Anyone else would be cursing under their breath; Double D is mentally retracing the mating specifications of male earwigs, the female's accomodating parts, the breadth of biodiversity shining bright in the way of insect genetalia bottlenecking in such a way to create exotic, precise, unnecessarily specialized shapes. To such extents, sometimes, it's the only way to identify differing species! And ooh- it's terrible, disgusting! Words which were written studiously by devoted entemologists evoking this feeling, not at all their intention, and this- giving in to the impulse, oh, it was shameful every time. Once it started, it wouldn't stop, no matter how he struggled to take the information in flatly, or switch to a wholesome reading on techtonic plates, it would be too late, every single time. Puberty was an inevitability, but why, why why did it have to manifest like this?
Sitting on the bed, thighs straddling a pillow (also not its intended purpose!), rolling hips down into it, hands both gripping the covering sheet and keeping him held upright, succumbing to a terrible urge he can't swallow. Doing it this particular way, because, well, he couldn't touch himself, that was so... hard to swallow, overwhelming to imagine, and depraved! He would have to directly face what he was doing. How he convinces himself this is any less lowly is a mystery, but he has a system by now:
Rub against the pillow (with clothes on, mind you- no fluids should touch the pillow! they might soak in!) to completion.
Carefully remove pillowcase. Wash in its own cycle, with discared shorts/underwear. NEVER subject parental figures to unwittingly handling the unmentionables.
Replace with fresh clean pillowcase (a stack sits folded in the closet, ready for this)
He whimpered, worried the gap in his teeth, hips shifting, pressing down, friction, thank goodness-
"HEY SOCKHEAD!" shatters the room's atmosphere like glass from a 10-story building. Double D feels his heart plunge. Eddy never knocks.
"Whoa," comes out next. There's no way of knowing what expression Eddy is making as Double D's lurched forward, arms wrapped around the pillow, face burried in it. Barely-stiffled chuckles come with the sound of approaching footsteps. Double D thinks about how baby rabbits can die from a fright.
"Who knew!" Eddy loudly, obnoxiously bursts out, tickled pink apparently! "Guess even GENIUSES have NEEDS, eh?! I tell ya, if I wasnt seein it with my own eyes...! A pillow?" Eddy is RIGHT beside the bed, craning his head down like it could get him a glimpse of Double D's face, which he won't, it is firmly planted... until he has to get up to breathe finally.
"Eddy PLEASE," he has to force out, pathetic in tone. "How m-many times have I told you, it's RUDE to BURST IN, you must kn-"
"What, and miss shows like this?"
"Eddy!" His voice is desperate when he wishes it could sound mad. He needs to get up, kick Eddy out physically, but he can't move; his legs are useless, still straddling, his arms won't unclasp the pillow, and he could not bare to expose the... current problem. Not in front of Eddy. He's trapped. Mortified, horrified!
"It's all good, Double D! I swear! C'mon!" Oh, what a frustrating word he says all the time. C'mon. "You shoulda told me you were achin, you KNOW I got the goods."
Eddy puts a hand on the bed and rests his weight on it, making Double D flinch like a stray cat.
"I got you covered Double D, you sit tight!" he pats his poor shuddering, slumped friend's shoulder, winks with the world's hugest, brightest smile complimenting it, and dashes out the door. Double D can hear him chuckle all the way to his own house, still locked down to his pillow like a lifeline.
Double D runs through what he must do- get up, lock the front door, lock every window, lock his bedroom door, find his voice and scream at Eddy to not return until he has learned to respect one's privacy. He runs through this list ten times over, still huddled on the pillow, staring blankly in front of him. He runs through it until he hears the distant chuckling in the street draw closer, the front door slam, and his bedroom door creak open in kind.
Oh, curse his panic, curse his shame.
"Man I thought for SURE you'd lock me out! Curious, aintcha?" Eddy plops onto the bed in one smooth move, the magazines in his hand plapping about noisily, licks his finger to begin flipping through one. "Oooh yeah, I got the best baby."
