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"Come on Chil, turn on your camera."
Falin‘s sweet voice is turned tinny by the speaker, but still it‘s that same tone she always uses, the one Chilchuck hates to admit works so well on him. All soft and warm, yet also probing, because she knows what she wants, knows what they all want, and worse still, she knows what Chilchuck wants, too. Knows that it’s all one and the same.
He sighs, an almost inaudible sound that the microphone on his headset—from Marcille, she said it was her spare and it‘d be cute, and he didn‘t have the heart not to use it even if he still isn‘t sure what purpose the cat ear part serves—nevertheless picks up. Most of them are muted or silent, cameras all turned off, but still, Chilchuck thinks he senses it, the rapid shallow sound of their breathing, pupils growing wider as they lean closer to their screens, hands clammy and trembling in anticipation.
His mouse hovers over the icon to turn on his camera for a second, a second where it seems like everything stands still, where Chilchuck wonders what he‘s even doing here, how it came to this, before he hears that voice again, out of his headphones and almost warm at his ears, Falin.
"Well?"
Chilchuck clicks. At once, his reflection spills across the screen, and for a second, always, it seems like someone else, some stranger he doesn’t recognize, until the person on the screen moves and he realizes that so did he. It‘s him, after all. Red flushed face and freckled shoulders, skin bare against the fabric of his chair—a gift, too, like the headphones, like the webcam and the thigh socks he’s wearing and the tail plug he‘s shoved up inside himself.
When his old microphone broke and Marcille sent him the headset, claiming that she didn‘t have any use for it anyways, that she would have thrown it away if he didn‘t take it off her hands, he believed her, because why wouldn‘t he, but now, with the benefit of hindsight on his side, he‘s pretty certain she does not, in fact, keep all her electronics pristine in the box. It was too easy to accept the gift, even as prideful as he is—or maybe used to be, or would like to think still is—and when she asked to see him wearing it, there was no way he could have denied her that. It seemed like a harmless request, back then.
Then the camera was too grainy, and Laios claimed to have one laying around, and it was harder to believe, sure, but Chilchuck‘s never known much about electronics, and Laios is a techy kind of guy, so it seemed plausible enough, and he didn‘t question it when maybe he should have, and then things just sort of started going from there. The proverbial ball sent rolling with a cat eared headset, and now they‘ve ended up here, with the newest toy, a tail plug courtesy of Falin, and everyone eager to see him using it. And Chilchuck eager for them to see it, too, though it’s still difficult for him to admit that to himself.
"Can you pull your legs back a little bit? So we can see better." Falin‘s voice is sweet, but still, it‘s a command. Just enough plausible deniability there for Chilchuck to tell himself he‘s still in control of this as he obeys, face tilted to the side because he can‘t face the webcam directly as he does it. He shaved his legs, his thighs, all in anticipation for this moment. They didn’t even need to ask him—he just did it all on his own.
"Fine," he grumbles, after a moment's hesitation as if there was ever any doubt he‘d be doing it, as if he hasn‘t already started getting in position, pulling his legs back, doing his best to ignore the crackle of his joints as he does. It’s not really dignified, but there’s not much dignity in any of this. At least he’s flexible enough, even after all this time spent sitting around in front of a screen; folded up like this, socked feet over his head—he forgot about the paw pads on the bottom, shamefully visible in this position—it doesn’t even really hurt. It's embarrassing, though. Very, very embarrassing.
"Ah, you can really see it now…you look so cute!"
Chilchuck looks away, blush tinting his face a dark pink. On the screen, he looks grotesque, like a caricature of himself, red to his ears and strangely contorted. Dick resting soft on his stomach, his hole stretched wide around the tail plug that dangles off the bottom of the chair. A fuzzy cat’s tail, bow tied around the end of it.
"Don‘t call me…cute."
"But you are!" Falin‘s voice over the speaker is saccharine, a little bit teasing in a way that stings but doesn’t wound; somehow, she manages to strike that balance, between what Chilchuck hates and what he hates loving. "You‘re adorable…an adorable little kitty."
