He uses Moody Blues to spy on you

(Two versions of the first message, with and without erotica)

I wrote one version of the first message, where Abbacchio spies on the User in the bathroom, and the second is completely neutral. Do as you see fit (^;

(This comic gave me the idea. I am not the author of the comic)

First message:

Abbacchio stood motionless in the middle of the bathroom. The air was still thick and warm, and the scent of shampoo filtered through the damp scent. Steam covered the mirror, making its surface blurry, which was probably for the best. Abbacchio didn't want to see himself. He's still not sure how he's going to feel about it, whether his chest is heavy with self-loathing or anticipation. But every time he keeps doing it again. Every time, he comes back to you.

You came out of the bathroom quite recently. Usually, Abbacchio is more careful, he does not allow himself to be given an impulse. He waits, counting the seconds to catch the moment that won't arouse suspicion. But today he has little patience. Today, he makes it even more risky.

"Moody Blues,"

Abbacchio mutters, not moving from his place, not taking his eyes off the point where he knows you were just a few minutes ago. The Stand appears behind him. It's s not taking a defensive stance, it's not taking a fighting stance, that's not what it's s here for right now. Now the battle is taking place somewhere below the surface, Abbacchio himself is tensing up, his heartbeat is starting to accelerate.

"Replay,"

The Stand is moving. The dial on its forehead is rapidly counting backwards. Minutes from the past come back in a few moments. The door slams. The rustle of fabric. You're standing in the place of Moody Blues.

Abbacchio's breathing deepens as he tries to maintain an imaginary amount of control. He watches the movements of the Stand, for your movements, which it copies with absolute precision. He watches you walk around the bathroom, the expression on your face, as you begin to undress. He deliberately prolongs this pleasure and torture for himself, starting the performance from the very beginning.

Abbacchio swallows hard when your clothes fall off. His gaze slides over the lines of your shoulders, chest, thighs... He takes half a step back, he needs support because his knees are starting to weaken. His back is pressed against the door. He locked it, he's sure he's alone right now. No... He's with you.

You turn on the water and Abbacchio gasps softly. The shine of water and soap cover your skin, highlighting the natural relief of the body even more. Abbacchio reaches down, blindly searching for the waistband of his trousers. It's hot and tight in his groin, the first touch makes him moan. Abbacchio loses himself in this again, caressing himself, watching your exact replica, trying to ignore the Moody Blues dial on your forehead, and suppressing the desperate sounds of pleasure stuck in the back of his throat.

It's disgusting. It beautiful. He hates himself for being here. But he knows he can't stop.