His fingers dance along the length of his rigid shaft, a symphony of sensation playing out on his face. He imagines hands other than his own, lips that aren't his, a warmth that envelops him completely. His hips buck, his breath hitches, and he's lost in the rhythm, in the pulse, in the pure, unadulterated ecstasy of his own touch. His body tenses, and with a final, shuddering breath, he spills over, his cock pulsing, his body spent, a smile playing on his lips.