Aha wow. First thing ever on here. I wanted to upload this the day I got the account actually...Actually this is the reason I got the account, lol. I wrote this after my first Rocky Horror Picture Show party. ...And me being Gilbert with my friends...Dont ask where I got the inspiration /...
Hey what's wrong with selfcest? / /
Oh yeah btw this is selfcest. If you dont like hawt sexyness go away.
And I dont want your criticism. Keep it in your pants children. (unless you're just telling me how much of a 5 meters it gave you)
Enjoy :3
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So much dancing…
Gilbert burst out of the hot room.
Francis just had to force him into dressing up as Frankenfuter for this Halloween. The thigh highs had so many holes in them from people digging their fingers into the small holes, ripping the net. He was so hot. The costume was so tight on him. He just wanted to be home, away from everyone. With himself.
Gilbert's eyes were glazed on the way home. Had he drank? He couldn't remember. Just the memories of how his body had felt, so close and exposed to tons of other hot, aroused bodies… The car became stuffy and hot, he rolled down the window.
He didn't even bother to look over at Ludwig and Feliciano entwined, barely clothed, watching a cheesy horror movie. He went to his room. Shut his door and exhaled.
He sunk to the floor in front of his door, leaning into it wearily.
His hand started at his chest, tracing the exposed skin all the way down to his manhood. He rubbed lightly at his underwear. Eyes half-lidded, he looked across the room to see the gaudy mirror that was propped up against the wall.
"Better do this right.." He said, cracking a small smile.
He got up from the floor and walked to his record player. He put on some Chopin, closing his eyes and humming to the tunes.
He then walked over to the mirror, his heels clacking on the hardwood floor.
Gilbert always says this, but he really does look good.
He traced his side with one hand, feeling up the back of his thigh with the other. He watched himself fight against the powers of arousal. His eyelids flickered as his fingers massaged his ass, his lips parting slightly as he swallowed hard. His other had ran through his hair, tugging it slightly.
The way Ivan used to.
His hand slipped to the front. He watched his expressions, the way his body weakened at the touch. Even if it was him, it was so hot.
He licked his dark red lips, unlacing his vest, feeling his hard muscles, tracing over his bumpy ribs, all the way up to his chest, pinching his hard nipples.
He moaned at the feeling, continuing to massage them. He didn't know who to think about. Or what to think about while doing this.
There wasn't anyone else.
He knew exactly how he wanted to be touched.
There was simply no one who could do it better.
He bit his lip hard, shrugging the vest off. His hands over and over, traced his stomach to his chest, his body shaking in response. His hips thrust forward every his hands came near the goal.
He let one hand slip inside, gripping his member tightly and he pumped. Not too slow, not too fast. His free hand felt up and down his thighs, in between his legs, his ass. There was no use in keeping his eyes open now. He just lost himself in the music, Chopin Nocturne Op.9 No.2 filling his head.
It made him think of Austria.
But mostly just good times.
Peaceful times.
He had always loved this song. Roderich always played it around Gilbert. The albino liked to think that Roderich had dedicated the song to him. Or it at least reminded him of Gilbert.
In the end, there was just Gilbert with himself.
He was completely content.
His hands were everywhere. One stayed stationary, pumping his now exposed member with slowly increasing speed. His other hand rushed to which body part needed attention the most. The hand traced down the large scar on his spine, making him lean into the wall beside him for support.
His hands moved to his thighs again, scratching at the thigh highs.
He moaned now more than ever.
He choked on his breath, the pleasure too much. The music quickened its pace, so did his hand.
He fell into his black and white comforter. He forced himself onto his knees, his burning face in the blankets.
The song started again.
He moaned breathlessly with each pump, tears in his eyes.
There was so much want. His body felt like it was never going to get release.
He pumped harder, faster.
He just wanted release. He just wanted to feel the pleasure that he used to.
But this pleasure was almost greater than any pleasure.
He was the only one that could make him feel this way.
He cried into the covers, his wrist getting tired as it continued to pump.
Gilbert's body shook, thrusting into his hand wildly.
"Come on! Fucking come on!" He cried.
Finally, he came onto the blankets, his body shaking at the feeling.
He stayed in that position for a moment, just breathing.
Then he fell into the bed, falling asleep, just like that.
He didn't give one fuck about how he looked, or about anything right now.
He felt awesome.
He felt satisfied.