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It was a hot night, too hot, and Shuuhei tossed and turned until the sheets were tangled at the foot of his bed and he was entirely naked on the mattress. The moon was full and silver, and Ninth Division's fukataicho felt strange.
Bad night, he had time to think. Too hot, too weird. He couldn't get comfortable, maybe he didn't want to get comfortable either, and almost without thinking about it, he knelt up on the bed. Was he awake? He must be asleep and there's no harm in getting hard, in getting turned on in your sleep, was there? He passed his calloused palm over his hardening cock just once, and then the flexibility of his own body aroused him. He tilted backwards, hips and stomach arching towards the ceiling until he could feel the tips of his hair brushing the bed behind him. Without looking, he touched himself again, almost shyly, without looking.
In his half-fevered mind, Matsumoto took shape, her warm breasts pressing against him, her mouth opening in a pornographic O, but then if he was so horny for Matsumoto, why was he imagining blunt strong hands gripping his hips? Why was he imagining a cheek roughened with silver stubble leaving the skin of his inner thigh raw?
It was hot, too hot that night and Shuuhei thought that he must be crazy. That was right, the moon brought such things on.
Bent backwards, with just the hint of an ache starting in the small of his back, he heard a rough, deadly-serious voice growl in his ear and it made his cock ache, fully hard, harder than it ever really was for those Rukongai girls, no matter how much they sucked or how they bent over for him.
He imagined the way that his own mouth would stretch over the former Ninth division captain's cock (was it big? Of course it was, and wide, enough to make him cry, enough to make beg) and the way the man's hands would tangle in his hair, using Shuuhei's mouth the way he would his own fist.
Usually so graceful, Shuuhei fumbled for his own cock, stroking it. He was barely able to pay attention to this stimulation, he was so wrapped up in his own fantasy of Kensei touching him, Kensei putting him on his face, Kensei telling him to stop crying forgodssake and be a man and it's Kensei and it's always been Kensei, and gods, why was it so hot?
When he came, he jackknifed back up until he was kneeling forward, his face pressed into the blankets, feeling his come soaking into the mattress underneath him.
It's making me crazy, he thought to himself, and tried, as he always did, to blame the moon.