clouds his vision, his eyes fall shut with relief when you stop. Your other hand scratches at his nape gently (had you ever even let go?), cradling his head against your shoulder. For some reason, he can’t help but grin against your skin, giddy with delight.
By some impossible circumstance, the toy sounds even more soaked when you turn it off, dislodging from his limp cock with possibly the loudest, wettest sound he’s ever heard. Your chuckle is gentle when he shudders, kissing the arch of his cheekbone, at the salty hot trail a tear had left behind.
“Guess it’s safe to say our…invention passed its testing stage with flying colors,” You joke, smiling down at Jayce when he nuzzles his fucked out grin into your shoulder, sniffling softly. “Tissues?”
It takes him a moment to process what you’ve just said before he nods, swallowing a mouthful of his own, thick saliva. “Yeah, uh, first…first drawer.”
He falls back onto the bed when you lean against him to reach for them, watching you with wide, blissed out eyes from below.
Only then does he realize that you’re not going for his dick with them, but instead, holding them out to him. So much for his last shred of dignity, he supposes, taking one from you and dabbing at his damp under eyes.
“Does this, uh…” Jayce folds his arm over his face once he’s done, burying his nose into the crook of his elbow, sighing. You continue down his body, wiping at his abdomen. The tissues aren’t successful at getting everything off his skin (especially not the drying cum), but he appreciates your intentions nonetheless. He shakes his head when you peek up at him, cocking a brow. “I mean…is this a…one time thing?”
You smile, again, but this time there’s no mischief behind it, no impishness, only tenderness.
“I co-designed a sex toy with you, bought you all the parts you needed for it, watched you test it, helped you test it again, and you’re asking me if I’d rather pretend we’re still just roommates?”
Jayce puts on his most innocent, winning smile. “I…guess?”
It takes him a moment, an annoyingly long one, to replay your words inside his head. “Wait.” He frowns. “You— you acquired the parts on purpose? It wasn’t a coincidence? You said they were—“
You snort with laughter, sit back on his thighs. “You looked like you needed…an impulse to start building it.”
Damn him and his tendency to take things at face value, always.
“You knew about it this whole time?” Jayce looks back and forth between you and the stroker, held loosely in your hand, cum dripping out of it. “When were you going to tell me? Or ask me about it, at least?”
You shrug. “Hypothetically, um, never. That was, until I…got home, heard you moaning out my name and saw you sniffing my clothes.”
“Hey—!” Jayce grows red, turns to grab the hoodie and tosses it your way playfully. With a practiced move, you dodge it, grinning wide. Jayce can’t, for the life of him, stop staring at your face, at you, at the hand braced on his abdomen for support. He can’t believe this is actually happening; you — after he’d yearned after you for so long — want him back. Sure, it had taken months, co-designing and testing a sex toy together, but, gods, you’re finally his.
Jayce thinks it’s about time he proves himself worthy.
“How about,” he begins, “We go…take a shower, and then I’ll show the co-creator of the Talis-(L/n) vibrating stroker a good time?”
Your laugh is heaven. “Please tell me you’re not actually going to patent it under that name.”