Lost Composure (NSFW) (Patreon)

Throughout  the whole thanksgiving party Patrick couldn't stop thinking about going home. Nervously glancing at the phone every few minutes he waited for him to text. Wine wasn't helping his case. It seemed to stretch the time into even thinner and longer strand. Warm, candle lit atmosphere of the family gathering never was so awfully caging to him. He wasn't recognizing himself, that was the first time it ever happened to him. 

"I'm out. Heading your flat." - The text said, making his hazy from alkohol mind sway deeper into imagination. This clenching feeling in his stomach, gravity pressing against his groin, grew stronger and into inevitable torture with every passing minute.
It's not like he wasn't used to not acting upon his cravings, in fact that was exactly what he was great at. This thirst, this burning, blinding desire only felt better with every inaudible "no" he said to himself. 

"I'll be there in an hour." He typed slowly, correcting the sentence at least three times thanks to the floaty vision and strong heartbeat that made his fingers throb. He could have been home in twenty minutes but putting it away a bit longer was giving him a faint illusion of maintaining self-control. 

"Don't make me wait longer than that." - short response forced him to cover the growing tent on the dark green pants. 

He left the party earlier than he planned to and caught an uber. Standing there in the cold of the first frosty nights he started to feel how seriously drunk he got. Beer and fine wine from his aunt cellar surely were easy to slide down the throat but had a strong punch afterwards. It was merely impossible to stop the flood of insistent fantasies. They breached his defences few hours ago, at this point it was more about the damage control, but his mind didn't want to cooperate.

"On my way." - typing those few letters took him half of the uber drive. The other half he struggled to keep this stupid smile away from leaving permanent  wrinkles on his face. He bit his lip as he left the car and looked up to dimly lit window of his apartment. Warm breath clouding in the cold night air, freezing on his mustache. 

His steps slow, as if he wanted to pretend he really had control over himself. But he didn't. His heart pounding hard against his chest, mind fixating on the need to see him, to listen to his voice, to make this voice break in the groan of pleasure.

He grabbed the door handle, pushed, and in surprise found it locked. He swallowed hard, fumbling with his keys, struggling to get it in. But when it finally clicked, turned and opened... He was there already. Waiting.

- A little story to the first four  sketches 😘