2025-01-30 4:50:38 ¶ ●

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Jon in a Victorian nightgown goes hard though. I need Jon seeing himself in the mirror with Jonah running his hands all over him and he simultaneously can't recognize himself and has never looked more like jonathan sims. I need to make je a Gothic horror but like Horny or I'll die. Ok.

- skiesandcandy

Jon wasn’t usually one to sleep in anything more than a ratty t-shirt, and sweats. Jonah had taken one look at such inelegant clothing before discarding them despite any protests Jon might give. The nightgown Jon now stood dressed in was just on the wrong side of opaque, what should be fully covering instead revealing everything to its audience. Jonah giving him an approving smile, and Jon melts a little, because that’s what he wants, approval to be cared for, cherished.

Jon frozen standing in front of a full length mirror, because of course Jonah’s house has an over abundance of mirrors. Something about reflections and truth and being seen, or maybe Jonah just likes how Jon looks when he catches sight of himself. A bit like a deer staring into oncoming headlights. Jon didn’t tend to look at his reflection much, if he could help it, or at least he hadn’t, it was harder here where it stared back from almost every surface.

Only was it his reflection? Yes it looked like him, or at least he thought it did. At what point had he stopped recognizing his reflection? Or was it the other way around? Was the reflection becoming the truth and he was the lie?

A glimpse of movement in the mirror is his only warning as Jonah’s hands snake around him. While the touch is gentle, almost reverent there’s an ownership as he traces Jon’s curves through the pale white fabric. Jonah’s hands knead at his chest, making Jon’s knees go weak, Jonah’s expression in the mirror is possessive as he stares at Jon like he’s a prize that he has won. And isn’t that the truth, Jon can no more pull away than he can leave the house, the door is sealed and the key gone.

Jonah pulling him close his grip like iron, and Jon knows he will have bruises in the morning. Jon leaning into it anyway because it’s so much easier to give into the monster. Jonah spreading him out on the bed looking at him like a particularly tasty meal and Jon can’t meet his eyes staring past him. His eyes meet his own on the mirrored ceiling, and Jon can see the faint glow in their depths, the hunger for this.

Jonah shifting his nightgown up, bunching the fabric about his waist, to press his tongue into his folds, and Jon can’t help the sounds he makes. He wants to close his eyes, but he can’t, he needs to see himself, to know. The him in the mirror is panting and open, his eyes hazy, and it’s not a look Jon has ever seen on his own face, but something about it seems right. He keens as Jonah’s tongue goes deeper and then he’s twitching and gasping and he comes, Jonah’s soft laughter against his cunt as he doesn’t stop pushing him past his breaking point.

And breaks he does, whimpering, tears dripping down his cheeks, knowing that he has made his choice, he chose a the monster, he chose to Know, to See, willing to be consumed and remade.

His eyes focus on the mirror again, and the reflection there is finally himself.