Chapter Text
While normally it's a risk for me to even consider doing it, I think I have luck on my side today. Even with just me and mum living in a stand-alone suburban house — not even an apartment! — I never feel quite secure enough to go ahead with the act. She's far too cluey to be able to smuggle any magazines behind her back, and I can't risk using our shared computer to look at anything, either, so that usually removes the prospect of getting stimuli for it. But today, mum has a teacher's meeting scheduled after work. I managed to swing by the newsagent's and slip a good magazine under my gakuran sleeve, too. Oddly, I feel a surge of confidence walking through the front door and locking it behind me. Damn, I'm really going through with this.
Anyone would think that someone my age would be doing this kind of thing every day when they get home from school, or when they wake up, or just before bed… but I don't. Am I self-conscious, or do I just dread knowing that mum's bound to walk in on me someday? Probably both. I hate even thinking about it usually — it makes me feel dirty. I wonder if Jotaro thought I was lame that one time I misunderstood his offer to go 'hunting'. He would've never been afraid of this shit when he was my age… although I don't think anyone is but me.
But seriously, it's only natural, Josuke! There's no reason to be scared of getting caught out — you're even lucky enough to have a lock on your bedroom door! How many teenage boys would kill for a lock on their bedroom door ? And you don't even use it to its full potential! This self‐lecture happens every single time I catch a glimpse of the little brassy knob on the end of the door handle. It's kind of pathetic. And so is the fact that I can't exactly recall the last time I felt confident enough to touch myself — it’s been at least a few months.
Despite all this shit, I'm going to do it today. I'm going to put my bedroom door lock to good use while mum's not home. And rather than feeling intimidated by this prospect as I usually would, I feel empowered instead. There is absolutely no way anything could go wrong. But just to make sure, I check the kitchen and living room to see if mum's around for some weird reason. She is, thankfully, not here.
Okay. Alright. Time to do this.
I already feel a little sweaty when I take off my jacket. The magazine is out, and the centrefold takes up my attention momentarily — a gorgeous, petite girl with glowing pearl skin and raven hair over her face. Shit, this was good fucking idea. My heart skips a beat as I hastily unzip my school trousers, and the cooler November air hits my thighs.
If I'm completely honest, I haven't really mastered this art. Since I don't do it often, most of the ways I touch myself are purely experimental. I sit myself down on my bed, and with the magazine in one hand, I graze my fingernails up my inner thigh with the other. I think I overheard one of the third-year schoolboys talking about how they liked when their girlfriend trailed their hands up their legs before they did it. To me, though, it just tickles slightly.
So I cut to the chase — I lay my hand over my crotch and press gently.
Ah. That's… something.
I palm myself through my boxers, trying to rile myself up — the raven-haired girl is staring at me with doe eyes from the glossy page, lying on her side, with her hips bare and her breasts out, but they don't have the effect I thought they would. Maybe she isn't working. Fuck.
The magazine is discarded over on the pillows, and my waistband is pulled down enough to get a few fingers around myself. It's a little sensitive, but I'm still mostly soft. I run a thumb across the top of my dick — more stolen advice from third-year school students — and sigh from the unexpected pang of pleasure it gives me. A couple of slow, loose strokes from head to base and I feel like I mostly know what I'm doing. I glance quickly over at the raven-haired girl, forlorn and sprawled on a pillow, then lean back against my arm and forget about her. Surely I can go without.
After starting off, though, it becomes really boring. It almost seems like I'm fighting to stay hard rather than building up to a climax, and it's frustrating as hell. I try and muster up my own version of the raven-haired girl, a girl just for me, but I can't even manage that. How about some of the cute girls from school? I try to think of a couple, but eventually I'm turned off by them too. It just feels… impersonal. And wrong. Like I should never be thinking of someone in that way unless they let me.
I lie back and roll over the bed onto the pillow beside that inhabited by the raven-haired girl. I quit. Just thinking of the fact that I may not have another opportunity to be home alone until mum next gets a meeting this late is frustrating enough, let alone counting the fact that I'm the one who let this afternoon go to waste. Although, I think, maybe I could get in the mood a bit later, just before mum gets back. She won't be home until dinner time, after all. But still my body feels heavy and I lie still, hair messy, skin losing its blush, with nothing on but a tank top and some semi-discarded boxers.
"Oi, Josuk– oh. Oh!"
The bedroom door flings open, and I bolt upright. The brash voice that called me stares like a deer in headlights, and then suddenly his face is erupting in red. I tug my boxers over myself.
