Broken String

XLVII ( 2nd half of first paragraph NSFW)

Okay, so this is an issue he hadn't thought of before. He doesn't really know why, because he's had a hell of a day, or maybe it's just because he's had a hell of a day, but all he wants right now is an orgasm. That's probably why the weird reaction in the shower too just now, right? But can he even do that? Okay, his right hand has not been as sore as the left, but still? He has his sweats on now so at least Brett can't see that he's actually half hard by now. Crap. What the hell will he do now? Will he manage to wait until this evening, when he's alone? And even then, can he even do this at all?
God, he's going to hate being alone. 
"Um, can I have a minute in here?" he says before he knows it, his head pointing towards the toilet as if that's what he needs the minute for. 
"Absolutely. Holler when you want me to pick you up."
Brett's already out of the door, closing it behind him. 
"Oh, God." Eddy whispers as he moves his right hand into a more comfortable position. No, wait. He needs bog roll first. He grabs it quickly and scrunches it into his useless left hand. He'll need to be quick, because Brett isn't far away. His right hand moves the sweats down and grabs himself. He's completely hard by now. 
"Ow." he mouths and grits his teeth. God, it hurts to move like this, but what else is he going to do? His eyes shut as his right hand moves up and down, up and down, bringing a huge orgasm quickly closer. And he knows where his mind should be going. 
Full, round breasts, bobbing down on him. He had sex, just the other night, right? Even though it was a massive mistake, surely he can think back on it all the same? 
His hand moves quicker now, his breath speeding up. Up, down, up, down, and he's almost forgotten about the pain. And an image pushes itself up at him, ousting any thoughts of bouncing breasts. Boys, on a chequer board. Beautiful boys. And then Brett's fingers, scraping his scalp so delicately. His eyes open wide in shock as a massive orgasm rolls over him, overtaking him in wave after wave of pleasure, and he just about manages to stay quiet as he comes into the wad of bog roll he's made. 

"Fuck." he whispers as he comes down from it. What the hell was all that? He's being weird today. And he seriously needs to get his act together right this second, or Brett will definitely know what he's been up to and yet another word for awkward will need to be invented. So he quickly cleans himself up, biting through the pain. Ow. Crap, this may have been a mistake, because his hand has not liked this little exercise. He throws the wad into the toilet and flushes.
"Ow!" The exclamation leaves his lips before he can bite down on them.
"You good?"
It's Brett, of course, he's right outside the door.
"Yeah. Come on in." he calls. Brett steps in and his pupils narrow.
"What happened?"
"My arm didn't like that." he tells him, maybe not quite lying, but he knows full well that he intends for Brett to take his comment as meaning moving from the toilet to the chair. 
Look. What else is he going to say? God, his hand is really sore now, the soreness even overtakes the pleasant tingles that are still emanating from his relaxing dick, now safely limp in his sweats. 
"Okay. Living room?" Brett asks. 
"Yeah. Sure."

Everybody is here by now, home from the con, and they take turns telling Todd and Ian everything that happened in the hospital.
"So basically, you know nothing?" Todd asks him when he's regaled the endless lab visit at the end. 
"Nope."
"Fuck."
Eddy nods. 
"Yes."
He installs himself a bit more comfortably on the couch as Brett mouths 'toilet' and leaves the room. 
"Was the doctor okay though?" Ian asks him.
"Yeah. Called Yang, funnily. She was nice and seemed competent enough. She seemed to have all sorts of ideas she wasn't sharing, though."
"You gonna Google to see what she might not be sharing?"
Eddy shakes his head.
"No. Brett said not to and I agree with him."
Todd nods and gets up from the arm of the couch, where he's been sitting. 
"Okay, so I'm cooking lasagne. That good?"
Eddy smiles. 
"Wow, homemade lasagne? We were gonna order Chinese food, but that's gone right out the window this minute, of course. You're turning into quite the Nigella, Toddy."
Todd raises his middle finger goodnaturedly, takes a pan out of the cupboard and opens the fridge.

Ian sits on the other end of the couch, chatting to him, a long story he only half catches about a rehearsal at the con with an ad hoc ensemble and Eddy relaxes more. God, it's all just so much better now that he's here, surrounded by his friends.
But actually, Brett is taking a while, isn't he? Is he okay? Or has he decided to shower as well? In the afternoon, though? Eddy looks back towards the hallway and just then Brett appears, looking as deadpan as ever. 
But Eddy knows him too well to be fooled by any of his deadpan looks. Wait. Why is he flushed? Is he okay? What's happened?
"You good?" he asks under his breath as Brett sits down next to him and picks up his phone. 
"Yes, of course!" he answers, but just a little bit too quickly. "Oh! Todd is cooking?"
"Lasagne, apparently."
"Oh, awesome. Well, I'll have a quick something to drink and then I'll go practise in a minute, if you're all good here."
"Yup. I'm perfectly fine here."

And you know what? It's true. He actually is.