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You want to feel good for a little while. That’s what you tell yourself when you jerk off while everyone’s at school or work and the only person who might walk in on you is Bro, who wouldn’t fucking care even if you’d be mortified for him to see. He might tease you a bit when you emerged from your room, but it wouldn’t leave the two of you. Manageable embarrassment.
Really, you do it because you’re bored, it only requires one hand, and it’s pretty much the same as it had been when you were thirteen. You can’t remember if you’ve grown any since then but that doesn’t really matter as much as you figured it did at the time. It feels good, whether or not you finish yourself, and sometimes you don’t.
Arousal is kind of a distant thing for you right now (and probably since you stopped being human. Getting legs again hasn’t really changed much in your love life.) You looked it up a week ago and the internet informs you that this is not unusual for someone suffering depression and trauma. Not that you care about usual, of course, but hey. Nice to know you aren’t just a total fucking freak.
You don’t jerk every day, but when the hours are long and the world is quiet and you start to feel yourself drifting from reality like it’s going out of style, it brings you back and takes up your time and it feels tangibly, physically good.
It lets you feel something.
You are a sixteen year old dude and you really shouldn’t need a reason to spank your monkey. The fact that you do, that you have to explain and justify it to yourself, is a problem. One of many, many problems that have seeped into your soul.
You’re not even sure you have a soul, to be perfectly honest. The body, though, that you can’t psych yourself into doubting. So when you’re alone, you use it like the tether it has become.
Except sometimes in the middle of the night, you do it while listening to the sound of Hal’s breathing in the bed across your room, going still any time he makes more noise than that. And you do it watching him when he’s facing you because you are that kind of sicko and sometimes you imagine him waking up to finish you off.
it’s not the first time you’ve thought of sex with your brother. Before, though, it was Bro and you feel justified in the fact that he makes goddamn porn puppets and it is impossible to separate him from the very idea of sex. That doesn’t make you feel any less disgusting for imagining him sucking you off or tying you down to get you off slow, because you know it’s weird and sick and that Bro would be beyond pissed at you if he found out. Bro might joke about sex in general but there has never been a time in your life where you thought he might actually want to fuck you. You wouldn’t really want him to, either, because fantasies aside, that guy is pretty nasty and even you don’t know where all he’s been. Besides, you’re content knowing he would slice a meteor in half for you and that’s plenty.
You wonder if thinking about Hal like this is because you can think of Bro, but you doubt it. As different as Dirk is from Bro, Hal is even more so. They’re on completely different ends of the spectrum. You’re pretty sure you think about sex with Hal because you are a lonely bastard and he’s one of the very few people you see with any regularity (and Jade is off limits.)
Because you’re a masochist, you try to imagine Dirk. You figure Dirk’s the pushy type. He’d take what he wanted and he’d make you like it. It’s hard to keep that thread though. You don’t really know him well yet. You can’t even contemplate what he might say during sex and you’re a talker, but you like listening, too.
You think about Dave the younger for about five seconds and almost lose your dubious stiffy. Dave the elder takes even less time. Probably because they’re like you (or you’re like them) and you hate yourself more than anything.
Bro, though. Bro you think would take care of you. He’d touch you nice and gentle and use the sounds of your moans to guide him. He’d take you in his strong hands and mold you into whatever position he wanted and you’d love every second of it, whether he touched your dick or not. Maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he’d just run his hands over you while you jerked yourself off, petting your skin and digging his fingers into your back to relieve the knots and snarls of tension. Maybe you wouldn’t even bother jerking. Maybe you’d just lay under him and let him touch you until you were full up with it and soothed past consciousness.
You realize that last bit counts as a really weird sexual fantasy, in so much as it doesn’t seem sexual at all but you’re pumping your dick anyway because… Because.
You think Hal might be a little like that. Caring for you. But you feel even more disgusted with yourself because Hal has been human approximately three months and it’s like you’re thinking of fucking a baby. You know he’s not, that cognitively he’s the same age as you, but every time you catch him discovering something stupidly simple, boringly human, like the time he did his first cartwheel, you can barely stand yourself.
At night, when he’s asleep and you can trace the features of his face softened with sleep, study his eyelashes resting on his cheeks and the relaxed curve of his mouth, you can forget that he hasn’t been human for most of his life and you can think about his body under your hand, how you could teach him how things can feel.
You try to think of John, painful as that can be, but your fantasy lover invariably drifts back to Hal’s more familiar form because you have spent so long training yourself not to think about John. You finally give in because what does it matter if you think terrible, awful things like this if no one ever finds out?
So, instead, you let yourself think about the sounds you could wring from Hal’s mouth, what you could show him. The way he might arch into your touch, the way he might touch you.
Orgasm takes you by surprise. You choke back any noise that might reveal you, ride it out in silence, and the flash of body wide contentment is over in seconds. You clean yourself up and collapse back against your bed again and absolutely hate yourself.
You resolve, as always, to forget that you do this and go back to thinking about the history homework Bro assigned you. For a little while, you succeed.