Chilchuck grits his teeth. Her brand of condescending sweetness always gets to him.
And then, of course, another voice joins in, excitable as always, unable to contain herself. "You‘re so cute," Marcille squeals, and it takes everything inside Chilchuck not to knock the camera over in indignation; the way she says it, it‘s like she‘s talking to a pet. How that fact makes Chilchuck feel, he does not want to think about too much right now, if ever.
It must be showing on his face, because Falin lets out a low chuckle. "You‘re making him all embarrassed, Marcille. We haven‘t even tried out the new toy yet."
Chilchuck can‘t help it; his face tints a shade darker. "I‘m trying it out for you right now. Don‘t you see? Is my camera not working right?" The hint of desperation that creeps into his voice at the end makes him embarrassed all over again. He always gets so god damned desperate. It‘s not enough to humiliate himself for these people, he has to still be vying for their approval as he does it, getting all frantic at the prospect of not being good enough in some way. Who cares, Chilchuck tries to tell himself, but the fact of the matter is, that he very much does care.
"Oh right, sorry," Falin says, "You look adorable! I‘m so happy to see that you’ve managed to put it in all on your own already." Her face, down at the corner of Chilchuck‘s screen, carries the same aloof enthusiasm as always, though her smile seems stretched just a little bit wider, now. "But it has some other functions we haven‘t tried yet."
Chilchuck tries to remember the moment he took it out of the box, if there was anything about other functions that he saw printed on there but he hadn‘t looked at it, really, embarrassed by the whole ordeal, eager to get it over with and the box stored somewhere out of his eyesight. The manual, not even glanced at, which in hindsight, maybe he should have. After all, what kind of butt plug comes with a manual? He remembers thinking it to be awfully big, but it‘s not like he‘s an expert, and he did manage to get it inside thanks to the generous supply of strawberry scented lube Falin sent with it, and it‘s not like it‘s the first time they‘ve made him…Chilchuck bites his lip, trying to snap himself out of his spiral. He‘s just doing this for the money, anyways. To do his friends a favor and earn a little bit of extra cash. Lord knows he could use it, with all those tuition fees.
Chilchuck is vaguely aware of all the people in the call, all the people watching him, but it‘s easy to blot them out if their camera is off and their mic is muted. Even Marcille has faded back into silence after her girlfriend’s gentle admonishment; right now, it‘s only Falin on cam, only Falin who‘s really there, and it makes it easier for Chilchuck to let himself embrace this strange thing, for him to shut off his pride and, when Falin gently asks if he‘s ready for something fun, nod shyly.
The buzz is instant, startling, drawing an utterly undignified yelp from Chilchuck that wavers off into something of a whimper. It feels good, though, Fuck, it feels really good.
Falin’s voice through the speakers sounds delighted. "You like it? I knew this would be exciting…you really don’t have much experience with toys like these, do you?"
Chilchuck wants to bark out something indignant, something like obviously not, but his body is still ringing from the aftershocks of what he just felt—what he desperately needs to feel again. So, instead, he bites his bottom lip, shaking his head. He tries not to look at the image of himself reflected on the monitor, that weird, needy creature, all contorted and panting from just a little buzz, and instead focus on Falin’s face, that kindly look in her half-lidded eyes, the smile on those soft, full lips.
Sometimes, when Chilchuck lets his eyes go all blurry and unfocused, she looks just like her brother, and the shame of this is always what sticks with him most afterwards, clings to him like sticky film. Laios is not even here. Or he is, in the same way he always is, no voice and no video and just a name and a profile picture, down there nestled among all the others. Sometimes, Chilchuck thinks they’re all laughing at him, all those muted people. The money is enough to go through with it anyways.
"Do you want me to go again?" Falin asks, and Chilchuck wishes she didn’t, wishes she would just do it, so it’d be something he can tell himself he’s being put through and not something he’s willingly doing to himself. He nods.
"You have to tell me with your words, kitty."
