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Handyman, Chapter 3 ~Love's Victim~

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December, 1987:
Thunk. Sakurai woke with a start and squinted at the digital alarm clock’s red blocky numbers in the dimly lit hotel room. 12:30AM- though the trains had already stopped running for the night, it was still early.

Earlier for him to be sleeping in bed than he’d been in a long time. The rigor of recording, concerts, and public appearances had been creeping up on him and he fell asleep soon after he walked into the room he got for some space on the spur of the moment. He’d never spent so much time in close quarters at such an intimate level as they were now, and he was tired of having to hear U-ta score with a groupie that hunted them down with a bribe to one of the stage bouncers that night. Not that he blamed him- they’d gotten pretty drunk after the show- he just wasn’t up to dealing with it.

He was moody and wanted to be alone. He’d not gotten any himself in a while, though he wouldn’t admit it to the others, and he was starting to really feel it. Of course he could score, but he didn’t want to: what if that… that thing that happens ends up taking over? No. No way he’d risk it. It was freaky enough alone, but with a witness?

Another muted thud echoed through the wall, and something made a quiet skittering sound, like a pair of glasses being tossed haphazardly onto a bedside table. Feminine giggles. Sakurai moaned and flopped his arm over his eyes. “I can’t escape it tonight... what the hell?!” He’d checked in to a basic mid-grade hotel, and the walls were much thinner than a love hotel’s walls are. Bet it’s a tourist that doesn’t realize it. He sighed and rolled over onto his side. A gasp and the sound of kissing greeted him.

He sat up and pushed the hair from his eyes, a little testy. It was too late to go out anywhere other than to a convenience store or to one of those all-night diners that serve breakfast at any time of the day. “Fuck this,” he grabbed the television’s remote control off his nightstand, and clicked the power button. Maybe there was something on that would cover up the happy couple. The hotel’s splash screen came up to remind him of their selection of Pay-Per-View movies and the time, and he pressed the changer arrow, scanning across the channels for anything good. News. Crap. More crap. Cooking show re-run. Crap. He settled for a moment on a movie channel, and a woman in a blue silk dress started to dramatically slip the dress off and step out of it, and fell into her lover’s arms. They sank to the floor. Softcore porn- should have known at this hour. Sighing with frustration, he turned it off and dumped the remote back on the table.

They were still at it- making out and talking in low voices. His crotch started to flush with warmth. “Shit. That’s it- I’m going for a walk.” Sakurai got out of bed and pulled on his jeans, t-shirt, and shoes, then grabbed his winter coat and unlocked the door and turned the handle to leave, but couldn’t. His hand held it shut. Duh. He dropped his arm and tried the handle again with his other hand, but his hand slapped back up on the door near the chain lock, and shut it as fast as it was opened.

“No, no,” he lied to himself, “you’re just tired and not paying attention to what you’re doing.” He tried to pull his hand back, but it re-fastened the chain and flipped the deadbolt back into place of its own accord. It was happening again and it wanted him to stay; a captive secret audience. The television turned on by itself and flipped channels, landing on a televised concert of BUCK-TICK… but that was impossible. There were no cameras at that show two weeks ago… but there it was on his television, with no sound.

A thread of fear twined around his heart, snaking up to his throat, and it tightened. He could accept the blame that he had a problem with compulsively jerking off in strange situations recently, though that was pretty hard to bear and he had to make it look deliberate to save face, but this was outside him. He never touched the TV and the remote was on the table still, next to the bed… and they weren’t supposed to be on the air- couldn’t be with that non-existent footage.

Sakurai stepped towards the TV and stumbled over the shoes he barely remembered kicking off, dropping his coat on the floor. Clack, scrape, clack sounded by the bed- the lovers pulled his attention from the TV for a moment, likely a ring or bracelet clicking into the fake headboard that was mounted to the wall in their room. His shirt came off and stayed where it landed, and he was half way to the bed taking his pants off when he snapped out of the fog he was in and turned to look back at the television… but it was off, just like he’d left it.

That was a hallucination? “Whoa… I’m loosing it!” Sleep. Sleep will help, I’m just overworked, that’s all. He climbed back into the bed, and pulled the covers up. Maybe it’s all a dream, and I’ve been sleepwalking, partially woken up by the couple next door. Jabbing the ends of the pillow he was using to fluff it up, he settled in and closed his eyes. The soft moans muffled through the wall weren’t as bad as the thuds- were actually kind of soothing in a way, he bargained, telling himself to get some sleep and ignore it.

He would have, too, if that soft, tickly, furry thing hadn’t swept up his calf and thigh under the covers. Sakurai squeezed his eyes closed and clenched his teeth. The furry sensation coiled delicately around his arm, and his fingertips began to tingle and stiffen. He knew this sensation… was familiar with its invasions by now… but it still scared him. Gritting his teeth, he lay still and didn’t struggle to resist as his hand, now out of his ability to control, slid through the soft cotton bed sheets to find its target. It stilled, resting warm over his hardening cock, and didn’t move.

Dead silence. He opened his eyes narrowly and peeked around the room. The television was back on, silently sharing a zoomed in closeup, plainly making visible the erection his hand kept pawing at against his will two weeks ago. His jaw dropped in horror as he watched himself from the outside, blatantly masturbating in front of the crowd. He was used to being on stage enough to be able to make it look like it was part of the performance, and the spectators surprisingly seemed to enjoy it and went wild, but deep down it scared the crap out of him.

