Tomorrow's Sorrow (Peterick)

Part 6: There's a First Time for Everything

A/N: ¿¿Kind of smut alert??

Patrick's POV:

The plate of rice, asparagus, and chicken breast out in front of me didn't appear all that appetizing. I wasn't angry. I couldn't be. The feeling had lasted for a second after Pete walked out, but soon it was replaced with confusion and uncertainty that left my stomach sick. My father rambled on about his day at the hospital while I tuned out completely, thinking about what Pete had told me.

It was the exact opposite of what I'd been taught the entirety of my life. What did he know? Perhaps his "knowledge" was mere opinion and not true in any way. Yet in the very edge of my thoughts doubt crept in. Maybe he wasn't wrong.

I poked at my chicken for a bit and finally pushed my plate aside.
"May I be excused?" I asked.
"You haven't touched anything."
"I'm not hungry. I just need to finish some homework."
"Alright. I'll put it in the microwave for you in case you change your mind then."

I went straight into my bedroom, locking the door and collapsing onto my bed. My eyes stayed glued to the ceiling that was slowly fading from my vision as the sun disappeared below the horizon. Pleasure was a lot of things. I'd felt it when I got praise from an authority figure, when I tasted my favorite food, or even when I saw a dog. There was one kind I hadn't experienced, though, one I was forbidden to indulge in. 

And slowly I was beginning to question why exactly that was so. If by some chance what Pete had told me was correct why was it such a bad thing to please oneself? Why did we feel the things we felt? The desire in me wasn't bad. I only wanted to be held and touched and loved.

There was no lust laced in my longing. My shirt had ridden past my belly button, my hand resting atop the inches of bare, exposed stomach. It was light like a feather, falling and rising with each breath. I thought back to when I had the dream about Elisa, how it felt to be excited, why it felt that way. I closed my eyes and, without a second thought, my fingers hooked around the waistband of my grey sweat pants.

A puff of air swept into my groin area. I flattened my palm against my boxers and pressed down once. A wave of shivers washed over me while I held my breath and pushed deeper. The outline of my part became stiff and hard. I repeated the motion again.

It was exhilarating somewhat, this new sensation. Everything was blank, and the only thing I could focus on was continuing what I had begun. My heart was running a marathon at the point where a soft moan of sorts crawled its way out of my throat. I twined my fingers around my erection through the cloth of my boxers and squeezed. There was a rush of adrenaline surging inside my veins as I roughly maneuvered my hand up and down the material.

Something was building up inside the pit of my stomach, twirling and stirring about until I was arching my back up off the mattress and feeling the strain in my tensed muscles double. My free fingers clutched the end of my bed sheet, crumpling it underneath the subtle ache looming in my digits. A choked groan was sighed into the heavy, thick air a second after the pressure inside me was released. Once my head was clear from the blur of things a pang of guilt bounced off the walls of my brain. I gathered my pajamas immediately and went to turn on the shower water.

Hot steam hit the sore, sensitive area below my waist, causing a hiss to split through clenched teeth. My skin reddened as I scraped every part of myself with a pumice stone to ensure nothing was left behind from the act I'd committed. Then I stopped abruptly. The water trickled down steadily over me, and I stood there, my eyelids a sheet over my vision. Shapes formed in the pure darkness of my mind.

It was nothing at first, just light blobs swimming by, and then a face appeared at random. They faded in and out of focus until I tied them down in my head. The sheer beauty of their smile drew me into their lively aura, and I followed the stubble lining their jaw and the curve of their nose. Pete. His features couldn't be mistaken for anyone else. I met the view of the tiled wall again and fell against the other side, smoothing back the wet hair plastered to my forehead. He was kind to me, more than he really should've been, and I appreciated that.