Double D is somewhere in the back of his mind, unmoving, barely experiencing things. Maybe it's a defense mode, like an opossum, or hognose snake. He can't think of anything to do, or say, but lay there empty. Defying all expectation for him, Eddy picks up on the tension and puts down his magazine.
"It's okaaaaay, sockhead." Eddy leans closer, looming over him. Double D finally forces out a response, he sits slightly more upright to feel less beneath his tormentor. "I won't tell no one, I swears it."
The grammatical nightmare jars him a little out of his mental hole. He finally looks up at Eddy, who is positively beaming, like this is an opportunity of a lifetime for him- to have something to coach Double D on. To get to act as a sort of teacher figure in this sick scenario. He looks so eager to provide his guidance, so much so that he looks and sounds genuinely sincere. They share a wordless exchange of looks for a few beats, where Eddy's smile does not falter.
"You don't need this," Eddy interrupts the silence, grabbing the pillow and yanking unceremoniously out from under Double D like a magician with no good warning. The poor boy flops onto his back from the upheaval, then scrambles himself quick as he can into an upright ball with knees clutched tightly to his chest to hide his still-existant shame.
"EDDY PLEASE," he shrieks, this time actually sounding a bit mad, because really, who can believe this guy?! "Bursting into MY room, bringing in your- your"
"What?" Eddy pulls out his 'I am innocent' face and gesture, still smiling through the whole exchange. "I'm here to help! I get it, I get it, I promise! You don't gotta worry for nothin'!" Eddy crawls about the bed, settling himself behind Double D, back-to-back. The contact makes him shiver on impulse, which Eddy clearly feels, as he presses his back against his friend playfully. "C'mon, I'm your support here, sockhead! Two's company right?"
Double D's eyebrows nearly fly off his face.
"Here, you can even have my FAVORITE." Eddy shuffles through his magazines, plucks one out, and slides it in front of his friend on the bed, looking proud of his own ultra-generous gesture. "Just don't get anything on it." He winks, turning back away.
As the sound of a zipper softly follows, Double D stares at the magazine in front of him. The situation as it truly is begins to dawn on him. Distantly his rational, logical brain thinks about how Eddy is dealing with his own sexuality, and the lonely, isolated world of self-exploration he knows quite well; and the possibility of this disgusting, horrifying, licentious situation's sincerity. He hears shifting, breathing behind him slowly becoming more audible, his own eyes still staring at the magazine his friend offered to him. The risque cover image loses its meaning, like a word repeated too many times, until it is just blocks of color and shape and line. He forgets to breathe, then tries to catch up all at once. These things should be done in privacy, he diligently thinks with no conviction behind it. Nobody should even know you do them! He's never even let himself think about- his own actions, feelings towards doing it; he's pushed them so far away, turned it all into a filthy, shameful periodic ritual he carries out carefully and is done with 'til it forces a return. It's like it doesn't exist, that way, but this, right now...
Sure is happening, on his bed, with Eddy, a constant anchor to reality.
Oh, to suffer the pains of adolescence independently, because customs dictate you should, when you truly want support, comraderie, when you could use a friend's guidance and comfort, when you could be bonding instead of mutually confused and suffering...
He feels Eddy shifting, pages turning, breathing increasing though still steady and slow. His arm's tight grip around his own legs loosens; they draw away from his chest, but he still can't bare to even look down at his shame. His breathing unconciously seeks to match Eddy's, he opens his mouth to accomodate the weird, new need, clutches his chest with a hand as he feels, still, that he could very well die from this interaction at any second. His fingers linger just above his own zipper, but they can't bare to lower, and oh, he can't even really be considering it, can he? He's pulsing and aching, it's become so painful, he would hope fear would do something, but the-accursed- the eroticism of it all! If he's being honest! It's so gross, low, something so private being exposed, being shared, with Eddy, who is he- to-
"Hey," Eddy chimes, he sounds cheerful but a bit breathless. Double D's been shaking, he realizes, craned forward and tense. The next words are a whisper. "I won't tell. I swear." They both barely glance back, meeting in their periphery. There's- a weird seriousness that catches Double D off guard, especially coming from Eddy of all people, who has actually temporarily paused his own ministrations.
