Just Like That

His fingers slide beneath the waistband of his boxers, shoving the material down. Guy’s erection arches up against his palm and he strokes himself roughly, trying to assuage his need without thinking too much about it.

Scenes from the porn tape he’s just watched vie for dominance in his head against images of little Mary Marvel’s short skirt, the way Bea’s chest bounces whenever she’s trying to lunge at him to deliver the coup de grace, and the hookers who keep eyeing him whenever he’s downtown late at night pretending that he’s not trying to work up the courage to pay for one.

They flicker back and forth with blinding speed against his tightly closed eyelids and Guy snaps his wrist frantically, trying to get off just this once without falling back on the only thing that seems to do it for him these days.

“Like this? Is this right?”

Her voice fills his ears, and Guy fights against the guilty, grief-tinged swell of desire he feels in response to thinking about the only thing he’s loved that has ever bothered to return the favor. Closing his eyes even tighter doesn’t help– all he can see behind them is Tora kneeling in front of him; curious, embarrassed, and fascinated all at once as she touches him. “Like this? Is this right?”

“It ain’t gonna break, baby.” Tora’s white hair nearly turns pink, she’s blushing so hard.

All the nerves in his body are tingling as he gasps and heaves, stroking faster and harder until the blankets are shifting in response to the violent motion of his fist. Almost…

Tora looks up at him, then back down again. Her face is the reddest he’s ever seen it, but he’s too excited to laugh.

Almost…

Guy pauses to spit in his palm before ‘her’ lips touch his heated flesh; his hips buck uncontrollably as he comes, choking on the sob trying to force its way out of his throat.

Falling back against the mattress, Guy catches his breath before sitting up to wipe the mess off by sliding his hand over the bottom sheet. He rips it from the mattress, flinging the damp bundle across the room angrily.

He swallows hard, trying to pretend that the moisture he feels trickling down his face is just sweat.

“Like this? Is this right?”

“It’s just perfect,” Guy whispers to the ceiling. “Just like that.”