It was supposed to be some kind of punishment.

He got too needy — grabbing and rubbing himself against her right before a mission, like a dog humping on someone's leg to get off. He couldn't help it. That black uniform hugged her curves so well, he always got hard seeing her in it. He kept begging in her ear — even if he would never call it that, he preferred to refer to it as "asking nicely" — for just one touch, to let him feel her just a little bit. He even had the audacity to try the "Just the tip" bullshit. As if.

She must've gotten annoyed with him, because she dragged him to a storage room and told him to just deal with his boner himself. In front of her. He didn't need to be told twice.

He unzipped his pants with one hand while yanking off his mask with the other, pulling out his painfully erect cock with a grunt. He wrapped his fingers around it, pumping it gingerly at first before growing more harsh, more desperate. His head fell against the wall behind him, eyes closed and pretty moans escaping his throat.

"C'mon, touch yourself as well." He uttered between grunts. "I know you're wet from watchin' me." He said it in a way that sounded so sure of himself, a small smirk playing on the corners of his lips as beads of precum dripped down his tip and through his fingers.