Wednesdays were Joey days. No beautiful baby girl, no fiancée, no guys, no work, no nothing except him and a locked door.
The beauty of being a famous person was that you could declare Wednesdays as your days and it would sort of magically happen. He didn’t have anywhere to be in the mornings, so he slept in until he had to pee, which was by far the best way to be ejected from unconsciousness. He got up, scratched his balls, and padded into the bathroom, where he took the secret bath no one knew about, because showers were manlier. Or something. At least, that’s what Steve always said.
But baths were fucking awesome, especially when he only got them once a week, so running the water and dumping in one of Kelly’s bath bombs was something he enjoyed as much as possible. He hummed under his breath as the tub filled, flicking on the radio to a station his dad loved, full of old forties swing and big band tunes. With the house empty, he could sing as loudly as he wanted to (not that he ever stopped himself from doing so anyhow), and he was harmonizing with Frank as he slip himself into the hot water.
He sank down to his chin, letting the jets pulse over his body, and wiggled his toes where they just peeked up out of the water. He could sit like this for a good hour or so, listening to the radio and refilling the bath whenever it got too cool. It was a great way to start off the day.
When he finally tired of water lapping around his body, he got out of the tub, spilling water carelessly over the side. Eh, he’d clean it up later. He wrapped a towel around his head and another around his hips, and set about his morning (or rather, afternoon) ablutions.
After awhile, shaving became fairly monotonous, and he was able to trim his goatee with expert care. He rubbed his thumb over his eyebrow and sighed; he missed the ring, but every time he kept it in something happened to force him to take it off. He didn’t bother to brush his teeth, as he was only going to go eat lunch.
He pulled on his favorite pair of sweats and a ragged Universal shirt, and headed downstairs to the kitchen. Upon opening the fridge, He discovered he had an enormous craving for beef and broccoli from Chino’s (the only Chinese eatery run by an Italian guy from Naples) but decided he’d order it for dinner.
He had a bowl of cereal instead, and then a club sandwich for good measure. Two meals in one go, that was the way to do it. After rinsing off his plate, Joey hopped up on the island and looked around the house. What to do–there were so many choices. Last Wednesday he spent an entire day obliterating Chris’s score on Smash Brothers, which left him feeling vindicated for most of the week–especially when Chris came in that weekend and literally squawked at the sight of his precious high score being bumped down five spaces to be replaced by the Supaman.
Joey had some vague notion of song-writing, or putting something down in the journal he was keeping for Briahna when she got older and wanted to know what life was like when she was little, but then he eyed the stack of new comics from the store he used to haunt when he was a kid, the latest run of Superman and Justice League and Superman/Batman, which he’d had to put off for a good month because of appearances and life and stuff like that, and the decision was made before he even stepped into the living room.
Four hours passed like nothing, and he didn’t move from the couch until the entire stack of comics was read and he was caught up, finally. There was a reason to buy a two thousand dollar couch: his ass didn’t hurt at all when he finally got up.
It still wasn’t dark, so he headed out to the patio and watched the ocean for awhile, singing songs he could hear drifting over the beach from the top forty station. It took a lot for him to be able to listen to top forty; it was only when he knew he wouldn’t hear himself there that he felt okay with listening for the new hip-hop and pop. The elation of hearing his songs on the radio wore off very quickly.
When it finally did get dark, and the sun had slipped past the horizon, he went back into the house and called up Chino’s, chatting away in his broken Italian for a little while before finally getting off the phone. There was decent tv on, so he flipped the channel to Adult Swim and puttered around the house, picking up Bri’s toys and listing halfheartedly to the tv while waiting for his food to arrive.
He sprawled over the breakfast table, propping his feet on one chair and reclining in another, not bothering to spoon the food onto a plate but eating it directly from the carton. It was better that way, anyway. The television was still on, but he’d muted it. He liked the light flickering in the room, but it had changed to that stupid puppet show. So he put the soundtrack to Into the Woods on instead and sang out as loudly as he could through mouthfuls of white rice.
The best part of ordering in and not using plates was that cleanup was a breeze, so he dumped everything into the trash can and rinsed off his hands. He glanced at the clock; it was nine, which meant he could call JC if he wanted to. He’d be getting ready for a concert, probably, and would talk excitedly at him for twenty minutes without letting Joey get a word in edgewise, then apologize profusely for having to hang up so abruptly.
Chris was probably high and songwriting, which wouldn’t be a change from any phone call Joey had ever had with him; the man was annoyingly sober when he was stoned. Lance, he knew, would be getting ready to go out, but would happily talk to him for awhile about a new game on Yahoo! or the canceling of favored television shows. Justin was filming, and they’d talked earlier that week, comparing stories about film sets and Joey giving him tips about how to operate with actors they used to watch when they were kids.
In the end, though, he called him mom, because they hadn’t talked in a week and a half and she threatened him with a red sauce-covered wooden spoon if he didn’t keep in touch. She was delighted to hear from him, and they talked about Briahna and cooking shows and her favorite soap opera. It was a couple hours before they finally hung up, and Joey looked up from where he was relaxing against the island, head resting on his hands, to find that it was late enough for him to at least sit in bed.
The huge king size bed was one of the nicest things he owned; he and Kelly spent a month picking out the best of everything to make going to be one of the best experiences they could possibly have, and every time he came home at three in the morning from a show or practice or whatever he appreciated it so much more when his spine gave out and he gave a groaning eighty-year-old sigh.
