Then I remembered that I haven't written smut in months.
Therefore, this fic is just to get me back into the swing of writing porn. It has no plot whatsoever. I wrote it in just under an hour. DON'T TAKE IT SERIOUSLY PLZKTHX.
Missing You, by kishmet. Tezuka/Ryoma, R(...ish), 1550 words. 30_lemons theme: 8. The Phonebooth, or, "Aural Sex." The theme pretty much says it all. Let's all pretend Ryoma is older than twelve in here, shall we?
Ryoma closed his bedroom door. His parents were out for the evening together and Nanako was out with friends. He still liked the feeling of privacy for when he called Tezuka on the phone…especially when he was planning something, the way he was tonight.
“I miss you,” Ryoma said, turning on his side to face the wall, keeping the phone at his ear.
“We’ll see each other tomorrow.”
“I know,” said Ryoma. “I still miss you being here. We could be alone here, buchou.”
“I miss you too, Echizen.”
“You can’t touch me over the phone,” said Ryoma, and lowered his voice. “I want you to be here to touch me.”
Ryoma ignored the reprimand in the tone, which he did whenever he felt like it. “Buchou…can we pretend like you’re here touching me? Over the phone?”
There was a pause. “No.”
“You don’t have to say anything.” Ryoma put a hint of pleading into his tone. “Just listen.”
“I’m already hard just from hearing your voice,” Ryoma said, making his voice breathy, ending the sentence with a little groan. “Please, buchou. Please.”
On the other end of the line, Tezuka said nothing. He didn’t hang up, either.
Ryoma took this as tacit permission to go on. “We’re both on my bed, and we’re supposed to be doing homework…but…” He unbuttoned his pants, which were already tight. He hadn’t been lying about Tezuka’s voice and its effects. “But I sat on your lap and started kissing you, the way I did the other day.”
“You’re already done with your essay, buchou,” he said. “I finished my English homework, too. It was so easy…and now I’m sitting on you and grinding up against you, and you don’t really want to stop me.” He turned on his stomach, cupping his erection through his jeans and grinding against his hand and the bedcovers, hissing at the chafing friction of the denim through his underwear.
“Yes, buchou,” Ryoma countered, letting out a low moan. “Please…”
Tezuka said nothing more, and this time didn’t try to stop Ryoma again.
“I start taking my shirt off and you help me.” Ryoma got to his knees and pulled at the hem of his t-shirt with his free hand. “You brush against one of my nipples with your hand, and I shiver and…gasp…like this,” he demonstrated, brushing his left nipple with the heel of his hand and gasping with feeling, pretending it was Tezuka’s hand.
“I bite your tongue when you do that, not really on purpose, and you bite back, but not very hard.” Ryoma grazed his own tongue with his teeth, wondering if Tezuka could hear the wet noise of the tongue and the small sound Ryoma made. He hoped so.
“It takes us awhile to get it off, because we’re kissing,” said Ryoma. “But we get it off eventually.” He had to maneuver a bit to keep the phone in hand, but he managed it, taking off one sleeve, then switching hands to take off the other. Then he ducked through the collar and let the shirt fall to the floor. “I start sliding off your lap, onto the bed on my back, and you come with me.” Ryoma slid into position, his head at the foot of the bed. “We’re the wrong way around, so we’re not on the pillows, but we don’t care.”
“I like how you feel pressed up against me,” Ryoma whispered. “I arch up against you and you grind against me because you can’t help it.” He rubbed his cock through the fabric again, harder this time.
He thought he heard the rustling of sheets on the other end of the phone, but he couldn’t be sure.
“You reach down to unzip my pants,” said Ryoma, groaning as he eased the zipper down past his erection. “I’m so hard, and I want…I want your hands on me. I say that but you just keep going, and I try to say mada mada da ne but…I can’t.”
That was a more definite rustling from Tezuka’s end. Ryoma pictured Tezuka shifting to a more comfortable position, slipping a hand into his own pants even though he hadn’t wanted to do this at all.
