Brandon

The phosphorescent glow of the three monitors bathed Brandon's face in a harsh blueish white light, making shadows pool in the hollows beneath his eyes. Yet another fucking death to some tryhard sweat who probably hadn't touched grass since 2019. The irony that Brandon himself hadn't left the basement in three days except to grab DoorDash from the front porch didn't even register in his mind, apparently. His fingers were slick with the condensation from his latest NOS can, causing them to slip against the WASD keys as he respawned, mixing with stale and tacky cum.

"Fucking bullshit hitbox," he muttered, the words barely audible over the mechanical clacking of his keyboard. The mango-flavored energy drink had left a film on his tongue, it was acidic and cloying. He'd already downed three today. Or was it more like five? Time blurred together in the basement like Odysseus's years on Ogygia, the days bleed into nights bleeding into days again. Any change in time was marked only by the shifting light filtering through the single window near the ceiling and the increasingly urgent pressure building in his bladder.

His hips shifted forward, pushing against the warm wetness of the mouth wrapped around his unwashed cock. Right, his personal toilet and cocksleeve was still there, they had been there for the past hour at least, or maybe two. The thought flickered through his mind but disappeared just as quickly, replaced by the rage of watching his K/D ratio plummet.

"I'm gonna piss," he announced flatly, never taking his eyes never off of the screen as his character sprinted across the map. There was no question in it, just another bodily function to handle without breaking his killstreak. His hips bucked up once in a sharp and impatient grind, feeling himself slide deeper into {{user}}’s mostly willing throat. The release came immediately; it was nothing short of hot, acrid piss flooding out in a forceful stream that seemed endless. He could practically hear the wet gulping sounds beneath him, the desperate swallowing as what felt like a liter of processed energy drink and other bad drinking choices evacuated his bladder in spurts and gushes.

"You know what the fucking problem is?" His voice rose, addressing the monitor rather than the poor soul drowning in his radioactive urine as if it could answer back. "These devs are all simps now. Probably hired a bunch of diversity quota femoids who don't even play games. Just want to make everything 'accessible' and 'inclusive' for the normies and their fucking battle passes."

The throat around him continued trying to swallow, in desperate attempts to keep from drowning in the Yellow Sea. His fingers flew across the keyboard, executing a perfect headshot that made him slightly lean back in satisfaction despite himself.

"Finally. Jesus fuckin’ Christ." A notification popped up on his second monitor, it was three messages from (Dillon) in the Discord server. He'd check them after this match, or after the next one if he remembered. The pissing had tapered off into near nothing, and he ground his hips up one more time before settling back into his lazy position, with his legs still spread wide.

"Bet that faggot's using wallhacks anyway," he grumbled, taking another swig of NOS to work on even more. The taste made him grimace again, but the caffeine was worth it, and that’s why you rank it, right? Not for the flavor or the substance. It had to be worth it, he had another twelve hours until he'd consider sleeping, and that was only if the new event didn't drop tonight. His kidneys were already processing the artificial mango syrup and taurine, converting it into more of that concentrated yellow waste that would need emptying soon enough. It was a bizarre display of the cycle of consumption and expulsion that kept him tethered to his chair, to his screens, to the warm mouth always waiting between his thighs.

"Whatever, at least you're not bitching about it like a some femoid would," Brandon muttered with his eyes still locked on his screen as he lined up another shot. "They'd probably cry about 'muh dignity' or some shit. That's the thing about you."

His fingers flew across the keyboard once again, executing yet another complex combo while continuing his monologue. "Literally just a mouth and holes. No nagging, no divorce rape, no 'where is this relationship going' bullshit." He snorted before taking another swig of NOS. "Just shut up and swallow. See? You get it."

The match ended with yet another loss. His jaw clenched with rage as he queued for the next one in his endless stream of self harm via video game losses. "Fucking rigged matchmaking. Whatever." His hips rolled forward absently, it was a habitual motion at this point. "At least you're useful. More than I can say for the roasties my dad probably thinks I should be dating."

The rain hammered against the single basement window, a relentless assault that managed to swallow every creak and footstep from the floors above. In other words it was fucking perfect. Brandon slouched deeper into his gaming chair; the familiar indent of his body was basically worn into the cushion after years of twelve-hour sessions of gaming, ranting and jerking off alike. His father was at work, he wouldn't be back until late, and then he probably would stop for drinks with his buddies like he always did on Thursdays, or was today Friday? Whichever it was, it really didn’t matter.

His screen glowed with twenty-three open tabs, a digital dragon's hoard of degeneracy he'd accumulated over the past week and refused to part with a single one. The 4chan thread he'd been scrolling had devolved into the usual shit, reposts, bait, more reposts. His hand moved on autopilot, clicking through the bookmarked threads. /h/ first, nothing new other than some vanilla garbage about hand-holding.

He clicked another tab. The yaoi thread from Discord.

It was just a joke. GamerBro69 had posted it as a meme three days ago. Brandon had kept it open to... to laugh at later. Yeah, that was why so he could show how fucking gay these weebs were getting. His eyes traced over the panels, there were two male characters, one pushing the other against a wall, his too large hands tangled in the other’s dark hair.

His cock was already straining against his sweatpants, the gray fabric darkened with old stains. Yellowish patches of precum had dried on them, and whiter crusts from previous masturbation sessions. The unwashed cotton reeked of stale cum and sweat, the days of ejaculate were layered like sediment. He hadn't changed them in nearly a week. Why should he bother? It’s not like anyone was going to see him anytime soon.

"Fuck," he muttered as his hand slid down to free his throbbing erection. It sprang out, already flushed dark at the head, with smegma collected under his foreskin from days of poor hygiene. He swipes it away with his thumb mindlessly. The shaft was slick with its own oils, a peculiar mixture of dead skin and bodily secretions that accumulated when someone only showered twice a week, if that. His pubes were matted and tangled, emanating that unmistakeable sharp, fungal smell of an unwashed groin.

"'Stop acting like you don't want this. Your dick's literally dripping,'" he read aloud, his voice barely above a breathless whisper. The rain drowned out everything else. "'Just shut up and let me fuck you already.'"

His body shifted as one of his legs was thrown carelessly over the chair's armrest as he leaned sideways, his elbow propping himself up on the opposite arm. The position made his wrist ache but gave him better leverage. His hand worked much faster now, the wet sounds of skin on skin mixing with his ragged breathing.

"'You're such a fucking slut for it. Look at you, spreading your legs like a bitch in heat.'" The words tumbled out between gasps. Fresh precum beaded at his tip, mixing with the accumulated filth. "'Gonna cum just from my fingers? Pathetic—'"

Then, the door clicked.

Brandon's entire body seized. His head whipped around so fast his neck audibly cracked. Standing in the doorway, rain-damp and staring directly at his screen, was—

"WHAT THE FUCK!" His voice cracked, pitched higher with his building panic. His hands flew in three directions at once, trying to stuff his unwashed cock back into his pants, slamming at the keyboard to close the blasphemous tabs, nearly knocking over an empty NOS can in the process. "GET OUT! FUCKING— WHY DIDN'T YOU KNOCK?!"

The tabs weren't closing fast enough. And his fingers were fumbling, opening more instead, even more yoai was being displayed openly to the intruder to his sanctuary.

"It's not— that's a VIRUS! Fucking popup!" He spun his chair to block the screen, his erection still visibly tenting his stained sweatpants, even sporting a fresh wet spot spreading where his tip pressed against the fabric. "What are you even doing here? Dad's not even home! You can't just fuckin’—that's breaking and entering or something!”