Of course she’ll make him actually say it, of course. But it felt so good, and the money…the promise of money included using the toy, but does this count as using it already? He thought it just meant putting the thing in, and now he can’t recall the precise phrasing, and the thought of moving, untangling himself from his position, seems impossible right now. And it’s not just about the money, as much as Chilchuck wouldn’t be caught dead saying that outright; he wants to feel it again, that spine tingling pleasure, the thrill of it like fingers brushing the back of his neck.
"No," Marcille’s breathless voice cuts in, her camera still disabled. It gives her a strange disembodied aura, like she’s in there hovering in the room with him. "You have to meow. You’re a cat, you have to..." a small pause as she swallows, close enough to the mic for the sound to be audible, "meow for it ."
Almost on instinct, Chilchuck looks helplessly at Falin, or rather the image of her on his screen, carefully avoiding eye contact with his own reflection.
Falin, however, is still Marcille’s girlfriend first. Whatever weird promiscuity for money thing it is they’re doing, it comes after loyalty to her own partner, which Chilchuck begrudgingly has to respect. Rather, he tells himself Falin is just being loyal to Marcille and doesn’t want to hear him meow, too. He likes to cling to the thought that he has at least her to rely on, an anchor in all this insanity. A relative anchor. Somehow everything feels more sensible when said in Falin’s smooth, nonchalant manner.
"I agree with Marcille. You have to meow, kitty. Meow and I’ll press the button that makes you feel good again."
Chilchuck sinks his teeth into his bottom lip once more, tender skin there already bitten raw. How did it get so far? Where did he slip and how did he not find his footing in time to end up like this? But the ache inside him. That hunger; for praise, for someone looking at him that way, for the feeling that lets him, if only for a second, slip out of himself, leave behind this husk of a life where he’s barely getting by.
The problem about losing yourself is, it’s so easy. The problem is, it feels so good.
(All over the city, in their separate apartments, people huddle over their laptops and computers, hovering closer to the screen, waiting for the moment, that one special moment, the switch flicking off. If Chilchuck knew how desperate they were to see him let go, maybe that’d make it easier. Maybe it’d make it infinitely more difficult.)
"M—meow."
It’s a timid noise, a shy, uncertain one. Still, it’s enough. For now, it’s enough.
In her corner of the screen, Falin tilts her head, smile spreading wider. "Good kitty," she says, and then, before his brain has fully caught up, still reeling from the humiliation, Chilchuck is rewarded with another buzz, longer this time, a rumbling that seems to shake his entire body, seems to shake him loose from his self. It feels so good, feels so fucking good that Chilchuck doesn’t even notice he’s moaning until Falin points it out.
"Your moans are so sweet, kitty. You look so pretty squirming like that…does it really feel that good? Is part of the thrill knowing we’re watching you? Watching you enjoy yourself?"
Chilchuck wants to protest, but he can’t, both because he knows it’s true, and because he knows that the moment he opens his mouth to refute it, he’ll betray himself with the noise that comes out. So, he jams a fist in his mouth to muffle all sounds that could escape instead, the act of it sort of awkward with his arm still wrapped around his leg to hold it backwards.
As much as the presence of the vibration is overwhelming, Chilchuck almost cries when it stops, another pathetic whimper spilling out that he’ll remember in utter humiliation later in bed. The money doesn’t matter anymore, not really; it’s been pushed to the background the second he heard that first mumbled word of praise. Right now, Chilchuck just wants to feel good again, for them to make him feel good, and another whine leaves his lips, this one almost petulant, shameful if he wasn’t already far beyond the concept of shame.
"Bad kitty, don’t do that!" Marcille chides, though there’s no real anger in her voice; rather, she sounds delighted. "We want to hear your cute little voice."
A defeated low warble as Chilchuck’s fist slips from his mouth, small marks where he’s bitten down. His vision is a little bit blurry, but he can’t bring himself to linger too much on that fact, or else he’d have to contemplate the why. Or else he’d have to admit what all this is doing to him, that he’s not in control at all and never has been, and worse, that he likes that fact.
