Mobile has warned you against doing this.  Actually, he’d said something more along the lines of <i>”Don’t bother me while I’m at work, unless it’s an emergency.”</i>  He hadn’t even mentioned something like this, probably hadn’t even thought of something like this.  In fact, you knew for a fact the very idea was probably completely hidden from his radar, or else you would have found yourself coffeeless that morning with Mobile glaring at you disapprovingly from beneath his glasses, shaking his head at what he knew of what was to come.
So, it’s probably safe, you guess
Scott’s gone now, and Wallace is alone, bracing yourself over Mobile with his silk robe open, chest slightly sweaty with inebriation.  His lover lies prone on the couch.  He’s barely breathing, cheeks pale, but he’s obviously healthy.  His forehead is hot, Wallace notes.  He can practically feel the energy radiating off of him in waves.  As you press your colder palm against the dome of his head, running your hands through tousled gray hair, Mobile winces through his projection and squirms slightly, brushing at your hands.  His movements aren’t groggy as if he was asleep, but are quick and calculated.  Projecting people sure act weird.
You smiles absently and ghost your hand down Mobile’s stomach, resting it at his crotch.  The psychic male responds by closing his legs as if trying to hide an awkward boner in public.  You know for a fact that he works at a desk, though.  Unless he’s taking a break, no one’s going to see the results of your little experiment.
You open Mobile’s peacoat and undo his dress shirt with deft fingers, running your hands over his chest and tweaking a nipple.  Mobile’s brow furrows and he lets out a displeased grunt, hands on his shoulders as if covering his chest before he swipes them over his pectorals as if trying to catch an invisible aggressor.  You chuckle to yourself, moving your hands out of the way as Mobile’s hands sweep over his abdomen before instantly replacing them, pinching his nipples harder now.  With one hand you undo Mobile’s pants and slide your hand beneath the waistband, relishing the way Mobile’s abdomen jumps against your hand as he gasps and tries to tug fruitlessly at the offending appendages.  His hands go limp, though, when you start to pump his member against the cloth of his briefs, leaning down to kiss him through the cloth.  A drop of precum makes the cloth slightly damp, and you move it out of the way so you can take Mobile’s member into your mouth, watching for his reactions.  You look up and have to keep from smiling when Mobile’s brow furrows and he bites his lip before whispering, -Wallace Wells, you are in so much trouble when I get home from work…-  He knows by this point, of course.
You release Mobile’s member with a wet-sounding pop and quickly hoist him up, slipping underneath him on the couch and prompting him into a sitting-up position against you while you sit against the back of the couch, front to front, which, while cramped, is worth it.  Slipping his pants and underwear down further, you position your cock between his cheeks, hotdogging him a little and feeling your own breath increase from the stimulation.  You smile as he lolls into consciousness, right on cue, face flushing and obviously preparing to give you a good talking to before you slip inside and fuck anything he was planning to say right out of him with the first thrust.  He grits his teeth, eyes narrowed disapprovingly, though the stern visage cracks a little more as you continue.  Of course, you weren’t about to fuck him while he was unconscious.  There’s no fun in slack muscles, after all.  “Wallace…Wells…you-are-absolutely—insatiable.” He manages to gasp.  “I-am-on-my-break, and-ah, -fuck-…!  Y-you’d just…b-better hurry up.” He orders.  You love the way he looks with his clothes askew and hair matted.  You’ve never screwed him fully clothed before, but with the way he looks, you wouldn’t mind trying something like this again.
“Consider it on-site sex relief.  You didn’t have to wake up, cutie.” You coo back to him, running your hands from his hips along his chest and back down again.  He purses his lips and opens his mouth again.  “I was never-“ He starts, but you lean forward and swallow the word –sleeping- before he can snap it at you.  Your favorite part about him has always been how much he loses his composure during these little trysts.  What could be cuter?  Not a lot, you guess.
As much as you’re enjoying yourself, all good things must come to an end sometime.  You thrust against his prostate one more time, hearing him let out a muffled groan as his cum splatters the fraying tailend of his waistband, his aching member never having been fully released from its prison of clothes.  He wrinkles his nose but realizes it's a losing battle, lying back on the couch and wincing slightly as you pull out.
“A-alright, back to work.” He mutters, and by the time your next kiss is over he’s back in his projecting state, though you can swear that there’s a slight smile on his face.