Unable to pull his eyes away from the shocking presentation, he blushed as his cock engorged and twitched. His neighbor’s wall mounted headboard started to rattle threateningly in rhythm- he could envision all too clearly the couple on their knees with the woman’s hands flat on the headboard for balance as her lover forcefully took her, hands on her hips, positioning her to meet his thrusts. “Oh… oh… oh… oh… oh!” Each deep thrust was punctuated by her voice, gasping. He was hard as a rock now and needed to fuck, badly.

Sakurai’s hand began to move of its own accord -finally!- softly stroking beneath the head, then sweeping down his length to its base and beyond, over his testicles and inner thighs, then back up again. He was alone in the dimly lit room and didn’t care anymore that he was listening in to the couple’s passion- no one could see him. He didn’t care anymore that his hand was taking over and caressing his cock- he wanted it. Needed it. Craved it now.

Wiggling to shift himself into a sitting position, back leaned on the headboard for support, he saw his face on the screen as it was two weeks ago, flushed with arousal and eyes glittering with teary lust. Is this what they saw? No wonder they went crazy… they were watching live action porn! He’d received a little good natured ribbing from the guys, and heard not a word about it from the label- other than a brusque “Keep up the good work!” and a pat on the shoulder a few days later at a meeting. His world was going mad around him, and they all thought he had it planned from the start.

Sakurai panted, couldn’t help it as his hand found the rivulet of pre-cum that was flowing and spread it around, slick… so slick and pleasurable. He joined his hand in mutual pleasure, starting to thrust as it stroked him, and he bit his lip to keep silent- not in fear of being caught, but to be able to hear more of what was going on next door.

He felt the slamming power of her lover’s thrusts through her hands on their headboard, vibrating their force through the wall into his chest. More, more… harder, more- his own desire begged, no longer an outsider listening in, an unknown but active partner that was very much a part of their lovemaking. His hand was aware of it, and masturbated him, keeping their tempo. Far from feeling like an intruder, he rode along the wave of their lust.

The woman’s gasping grew lower, groans like he’d never heard before, cracking into gentle cries of abandon, and ever hair on his body stood up in response… it was the most incredible thing he’d ever heard. Her voice set his need on fire. He could hear her teary whispers, hear her begging, “…don’t ever leave me…don’t ever leave…” that interspersed those spectacular cries.

He felt his own tears roll down his cheek, though he’d never met her or seen her. Who are you? What is this?? His heart clenched in fear of the power of his emotions. He thrust into his fingers faster and would have come, but they stopped caressing his cock and gripped it at the base a split second before, curbing the spike in his passion and delaying the inevitable for a few more minutes. In all of its assaults in the past it’d never done that before, but he realized in his haze that he’d never willingly responded to it either. It cared about his pleasure and wanted to intensify it? Was that it? Whatever the case, that meant… that it was not just moving, but could think on its own… or whatever was moving it did. Foreboding chills whooshed through him at the thought.

The couple’s rhythm sped up and so did the gasping he heard so clearly as they neared the end of their journey. He desperately wanted to climax together with them, but his hand still held him in check, forbidding it. “Please… fuck me… fuck me… fuck me…” he wept, kept back as an outsider at the last moment, forced to listen to their guttural orgasmic groans. It was over in an instant, leaving him forever apart from that moment. Frustrated grief twisted inside him like a knife. Why?

As the sounds stilled next door and he wept silently, the sadistic hand started to move again, rolling the hollow of its palm into the tip of his erection, sending stinging overstimulated fire through the skin, up the shaft, and into his gut. “Nnggghh!” It hurt like hell, but he surged his hips into it for more, craving release from the torture. He had to come, had to.

The hand slid down his slippery wet shaft, ringing his first finger and thumb around it and fanned his last fingers in a caress over his aching, swollen testicles, the skin wrinkled tight and firm, waiting for their moment. His hips rose up again, pressing into the caress and the air hissed out from his lungs through clenched teeth. More, damn it, more!

Perspiration soaked the sheets around him as if he’d been fucking wildly, sluicing from his skin, and his hair clung to his face. He panted and licked the tickly droplets that had ventured over his lips, tasting of salt and pheromonal hunger. “Oh my god, FUCK ME! I’ve got to come, I need to come… please, more… more…” the growled whisper that came out of him surprised him, but he didn’t care, or care who he was even begging in the space of the empty room- only fulfilling that excruciating need mattered.

Sakurai’s mind burned itself blank in the blinding light of his frenzy and he started to faint, overwhelmed… but his hand never slowed down or missed a beat, intent on taking him over the edge. On and on it pumped until tumbling fire began to build in his hips, spinning, burning, tumbling, and he started to thrust again. “Ah… ahh… ahh!” The tension ramped up and finally snapped, and he came. “nnnNNAAAGGHHHH!” His hips lifted off the bed with more strength than he thought he even had, his long denied ejaculation spurting almost straight up in the arc of it’s eruption, raining down in warm musky droplets. Convulsing with tremors, his shoulders slid down the headboard and he fell limply to the mattress. His head sagged to the side, damp hair tumbling over his cheek heavily, and smelling pungent with his own ejaculate, but he couldn’t move. He was completely spent.

He wasn’t sure when he fell asleep, but he woke to sunlight streaming around the edges of the heavy hotel drapes, and his hair had dried crunchy and stiff against his face. Shower. He sat up slowly, every muscle burning from exertion, the tension they held in the night.

Sakurai strode into the bathroom and turned on the shower for it to warm, and was disturbed with the memories of last night as they slowly came back. The warm spray soaked his hair, and as he reached for the tiny bottle of shampoo they provided with the room, he whispered “Panting faintly, I hear your voice… don’t leave… don’t ever leave me...”