Nothing

The knowledge of nothingness gripped in a tight fist; nothing like this in all the world save reality spiraling blindly into a fiery death in the center of a sun surrounded by the nothingness of blue -not really blue, just reflection of light- sky and white clouds -not really white, there’s no such thing as white- that are so easily mistaken for some phantom nothing from his mind -electric impulses blinking back and forth across junctions of tissue, minds don’t exist. Nara Shikamaru -thinker of nothing, do-er of nothing, wisher of nothing, nothing- gripped his own slender nothing cock and slid a soft hand up the shaft to bump the ridgeline of the head.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing., the silent mantra continued with every slightly sweaty upstroke, but was broken with images of dark hair and even darker eyes. Shikamaru refused to let the images come in. He always fought them off. He might not be strong, but his will was strong enough.

An almost painful twist of too-tight fingers -calluses should be here on these fingers, build up of dead, rough skin from actual work- made his breath hiss in sharply. The head of his cock -more nerves here than in all my brain combined, a ruling figure- throbbed painfully at the vicious motion. Shikamaru rubbed back down the slight stickiness of his shaft -white flaky not really white no such thing as white like clouds just a mirage in the sky does he have this too people without foreskins don’t- and shut his eyes tightly as his too-tight, too-rough fist hit his balls hard.

He liked his masturbation to hurt and sting and take away the thoughts and the images and the constant analysis of the nothingness of his neverending mind. In the end -sticky sticky so hot so hot so tight my chest my heart my my my-, he always came the same though. Sticky come that dribbled lazily, languidly out of the too-tiny slit at the top of his skinned back cock onto his too-tight fingers which all ended up meaning nothing because Nara Shikamaru never failed to wish it were his father’s hand on his cock and not his own. His father who understood the nothing and stared at the clouds and saw the same nothing brilliance physics of life that Shikamaru saw…his father who smelled darkly of man and sex and something he didn’t share with Shikamaru’s mother…his father who was never gentle but instead rough and raspy and always so very right…

Shikamaru sometimes pondered the nothing of love and lust and his own lack of brilliance in both, but he never pondered any of it for more than the nothing of a second because the sky was always there to lie in blue and white -don’t exist- with the promise of reality’s fiery death in the burning sun.


~*~

Note: This was written quite a while back and once again, I'm posting to get prepared for another round for MMoM which is right around the happy corner. I hope you also enjoy this bit of nostalgic ficlet. ~Pesha