Fapping Fic: Shion
It's not like he tries it the very next day.
If anything, it takes quite some time after Nezumi leaves on his mysterious journey for Shion to even consider the question of sex. After all, the young man is busy with some pretty important things: reuniting with his mother, mourning his best friend, sifting through the remains of No. 6 and building something anew. The sheer political demands made on him are enough to keep him too busy to think of anything just for himself, at first.
It's a dream that brings it to mind.
There's no sequence to the dream, just a montage of thoughts and images - small and large moments, memories both fuzzy and clear - that seem to all flow over him at once. It's a split second of "You don't know anything yet. About sex, or books, or how to fight properly." followed by a flash of Nezumi pinning him against a wall, except he's forgotten what the argument was about, just remembers the heat and strength of that body holding him in place.
When he wakes, it's to stare at the ceiling, breathing hard and blinking rapidly as if opening and closing his eyes might make the vision disappear. As if perhaps the thought of sex might be pushed out of his mind in the same way a stray eyelash is gotten rid of. But of course that's ridiculous, because it's not his eyes that are betraying him.
The walk outside is easier than it would have been when he was a child. This home doesn't have the same security or monitoring systems, and his mother sleeps deeply the well-deserved rest of a hard-working individual. He turns his eyes toward the sky, squints up as if there's some star he could find that would answer his questions, then holds up his hands, as if grasping an invisible shoulder, an invisible waist.
Dancing with himself in the night isn't an answer for his problems either, but it makes him laugh for a moment, and that pushes the notion aside for a week, anyway.
It's another dream - one invoking that final kiss - that sends him running to the books. It requires a trip outside No. 6 proper, a deal with Inukashi that leaves his friend laughing and rolling around on the floor with the baby, and a very frantic and nervous rushing home in the middle of the day to hide something that feels like contraband even if his mother treats him mostly like an adult at this point.
It's another week before he manages to read it.
Settled on the center of his bed cross-legged and dressed in boxers and a t-shirt, Shion buries his nose in What Every Teenager Should Know About Sex. Of course, he'd been offered some more erotic options, from romance novels to flat out pornography - not what he wanted! -and the classics had just left him tilting his head and trying to sort through weird dated terminology.
Sadly, this particular book turns out to be dated as well, talking about social structures that no longer quite apply and methods for negotiating relationships that he's pretty sure Nezumi would find both hilarious and pitiful. Yet. There's a section just before the end of the book that has him wide-eyed and nearly breathless, descriptions falling somewhere in the middle of the scientific and the personal that cause his heartrate to soar and his imagination to push at boundaries that he didn't know he had.
He closes the book slowly, but the movements that follow are fast, the rapid bunching of a waistband followed by frantic awkward jerks, hand wrapped just a little too tight - and a little too dry - around warm flesh. His eyes fall half-closed, barely seeing his room, and instead wander back to that dream-memory of Nezumi's body pressed against his own, the anger between them shifting in his mind to another heated emotion.
There's no shame at all for his fantasy in Shion's mind as he imagines the push-and-pull of it, the struggle between them that has both boys falling to the floor, rolling around engaging in frantic fumbling. There's no embarrassment at all in the fact that somewhere in the middle of the fantasy, Nezumi becomes Eve, or that Shion's hands even in his fantasy tangle a little in the long skirt in the haste to push it up.
No, he won't be the slightest bit ashamed of himself, as he flops backward onto his bed, hand sticky and slowly dripping, staring at his own release as if he might like to examine it under a microscope someday. He'll just give a dry little laugh - he needs a drink of water now, and wonders if perhaps he's been loud - and whisper softly, "Hurry up and come home, you idiot."