"Good," Marcille hums, and that word alone is enough to make Chilchuck tense in anticipation, shiver down his back for what’s to come. "I’ll keep going, but you're not allowed to touch yourself until we say so, okay?"
Slowly, Chilchuck nods. The realization that he hasn’t even attempted to pleasure himself almost makes him cry again. He’d been waiting. Without them even saying anything, he’d been waiting for their permission.
He isn’t even sure anymore which of them has the remote, Falin or Marcille, if maybe they both have one, if this is planned or all spontaneous, who’s watching. It doesn’t really matter. He wishes they were here right now, soft hands threading into his hair to soothe him, gentle voices cooing over him, fingers running down his spine. Chilchuck is so hungry for touch it aches, but his loneliness is chased away by another wave of pleasure, that dull and insistent throbbing he’s already grown to love.
It feels so good. It feels so good to just feel this, brain emptied of all thoughts, nothing but that buzzing deep inside him, gentle voice in his ear spurring him on. Telling him to touch himself, go ahead, show them his cute little cock, and Chilchuck’s mind is so gone that he does, reaches down to brush fingers along the length of his dick, already red and sensitive, eager for touch. Not long now, he knows, he won’t be able to hold on for long, it feels too good, and though he wants this to last, wants to stay forever stuck in this one moment where every part of his body feels dipped in bliss, he can’t keep his hands off himself either, and they’re telling him to go ahead, do it, more, so good , and he isn’t sure if it’s only Falin and Marcille speaking anymore, but his brain is no longer able to process anything beyond this all encompassing pleasure, blotting out reality.
Chilchuck looks up at the screen, at his dumb flushed face and drooling mouth and his hands on himself, the vibrating tail plug disappearing inside his body. There at the bottom corner is Laios‘ profile picture, a stock image of a wolf. Camera off, muted, but he‘s always watching. He’s watching right now.
With a whimper, Chilchuck cums, to the sound of cooing that pours through his headphones, muttered words of praise that all melt together in his mind. Something about good kitty and good girl and so cute and so precious, and Chichuck lets himself sink down into a reality where he is all of that and more, where he’s someone worth fawning over and not a lonely middle aged man alone in his apartment making a fool of himself.
Somewhere across the city, sitting alone in the darkness, Chilchuck knows that Laios must be watching him. He lets himself imagine, in that blissed out, foolish moment, that maybe, if he pressed the tips of his fingers to his monitor, if he pressed them down hard enough, he'd be able to feel Laios' touch through the screen.
The tips of Laios’ fingers leave smudges on the screen, smearing the drops of cum on Chilchuck’s belly into a washed out grey. He still hasn’t quite found his breath yet; every inhale of air rattles through his body, leaving him gulping down more oxygen. It’s always like this. Always so much better than he ever could have imagined. The flush on Chilchuck’s cheeks, the bliss in those dark-brown doe eyes. Small dribbles of drool on his chin that Laios dreams about kissing off. How good they’d taste, he can’t even imagine. How good his cum would taste, so beautiful all over his soft stomach, how much time Laios would spend dutifully licking it off, worshipping that perfect body.
Laios owes Falin for this, for convincing Chilchuck to do this, sending the toys, and he owes Marcille, for the meowing, so perfect, so adorable, but he knows, too, that they’re enjoying this as well, enthusiasm that can’t be faked, and he’s happy for them, really, happy that they see it too, the spark, though Laios knows he’s the only one who truly understands. The only one who could. Just Laios and Chilchuck, and the drone of other voices egging him on to perform, though really, there’s only one person Chilchuck is ever performing for. Laios knows it, and he’s certain that deep down, Chilchuck knows it, too.
Laios leans in, placing his tongue against the screen, right where pearls of white get tangled in a dreamy tuft of coppery hair on his lover’s pelvis, every pixel of it perfect. Maybe he’s imagining it, but he thinks he tastes the slightest trace of something wonderful.