Through the week, it gets worse. Midousuji had felt that surely he'd experience some alleviation. There wasn't any real closure to that visit, because there hadn't been any real honesty. But what the fuck was Midousuji supposed to say? That he wanted to be friends!? Like some normal person.
More disturbingly, his own intentions and desires have gradually distorted—or maybe, come into clarity. A week later, at the memory of Ishigaki's petal-pink face and instances where he was near enough for Midousuji to feel his warmth and smell his cologne, Midousuji feels his body awash with hot tingles that makes him grit his teeth and scrape his nails down his face. When it happens the night after that, Midousuji has a screaming fit about it, kicking around and flailing in his bed, the duvet of his futon discarded haphazardly so it's crumpled, half across the floor. His breathing is rapid, expression cross and teeth grit.
"I refuse," Midousuji growls at nothing in particular, then whaps both of his hands against his face, rolling side to side as he shrieks again. He settles on his side, quieting, and finally lifts his head, eyes rolling up with an extremely annoyed, resigned frown, both of his eyelids yanked down.
His dick's hard.
"Is this what this is? Really?" Midousuji lowers his head with an offended, disgusting scowl. Midousuji yanks the elastic of his boxer briefs, peering into the shape of himself mostly hidden in the darkness of his drawers. "Absolutely not," Midousuji shouts, then snaps the elastic, rolling his head up as he grabs fistfuls of his hair. "Gross... Why..."
The fucked thing is, this isn't the first time it's happened, since meeting up. Midousuji feels like he just keeps setting traps for himself, then falls ass backwards into them.
Midousuji's face burns as memories cast their curse through their gentle floating through his head, and he growls out a long, graceless sound from the back of his throat. He screws his eyes deeply shut, tucking his face against his shoulder, almost hiding—and gathers a bite of the fabric of his tee in his teeth as he stiffly shoves a hand down his boxer briefs. He huffs heavily through his nostrils, revolted with himself, and his back rolls with an arch that ends with his hips pushing forward against the slow, hesitant, but deliberate grip of his hand.
"Ishhhhigakiiii-kunnn," Midousuji hisses resentfully, eyes opening to slivers. This couldn't be normal. You decide one person is worth your respect and you have to fight yourself to keep your hand out of your pants about it? Did he even like other men that way? But all the same, the sensation of his graceless, halting strokes deliver warm, quelling ripples through him. Much to his chagrin. It feels so much better than empty-headed jerking... Why?? WHY?
Then Midousuji's phone buzzes with a text, and he screams, jumping with a hard jolt, his hand flying out of his underwear as he rolls out of his futon, on the side opposite of his poor mistreated duvet.
Midousuji perches on his feet and hands, all limbs akimbo, and he scrambles towards his phone, leaning over it with a grotesque and severe extension of his neck that makes its cords bulge. He tilts his head, peering over the screen, then leaps away from his phone again. Knees up, Midousuji yells (a bit less decibel intensity than his prior shrieking), scrubbing his hands over his face vigorously.
"Gross!! Gross, damn it, nasty, disgusting!!"
That's what he got, though. Figures the second he caved to letting himself touch his dick about whatever demented shit is going on with him about Ishigaki, the universe would deliver him a deserved punishment like that.
Midousuji manages to flop back onto his futon, ignoring his petulant boner, looking unamused as he drags his phone in front of his face.
Gross. Why would I wanna hang around those guys
Not that Midousuji even wants to spend time with either of them, but Midousuji's 99% certain Ishigaki would be the only one having any fun in that scenario. He has no interest in bonding with Ishigaki's friends. Midousuji is a stubbornly acquired taste, if he isn't your fetish.
Midousuji scowls, eyes drifting away a bit. Ishigaki would be hanging out with those guys, though... Midousuji thinks to offer to hang out with Ishigaki afterwards, but wonders if that's his dick talking, even if there's no ulterior motive behind the idea itself. Of course he'd be unable to think of anything else besides being alone with Ishigaki.
He raises his eyebrows and drops his head when Ishigaki follows up with the offer of eel, and Midousuji's tongue descends as his brows furrow crossly. Like he's so cheap!! It's just eel!
...But that's a convenient bribe to feign as effective.