“You slide my pants down, and my underwear too. You start touching me, just with your thumb on the tip and…oh…” Ryoma ran his thumb over the dripping head of his cock, then used his palm to smear the fluid that had started leaking out of him. He let out a whimper, louder than he usually would have so that Tezuka could hear. There was an answering, shuddering sigh from the phone. “I want you to touch me more…”
“I try to undo your pants too, but you keep on distracting me.” Ryoma fisted his erection lightly and groaned. “Your hand is on me but not hard enough. You’re teasing, even though you won’t say so.” Tezuka never would admit that he sometimes teased Ryoma practically out of his mind, but he definitely did it.
“You lean down and start kissing around my nipple, the same one as earlier…” Ryoma ran a finger around the erect nub, then rolled it between finger and thumb, shuddering, his hips jerking upward. “You take it in your mouth and you’re sucking on it…and…ah…I’m arching up against you, my hands are in your hair so you’ll stay there.”
“Echizen…” Ryoma thought that Tezuka hadn’t meant to say that. He shivered.
“You say my name,” said Ryoma. “And then you start kissing me on the mouth again. I finally got your pants undone and I pull them down and start touching you.” His fist clenched for a moment on his cock and he bit back a cry. “You’re as hard as I am and you tighten your hand on me when I start, it feels so good…”
Tezuka’s breathing had sped up, and Ryoma could hear it even through the phone.
“You take my wrist and pull my hand away and I don’t know what you’re doing at first, until you move down and you take your hand and…”
Tezuka’s hand was bigger than Ryoma’s. It wasn’t hard for Ryoma to remember what it felt like stroking him, large and hot and firm and tennis-callused. “You’ve got your hand wrapped around both of us,” Ryoma said, closing his eyes and groaning at the thought.
He heard Tezuka’s sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line.
Ryoma thrust upward with a whimper, deliberately slowing his hand’s movement. “I…nn…” He couldn’t finish the sentence right away. “I’m trying to grind up against you because you’re not going fast enough. You whisper…” he had to stop again, panting too hard to continue. “Patience, Echizen, but that always makes me more impatient, buchou…”
He could Tezuka trying to control his ragged breathing, and failing.
“You’re kissing me again, the way I like it, harder than you meant to because you want to go faster too, buchou, you’re impatient too.” Ryoma licked his lips and moaned, stroking his cock more quickly. “I put one of my hands down so it’s over yours, so it’s both of us.” He set the phone down as carefully as he could beside his head, and brought his other hand down to wrap around the first. “So close, buchou, want you so much…”
There, from Tezuka’s end, that breath let out in a slow, soft groan.
“Say it like you’re ordering laps,” Ryoma breathed into the phone, writhing and turning his head to the side, slowing the rhythm again until his hand almost stopped. “Say it, buchou.”
Tezuka said the same thing during their matches together sometimes, and no matter how stupid it was, no matter what other people would say, Ryoma always wanted to obey. “Come, Echizen,” Tezuka commanded, his voice soft and hoarse.
Ryoma’s fingers tightened around his cock and his toes dug into the bedspread as he arched into his own touch. His hips bucked wildly and he felt hot stickiness on his stomach. Probably some got onto the sheets, too. He didn’t care. He’d clean up later. “Buchou,” he moaned, hand milking the last of the orgasm out of himself.
“Echizen.” Tezuka said it in the overly-formal, overly-serious voice he always used after he came. Ryoma smirked slightly.
He laid there, soaked in sweat and sticky with semen, phone held loosely against his ear. He traced a finger from the base of his now-limp cock to his navel, then brought the finger to his mouth so he could lick at it. “Tastes like me,” Ryoma murmured, confident that Tezuka would know what he meant. “If you were here, I’d be tasting you right now.”
“I know.” There was a moment of silence. Then Tezuka said, “Clean up before it dries.”
“Che.” Tezuka always thought of the practical things. Ryoma thought of them, he just didn’t bother doing them. “You’ll clean up too?”
Ryoma felt another thrill of triumph. Tezuka had come, and he probably hadn’t even gotten a towel or something to do it on during their conversation. “I’ll go get some tissues.” Ryoma paused. “Buchou.”
“Can I call you again tomorrow night?”
“No, Echizen.” Just as Ryoma was about to say mada mada da ne, Tezuka added quietly, “I’ll call you.”