Nobuharu sat cross-legged on the floor, head in his hands unsure of how to deal with his current problem. It was nearly one in the morning, so there was no question his niece and sister were asleep.
He could easily take care of this.
The solution was very simple, after all.
Yet, every time he tried to, he found himself freezing up.
The middle-aged odd jobs associate sighed once more, staring desperately that the tent that made a home in his boxer shorts. It wiggled a bit, just to mock him. Nobuharu almost groaned in frustration. Sure, he had gotten plenty of erections before, but they typically went away soon enough without him having to do anything about them. On rare occasions, he would find himself with soiled underwear the next morning. Embarrassing, but nothing that couldn't be fixed by an emergency load of laundry.
It'd be a stretch to say that Nobuharu had never masturbated before, but accurate enough to think that the number of times he pleasured himself could be counted on fingers and toes (maybe not even that high). He didn't have any moral opposition to it, more than it often ended up being more trouble than it was worth. Honestly, the blue Kyoruger wished he could take pleasure in masturbation as easily as he assumed someone most people did. It was a great stress reliever, he'd heard. Something to cure boredom for a few minutes. But for Nossan, it wasn't "fun" so much as it was another odd job he sometimes took on. He had even experimented with different masturbatory aids and techniques, but to no avail.
If his junk didn't throb so much, he'd roll over and go to sleep. Unfortunately, the man liked to sleep on his stomach and thanks to his little friend popping up, that didn't seem to be happening any time soon. Nobuharu shifted his position, kicking his legs out forward and throwing himself onto his back in a sign of resignation. He wondered, briefly, how often his teammates had dealt with stuff like this. He reasoned that Souji was at that age where he was bound to be playing with himself at least few times a week. For Ian, it may have been less often. A playboy like him probably had a woman to take share his troubles with. Utchy… well he couldn't really be too sure of anything the samurai did in his free time. This was the same man amazed by the concept of tanabata, so the idea of masturbating late at night probably wasn't something he occupied himself with often. Amy, Nobuharu guiltily found himself admitting, was most likely the member of the group who diddled themselves most often. Her butler would probably have a massive heart attack even considering the idea of his charge pleasuring herself. Feeling as if these thoughts weren't getting him anywhere at all, Nossan peaked over his chest, hoping his erection had vanished. He only groaned when he saw his member looking back at him, still at full attention.
He smacked himself on the forehead, admitting to himself that this was awfully silly. Here we was, 30-something years old and afraid of his own natural anatomy. King would absolutely know what to do at a time like this. King was brave. King could do anything about anything. He was, god, King was amazing.
Twitch!
A sigh slipped past Nobuharu's lips while a strange tingle simultaneously sent itself up Nobuharu's covered shaft. He slapped a hand to his mouth fast as lightning. What the hell was that?! He'd never felt anything quite like that before. Although… it wasn't necessarily bad. Had his thoughts drifted to a forbidden territory? Because of King? He was attractive enough in Nobuharu's opinion. He'd seen his leader shirtless often enough to know his muscles were definitely something to envy. There was even the rare opportunity where he got to feel his leader's muscles. The thought occurred to him that he never considered whether or not King touched himself like he had done the others. He naturally assumed he did. Of course, most people would assume the same about him. Unfortunately, the image of a shirtless King jerking it didn't help settle his own erection. In fact, it only made that twitching sensation occur more frequently.
Twitchtwitch!
This was ridiculous. The last thing he had expected to masturbate to was his own team leader. Yet the way his dick swung front to back like a metronome, it didn't really leave room for argument. Deciding to finally bite the bullet, Nossan groaned, reaching downward toward his crotch. He hesitated, feeling the heat emitted by his genitals intimidated by his own manhood. His hand lingered for a while, unsure if he was absolutely committed to going down this road. Slowly, he lowered his palm, sucking in a deep breath when his hand finally made contact with his clothed bulge. He squeezed a bit, subconsciously squinting at the strange feeling. The boxers were the only pair of clothing he wore at the moment and he was extremely nervous to remove them. He began to rub his palm against the fabric, like one would against the lamp of a genie. For a while it was slow. Slow enough for him to realize that he could still stop if he wanted to. He didn't have to do this. He could just wait it out like always.
Then he thought of King, glistening with sweat after his shirt had been torn apart from the heat of battle. He thought of rubbing those sore muscles back at the secret base. Making sure to massage King in just the right places.
Twitchtwitchtwitch!
It was back. That feeling that had built up in the pit of his stomach, urging him to continue on. Sucking in his teeth, Nobuharu reached through the hole in his boxers and tightly gripped the engorged penis, freeing it from captivity. He paused briefly to look at it, somewhat confused by the sight of his own erect member. It was average in length, he thought. He had never cared to look at any besides his own. It had a noticeable thickness to it, but right now it continued to throb for his attention. The tip of his cock was slick with a rare wetness. He gripped himself firmly - firmly than he ever did - and continued to think of King. How often he might've performed this very same action. How even right now, King could jerking off right along with him. Had King ever thought of him like this? Tossing and turning in the middle of the night, unable to sleep because his own erection teased him awake and away from slumber? What sort of techniques did King use? Did he go for the traditional one-handed stroke? Double-fisted grip? Did he tease himself by rubbing the head with the flat of his palm? Or by massaging that area just below the tip? Did he use any lubricants? Nossan had to admit, the wetness trickling from the opening of his head did make this act a lot more pleasurable. So pleasurable that he bit hard on his lower lip, straining to stifle any of the shameful noises that threatened to escape.
Nossan huffed and gasped, pumping his boner with vigor he didn't even know he had, allowing his mind to wonder more and more, centering on the idea of King in various erotic predicaments. The positions he could be in: flat on his stomach with his rear sticking up in the air possibly. The possible ways he might like to tease himself: maybe King liked for his nipples to be toyed with. What kind of things did he think about? How often would King fall to the throws of lust and have a date with rosie palms? What if… what if these were King's hands wrapped around Nobuharu's dick? Pumping him? Stroking him? Hitting nerves and eliciting pulses from his cock he wasn't even aware he was capable of until now?
Twitchtwitchthrob!
There it was again. That electrifying jolt that sent wave after wave up his body, a feeling so intense that he had begun to sweat without knowing. This was so unlike previous orgasms the blue crusader had given himself before. This felt good. Wonderful, even.
He felt something rise. Something warm, swirling inside the length of his manhood ready to explode. He would deny it later, swear he never meant to say it, but in that last second of unbridled lustful daze, Nossan hissed out the word "Daigo" before what felt like a dam bursting overtook his body. His sweat-coated body shook and convulsed, spewing streams of thick, white seed into the air. The light blue underwear was a mess and his bare stomach a mere canvas for the painting of his ejaculate. What washed over him was the tides, bringing him back to shore after the turbulent trip out to sea. He spent what seemed like an eternity catching his breath, bringing himself back to reality. Brief feelings of guilt and remorse swirled in the pit of his stomach. He tried to deny his actions, but knew that the proof of his activities stained his dominant hand. Should anyone barge into his sleeping quarters, they would see him spent, nearly naked, and covered in his own juices. As badly as he wanted to clean himself up, the sleep his body craved finally caught up to him. Knowing he'd be out like a light in a matter of seconds, he couldn't resist ending his endeavor with a pun he knew anyone would groan over.
"It sucks, jerKing off."