Midousuji's lips purse, eyes rolling up and away as he hums, raising and crossing his ankles.
no subject
More disturbingly, his own intentions and desires have gradually distorted—or maybe, come into clarity. A week later, at the memory of Ishigaki's petal-pink face and instances where he was near enough for Midousuji to feel his warmth and smell his cologne, Midousuji feels his body awash with hot tingles that makes him grit his teeth and scrape his nails down his face. When it happens the night after that, Midousuji has a screaming fit about it, kicking around and flailing in his bed, the duvet of his futon discarded haphazardly so it's crumpled, half across the floor. His breathing is rapid, expression cross and teeth grit.
"I refuse," Midousuji growls at nothing in particular, then whaps both of his hands against his face, rolling side to side as he shrieks again. He settles on his side, quieting, and finally lifts his head, eyes rolling up with an extremely annoyed, resigned frown, both of his eyelids yanked down.
His dick's hard.
"Is this what this is? Really?" Midousuji lowers his head with an offended, disgusting scowl. Midousuji yanks the elastic of his boxer briefs, peering into the shape of himself mostly hidden in the darkness of his drawers. "Absolutely not," Midousuji shouts, then snaps the elastic, rolling his head up as he grabs fistfuls of his hair. "Gross... Why..."
The fucked thing is, this isn't the first time it's happened, since meeting up. Midousuji feels like he just keeps setting traps for himself, then falls ass backwards into them.
Midousuji's face burns as memories cast their curse through their gentle floating through his head, and he growls out a long, graceless sound from the back of his throat. He screws his eyes deeply shut, tucking his face against his shoulder, almost hiding—and gathers a bite of the fabric of his tee in his teeth as he stiffly shoves a hand down his boxer briefs. He huffs heavily through his nostrils, revolted with himself, and his back rolls with an arch that ends with his hips pushing forward against the slow, hesitant, but deliberate grip of his hand.
"Ishhhhigakiiii-kunnn," Midousuji hisses resentfully, eyes opening to slivers. This couldn't be normal. You decide one person is worth your respect and you have to fight yourself to keep your hand out of your pants about it? Did he even like other men that way? But all the same, the sensation of his graceless, halting strokes deliver warm, quelling ripples through him. Much to his chagrin. It feels so much better than empty-headed jerking... Why?? WHY?
Then Midousuji's phone buzzes with a text, and he screams, jumping with a hard jolt, his hand flying out of his underwear as he rolls out of his futon, on the side opposite of his poor mistreated duvet.
Midousuji perches on his feet and hands, all limbs akimbo, and he scrambles towards his phone, leaning over it with a grotesque and severe extension of his neck that makes its cords bulge. He tilts his head, peering over the screen, then leaps away from his phone again. Knees up, Midousuji yells (a bit less decibel intensity than his prior shrieking), scrubbing his hands over his face vigorously.
"Gross!! Gross, damn it, nasty, disgusting!!"
That's what he got, though. Figures the second he caved to letting himself touch his dick about whatever demented shit is going on with him about Ishigaki, the universe would deliver him a deserved punishment like that.
Midousuji manages to flop back onto his futon, ignoring his petulant boner, looking unamused as he drags his phone in front of his face.
Gross. Why would I wanna hang around those guys
Not that Midousuji even wants to spend time with either of them, but Midousuji's 99% certain Ishigaki would be the only one having any fun in that scenario. He has no interest in bonding with Ishigaki's friends. Midousuji is a stubbornly acquired taste, if he isn't your fetish.
Midousuji scowls, eyes drifting away a bit. Ishigaki would be hanging out with those guys, though... Midousuji thinks to offer to hang out with Ishigaki afterwards, but wonders if that's his dick talking, even if there's no ulterior motive behind the idea itself. Of course he'd be unable to think of anything else besides being alone with Ishigaki.
He raises his eyebrows and drops his head when Ishigaki follows up with the offer of eel, and Midousuji's tongue descends as his brows furrow crossly. Like he's so cheap!! It's just eel!
...But that's a convenient bribe to feign as effective.
Midousuji's lips purse, eyes rolling up and away as he hums, raising and crossing his ankles.
well
ok.
but I'm showing up late