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The Off Days: Hangover Heaven

NOTE: Sorry for the odd paragraph structure. But apparently unnecessarily chopping the paragraphs that contain comments into sentences is the only way I can get this chapter validated.

As tired as I was from the cheap alcohol and the late hour of the morning it still took me a full hour to get to sleep with the mulling thoughts of what had transpired going through my skull. I didn't wake up again until far later in the day, and not by someone waking me or from getting enough sleep but due to the dull pain of a hangover pounding away at my head. Squinting my eyes from the yellow sunlight beaming in through the window and gripping the side of my head in an attempt to ease the pain, I sit up to look off at Daxter's hammock. He's still sleeping peacefully with an arm and a leg hanging off in counter-balance of each other. It's a wonder he's never fallen from his hammock before with some of the crazy ways he sleeps.

It's at this point that I realize the raging erection between my legs despite the pain in my head. The kind of erection that's pretty much there to stay until I relieve it. And really, it's been two days since I'd had a thought to masturbate. Maybe this is my body's way of telling me that I'm over-due. So with little further contemplation of the matter I decide to settle back in my bed again, reaching up to give the pale wood shutter on my window a nudge to keep the sunlight out of my face. My right hand goes into my underpants beneath the beige sheets and I turn just enough to make an easy watch of Daxter in case he stirs while I enjoy my own matters.

I like to start out with several slow but light tugs of the foreskin up over the head of my dick. It's nice and pleasing even though it can only accomplish so much. Though there was one time when I managed to use that to go all the way but it ended up being a real mess when it was inside my underpants. A good two minutes pass with me doing this, my eyes fixed on the sag in Daxter's hammock for any signs of movement. Satisfied of his continued sleep, I then finally pull my hand free and push my torso up enough to slide the white underpants down to my knees. The major change of weight on the bead causes one of the legs to creak softly, breaking the otherwise silent morning in the room. Returning the sheet over my naked lower body I go right back to it, this time gripping my dick around the middle and using lazy but rhythmic tugs upward to pull the foreskin up and down for even friction. It feels so good to do it this way, the hot blood pumping more fiercely through my veins and charging the adrenaline and pleasure into my blood as my heart starts speeding up. I don't even need to think about anything at this point. Just the pleasure and how nice it feels. Outside I hear the distant call of another villager to someone else followed by the two laughing, while inside I only hear the rustle of my bedsheets and the occasional familiar creak of the frame of my old bed as I continue.

From here I start thinking of two nights ago with Daxter on the roof. Not like Daxter would ever know. I can always insist I was thinking of a girl if he caught me doing this. That thought reminds me, though, and I immediately focus again while pausing long enough to make sure he's still sleeping. Hmm. He was pretty drunk and very tired. He'll be out far longer than I was. My imagination returning to me, I start thinking of him again. Now let me remind you that I'm not gay. Nowhere near it. I'm only into the taboo of it all; the risk of getting caught. ...Okay, maybe there is something about the little guy that's nice. I did kind of like watching him. Seeing so much of him that I've never seen before was exhilirating. And not just his dick, but the way he acted and spoke. The way he was so serious and into what he was doing.

Coming back to reality for a moment I realize that I've been working myself harder and faster just thinking about Daxter that way. And the realization causes me to slow down my stroking in thought. I'm not gay. I'm sure of it. Other guys don't turn me on. I don't want cock. But there's still something about him and that night that makes me want to beat off. I fix my eyes on my crotch, realizing even now that I was so distracted before with my fantasizing that the sheets had fallen away and I didn't even care. I was just stroking my dick and thinking about Daxter and nothing else seemed to register at the time. And again I remember that I should look at Daxter's hammock just to make sure he's still asleep.

Looking over brings a sudden chill--And a sudden strength--to my hardon. Daxter was awake, sitting up, with his eyes glued to me. And not just me, they were locked right on my erection. I froze for only a moment of him staring. How long had he been watching? Why didn't he say anything? I was expecting the customary 'Eww, put that away!' comment. But this time he was just staring at me.

I kind of liked it--Being caught, I mean. Deep down inside I know that he'd never think any less of me for beating off in his presence. It only makes me a little worrysome that his reaction isn't as it normally would be. And this causes me to immediately snatch the sheet up over my naked body, "Dax! I didn't realize you woke up." At least he doesn't know what I was thinking about while I was doing it. Too bad it's over now, though.

