Chapter Text
Bachira knew this wasn't a good idea.
It wasn't a good idea at all.
He couldn't really help it, to be completely honest.
It wasn't like he could control his body that much, sure, he’d always been good at… ignoring all of this, these kinds of thoughts, mostly because he couldn't be bothered to deal with them, but now…
He couldn't really lock himself in the bathroom for hours or something like that, they needed to think about a strategy to win against the next team, if they lost, everything would have ended like that, he didn't want it to end, not yet, but being in there for too long would have been really suspicious.
He sighed, looking down at his hard dick with a frown, as if to say: Really, now?
His dick didn't answer, of course, he could just feel it pulse harder, expecting him to deal with it, quickly.
He really didn't have time for this, he really didn't want to do it, didn't want to think about it, about every thought he had about…
It was strange.
Such an unfamiliar feeling, that of being aroused by someone, it had never happened to him before, he'd never looked at someone and thought about them enough to have these kinds of thoughts.
To be fair, it wasn't like anyone had ever looked at him either, unless it was to make fun of him and shout insults at him and punch and kick again and again and again—
This wasn't helping at all, being horny and sad wasn't the best combo, he didn't actively know this, but the pain in his chest was starting to become too uncomfortable to deal with and Bachira just wished his head would shut up for a second.
He sighed again, wrapping a hand around himself, Shut up, just do it and you won't have to think about it again, his hand was cold, the warmth of the water from the shower long gone from his skin, the sensation made him jump, take in a sharp breath.
He just—
Shut up.
He started stroking his dick with the thumb, toying with the tip, teasing himself, trying to distract his head enough not to think, a whimper escaped his lips and his other hand flew to his mouth, the muffled talking from the changing room could barely be heard from the stall, as quiet as a whisper but loud enough to made him too aware of what he was doing.
He couldn't risk being heard, at all, not by anyone, not by him, that thought wasn't helping at all, his thumb kept teasing his tip enough to make him bite his lip in an attempt to keep himself quieter, a useless attempt, to be honest, given he couldn't suppress the moans that resonated in his throat, low, short sounds, he leaned on the tiled wall and that sharp cold just made him squeeze his eyes and sigh again, his hand pressing harder on his mouth and the other squeezing enough to make him tremble.
Fuck.
He started to move his hand, slowly, still slowly, panting and breathing and the darkness in his sight wasn't that black anymore, vague memories and fantasies of sentences, moments, feelings washed over him, mh— ngh— fuck—
Knowing he was masturbating while thinking about the only person he could consider his friend, the only person who had been kind to him, made his heart flutter with shame and arousal in a way he’d never experienced before, his hand sped up, his nails buried in the skin of his cheek as his throat kept vibrating with the moans he was still trying to suppress.
Fuck, this was bad.
Too fucking bad.
His leg was trembling, bouncing in spasm with anxiety and excitement, it wasn't like it felt better than the other times, still, in a way, it felt too different, he shuddered in anticipation and the hand around his dick wasn't his own anymore, moving too fastly to keep quiet, he gasped and panted as he could only see him, his bright blue eyes looking straight at him with such desire and a smile on his face and his hand was warm and so sure, in a way, he looked at him and he could hear him in his mind saying such sweet words in his hears, fuck, fuck, f-fuck—
His name left his lips as a sigh as he came, his eyes hurt from how much he was squeezing them, his hand was pressing too hard and it felt so good, so fucking good.
When he opened them, he came face to face with the closed door of the bathroom stall, a dark shade blue, not dark enough to be the same as his hair, but Bachira wasn't really thinking straight.
He couldn't describe the emptiness in his chest when he realized the face in his sight had never been there, his heart ached, beating too fast, echoing in his ears, his head felt light, too light, and the warmth of his cum on his hand was the only thing that brought him back to reality.
He only felt tired.
Too tired to do anything.
He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down, and got up from the toilet, leaning on the wall of the stall, he kept breathing, trying not to let the disappointment creep up on him too much.
He didn't succeed really well, a more familiar sense of anxiety was slowly taking over him, his eyes burnt and—
Don't even try.
Too bad he couldn't control the tears that fell on his cheeks, he quickly wiped them from his face, suppressing hiccups and trying to mask them as breaths, once again failing at such action, his shoulders shook and he just pressed the palms of his hands on his eyes, trying to keep the tears from falling.
Why was he even crying anyway? He really had no idea, he didn't care to find out.
It took a few minutes, but he was able to calm down enough to look almost as he usually did, he didn't look at his reflection in the mirror when he washed his face, he didn't care to know about how he looked like.
He was lucky enough that when he finally exited the bathrooms, nobody was there anymore.
He really couldn't have been more glad.