And all at once he’s going down, down, down the rabbit hole of memories of dark clubs and back alleys and bathroom stalls and hotel rooms far too nice for what they were being used for. Of pushing his body to the limit and his mind well past it. But he’s in a good place. He’s okay. He can handle it. The thoughts no longer make him spiral into shame and self-loathing—now they make him throb with need.

The phantom taste of a pill on his tongue and a buzzing under his skin is all it takes for his hand to follow his thoughts, down, down, down his torso to slip into his briefs.

The first contact of his cool hand on his hot cock makes him gasp in the quiet. He wants to tease himself, play with his balls and trail his fingertips down the length of his shaft, slide his thumb over the head and draw out the pleasure until he’s aching and desperate.

But he’s too far gone already, too turned on, too aware that he finally has his shit together and can’t risk fucking it all up again by getting sucked back into fantasies.

So he spreads the precome around the head, enough to slick his hand and ease his movements as he strokes himself. He tightens his grip, twisting his hand on each upstroke and flicking his index finger over the head on the downstroke.

In no time at all, he feels his thighs start to tense, then tremble, then quake as he works himself faster. But the friction that he’d loved a few minutes ago is too much, too intense. He wrenches his hand off his cock and spits into it, still a poor substitute for actual lube but far better than precome alone.

The pleasure doubles instantly as he grips himself tighter, hips bucking up into his fist, heat spreading to his limbs. He roves his free hand over his chest, skirting over his nipples and imagining it’s someone else, someone grasping at him while he fucks into them faster, faster, faster—

Rowan climaxes with a low groan, coating his fingers and the inside of his briefs in ropes of come, stroking himself through it as his body trembles with the flood of endorphins. Sweat from his hairline trickles down the side of his face, but it does little to cool the heat of his skin.

When he’s fully spent and his cock begins to soften, he wipes his hand on his briefs, flinging the comforter and sheets off his upper half to avoid getting them dirty. And he has every intention of getting up and changing into fresh underwear, washing his hands and face, but his eyes won’t stay open as his body sinks deeper into the mattress and he drifts off to sleep.