[narrative] everybody hates me for the night before; the man you saw wasn't me
The thing he hates the most about all of this is how it's impossible to jack off.
It's like the whole... biting theme has invaded every last aspect of his sexuality and taken over where it had never had any business being there before. A little biting has always been fine with him, but he's never been with anyone who so much as tried to break the skin. Now, it's pervasive, perverse; it's everything. He wants to be bitten again. It's completely galling.
He's been over this a thousand times already, though-- he's too proud to ask for it, from anyone. Definitely not Harvestman, no vampire he's met in the Nexus, no vampire from his world (how would he even find one?), not even someone pretending to be a vampire. No one. He'll never ask, no matter how bad it gets. That leaves one outlet, but it's impossibly unsatisfactory. He can dig his fingers into his neck right over where the mark should be all he wants, but it's not the same.
And it's not just the biting, if he's being honest with himself.
Harvestman rolling over onto him and pinning his wrists had felt like a light switch. He'd been off, so off he'd thought sex with Harvestman would be beyond weird, and then just like that, he was on. It wasn't the dynamic-- god knows he's old enough that it takes more than being unexpectedly topped, which he doesn't really enjoy, as a rule-- it was the danger, the very real possibility of dying in his own fucking bed because he was stupid enough to bring home a lost vampire who had pretty much cried on him. He hadn't even felt relief when Harvestman let him go, just... loss.
Remembering it is almost enough. Flushed with frustration, nothing from his past helps, and nothing he imagines is good enough. His stomach is tight against the brush of his arm and he can do all the things he knows he likes, but he's alone and safe and it just doesn't work. It's not enough.
This will pass, he promises himself, shivering in the shower like he hasn't since he was sixteen. It's bad but it could be worse. Wait it out.
He's got nothing but time.
It's like the whole... biting theme has invaded every last aspect of his sexuality and taken over where it had never had any business being there before. A little biting has always been fine with him, but he's never been with anyone who so much as tried to break the skin. Now, it's pervasive, perverse; it's everything. He wants to be bitten again. It's completely galling.
He's been over this a thousand times already, though-- he's too proud to ask for it, from anyone. Definitely not Harvestman, no vampire he's met in the Nexus, no vampire from his world (how would he even find one?), not even someone pretending to be a vampire. No one. He'll never ask, no matter how bad it gets. That leaves one outlet, but it's impossibly unsatisfactory. He can dig his fingers into his neck right over where the mark should be all he wants, but it's not the same.
And it's not just the biting, if he's being honest with himself.
Harvestman rolling over onto him and pinning his wrists had felt like a light switch. He'd been off, so off he'd thought sex with Harvestman would be beyond weird, and then just like that, he was on. It wasn't the dynamic-- god knows he's old enough that it takes more than being unexpectedly topped, which he doesn't really enjoy, as a rule-- it was the danger, the very real possibility of dying in his own fucking bed because he was stupid enough to bring home a lost vampire who had pretty much cried on him. He hadn't even felt relief when Harvestman let him go, just... loss.
Remembering it is almost enough. Flushed with frustration, nothing from his past helps, and nothing he imagines is good enough. His stomach is tight against the brush of his arm and he can do all the things he knows he likes, but he's alone and safe and it just doesn't work. It's not enough.
This will pass, he promises himself, shivering in the shower like he hasn't since he was sixteen. It's bad but it could be worse. Wait it out.
He's got nothing but time.