(no subject)
[ the worst thing about not being on the island anymore, Gino thinks, are the nights alone. even with the collar he wore for so long gone completely (which forced him in turn to wear a permanent bandage around his neck to hide that massive, unhealing scar on his throat), there are times that just laying in bed by himself makes him feel short of breath and needy, like dying. like being positively driven to seek out release in any way possible. add to that his overwhelming feeling of being insatiable to begin with, and a very oppressive loneliness felt only when forced to sleep alone (something he's always, always hated, even before Atia), and it's really no surprise what Gino's decided course of action is.
but the trouble with Gino and pleasuring himself is that he's always found it so unfun. everything is drab when you're alone. and he's always been a little guilty about touching himself to begin with, it's a wonder that he's even managed to get himself hard, sprawled out under the covers, nude, half-lidded eyes watching the slow motion of his hand beneath the blankets. his thoughts divert to other things while he strokes, hoping to rile his imagination up enough to get through this. it does help, picturing a much nicer scene in his mind that steadily becomes clearer and clearer until all the details have been smoothed out to form one clear image. how much nicer it would be, if this were like that...
almost, but not entirely, unconsciously, he wishes for it, a quiet, breathy whisper into the still silence of his mostly-dark room, fingers tightening on his length and then slowly drawing away altogether so that he can move over to make room for what he hopes will happen as a result: ]
I wish Suzaku were here, in bed with me.
but the trouble with Gino and pleasuring himself is that he's always found it so unfun. everything is drab when you're alone. and he's always been a little guilty about touching himself to begin with, it's a wonder that he's even managed to get himself hard, sprawled out under the covers, nude, half-lidded eyes watching the slow motion of his hand beneath the blankets. his thoughts divert to other things while he strokes, hoping to rile his imagination up enough to get through this. it does help, picturing a much nicer scene in his mind that steadily becomes clearer and clearer until all the details have been smoothed out to form one clear image. how much nicer it would be, if this were like that...
almost, but not entirely, unconsciously, he wishes for it, a quiet, breathy whisper into the still silence of his mostly-dark room, fingers tightening on his length and then slowly drawing away altogether so that he can move over to make room for what he hopes will happen as a result: ]
I wish Suzaku were here, in bed with me.