Takaba Akihito is having a nightmare.
Takaba jerks awake panting, body covered in sweat and trembling.
He's suddenly aware of his wrists, pressed against each other as though held in place by a ghostly hand.
He wants to believe that it's a nightmare. Wants to pretend that the sweat running down his neck and rolling over his chest towards his naval is cold, not hot, his skin pale from the fright, not blushing with arousal. He had been moaning and writhing- Yes, of course he was having a nightmare.
Except that the erection trapped between his legs is so hard and real it hurts and the hand that slides down under the covers to wrap soothingly around his needy flesh can't be stopped. Like the knees that fall open and the fresh moan he can't quite swallow.
He clears his mind and concentrates on friction and pleasure instead of the images that promise to push him over the edge in minutes.
When it's over, he's left panting, his blood cooling like the sticky mess across his stomach.
Just looking at him, you might not be able to tell, but Takaba Akihito is having a nightmare.