"Okuyasu — what the — why are you — what the fuck?"
"I'm so sorry, Josuke," Okuyasu is almost pleading, and I'm scrambling for my trousers. "I thought… I tried to surprise you…"
"How the hell did you get in?" I panic.
"Tomoko-san told me about her work meeting and the spare key too, yenno — I was right with you last Thursday — and I raced over after cleaning duty to get here and... I should've knocked—"
I shimmy into the crumpled trousers, and nearly trip onto Okuyasu, who is a statue under the doorframe. "I remember that, but I mean… how did you get in this door?"
"What do you mean? I just turned the doorknob and it was open, like normal."
Are you for fucking real? I think. After all this time, I forgot to use the fucking lock?
"Ah, shit."
"I mean, I know I interrupted, so I'll leave if you…"
"Nah," I sigh. "I wasn't getting anywhere to be honest. Just not feeling it."
Okuyasu frowns, like he doesn't understand the concept of 'not feeling it'. "But you had that nice picture… didn't you look at her?"
I glance over my shoulder at the pillow that he points to, and huff at the sight of the raven-haired girl. "Yeah, I did. It just didn't feel right, I guess. So I gave up."
He frowns harder, like he doesn't understand the concept of 'not being immediately horny from looking at an X-rated magazine'.
"If you like her so much, you can have it."
"What — seriously?" His eyes widen, but he also frowns the hardest I've ever seen a human frown. "But surely you could try again tomorrow or something, so—"
"I won't."
His frown, at this point in time, almost splits his face in two.
"Huh?"
"I won't be doing it tomorrow. Or the next day. I don't do this often at all."
I think his frown has broken some world records.
"Wait, so you don't ever just… What do you do when you wake up stiff?"
"Nothing."
"Surely you—"
"Nope."
"But what about—"
"Can we just not talk about it, man?"
Okuyasu scratches his head, his mouth hanging open like he wants to say something but is refraining. I groan. This is not what I had planned. Shuffling back to the bed, I toss him the magazine, which he almost drops at his feet before lifting it to his face for inspection. I watch him as he grins to himself, glances up at me quickly, and then buries his head further in that damn centrefold. "Hot," he grumbles to himself, and then he reaches down and stuffs it in the schoolbag still swinging on his shoulder. "How about a few rounds of F-Mega?" he offers, starting out of my room finally.
I can't even bring myself to smile much, or move, or feel even the least bit excited about having an opportunity to break his three-day win streak. Okuyasu disappears out into the hallway for a moment, and then comes back to peek through the doorway when I don't follow him.
"Josuke?"
I almost want to cry. I can't believe he saw me like that.
"Are you… okay?"
In desperation, confusion, disappointment, anger, frustration and a flurry of other emotions, I sit myself down on the floor and bury my head in my hands.
"D'you wanna talk?"
"Go away, Oku."
"But I don't want to."
My face is burning, so I keep it hidden by turning my head down. He's squatting next to me now, and I throw my hands out to shove him away. "Seriously. This is just embarrassing. I don't know how to get myself off, and you just walked in on me trying, even though…"
I trail off. He doesn't flinch.
"So… you don't know how to masturbate?"
"Don't say it like that!" I cry out, almost winding myself with a jolt.
"Like what?"
"Like… so easily! Like it's nothing! It makes me feel bad that I can't do it very well!"
"But I could help, maybe, I mean, if we talk about it—"
No fucking way, dude! That's what I wish I could say. Get lost, I'll see you tomorrow, but I need some time out. Forget this happened. Goodbye. But every single one of those words get caught in my throat and refuse to budge. In their place, I just whine, like the pathetic sexually frustrated but unintentionally abstinent virgin I am.
And then, Okuyasu starts saying something I couldn't ever, ever see coming.
"I could even, like, help help… you know, I heard some older kids at school say they do it together, like a circle jerk… Josuke?"
My lungs have stopped working. "Uh."
Okuyasu's scarred face drops as if he's only now realising what he said. "Ah, well, forget what I said, just don't worry—"
"Okay." The word is spilling from my mouth as if I just threw it up. But as soon as I say it, I can breathe again. "Um, alright, let's do that."
Okuyasu is stunned.
"I mean, if you want to…" My head is spinning, and I put an arm out to steady me. It lands around his shoulder.
"Yeah, okay. Uh, it's better on the bed."