At that he only smirks, slinking out of his hammock just a little slowly, "Hey, we're both guys. Don't stop on my account. I need ta go take a huge leak anyway."

As he hits the floor he grabs his head, "Damned hangover." And he heads for the door to go outside.

Still embarassed, all I can do is watch him heading that way. But the mention of taking a leak informs me of how much I need to piss, too. And moreso the mood is awkward and dead at this point. Bad enough he woke up in the middle of it but if he came back and I was still doing it it'd just be too weird. Instead I grab my underpants and pull them up over my hardon, snatching up my clothes and throwing them on to head outside. When I get out there I find Daxter only standing not far from the door with a hand up over his eyes, "Ugh."

He then turns to look up at me, "The sun's too bright today." And from there he heads around the hut toward the beach. We always go down under the docks to piss in the mornings. Granted today it's mid afternoon, but the same still applies.

Under the docks it's much darker with specks of sunlight filtering through scattered holes across the weathered overhead planking. A cool ocean breeze knocks into us while we cross the cold white sand and rocks and weave between the wood braces to a good place to stand facing the water. Daxter still seems a little slow apparently due to the hangover he has, which is no surprise. His is probably much bigger than mine. He takes up position just next to me, turning and gripping himself to aim it as he starts to let it all out. Averting my eyes while he does his thing, I bring my hands to the fly of my trousers hesitantly. I'm a small bit self-conscious about taking a leak around anyone right now--I still have that hardon. But I should go now, too. It's practically a tradition. So the fly comes open and I take the extra trouble to pull my erection out, the thing jutting out in front of me like a huge black dot on a blank white paper. There's nothing discrete about it. But then that's part of the privacy of this place. With the erection comes added range as I start to leak, and we're then both littering the space below the docks with the sound of pouring water.

"Jeeze, Jak. Even I can't piss that far!" Dax suddenly comments as he looks out ahead at where mine is ending at, and it makes me glance down at him.

Just then I see him taking a brief look up at my erection, which he immediately looks away from, "Oh, ya still got that boner. That explains it." After that things fall silent between us as we tend to our own separate business. Several seconds pass as we continue, both of us taking quite a long time with it until Daxter's flow wavers and ends followed soon after by mine. As I feel it finishing up I give my dick a few nonchalant strokes to help make sure the channel is empty, looking down to make sure I'm all done. The tugging feels good, I admit, the foreskin of my cock rolling up over the head in each rub.

That's when I notice Daxter is also looking at my dick, and is apparently sharing in the moment as he's started stroking his own. Although I'm shocked again, I can't find the motivation to stop myself from rubbing my dick or from looking at him since he's looking at me. It doesn't seem as bad as what happened before. We're not touching. We're just taking care of our own business. It just so happens that we're watching each other while we do it.

Daxter's attention finally pulls away from my erection to look at his own as it starts to quickly get hard, "Might have a hangover, but I'm never too hungover fer this." He chuckles, looking up toward me.

I can really only give Daxter a half-smile back. It does seem weird, but this time I can't justify any reason why not to. No one ever comes down here, we're not doing anything wrong, really. And it feels so very good to stroke it like this. Especially when there's someone else right nearby to relate to about beating off. I start stroking my dick harder while still watching him watch me. His erection is now as hard as I remember it, the hand stroking it full of vigor. And while the one hand strokes his cock, the other grips the base with his fuzzy balls tucked into his palm, "Nnf." Daxter pants out.

After several more seconds of this he stops and turns around, heading further away from the water over to a sandy place devoid of rocks, "C'mover here, Jak. Let's sit down an' do this right."

I'm practically only following suit as it feels weird to think of objecting to anything right now. Using my hand to half-heartedly hide my erection, I turn and head over to sit next to him, leaning back against the slight incline of land that heads up to meet the dock planks. It serves almost perfectly for relaxing my body as I get right back into tugging my hardon. As does Daxter, with his eagerness to pull his meat in a similar fashion. Though even as private as things are getting, he's still not acting exactly the same way he did the night he was alone on the roof. He's acting more rugged and like himself, being less-exacting with his tugging and his posture as he beats off right next to me, "Ahh. Now this is a way ta wake up." Daxter comments aloud as he slows his stroking to tease his erection with a couple of fingers.