He kept the bedside lamp on, but turned all the others off, grabbing the remote for the stereo before slumping into bed. He turned it on to the eclectic station Kel liked, letting the folksy sound of songs he didn’t know wash over him. He wasn’t really tired, but definitely felt sedentary, so he stretched a little and propped himself up against the pillows.
This was the best part of Wednesdays. It wasn’t that he was too busy for sex, or that he and Kel didn’t make time for each other. But there was something about being by himself, alone in this little pocket of time he’d created for himself, that made jacking off an *experience* for him. It echoed back to every time he’d wanked off, from the moment he discovered that his dick could do new and interesting things to well, now.
He pulled off his shirt and threw it into the corner, and maneuvered out of his sweats and boxers, letting them fall in a crumpled heap to the floor. His thumb rubbed at the groove of his hip, raising sensation at the warm skin there.
His right leg came up, and he let it rest against the calf of his other leg and splay outwards. The windows were open, letting a warm breeze ruffle through the room, and he shivered just a little. A small smile curved on his face, and a palm moved up his chest to rest at his nipple, fingering it to a hard nub. He did the same to his other nipple, sighing at the feeling, and moved his other hand to his cock, just holding it and enjoying the transfer of heat.
He breathed deeply, feeling the air raise and lower his chest, and did it again just because. When he brought his hand up to rub at his face, he could smell the faint musk of himself on his skin, and licked at his palm as if to taste away the scent. His hand drifted back down to his cock, and he began to leisurely stroke himself, taking his time and shifting on the bed to give himself more room.
Joey raked his blunt fingernails up his chest, leaving faint red streaks in its wake. Not as good as other times, but enough to get his skin hot and sensitized. He pinched his nipple roughly, twisting from the good burn of it down his spine. His feet dug into the bedspread, shoving it farther from him and half off the bed.
He closed his eyes, still fisting his cock, and fumbled for the bottle of lubricant on the bedside table. He paused what he was doing to squeeze some onto his palm and rub it over both his hand. One returned to his cock, keeping up the slowly accelerating pace, and the other moved lower. He rolled his balls in his hand, murmuring nonsense words at the feeling, then moved back to stroke a fingertip between his balls and his ass. God, that felt good; it always seems to stupid that such a random place was so sensitive, but he wasn’t complaining.
When the knuckle of his index finger slipped inside, he held his breath, as if that could alter the first awkward sense of being breached. But it soon passed, and he moved his finger, now in to the joint, experimentally. His hand had stilled on his cock, moving again once he realized he had stopped. It took only a few minutes to stretch himself enough to add a second finger, and he gasped a little when he scissored them inside himself.
Joey brushed across his prostate almost accidentally, and the surprise was enough to still his hand on his cock again. He let his legs fall outwards, even further than before, moving to get a better angle for his fingers. He forgot how fucking great this felt until the next time he did it, open and slick, three fingers now. He moved his free hand up and down his chest for a few moments, feeling the flush that crept over his skin, before resuming his efforts with his dick.
He was breathing hard, but he stopped, withdrawing his fingers reluctantly to take his vibrator from the open drawer. Kel’s was in her bedside table; nothing said life partnership more than matching sex toys. A few shaky moments later, the vibrator was lubricated, and he used both hands to slowly push it into himself.
His mouth was open, his eyes staring sightless at the ceiling, and he was concentrating wholly on the task at hand. He felt stretched and open, arching off the bed to get it deeper, adjusting it a little so that it rubbed against his prostrate. When it was all the way in, he stopped, falling gently against the bed and resting his hands on his stomach.
He loved being filled in this way, when it was nothing but him and the air and the radio and he could concentrate on himself without having to worry about a partner. Not that it was especially complicated, given how long he and Kelly had been together, or even given the relationships he’d had before her. He was a pretty easygoing guy when it came to sex. But this was just for him, and when he slowly turned the dial of the vibrator up, his face went lax with pleasure, and he thought that he fucking *loved* Wednesdays.
It was good, and then it was still good, and it kept being good, especially when he started to move the vibrator in and out of himself, making shallow thrusts that thrummed against his prostate in the best way ever. He’d pretty much abandoned his cock, though it was still hard and ready resting against his thigh, but this was too good to distract himself with anything else right now.
It only took a few more motions before he was gasping and arching off the best, coming on his own chest, and when the orgasm had passed, he anchored himself on the bed. He came down slowly and leisurely, running his hands all over his skin, keeping himself oversensitized and on edge.
His eyes closed, and he buried his head in his pillow, careful to keep his hands on his skin. After a few long minutes, he groaned, and pulled the vibrator from himself, grunting at the feel of loss that accompanied its removal. He stood slowly, spreading his legs so that he was walking bow-legged to the bathroom. It had been too long since he’d done that, he thought as he washed the vibrator off in the sink and soaped up his own hands, perfunctorily running them over his groin and then taking a warm wet washcloth over it again to clean away the semen marking his skin.
He hunched over the sink, bracing his hands on the counter, and looked himself in the eye. Not too bad, for a night alone. He felt pretty good right now, and he pulled his clothes back on before tugging the covers up and climbing back into bed. He rested on his side, flipping the switch of the lamp on his bedside table, and closed his eyes. Kelly and Bri would be coming back from her mother’s tomorrow, and Lance was coming into town for the weekend. He’d be glad to see them.