Surely, it's just something friends do all the time with each other. Like a type of adolescent male bonding, right? I unsteadily fall back against a pillow on my bed, and Okuyasu sits across from me, legs outstretched. He gestures to my nightstand, at a box of tissues, which I put between us. He looks pale, like he's going to pass out, but still he shrugs his jacket off his shoulders and lets it fall off the side of the bed.
"If you don't know what to do… just watch me." He says it softly, and I swallow hard.
I don't know why I'm having to remind myself that this is male bonding, not a gay porno.
He tentatively unzips, and so do I. He reaches around his hips to pull off his trousers, and I follow suit. He looks at me, his cheeks blotched with a reappearing scarlet hue, and raises his brows as if to ask for an 'okay'. I nod.
His boxers come straight off. And without thinking, mine do too — and then I begin my quiet panic.
He's running a hand along his pelvis, through thick strands of wiry hair, and honestly I'm surprised by how much he has as I copy him. His fingertips trail around his thighs, like what I overheard from the third-year, but he brushes over his other parts in between strokes. He isn't looking at me, which is making me feel half more comfortable, but half more dirty, like I'm peeking in on a forbidden act. He is gradually getting hard, but he doesn't really touch himself much to get there, which I'm quietly impressed by — until I realise I, myself, am also getting hard from doing the same thing.
When he does finally touch himself, he grabs it firmly with three fingers and drags the skin right down, completely exposing the tip, and uses the other hand to tease the top like I did before. I can't help but notice his breath hitching, even though it's only slight, as he does this. I hope he doesn't notice that my breathing has lost its tempo already.
He's spreading his legs a little and stroking himself, steadily and surely, while an unoccupied hand is reached between his legs to hold his balls. My thoughts are almost numbed down to only concentrating on Okuyasu and his hands, and I mimic as he massages his scrotum. His face and shoulders are glistening a little in the afternoon light streaming from my bedroom window, and his skin-tight top rides up above his navel, exposing a lean, toned abdomen in the same mocha shade as the rest of his body. His eyes are turned down on himself, his mouth hangs ajar, the veins in his forearms are peaking slightly from underneath his skin.
"Okuyasu… look at me."
It's not really a request when I say it, but a question — a question unfortunately laced with desperate desire. His eyes flick up to meet mine, his pupils blown, and fixes the gaze as he increases his pace. I can't help but bite my lip to prevent the moan that rises from my belly. There should be nothing about his face that is arousing — I see this face every day. It smiles at me, and laughs with me, and sometimes bawls its eyes out, but never have I ever seen it stare me down with such intensity. This is surely just his male bonding face, and it's no surprise that I've never seen it before. It's not like that's the thing which is arousing me. It's because I'm copying him, and he knows how to make himself feel good. There's absolutely nothing homoerotic about this situation at all. There can't be!
But Okuyasu stops abruptly, sits up on his knees, leans over to me and silently tugs my tank top over my head. I'm immediately questioning everything I just convinced myself was true.
He doesn't return to his original spot. Instead, he stays on his knees, leaning back against his heels, hovering around me, watching me. I'm feeling almost violated by the proximity, yet all I can do is bite my lip harder and move my hand faster.
"You're thinking of something, aren't you?" he asks gently, in no way accusatory, and I nod frantically, humming affirmative. "Tell me about it, Josuke."
Oh. Oh no. I can't do that — nope. No way. I bite my lip more, and taste blood. I can hear a rustle of clothes — his shirt being tossed aside with mine — and then the obscene noise of him jerking himself, closer than before, his breaths sharp and ragged. Oh fuck. I clamp my eyes shut, not daring to look.
"Your lip, it's bleeding, bro… hang on, stop for a sec."
I can't. I shake my head and try to murmur something along the lines of 'don't worry, I'm fine'. I'm hoping he understands, but I can't for the life of me open my eyes to check. I just keep moving my hand mechanically, even though my wrist is starting to really kill from the foreign activity. I want to lie down and finish off, but that would mean moving away from Okuyasu, away from his sound and heat and scent… fuck, he's attractive.
Yeah. Okay. In this setting, Okuyasu is hotter than the centre of the sun, a thousand times hotter than the raven-haired girl — and I'm not even looking at him. He cares for me, and I care for him, in a way I once understood to be completely platonic, but I'm uncertain in this current instance. Either way, platonic or not, it fills the void that was there when I was trying to get off to the magazine before — we have an established friendship, a bond in mutual trust, and we both agreed to do this with one another. It's absolutely shameful, but I'm so getting off to his musk, the sound of his heavy breaths, the lingering image of his face, his arms, his stomach…
"Are you thinking of someone?"
