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Kiryu can’t sleep. He groans, rolling onto his side. His eyes burn with fatigue, but the sleep won’t come. And the sleep deprivation is hardly helped by the constant, distracting throb of his erection.
Normally, Kiryu doesn’t masturbate in prison, preferring to tuck it into his waistband and wait for the erection to go away. But it won’t go down, and he finds himself slipping his hand into his underpants, hoping if he can just masturbate, then he’ll feel sleepy afterwards.
He sighs, wrapping his hand around his dick. He gasps, so unused to the sensation, and bites his lip just in case he starts moaning. It has been so long since he last touched himself; he almost forgot how to do it.
But it has been even longer since someone touched him. And not even sexually; when was the last time someone held his hand or slung an arm around his shoulders or even hit him?
It feels so weird to touch himself; is he touch-starved, lonely, desperate for human contact?
As he strokes himself, Kiryu tries to think about something; he never could come without watching porn or having sex. In desperation, he starts scrolling through the memories in his mind, trying to think of someone he can imagine.
And then it hits him.
Stroking himself faster, Kiryu thinks of Yumi. Yumi, his first love, the girl he has adored for most of his life, the woman he longs to kiss but never had the balls to ask her. He thinks about what sex with Yumi would be like, his hands cupping her breasts as she sits astride him, rocking herself and fucking herself on his dick, both of them moaning but red with embarrassment.
He rubs his thumb over the head, biting back a moan. And then his images change, and he finds himself thinking of Nishiki. Nishiki, his best friend, his kyoudai, his first kiss (awkward, twelve-year-old Nishiki crying afterwards as he rambled an apology but Kiryu just kissed him again), the one who helped him realise he likes guys too. He imagines sinking to his knees, taking Nishiki’s cock into his mouth, Nishiki gasping and stroking Kiryu’s hair as he takes him down his throat, and looking up to see tears of happiness in Nishiki’s eyes.
And then he’s thinking of Majima-san, and that makes him gasp. Majima, his stalker, a weird, dangerous presence in his life. But the thought of Majima pinning him to the bed and fucking him hard makes him groan, jerking himself off so hard it hurts, lost in the image of Majima’s cock inside him and his hands on his wrists and that toothy grin looming over him.
When he comes, he just feels disgusting, sweaty and sticky. And lonely. So painfully lonely.
Will he ever see any of them again?
Will he ever get a chance to tell any of them how he feels, or will he be left alone forever, touch-starved and longing for human contact and love?