Title: It’s Only Me

Rating: PG, for slashy overtones, choice language

Characters: Alex Shelley, mention of Chris Sabin

Distribution: If you’d like it, just ask me first.

Disclaimer: It’s all in good fun. No harm meant to anyone.

Warnings: Choice language, slash overtones and masturbation

Summary: When he’s all pent up and has the house to himself, what’s a boy to do with his free time?

Notes: An informal challenge that grew from an LJ conversation…

I can't think of anybody else I'd rather
Spend some one on one time with,
It's not that hard to see,
It's only me.
                        -barenaked ladies

            You know that old saying “If you can’t be with the one you love, love the one you’re with”? Well, I must be fucking head-over-heels in love with myself today. Whatever. I’ve got the house to myself, energy to burn and no one to keep me otherwise occupied. Kristen’s off for the weekend with a few friends, some girls-only getaway they’ve been planning for a while. Kevin’s home in Florida, so the most I could get out of him is a phone call. Besides, things have sorta shifted in that relationship, and I’m not really sure where it’s headed anymore. And Chris is spending the day with his brothers, four-wheeling or some shit. He invited me to tag along, but it’s not really my thing. Besides, the mood I’m in today…yeah, I don’t think me spending the day watching Chris be all rough and tumble would be the best thing.

I could so easily get lost in that thought alone…

Anyway, a quiet house and all this time usually isn’t a bad thing. Not that it’s a bad thing today. It’s just…I’m a bit pent up, to put it nicely. Hell, forget nice—I’m horny like whoa. And since there’s really nobody around to help me out, I’ve taken matters into my own hands, as it were. Pun intended. Very intended.

I’d love to be able to blame my mood on a particularly enjoyable dream, but I can’t. Doesn’t mean I didn’t have a nice dream, just means I can’t recall the details. Whatever the reason, I woke up in a good mood as it were. I kick the covers back just enough, wrap my hand around my cock, and get to work. It’s nothing fancy, just a quick and dirty, down to business kind of deal. Figure I can get it all out of my system and I’ll just go on about my day.

I should probably grab a quick shower before I do anything else, but it can wait. It’s not like I have to be anywhere today at any specific time. So, I grab a shirt and a pair of track pants from the bedroom floor, slip them on and head downstairs. Figure eventually I’ll hunt down something for breakfast, maybe run some errands—go to the bank, pay bills and other such fun things, after that shower, of course—but mostly just be really lazy. Like, really fucking lazy. Those days come few and far between when you’re hardly ever home like I am. 

            I make myself at home on the couch, absent-mindedly flipping through the channels. And can I tell you, there’s not a damned thing worth watching on TV during the day. 

Nothing. 

Nada. 

Zip. 

So, what’s a boy to do in this situation? Yep.  And to be honest, I wasn’t even really aware I was doing it at first. Don’t give me that look. You know what I’m talking about. You’re just in that good, comfortable spot, not really caring about how you got there. Shit just feels good and that’s all that matters. I mean, it didn’t take that long for me to catch on. I’m good at what I do. And really, ‘twas quite enjoyable.

            After a few minutes, I go back to flipping further through the channels, with the intent of finding something more substantial to focus on. Of course, anyone knows the deeper you go into the cable channels the more…interesting stuff you find. And that eventually gets round three started. I always love how my parents—especially my Dad—pretend like these channels aren’t there, even though they pay the cable bill every month. And let’s face it, that shit’s not cheap. Whatever, it’s free porn for the rest of us, right?

My attention is caught by some overly-chesty redhead getting her guts poked by some guy, her fingers feverishly working over her clit as she rides him. Cocking my head to the side for a moment as I watch, I'm first struck by the fact she seems to only have one nipple pierced. Which seems odd to me, for whatever reason. I mean, if yer gonna do it, why do it half assed like that?

            I’m actually thankful when the guy pushes her towards the bed so she’s on all fours cuz seriously, that one pierced nipple bothers me. I mean, it seems like you’d want balance or something, right? But it’s then I notice the cutesy little cartoon cat tattooed on her ass and I’m all done with this. For suck’s sake…why bother?

            One channel away is this pleasing lesbian three-some—no off-balance, half-assed piercings or stupid fucking tattoos, thank Jebus—with two of the girls practically making a meal of the third. Which might not be a bad thing, since all three of them look like they haven’t eaten in two decades. (Oh come on! Like you’re not overly critical of the porn you watch?) Whatever…there’s tits, ass and pussy on display for my personal viewing pleasure. And I ain’t gotta buy any of them dinner or cuddle with them afterwards. Major bonus.

But it’s not the visual in front of me as much as the sound. Don’t get me wrong, it’s quite an enjoyable scene to watch, but the girl getting a tongue bath has got a mouth that could make a sailor blush. And she’s loud. Which, of course, is like fuckin’ music to my ears, right? 

It's not long before I fall back into what seems to be my pattern today; hand wrapped around my cock, working slowly at first—after all, I’m actually putting some time and thought into this round—then once I let my eyes close, shit's on. 

            I know what works and what doesn’t. And I can make this last as long as I want it to. Or, if need be, I can get this done and over with in a matter of a few minutes. And don’t go giving me that look. You know what works for you. Don’t try and deny it, either. Everybody does it. Especially girls. Yeah, sure, they pretend like they don’t, like it’s above them. But twenty bucks says you can walk into any girl’s bedroom, open their nightstand drawer and find more sex toys than you even knew existed. Hell, get a couple of drinks in her, and she’ll probably give you the run-down on them—which ones are better for a quickie, which ones are better to use during sex, and which ones were just a waste of money. Then again, maybe it’s just the girls I date.