I groan in response.
"Is she pretty?"
My breath catches in my throat, and while I'm still moving my hand, my lungs don't exhale.
"... She's not pretty?"
I don't have to open my eyes — I can feel his record-breaking frown on me.
"Shush, Okuy-yasu," is the best I can manage.
He grunts. And then grabs my shoulders and lowers me until my head hits the pillow.
"Oh?"
"You close?" he asks, laying himself down somewhere beside me, sadly not as near now. I accidentally let out a whimper, but I'm sure it's gone unheard, so I indulge myself and let out another. Except Okuyasu must have heard, because he says, "Ah. So you are close."
I'm internally cussing myself out.
"Why don't you… why don't you open your eyes, Josuke."
I do as he says, and force my eyes open to glance at him — and he's lying across from me, blissfully glowing, flushed down his chest, head back and completely shameless as he lets out a shaky moan. I stop what I'm doing completely, overcome with awe as he shivers, pressing his heels into the mattress, fist clamped around himself as his abdomen spasms. And then, he lets go over his hand and on his stomach, not bothering to suppress a groan of relief. His chest heaves, he lies motionless, and I might be mesmerised for a second until I realise he needs the tissues.
I'm handing him the box, and grabbing a bundle to help him myself, too, but then he bats my hand away and quickly wipes himself up. "You're not done," he interjects huskily.
"I'm nearly there—"
"Let me do it."
And before I can object, before I can even think to say 'I can do this on my own', he's wrapping a firm and confident hand around me and — oh shit.
"Oku, it's fine—"
"It's alright, Josuke. I wanna do it."
The way he's doing it now, admittedly, is better than what I did — he has more sureness in his movements, and as if it's second nature, he twists his hand and changes pace at all the right spots. And he's close, so close to me, his face craning up to look at mine, his breath hitting my collarbone, and I can smell his aftershave, his sweat, his shampoo…
I lose control. My pelvis bucks on its own accord. My hands clamp in the bedcover beneath me. My mouth opens, and my voice comes out, and I know it's pathetic but I can't stop. He strokes me through the waves of heat running through my body. My hips tremble, I cry out one last time, and he mumbles praise as he grabs a tissue to clean me up.
I'm almost too delirious to move, but not enough to miss Okuyasu saying, "Jeez, Josuke… you came a lot. How long were you saving this all up?"
"I'd rather not say."
So that's that. We're back to normal now. There's no need for me to think of him the way I just did anymore. He warns me not to pent up my sexual urges, and outwardly questions how on earth I managed so long without jerking off. I timidly thank him — it's unusual for him to be the wise guy, but now's a definite exception — and he waves it off like it's nothing. And then we're lazily redressing to head out and play F-Mega, as if we weren't both just sprawled on my bed, as if we weren't touching ourselves the way we were… as if he didn't touch me the way he did.
As he's beating me in the game for the fourth day in a row, reruns of what happened are playing in my head. Mum arrives home, and all I can see is Okuyasu's slack jaw and slick skin. Okuyasu stays over for dinner, and as he complains to me about math homework, I feel his phantom breath on me and smell his scent all over again. And then when it's dark and he's swinging his schoolbag over his shoulder, turning his back to me, I remember his hands on my shoulders, taking my tank top off, touching me more than a friend's hands probably should.
And once I've laid myself in the bed we were on together, I piece together a rough picture of my scattered emotions, then deem it worthless and reconstruct it again, trying to source the unease in my predicament. One moment I'm certain we're just bros helping bros, and the next I'm doubting every allegorical ounce of that thought. And my mind is on a tangent, like a bullet train, racing through every corner of my mind to find sound answers to an unsound situation. I don't get off often. I don't know how to get off often. I'm afraid of being caught, and today that actually happened — but despite my fears, with help, it worked out this time. When trying to do it myself, thoughts and images of girls didn't help. I've never really thought of the girls in my life — the girls who follow me to school, the girls who serve me in cafes, the girls who stare on the train — in any particularly sexual way. But doing it with Okuyasu, and seeing him, and thinking of him… that got me off better than I've ever experienced.
So maybe I don't like girls all that much. I couldn't really imagine dating one right now. Which means…
Oh. No, surely not. I wouldn't be — I'm definitely not.
There's no fucking way I'm gay.