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It was quiet.
Before, Daigo had always appreciated the quiet. It was a rare treat when you had two energetic younger siblings running around, constantly looking for trouble to get into. Recently, silence had become unbearable. His own thoughts were too loud, too painful. At least they were his, though. At times, he thought he could still hear the Dark Presence whispering to him. Maybe he could.
For now, it was quiet, and Daigo would rather be anywhere but here. Even the cold darkness of the Spirit Realm would be preferable.
He was stationed in the middle of nowhere, alone. Probably because nobody other than Night Rose trusted him enough—understood him enough—to hole up in an outpost with him. They were usually paired up, but Base Alpha hadn’t seen much action the past few days, so she’d been sent elsewhere today.
The mistrust was fair enough. He didn’t really want to be around anyone else, anyway; the disdain was mutual. Most of the others were too close-minded, and he couldn’t stand ignorant people. Then there was Jade and Kendo, who he loved so dearly but could hardly bear speaking to right now. Every time he looked them in the eyes, he felt a fresh wave of frustration and shame roll over him like a sudden storm. He was grateful they’d forgiven him, but that didn’t stop him from overthinking.
Getting swatted by that tentacle in front of everyone was pretty damn humiliating, too.
Whatever. It was a waste to dwell on that now. He tried to occupy his thoughts with literally anything else, but nothing came to mind. He was painfully bored. He’d lost count of how many times he’d patrolled the perimeter or moved to a new defensive position. Drawing on the backs of random documents and flyers had gotten old after he filled up his third page with sketches. There was nothing left to do except to wait for this day to be over.
This was torture. Divine punishment for his hubris, he thought bitterly.
After two hours, a single bug skittered into his line of sight. One shot turned its thorax into a purple splatter on the dirt, and after another hour, no more had come to investigate the loss. With a sigh, he set his standard issue O.X.R. service rifle down, propping it against the frame of the window he’d been sitting at for the past thirty minutes.
It was too damn hot out here. The late summer sun had baked the dirt into dust, and Daigo was pretty sure he’d be cooked next. The building was insulated like a microwave; just a metal box with holes poked in the sides for air. He tugged the front of his shirt forward to peel the fabric from his sticky skin. The lazy draft from the open window passed over him, cooling his sweat marginally. He let his eyes fall shut for a moment, savoring the breeze. When it passed, he gave in and decided to just take his shirt off. The sleeves helped him avoid sunburn, but in here, they were just trapping heat.
Daigo settled on the floor beside his gun, sitting on his knees and facing the window. He could still see just enough of his surroundings like this. He combed his fingers through his hair, trying to keep stray strands from sticking to his skin. Absentmindedly, his hand wandered down to his shoulder, squeezing the muscle while he stretched out his neck. There was a recent scar across his back and shoulder from Kendo’s sword, when they’d fought. It hadn’t healed quite right, not yet. Daigo’s back had been aching since.
His hand came to his arm next, then his chest. He explored the surface of his skin like it was foreign to him. He had changed a bit. Some of the effects of his transformation lingered in the sharpness of his teeth and the small points of his ears. Sometimes, he got headaches where the horns were, as if he could still feel them jutting from his skull.
Never mind that. The touch felt nice, even if it was his own hand. He changed direction, trailing lower instead of higher. Thumbing at the hem of his pants, he paused.
How long had it even been since he’d gotten off? You’d think a demonic transformation would ramp up your sex drive, but it did the opposite for Daigo. He was too focused on his ambition of “saving” the island to waste time being horny. He couldn’t have done much even if he wanted to, though. His mask and armor were fused to his body the entire time. Now, trying to help out the O.X.R. with the problem he’d created saw him routinely cramped in barracks without any privacy. Showers had to be a quick ordeal, too. There was no time to rub one out before a mission, and he never had the energy for it after.
He probably wouldn’t get another chance like this for a while. Might as well jack off, right?
Sure. It was whatever, at this point.
Daigo cupped himself through the fabric hesitantly, gauging his own interest. His body reacted quickly, a rare bit of dopamine hitting his brain and urging him on. He pushed his hips forward against the meat of his palm and decided quickly that he was committed to the idea. He’d repressed his libido for so long that it felt like a dam breaking now that he’d indulged himself with the slightest touch. He could tell already it wouldn’t take long for him to be fully hard.
He tried not to think about anything, because he assumed his thoughts would quickly wander into dangerous territory. He didn’t want to have to unpack any weird fantasies later, or start ruminating again and kill his mood. Instead, he tried to focus on how good this felt. What he ended up fixating on was how debauched he felt. He was supposed to be keeping watch, not palming himself through his pants like a hormonal teenager. Plus, he was hot, and sticky from sweat, and in an awful mood. He felt gross, and that really shouldn’t have turned him on more, but it did. So much for not having to unpack anything.
Daigo unzipped his pants and pushed them just far enough out of the way to get a hand down his briefs. Immediately, he wrapped his hand around his half-hard cock, sighing as he gave himself a few slow, dry pumps. He braced his forearm against the windowsill and laid his forehead against it, squeezing his eyes shut to focus on the pleasure until it turned uncomfortable. Then, he spat into his palm and continued touching himself.
Everything in his life had led him to this point… Masturbating while he was supposed to be doing the most boring job in Oninoshima. This time, the sigh he let out was from frustration, but he didn’t stop. He was pent-up, and he desperately wanted more. He probably would’ve fingered himself if he had anything even remotely acceptable to use as lube; he was not going to use gun oil. It probably wasn’t safe, and his embarrassment about the situation was already bad enough.
Instead, Daigo took one last glance out of the window and decided nothing would be coming tonight (except him). Then, he slid away from the frame to sit back against the wall beside it. With his other hand now freed, he reached up to pinch at a nipple, finding them more sensitive than he remembered.
The mask maker bit his lip and refused to make any noise beyond heavy breathing and soft gasps. He was alone, he knew that, but he couldn’t shake the fear that he would be overheard or seen. Daigo had been watched constantly for the past few months, by Jones, Midas, The Supernovas, and that ever-present darkness, and the feeling of being scrutinized stuck with him. He wanted to go back to painting masks in his shop, away from prying eyes. Now, everyone was too concerned with following his every move. Most of them didn’t even care how he was doing, just what he was doing. It bothered him more than he cared to admit.
Daigo caught his thoughts before they could spiral, and he and tried to focus back in on the task at hand. He was supposed to be enjoying this, not just experiencing it. Things were so much easier when he didn’t have to think about anything, when that little voice in the back of his mind told him exactly how to feel. In the absence of the Presence, he tried telling himself that he should feel good, looking back down at his hands pumping his cock and fondling his chest.
It did feel good. He circled his thumb around the tip, smearing pre before slicking it down his shaft as he continued with renewed vigor. The hand at his chest moved to tweak his other nipple, He let his hips rock up to meet his tight grip, slowly devolving into outright fucking his own hand.
It felt good. He told himself that over and over to keep his focus on the present. It felt good. He was close already. Part of him considered delaying his orgasm long enough for it to actually satisfy him, but he needed release too badly. Daigo set a feverish pace, becoming more sloppy and desperate as his reluctant pleasure mounted. His hips stuttered, and a pitiful whine escaped his throat as he came hard, spilling onto his hand and the floor beneath him. He went slack for a moment, relaxing into the soothing relief of his afterglow. It didn’t last very long, because Daigo quickly became aware of the mess he’d made of himself and the floor, then the guilt was back. He leaned back to rub his eyes with his clean hand for a moment. Then, he got up to fetch a towel from the showers, unwilling to sit with the returning feeling of disgust.
It was quiet again.