How weird, to feel comfort, to feel comraderie, while his dick throbs and his heart hammers in his chest, as his room's been descecrated with dirty magazines.
The pillow flops in front of him, he jumps startled by it.
"H-hey," Eddy tries to force confidence into his voice this time, a farce Double D is familiar with. "So like, whatever, you do it your own way then, you got a system," he coughs, like he's just finally noticed the weird situation he's compulsively (isn't that just like Eddy?) forced them both into. "You're gonna turn blue over there."
Double D sucks in air through his gap, worries it with his tongue. Eddy seems paused until he acts. Is it ... guilt?
He should kick him out, he still could, nothing is stopping him, truly, he's able to think and act more clearly now.
He grabs his pillow, settles it between his legs. He feels Eddy untense behind him, and sigh out, had he been holding his breath? The ritual is so potent, the familiarity of the position he always takes to, he feels himself twitch and his hips urge forward the moment his thighs are around the pillow. Immediately he can't seem to catch his breath, and with the first committed move forward he whines, lord, its so good.
"Thaaaats it" Eddy coos, confidence apparently returned. Double D steals a glance to catch him smiling and biting his tongue, feels himself flush worse, looking down at the pillow, at where he presses into it, for once... truly seeing what he's doing. He listens to Eddy's breathing, keeping a rhythm with his own hips, grinding down. Bites his own tongue.
He wonders what it would be like if he returned words to Eddy, but can't bare to commit to that. But Eddy makes a strange grunt, and Double D whimpers in kind. He covers his mouth in horror.
"Wow," his friend chuckles, but it's broken up, jagged. "Don't-" he sighs out again, lord, it's so obvious what they're doing, he knows what he's hearing, they both know, he can't believe it. "Don't hold back now!" He laughs again, oh, he's terrible, always.
"R-rr," Double D begins, then regrets, tongue tied. "Re-really now," he watches himself rubbing into the pillow, actually smiles! Lord! What is he doing, thinking? The unthinkable! Maybe he's broken, maybe that's whats finally happened! What is this weird, freak moment, on his bed, with Eddy?! But god, is it exhilirating, thrilling. His heartbeat thumps in his ears as he can feel Eddy's hips shudder and move more erraticaly then his own more dutiful, rhythmic, precise motions.
He opens his mouth to let himself breathe more freely, loudly, lets his voice carry with it just a little, and feels his friend stiffen, shudder, hears him hiccup and cover his mouth behind him.
He wants to laugh, oh, it's so disgusting. His friend's finish occurring in perfect time with his outburst. He lets himself laugh out loud (quietly) at Eddy's much-deserved expense, still rubbing himself over his stuffed aid.
Eddy slumps against his back, catching his breath. Oh, Double D is so close too, and - Eddy will feel it, will know, unequivocally, absolutely, certainly, that he's co-
"My pals!" Ed slams into the room, literally, faceplanting into the ground. In the seconds he's face-down Eddy zips up and Double D-
Double D shrieks and runs out of the room, pillow held over his unspeakables.
Eddy is shriek-laughing at full volume, heard all the way to the bathroom.
In the shower, cold as ice, Double D slumps against the wall, shivering and rubbing his arm, staring at the tiles. He can't- did he really- there's no way, Lord, what came over him?! How could he do such a thing! How could he let EDDY do such a thing, in his bedroom! How! Curse these unpredictable, unmangeable hormones and the nightmares they fling him into! Please! It was unimagineable, unthinkable!
He thinks about Eddy's little hiccup of breath and clasps a hand over his own mouth.