Kai Parker One Shots

Daydreams

Duran Duran is on full blast as Kai lays sprawled on his back in the comfort of his bed, not much else besides a football jersey style crop top and burgundy briefs clinging to his slim torso as the television plays a rerun of some sitcom. It's not as though he was truly watching anyway, how would he even hear over his brother's music? Oftentimes he would wonder how the two of them could possibly be related, with him growing up being quite introverted and socially awkward and his older brother being the party animal who knew friends and girls in every zip code. On any given night, he'd much rather bury his head in a book than go out to some bar and get plastered - the craziest thing he'd done was attempt to sneak out once in high school only to be caught by his mom and that damn squeaky window and get immediately grounded. He sighs, trying to hear himself think over the incessant reverb of the beats and decides to surf the channels for something more exciting. There seems to be an influx of infomercials or movies he had never cared about seeing in this lifetime, until at long last he flicks past a less PG scene that's airing. A pair of perky tits with hard nipples bounces on the screen and suddenly the night doesn't feel so bad, because this felt like a weird form of company. The tips of his fingers wander into his underwear and lightly stroke along his shaft. One slow pump, then another and just a little bit of pre-cum rolls down the swollen head of his cock as his tongue darts out. "Fuck, mmm, fuck," he whines out into the empty room and for a moment wishes for the actual feel of a woman's skin on his.

It feels so wonderful, the back and forth of his palm as he grows more wet from how excited he's getting. Maybe the thought of someone catching him masturbating is what's making this feel all the more hot. Someone walking through the door and having their way with him, telling him he's a disgusting pervert but giving love to him in all his favorite spots because they can't resist helping him out of this distress. Posters of Led Zeppelin and AC/DC line the walls, the desk against the wall littered with dozens of unfinished sketches and a few dirty clothes he'd forgotten to put in the washing machine lay in a small pile a short distance away. No one can hear him trying to get off, no one knows he's tucked away in here like a loner. A fantasy that would stay a fantasy, a waste. He sits up just a bit, still keeping a pace and continuing to keep his gaze locked on the girl on the screen who is now mirroring him as she too is playing with herself. Late night erotica was one of his favorite things to enjoy apart from his more innocent hobbies, almost an outlet from his good boy persona. Sure he would be the straight A student or the guy who a mom would love her daughter to bring home, but on the down low he was just a little obsessed with porn. How beautiful womens' bodies were, the curvature. The gentle nature of their moans. What they looked like sprawled out and ready. He'd visualize himself in place of whatever male star was getting the privilege of being intimate with these women, with no preference of body type or race. He loved any and all women alike, and yet felt like in all the time that had allotted since he'd become an adult none had ever loved him. Forget sexually, even romantically. He'd had a girlfriend or two, sure, but those relationships had been fleeting and never led to sex. At times he felt ashamed to admit he was a twenty-four year old virgin, even to himself. It would cement his already solid notion that he was a loser.

All of his friends had experience, even if it was as simple as a handjob in the back of a convertible. Not him, though, instead here he was enveloped in a fantasy. And that is all it would stay, an idea in his filthy mind. The urge to continue was fading, and so he tucked his member back into his waistband and hit pause on the remote. The bathroom was a few feet away and so he sauntered inside, wetting his palms a bit and flicking the water onto his face. It was a like a cold realization of loneliness as it broke the spell he'd been under, and as he went to dry himself on one of the handle towels he heard what appeared to be someone mumbling. "Hello?" he said aloud, knowing that although he felt alone he definitely was in this room. How could he possibly be hearing anyone unless he was truly becoming deluded? From just under the shower curtain, he spies a pair of Doc Martens hanging out. Should he feel relieved that there's someone else in here or worried? Whoever it was must've been here a while as his brother's party had been going on a few hours and he'd only come home within the last two. "Are you okay?" He yanks the curtain back and is met with the sight of you, sprawled comfortably on your back in the bathtub in a dark leather jacket and matching top and miniskirt. Your legs hang off the edge as you finish the measly bit of Heineken left in the bright green bottle and slyly smile at the mystery man who'd found you acting like you lived here. "I'd kind of appreciate it if you didn't lay in there. I'm sure you're drunk, but if you can understand me then please get up." The last thing he wanted to deal with mid-depressive episode was some weirdo using his bathroom as a place to enjoy booze.