He's had more stress this week than he's felt in a year. SFIT finals were here, and the three-hour tests were too much for even the robotics prodigy to handle. It was about three in the morning on a school night, and Hiro Hamada was screwed. He had been studying for the past four hours, trying to cram every last fact into his brain. At this point, he had accepted his fate and lay on his bed in defeat. He was about to close his eyes when something shifted between his thighs. Oh. Okay. Hiro jr. is saluting the troops. Apparently this was common, according to Baymax, who had dragged Hiro into many, many explicit and awkward conversations about the effects of puberty on a teenage boy. Oh well. He might as well take care of it. Maybe it'll help him get to sleep.
He tugs his fly down and pushes his boxers out of the way, tossing the garments off. The shirt and his jacket stay on, it won't be too long anyways. His erection is greeted by the air, wracking him with shudders. He wraps a hand around himself, giving experimental touches along his length and jolting when he strokes the underside of his head.
"Nngh," he breathes.
He does it again, feeling his insides grow warm. Hiro folds one knee up and to the side, straightening the other to spread himself apart. The small slit on his tip beads with precum. He swipes it off with a delicate finger and swirls it around in his mouth, feeling deliciously filthy when he does it again, adding another digit to his mouth. He sucks his fingers long after the salty flavor is gone, stroking them with a velvety tongue and moaning into them when he twists his wrist just right. Strands of saliva trail from his mouth when he pulls them out, the night air cooling his hand. His bangs are sticking to his forehead and his soft, creamy skin is flushed and dewy with sweat. The hand he's not using grasps uselessly for something to hold, wrinkling the sheets between his fingers. He bites down a moan when his precum spills down his shaft and helps quicken his pace. His bottom lip is caught between his teeth, pinched hard enough to make them bruise and flush a deep, sinful red.
The room is completely silent save for Hiro's heavy breathing and a series of quiet, wet sounds, occasionally interrupted by a choked-back whine of pleasure. His erection is pressing into his stomach, bobbing when he tries to lean into his own touch. He brings his other hand to the entrance below his erection, rubbing and barely, just barely pushing in. He nearly chokes on his saliva, gasping at the sensation. His mouth falls wide open, throat exposed to the ceiling, letting moans spill freely from his mouth. His cries get thinner, higher, faster, and more desperate with every twitch of his fingers, begging himself for more. Just a bit more...
"Ah, ah, auhh, nghh!"
He's almost screaming, putting a palm to his mouth to silence himself. Hiro's back arches like a moon bridge when pearly white threads spill onto his hands and stomach. Large, chestnut eyes stare off a thousand miles away as the fireflies and white edges begin to fade from his vision. He catches up with himself, heart pounding, breathing heavy. He is completely boneless. It takes all of his effort to reach for the nightstand and clean himself off before dropping off to sleep, forgetting that his lights were still on and the fact that he wasn't underneath the sheets on a mid-December night.