Okay. Maybe hatred is a strong word. But resentment was a true one. He shuffled out of bed to clean off the toy and find clean sheets, but the thought of that orgasm (and the man who'd taught him how to do it) lingered in his mind.
The moment Huck had left for work, Viktor moved down the hall, and into their bedroom, gingerly shutting the door with a soft click.
He moved up the bed, retrieving the bag he'd stashed behind the nightstand.
But the next thing he feels?
A bitter hatred.
Okay, it might be a little dramatic, but suddenly, Huck and the idea of him makes him /irrationally/ angry.
Why was it that he could cum that hard masturbating, but he had to endure an hour of Huck's rutting to feel half as much?
Its nothing like any time he'd ever had sex before. It rolls over him in waves and for once his body actually /relaxes/.
He lays there in bliss for several moments as he gushes onto the sheets. He'd have to wash them tonight.
Bliss is the only thing that he feels for a while.
He starts again, a little faster this time. His peak approaches once again, and he hiccups a little sob as it builds, he squeezes his thighs together.
Then it hits him.
And it's unlike anything he's every felt before.
It's magnificent. It's fulfilling. It's mind blowing.