Written by me & her & crack. Dedicated to halowrites, the queen of wanking.
by northernveil and silveryscrape
His parents introduced him to a girl once, but he didn't know how to talk to her. So he looked at the floor and answered her questions.
Sometimes he gets these strange feelings. But eventually they go away. He just has to wait. Sometimes he has to wait a really long time.
It helps to take a nice hot shower. Under the water, he doesn't have to think at all. Just feel. And all his body feels hot and tingly - not just parts of it - and then he doesn't feel strange anymore.
Which is nice, but sometimes his mom wants to know if everything's all right. And when she has knocked at the door twice, he turns the shower off and gets out. He can hardly see himself in the steamed-up mirror and the air is warm until he opens the door and goes to his room. His mom is already back in the kitchen, and he shivers in his towel and hurries back to his room. He feels all relaxed and sleepy, but the tingling's always there.
It will probably go away if he goes to bed. Sleeping is good. Yes, and he has such interesting dreams. But sometimes he wakes up kind of... sticky. That's always horribly embarrassing, because when he does, the parts that are a sin to touch are tingling more than usual.
They're so sensitive, even now. And kind of... swollen. It's hard to get dressed, he doesn't always fit right. But he tries, gripping and pushing, until he realizes the swelling's getting worse and the tingling, too, and he knows he has to stop right now. Right now, or he knows bad things will happen. Because that's what the pastor told him, although he doesn't understand what's so bad about it, because it feels so good. And every time he can't help but let it feel good a little longer before he forces himself to stop
He holds himself, not rubbing or moving, because that's what's bad, but holding can't be that bad, can it? It's very swollen. Almost... hard, if he squeezes. But he doesn't. Because that would be moving. Just holding. And thinking. Day-dreaming, really, about how his new cashmere scarf feels against his skin.
He gives up on the pants and grabs the scarf from the chair. It's so soft when he drags it around his throat, pulling on one end and then the other, so the sweet slide won't ever stop. When it drifts over his chest he can't get his breath. His nipples are hard, like they get when he's cold. The brush of the scarf makes them ache. He's not sure if it hurts.
He pulls at the scarf so it deliberately runs over one nipple quickly to test it. Because he wants to know. And the feeling makes him tense all over and throw his head back, and his grip around himself further down get tighter all of a sudden, and he's very warm inside now, very hot.
It doesn't hurt at all. He's feeling dizzy, so he lies on the bed just for a minute to collect himself.
It's on his abdomen, so red when he looks, and he can't help but slide his hand down there again to hold it. He tenses up again and drags in a ragged breath. His legs spread a little with the glow at the base of his spine and he wants to... he wants to push, somehow.
He pulls his legs up, putting his feet flat on the bed. Maybe that will help him to feel more stable. The scarf is still in his other hand and he lets it drag over his face, closing his eyes for a moment to feel it. His nipples are still so tight. He has to let the slide of the scarf continue down. His throat is tight too, and his breathing is really loud, like when he was sick last winter. He looks again at the thing in his hand. Red and hard, and he must be warmer than he thought, because it looks like it's sweating.
He slides his fingers through the liquid, curious, and it jumps in his hand, heat gathering until the pushing feeling tightens his thighs to lift his body from the bed. He squeezes, even though he knows it's wrong.
A strange, rough sound comes from his throat. He really hopes his mom didn't hear. He puts his hand over his mouth, breathing quickly through his nose.
He shouldn't. He shouldn't do this. And still his thighs are tense and they're moving just a little bit, making his grip shift and spreading heat through his groin. He throws his head back against the bed and closes his eyes, blinking against the wetness in his eyes. Oh, it's throbbing, it hurts, and he wants... he doesn't know, but he wishes he could just...
With a sense of falling, he lets out a heavy sigh into his hand, fingers against his lips, and squeezes again. His gasp is like a sob. It jumps again, too, and slides against his palm, and he knows he's lost. It feels too good, it feels like... everything. His hand moves, making it slide against his fingers, against his palm, and it feels so good. His hips push up to meet his hand and then down again, and it's like jolts of electricity that just go on and on, and he can't be quiet and his mom will hear him.
He opens his mouth and sucks on his palm, desperate not to make noise, but there are still whiny loud sounds coming out of his nose. He pinches his nostrils shut with his fingers, and his hips move faster and there's no noise. Only the feeling, just building and building, and his shoulders are pressed against the bed while his hips are nearly weightless. Finally he's pushing like he wants, arching his body on the bed as he rubs and pulls it, and he realizes that the rougher he is with it, the better it feels. But he wants...
Wildly, he grabs a pillow and pulls it down, flips his body over on the bed, onto the pillow, because he wants something to push against. He rubs it against the pillow, propped on his elbows, and it's so amazing, jerking like that, that he's making those sounds again, those loud sounds, and he doesn't even care if his mom hears, because hearing his own sounds is making prickles race up the backs of his thighs, and he thinks...
Something's happening. Something is rising. It's a shiver like waves and waves of gooseflesh on the inside, up through his thighs, spreading inside his chest, rushing like an almost-pain in the back of his head. His lips feel hot and he lets his mouth fall open while he jerks and shoves against the pillow, as hard as he can, and suddenly it's much too much, it's taking him over, and everything is spilling over the brim as the most intense thing he's ever felt takes his body and makes him shout, makes him spasm and curl into the bed, just helpless with the ongoing waves of hotshiverscream that make him twitch again and again.
The waves take a long time to recede and he's left sobbing for breath in their wake, absolutely stunned, blind and deaf, completely wrung out. He's still moving against the pillow, though, and he realizes he can still feel tingling and warmth at his core, deep inside where it must live.
He rubs his cheek against the scarf, forgotten on the sheets, and takes a deeper breath, the exhalation stuttered. He moves his hips one more time and stops. It feels too much, all discharged, nothing left and the pillow feels rough again against hyper-sensitive skin. His eyes open wide and he tenses again. He made a lot of noise. He screamed, he thinks. His mom has to have heard. She'll be coming any moment now, to knock on his door, to ask him what that noise was, Joshua, and suddenly he's terrified. He's frozen as he listens for steps coming up the stairs, but there's only silence. After a while, the faint clatter of dishwashing.
I named it, because there was no one here to stop me. ;)