“Actually?”
“No.”
He laughs again, which is not what I thought I’d want when it comes to sexy times, but something about it warms the strangest parts of my body, like my fingertips and belly.
“You’re adorable, you know that?” he says.
“Adorable?” I echo, sounding more affronted than I feel. “That’s hardly what a guy wants to hear at a time like this.”
“Fine,” he says, a smile in his voice. “You’re sexy as hell, too. Does that make you feel better?”
I inhale as I tighten my grip on my cock. “Perhaps,” I admit.
“You’re hot as fuck.” His voice is deeper than before and kind of tight. “I want to kiss you and touch your body and suck you off again. And I want you to put your hands in my hair like you always do and pull, just enough that it almost hurts. You know, I think it’s so hot when you do that.”
“Yeah?” Gee, usually I’m more articulate, but that’s the only word I can manage.
“Sometimes I think about both of us taking our clothes off,” R continues. Usually, he sounds more careful when speaking, but tonight, it’s like he’s lost all his inhibitions. “And then I’d lie on top of you. Or maybe you’d lie on top of me. I don’t mind. And I’d wrap my hand around both of us. Maybe you’d jerk your hips like you were trying to fuck my fist.”
I can hear a slick noise in the background and wonder if he’s using lube, spit, or lotion. I brought some lotion from the bathroom earlier tonight, just in case, and coat my palm with it. When I touch myself again, it feels so good I whimper.
“Wouldn’t that be so hot?” he continues. My heart’s pounding, almost as loud as R’s voice. “Our dicks sliding up against each other, all wet —”
“Yeah,” I moan, my voice sounding broken. “It would be.”
“Then we’d come, and it’d get all over each other, all over our stomachs, and it’d mix together —”
I come with a swallowed cry, remembering just in time to catch it before I stain my bed sheets or pyjamas. Immediately, I feel way too sensitive and let go of myself. My brain feels like it’s in outer space, but I’m vaguely aware of R grunting on the other end of the line.
"Are you still there?” I ask after a minute has passed and I’ve cleaned up with tissues.
“…Yeah.”
“What’s wrong?” I ask, alarmed. Oh god, did he hate it?
There’s the rustle of cotton. “I can’t believe I said all that.” His voice is muffled, and I wonder if he’s covering his face with a pillow.
“Don’t be embarrassed,” I say. “That’s what made me come. You saying all of those filthy things —”
“Oh god. I sounded like — like I was in some sort of porno.”
“No, you didn’t,” I say firmly. “You sounded like you. And it was so hot. So,sohot. Believe me.”
Something shifts, and his voice comes back clearer. The pillow must’ve been removed. “I guess that…when you’re by yourself, in your room, the reality of what you just did hits you way harder. Because I’ve never been embarrassed. With you. At school.”
“I guess some of the embarrassment is alleviated because we can…” I hesitate. “Cuddle. And see each other. And be reassured that the other person wasn’t weirded out. And I want you to know that I’m not weirded out, at all. I loved you talking dirty.”
“Really?”
“Fuck yes.”
A soft chuckle. “It’s not often I hear you swear. You must really mean it.”
“I do.”
“How have you been?” he asks.
The question takes me off guard. “Fine. Why wouldn’t I be?” I sound more defensive than I mean to.
