Work Text:
I hear a noise inside my brain it is caressing me
I feel this urge inside my veins it is controlling me
I cannot help myself this body has to feed
I can't control myself I have to see you bleed
It is controlling me
It is controlling me
His hips raise. Sweat glistens. His forehead creases. Breath holds tight in his lungs.
He pumps his cock, stoking the fire in his gut. Just a little more, he needs just a little more.
A tear rolls down his cheek.
He was so close.
If only he could just! Reach it!
He needs to breathe.
The air held in his chest releases along with the tension in his body. His hips collapse underneath him.
He sucks in deep gasps of air as more tears run down his cheeks.
Try as hard as he might, Ikuina couldn't cum.
His cock was practically rubbed raw.
The fire still burns deep in his belly, protesting his member's neglect.
It wasn't the first time he was going to bed with his balls aching and forearm burning. Most nights ended up like this. Even as a teenager, he hardly ever came.
Not without a lot of work at least.
Fatigue welcomes him into its unwelcome arms. Maybe he'd at least get some sleep...
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Something bangs against his wall, and he has a pretty good idea of what it is.
So much for sleep.
Nnnnngh.
"At least they're having fun," he mutters to himself with a pang of jealousy.
Despite himself, he felt his cock stiffen again.
Please, leave him be. He doesn't want to do this again. He is just so tired...
His neighbors moan shamelessly, oblivious to the torture they were causing him. He can't help but desperately ache again for release.
Ikuina groans and grabs his pillow. He'd just have to block them out and get some rest.
His eyes instantly catch the plant shears underneath his pillow. Their shape is familiar and tantalizing.
His grip tightens around them without thinking. The feel of their cool metal in his hand is enough to make his cock throb in the promise of what was to come.
A series of harsh thumps and high pitched whines can be heard through his wall.
It was too much.
He always knew what he needed to release this tension. It's just... He hates it. It terrifies him.
Bit it's everything he needs.
Oh, fuuuuck!
It isn't fair they can get off like normal people can. While he has to... submit himself to his own guilt in the form of a blade.
This isn't normal. This isn't healthy. This isn't good for him.
This isn't the first time he's done this.
He needs it.
Desperately.
His spine tingles in anticipation.
He presses the shear's blade against his naked thigh. His heart thrums against his ribs. His breath comes in shallow gasps.
Was he really going to do this again?
His stomach turns, causing bile to rise in his throat. He covers his mouth with his free hand, trying to still himself.
Please! Please keep going!
A sigh escapes him involuntarily as the blade sinks into his skin.
He feels alive again.
Yes! Yes! Yes! That's it-!
His remaining rationality begs him to stop, to take the blade outside of himself now. Warning pains shoot through his leg, and his arm hesitates.
He knows it hurts more when he hesitates. Has experienced it first hand plenty of times. But, he can't force his arm to cooperate with him on the first cut. So he wills himself to drag the blade across his thigh bit by bit.
Please... I need this! Don't tease me like that!
Ikuina bites his lip and squeezes his eyes shut.
Swipe.
Warmth spreads through his leg, instantly. Dopamine shoots through his system, and suddenly guilt is pushed outside of him.
He finds the cut to be quite shallow. A small promise of what is to come.
Again. Do that again!
He worries his lip under his teeth and positions the blade over the cut.
The adrenaline makes the second cut easier to perform.
A quick movement later and he watches as blood fills the cut and spills down his thigh. It soaks his sheets in crimson, blooming like a flower on his sheets. It would be even prettier as the red petals grew.
Please! Please, please, please, keep going!
His hand trembles. He needs to see more. More of himself. The self that was trapped underneath the surface.
Each layer of flesh reveals exactly who he is. The him that is hedonistic, violent, repulsive, terrifying. Here he lay: underneath the epidermis.
Another cut, deeper still. His mind and body scream. A layer of white shows itself to the air. It is visible only a brief moment before more red overwhelms with its hue.
Was it really so bad? If it made his head swim in drunk pleasure?
Please! I'm so close!
Ikuina can't help himself. No matter how disgusting he felt. He was horrifically turned on.
His unweaponized arm grips his cockhead, thumbing over the slit. Pleasure builds in him again, joining the overwhelming warmth in his body.
His movements are clumsy. He can't focus. But that was alright. His member wasn't the main attraction.
Deeper! I need more! Please!
Just a little deeper. Just another layer of flesh.
His body was moving without thinking. The urge inside of his veins was moving him now. Instinct overcame reason.
The knife plunges further in, breaking past the dermis.
For a brief moment he only sees red.
His wet cock makes slick sounds through the room. His vaguely conscious body was continuing without his willing participation. That was fine. The time for deliberate thought was over.
It was just him, and the wide wound flayed open before him.
He needs to see more.
He spreads his skin open with one hand, pulling the uper layers apart to see the valley underneath. Staring back at him are lumps of yellowy fat. This flesh.... It is... He is... Beautiful.
His fingers run along the rim of outer skin before penetrating inside.
Fingertips press against the spongy meat and he cries out. Himself. He was touching himself, truly, and completely. Pleasure and pain builds within him. He can't help but rub himself more firmly.
There!
“There! Right there!”
Oh god right there, please, please!
“I’m!”
Cuming!
Everything rushes out of him at once. He can't help but stop the overwhelmed moan that escapes his throat. He wrings thick ropes of white cum from his overworked member. His own fluids coat his face, marking him with his own sin.
His ears ring, and his vision leaves him again.
The last thing he hears before blacking out is the couple laughing.
He wakes up laying against the bed, legs curled into himself. On his thighs he can see white and red mix with a cruel pink.
He was soaked. And desperately needs first aid. Surely it wasn't good that he hit fatty tissue.
His irrational side wins, and he gives into exhaustion.
He'll wrap himself up tomorrow.
The gash is much too pretty to be hidden anyway.