"Seems like sellers of these things simply have another model for generating revenue," William says, and Shaun can imagine his fingers tracing over his face, light and cold against his flushed forehead and cheeks. There's laughter in William's eyes, bright and cheerful, as if he knows precisely what Shaun was thinking behind the screen.

Shaun closes his eyes and tries to calm his breathing, but he can’t miss what the other man is doing in front of the webcam. He opens his eyes, seeing William in a simple shirt, hair damp from a shower and a towel slung low around his hips. His smiles are pixilated and the details of how his eyes crinkle at the corners are lost in the wireless connection.

“To this end, I’ll look for other, less expensive, marketing tools,” he continues, voice low and rough, mingled in with the white noise of a bad mic. It’s the static that gets to Shaun the most; it’s distant, untouchable. There’s not a thing William can to do him from all the way out here, and that makes it all the more enticing.

Shaun parts the top buttons of his shirt and watches as William’s head tilts to the side, observing without shame.

“Thanks for this hard research,” he says, directing his gaze downwards with a grin, and doesn’t even wait for Shaun to get rid of his shirt before disconnecting.

The video goes blank, and Shaun slumps back in his chair.

“Fuck,” he says, and goes back to work.