[500 Themes: 154]
Kotetsu doesn't do this often.
He's got more important things to think about, like when he'll see Kaede again, like keeping promises to his dead wife. He doesn't have time to curl up in bed at night before he's sleeping, when he's exhausted from dealing with his partner, from dealing with his job. He should be sleeping, getting enough hours to repeat the cycle again tomorrow, rather than dragging a lube-slick hand down over his cock.
Still – Kotetsu's a man, no matter how he represses the urge to give into base things like this more often than not. A little guilty pleasure can't hurt, can it? Not when it's a matter of stress relief, not when it's a matter of just enjoying himself for once in the privacy of his own room.
And fuck, does his hand feel good. The callouses on his own palm drag over his flesh, just enough to add friction and make his breath hitch. He's imagining, with how slick and hot his hand is, what it would feel like to have someone down there – plush, pouty lips wrapped around him, a pink tongue flicking over the head of his cock before swallowing him whole. Kotetsu groans out loud at the thought, tightens his fist around himself in one long, hard stroke as he imagines wrapping a hand up in soft hair and shoving their head down, all to feel them swallow, hear them whine and whimper, muffled around him.
His mind wanders, though, as does his hand, and Kotetsu shudders as his fingers stroke lower – a slow, pointed massage along his perineum. He twists onto his side, eyes shutting, breath escaping as a throaty, heated exhale when those same slick fingers thumb over his hole and he's not sure where the thought comes from, but he's imagining how good it would feel to slide them inside, two or three of them until he's stretched and aching and groaning.
The throb of his cock makes him swallow hard and there's no repressing that urge now, no matter how his breath chokes in his throat as he works the first finger inside. Strange, but not unpleasant, definitely not unpleasant when he works a second in, feels himself ache just like he knew he would and there's an impossible urge to roll down onto his own hand, to twist nearly onto his stomach to better grind his cock into the bed as he fucks himself with his own fingers, slick and hot and dripping with lube as he adds the third.
Yeah, Kotetsu supposes he's met an all-time level of depraved by doing this, but he's too far gone to care – and fuck, it feels good. There's a niggling fantasy of strong but pretty, elegant hands grabbing him by the hips, yanking him back onto hard, throbbing flesh, and he jerks back onto his fingers in response, twisting them, pressing them deeper as he groans and bites into his pillow and rubs his fingers into his prostate.
Fuck, he's lost with that. Kotetsu gasps and swallows around a moan, feels his toes curl and his eyes roll back as he grinds down into the mattress, his cock twitching as he comes. His own fingers curl and twist and jab that much deeper, dragging out the sensation of being filled, being fucked that much longer and god, he swears he sees white by the end of it.
He sleeps damn well that night, no matter how he passes out wondering where those particular fantasies came from.