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Jason had been going solo for a while now.
While some people (most men in his experience) would bitch and whine about it, he never had any real problems with the situation. Sometimes you get some, sometimes you don't.
His right hand (and occasionally his left) got a lot of practice, and he didn't want to hear any judgment on that. Nightly is healthy. The two to three times daily he would pull may be a little... excessive, but what can he say, he's a healthy young man in his prime. If he also deals with some over production of sperm and very sensitive Cowper glands, that's not his fault.
Just the way the wind blows, even if that wind is also sometimes enough to rev his engines.
So, sat at the couch in his living room, typing with his left hand a report, occasionally pausing to sort through different spreadsheets, while the other teased the head of his cock where it poked above his waistband? Just another Tuesday evening.
The reports weren't exactly stimulating, but like he said, wind could do the trick on the right day.
His hips occasionally rabbited while he worked, chasing the gentle hole he formed between finger and thumb. He hummed, pleased at the shiver that raced up his spine when he pressed his thumb tip into his slit on an upstroke.
Shutting down the computer after a few hours of this, he set it aside. Enough was finished for now, he could type of the last of the budget sheets later and organize which of Penguin's stocks he was tanking tomorrow. For now he stripped off his shirt and flattened himself across the couch, happy he had sprung for one at Ikea at Dicks insistence, instead of just nabbing one off a street corner or a yard sale, like he occasionally did for his crash pads.
The stupid throw pillow Tim had brought as a house warming gift was perfect to prop him up just enough that he wouldn't get a crick in his neck, and it hugged his shoulders like a dream. Not that Tim would ever know this if he could help it, the kid didn't need anymore stroking of his ego.
Hmm maybe there is something to this "nice stuff = self-care" that Roy was trying to tell him the other day…that can also be a thought for later.
For now its just him and his hand. He hooks his sweats waistband down under his sac, knowing hes probably going to have to change after hes done, but not feeling like laying bare ass on his nice couch, or (god forbid) leaving cum stains on it.
His palm glides smoothly over the shaft, pre dribbling down and soaking his pubes around the base already. He enjoys himself, playing around with the twist of his wrist, the tightness of his grip.
He takes a second to really jack it, pumping himself hard and fast, and right as he's about to burst, he stops, gentling to a soft tickle of texture. Panting, sweat pricks at his skin, his pits, the back of his knees. He heaves heavy breaths through shivering lungs, letting himself smile in the privacy of his living room.
Jason doesn't really fantasize when he gets off. Sure, sometimes he thinks of Dickies bouncy little ass and pecs, Timmy's hips and waist, Artemis's tits, or Roy's arms. Usually though, that's if hes wanting to get off quick and hard. More an urgency that a pleasure. It gets him where hes going, and frankly it gets him there at warp-fuckin speed.
But most nights, it's something like this. Somewhere warm and comfortable, the bath, his bed, this lovely couch. Somewhere he can sit and luxuriate in the pulse of blood through his body (his, it really is still his body). Where he can feel his muscles shift beneath his skin, watch himself react to what hes doing. He can be as loud as he likes, as breathy or whiny or throaty as he wants. He feels the breath pound in his lungs, his heart race in his chest.
Most days Jason jacks off and does it just for himself.
While he doesn't want to make a mess of the couch or cushions, tonight he really does want to make a mess of himself. And the lube really just is sooo far away and hes so very comfy. The stretch will be worth it, and with how soaked his prick is…he traces down his hip with his messy hand. One foot lifts to hook around the back of the couch, the other braces on the floor, spreading his legs obscenely, just for himself. He admires the way his chest heaves, moaning at the view of his pert nipples, the left bisected through the areola by the an arm of the Y of his autopsy. He's unable to resist using his free hand to give one a pinch. His hips and prick twitch, dick dribbling another sticky string. Hmm, that can be some fun later.
The hand in his pants circled a finger around his asshole. Sloppy with his own mess, some of his wetness had already dripped down his crack, painting his balls and staining his pants dark.
The first finger slips in easy enough, swallowed up to the second knuckle with no issue. Since he had fucked himself pretty thoroughly last night (possibly into early morning) he wasn't too shocked and quickly added two more fingers at once, enjoying the burn and stretch. His hole felt tight and warm on his hand, slicked up with his drippings.
Just the picture in his mind of how he would look if seen had him squeezing his base to stop from shooting off before he had all the fun he wanted. Big scarred man, all laid out, fat cock and perky tits on display, three fingers buried knuckle deep inside his own ass and practically pissing precum. His orgasm dances right on the edge of his vision, lashes fluttering as he pants and moans through it, pushing it back inch by inch till he can breath again.
God he feels so hot. Half the time he felt like a shambling thing, Jenga blocks of trauma all waiting to come tumbling down. But right now? All fucked out and horny, playing with this body hes grown into, made into a machine capable of damn near anything? He feels like the top of the world. He feels sexy and powerful and strong and alive. His blood pumps, his muscles cramp, the sting and bite tells him hes real.
The window of his apartment is right across from the couch, he wanted to make sure it would catch the best rays of light from the setting sun, and he luxuriates in the way it paints him, half nude and defiled, glowing and sanctified. If someone sees him that's their issue. He hopes they like the view.
Hazy from his near climax he lets his hand become a blur on his prick as his other one pumps his insides hard and fast. His fingers are long and thick, stretching him and pressing in his guts just right. The calluses of his palm scrape against his shaft, catching and pulling at his foreskin with every pump, making his sensitive head and glands dribble. He wants to last, wants to lay in this feeling and bliss for hours, but urgency nips at his heels, his balls tightening.
Two delayed orgasms, twice standing on the brink of perfection.
He gives in and lets himself fall.
Cum spurts and his back arcs, squeezing his fingers hard enough the knuckles pop. He feels splatters paint up his chest, across his own tits and even hitting his neck before dripping down, painting pearly stripes across his torso.
He doesn't stop, even as his balls ache and body convulses, his hands thrust and tug at himself, pushing past overstimulation straight into pain. He feels like a live wire, on the edge of consciousness by the time he slows enough that the aftershocks gentle enough to let him breath.
His fingers are pruney from his sloppy gaping hole, slippy and gooey where they now rest on his inner thigh. His hand still traces gently up and down his softening prick, enjoying the shivers coursing through him
His thumb teases and presses at the slit, gooey and bubbly with cum, pulling it to wink open. He doesn't think too hard about it before he's pressing his pointer finger tip inside it, watching his finger tip fuck gently in and out of his cock at a leisurely pace. The stretch burns a bit, secret skin sensitive to foreign touch. His cock, spent and wasted, aches at the stimulation.
Hes' soaked all the way across, torso sweaty and splattered with his own cum, pants soaked in the crotch and ass with pre. The idea that the couch escaped everything is laughable at this point.
Well, he thinks to himself, might as well if I'm already going to have to wash the cushions.