I grab the T-shirt that's been tossed on the floor, not really caring about who it might belong to right now. I just need something to clean up with. As I toss it back on the floor, I laugh to myself when I see it's my brother's shirt. That should teach him to leave his damn laundry lying around the house like that. Sure, I'll be nice and toss it in the wash later today, but I'm not gonna tell him anything more. God forbid he ends up under a black light. On second thought, that shirt would probably glow bright enough to light up a city block knowing him.

That's...actually kind of a creepy thought...

Shaking that thought from my head, I pull myself together, now in even more need of a shower than I was when I woke up. I manage to drag myself upstairs to the bathroom and turn on the water. As I strip off my shirt and track pants, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror above the sink. 

Hot fucking damn, Shelley. You’re a god among mere mortals.

            Okay, maybe I’m self-centered, shallow and narcissistic, but—hell, look at me. I’m fucking gorgeous. I’ve put a lot of work into this body, and I’m damned proud of it. So, I spend an extra minute or two in the mirror. Big deal. You would, too, if you looked like this.

I step in the shower and let the warm water run down my face, across my shoulders and down my back. Every muscle has a low, constant ache that I've just become accustomed to after getting thrown around for a few years. But damn if that water doesn't feel nice.

And damned if my hand hasn't wandered it’s way back to my cock. 'For fuck's sake, Shelley, get a hold...' Ha! I'm one step ahead of you, pesky inner-voice. 

I work slowly for a few moments, skin slick from the water, and really, it feels nice. Really.  Fucking.  Nice. I think of nothing more than how hot the water is, how slick and wet my hand is and how hard my cock is as my pace begins to quicken, bringing myself closer and closer to the edge.

Oh…fuck…yeah…

That’s it…right…there…

Fuck…

            I brace myself against the shower wall with my free hand as I feel my orgasm approaching. And fucking hell if it’s not a good one. The kind that makes you entire body tingle, your knees buckle and your breath catch to a point where you almost have to remember to breathe. Yeah, those are good.

The best part about jacking off in the shower? The easy clean-up.

I finish my shower unceremoniously as I cycle through my recovery period. I towel off, purposely trying not to pay attention to what I'm doing. All I need is something to set me off again. Although, I'm beginning to think I couldn't get much more out of me at this point. Then again, I could take a nap for an hour or so and be right back to it when I woke up. Instead, I start to fall back into another routine of mine—counting bumps and bruises. I’m sure they’re all from work, but it seems like there’s a new one every day. Like this particularly nasty one on the back of my calf—seems like I’d remember getting that one. I should probably remember how I got the bruise on my ass too, but I don’t. Although, that could be Chris’s doing…

Probably the other night. And probably teeth marks more than an actual bruise. And this line of thinking isn’t helping matters, I realize, as I’m trying almost in vain to not wrap my hand around my cock once again and trying not to recall the particular details from that night.

Damn it, I need a hobby. Preferably one that doesn't involve touching myself. But fuck, if it’s not enjoyable.

I slip on a pair of jeans—faded, worn out and broken-in in all the right places, which is perfect since I’m not even gonna bother with underwear at this point—and manage to make my way back downstairs, with the intentions of finding something for lunch now, since I totally missed breakfast. And really, I’ve worked up a bit of an appetite. But the couch is inviting, and sleepiness is slowly setting in. I can always eat later, I figure, as I make myself comfortable, my back propped up with a few throw pillows, one leg stretched out along the couch. It doesn't take long for my thoughts—or my hand—to wander right back to where they've been all day.

            I’m half lying on the couch, my hand loosely wrapped around my cock once again, working in a nice, slow rhythm when my cell phone rings. Checking the caller ID, I see Chris is calling. I smile as I flip the phone open with my free hand, no intentions of stopping what I’m doing.

            “Hey, babe,” I answer. The smile on my face is more the result of who’s calling than what I’m doing. I mean, it’s my Chrissy. How could I not smile at the sound of his voice?

            “Hey. You just wake up?” he asks, his voice energetic and happy, like it always seems to be.

            “No, why?”

            “Eh, you just sound…relaxed.”

            “You could say that,” I answer, my smile widening. It should only be another minute or two before he figures it out.

            “Just thought I’d see if you were up for some company.”

            “Thought you guys were spending the day…four-wheeling?” I ask, but it’s not like I’m turning down his offer. Just thought he was busy today.

            “We’ve been out there for hours. But I could use a change of pace. So I thought I’d see if you were up to doing something.”

            “Mmm…sure,” I answer lazily, half lost in the haze of my impending orgasm. “I’m always…up for doing…something.” Especially today, it seems.

            “Well, give me about an hour and…” he starts, dropping of mid-sentence. Which means the light bulb should be going off in three…two… “Aww, dude! Yer not…”

            “Yep, I am,” I say, quite proud of myself actually. I mean, this is what? Number five? And it’s coming up on two in the afternoon. Eh, I didn’t break any records, but that’s not a bad day’s work really.

            “You could’ve called me back, y’know.” He’s trying to sound annoyed, but I know better. I can hear the amusement in his voice.

            “Eh…sorry yer missing…the show…”

            “I’m not gonna talk dirty to you.” S’okay, Chrissy, the dirty talk really isn’t your forte to begin with. Still love you, though.

            “Don’t need you to.” I debate for a moment whether or not I should step up my efforts now, just to prove my point. Then again, I don’t know if he’s off by himself while he’s on the phone or not. I don’t think putting him in that position would be fair. It’d be funny, at least to me, but not really fair to him.

            “Tell you what. If you can manage to tear yourself away from…yourself… for an hour,” he says, trying not to snicker like a sixth-grader, “I can give you a…hand when I get to your place.”

            “Dunno, babe. I might need a nap by then. But I’m sure we can work something out.”