[Everybody knows the rumours. Stashed way at the back of the naval base there's a rundown restroom that doesn't get many visitors. But on certain days, if you know when they are, you might find the last stalled manned by someone who's willing to give the marines some relief.
Colt knows the rumours, even passed it to along to his brother one night when booze had loosened his lips just enough. He'd been whining about it, arm slung around Bronco's shoulders as he went on about always being away from the base on the days the stall is supposed to be manned. 'Anikiiii, it's not fair. They've always got me doing something so I can't get my dick wet. I'm so sick of my hand.' He'd lingered there, plastered against Bronco until he'd been shoved away and pulled into some argument with a few of their comrades.
The memory comes back to him unbidden as he stalks the halls, making sure nobody is watching where he goes as he heads for the restroom. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he shoves all thoughts of Bronco out of his mind. His aniki has nothing to do with this; nothing to do with why he's so desperate to get off. Absolutely nothing. He hasn't harboured an inappropriate crush --it's more than a crush. Something bordering on obsession would be far more apt-- on his aniki since they were young.
The very thought is absurd.
Adjusting himself through his pants as he stomps into the bathroom, Colt comes to a halt as he catches sight of standard military issued boots at the bottom of the fabled stall. He takes a moment to think of the rules he'd heard: Don't try to peek and see who's in there. Be quiet, don't draw attention even if they are in a secluded corner of the base. and a few other things that differed depending on who was telling the story, but they all agreed on the first two. Closing the door behind him as he stepped into the neighbouring stall, Colt clears his throat and stands next to the hole cut into the divider.
He runs a finger along the hole, making his intent clear and waits for a response.]
aniiikiii
Colt knows the rumours, even passed it to along to his brother one night when booze had loosened his lips just enough. He'd been whining about it, arm slung around Bronco's shoulders as he went on about always being away from the base on the days the stall is supposed to be manned. 'Anikiiii, it's not fair. They've always got me doing something so I can't get my dick wet. I'm so sick of my hand.' He'd lingered there, plastered against Bronco until he'd been shoved away and pulled into some argument with a few of their comrades.
The memory comes back to him unbidden as he stalks the halls, making sure nobody is watching where he goes as he heads for the restroom. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he shoves all thoughts of Bronco out of his mind. His aniki has nothing to do with this; nothing to do with why he's so desperate to get off. Absolutely nothing. He hasn't harboured an inappropriate crush
--it's more than a crush. Something bordering on obsession would be far more apt--on his aniki since they were young.The very thought is absurd.
Adjusting himself through his pants as he stomps into the bathroom, Colt comes to a halt as he catches sight of standard military issued boots at the bottom of the fabled stall. He takes a moment to think of the rules he'd heard: Don't try to peek and see who's in there. Be quiet, don't draw attention even if they are in a secluded corner of the base. and a few other things that differed depending on who was telling the story, but they all agreed on the first two. Closing the door behind him as he stepped into the neighbouring stall, Colt clears his throat and stands next to the hole cut into the divider.
He runs a finger along the hole, making his intent clear and waits for a response.]