The foreskin of my dick rolls up over the head and back down, pulling tight about the full girth of what it has to encase. I love the way it feels, too. The firm strain of the flesh around my hard dick. And lying against the cool sand with a crisp sea breeze wafting under the docks with us, it's very easy to get lost in the feeling of the pleasure. I keep tugging, no longer thinking about Daxter as he's right next to me. For some reason I still feel self-conscious of even thinking about it when he's around, as if I'd possibly slip up and he'd know what I was thinking.

Glancing over at him, I notice he's still giving my dick the occasional glance. Nothing to worry about. All guys sort of look without wanting it, but just to look. As if to assure that if another guy is here that he's going to be involved or he might use it like blackmail later. It's a conscience thing, I think. As he keeps going, he settles back, "S'been nice, but it's time ta get this over with." He murmurs, and starts stroking faster and with more focus.

For fear of seeming different or odd, I start building my stroking too, pulling my dick harder and faster, and thinking more about the waves of pleasure shooting through me as they well up. And looking over once or twice as I go, I can see him still looking at me every so often as well. There's even a point where our eyes meet--That's the point where our staring lingers, until he looks back down at his cock to keep jerking on it.

Obviously he's more vocal than I am, and that's no different now than any other time. As his pleasure builds, so does his panting, his breathing, and his eagerness to express his excitement. He starts uttering brief words and phrases of encouragement to no one, his erection darkening in color to a deeper red as his orgasm wells up and rolls out of his groin. While verbalizing his release with a groan the first shot actually rings his gaping mouth as it makes a white streak that splatters from his nose, across the roof of his mouth and down over his chin. The second shot isn't quite so powerful, but still sends silver Ottsel semen roping across his chest. And from there the orgasm isn't quite so fascinating, his jizz landing on his stomache in a place or two before simply oozing into his palm, where he smears it over his dick as he continues rapidly stroking his hardon into overstimulation.

The sight is absolutely amazing to me, especially the bit that went into his mouth. I found myself wanting to taste it. When I realize I'm thinking about him that way, I avert my eyes and stroke faster and with more focus. What just happened right next door is all I really need, and with several rapid tugs and heavy breathing my own orgasm hits me. I'm silent of little more than a few heavy breaths, my semen shooting out enough to spatter across the stomache of my shirt several times to make an interesting form of abstract art, though the feel of what's left getting trapped under my foreskin feels nice against the head of my dick. Enough that I have to pull on it still, if slowly.

I can't really look at Dax now, for fear of him thinking I'm weird or something. It's over, after all, and we should be doing our own things here. I do want to see him do his cleaning 'ritual', though. That's when I hear him grunt, "Only bad thing about beatin' off is this shit's a pain ta get outta my fur. Be glad you're still Human!" I look over to see him standing up.

"This is a good time ta go for a swim, right?" He points out, "Yer clothes are a mess now anyway." I can just see that semen still stuck to his chin and nose. He's ignoring it and pretending that it's not there. And the longer I watch it the more I want to see him lick it off. The thought of him doing so sends my heart pounding, even though I've already finished masturbating.

"What? /Yes/, I know I got some on my chin. I ain't gonna eat it! Quit starin'!" He practically read my mind, even if he didn't realize it. It causes me to get right to my feet and shove my softening dick into my pants as I head for the water. Daxter stands there watching me for a moment longer before he rushes to pass me up and leap into the green sea water as it's rushing up on the shore, disappearing below the surface.

I head out into the water, accepting the cooler temperature without complaint. As soon as I'm submerged up to my shoulders, I start looking around for Daxter. Several seconds pass before he appears right in front of me. The jizz that was on his face is gone now, but even so, I watch quietly as he runs his tongue over his chin and across his nose where it once was. He still had to lick his face to make himself 'feel' like he'd cleaned it off. And inside I feel some sort of amused satisfaction from the sight.

"By the way, Jak, yer fly is still open." He must've looked when he was swimming under the water. I wonder if he's ever stolen quick looks at me like that before today.