Page 22 of Speak in Fever
But then Percy says, his voice low in Rath's ear and settling like fire in his veins, "Is that what you want to hear? That I think you're amazing?"
The words go straight to Rath's cock, which gives an interested twitch in his pants, and Rath flushes all the way down his neck and chest. He grabs himself through the layers of clothes, something heavy and foreign weighing down on his chest, and the moan he breathes into the receiver feels like it's punched out of him.
Across the phone he hears Percy's sharp intake of breath, and if this whole thing is some elaborate prank to embarrass him, to make him look bad in front of the team–but that's below Percy, isn't it? Despite their differences, Percy has never been anything but fair to him and he's never used Rath's insecurities against him. No, Percy would never exploit him like that.
Which means…
"Percy," Rath breathes into the phone, his sweaty hands braced on his thighs and the phone held between his cheek and his shoulder. "You don't even want me on the team."
There's a shift across the line, like Percy is moving, or settling. Is he in bed?
"Of course I want you on the team, Rath," Percy says earnestly, and then he continues, voice rough, "I just want you tolisten."
Rath is hard in his sweatpants and his fingers clench against his thighs.
"Can you listen, Rath?"
Oh God, he can't breathe. He can't speak. He arches his back, feeling his dick press against the confines of his pants, and it isn't enough.
He realizes after a moment that all he's doing is breathing into the phone, struck speechless, and he hears Percy say again, "Can you?"
"Y-yes," he manages.
“Are you touching yourself?” Percy asks.
Rath shakes his head, not that Percy can see. “No,” he says. “I want–” and he does know what he wants, but he isn’t sure how to say it.
Percy seems to know, too, because, unprompted, he supplies, “Want me to tell you that you can? Tell you the way I want it?”
“Please,” Rath begs.
“Take your pants off,” Percy orders.
Rath does.
“Are you wearing underwear?” Percy asks.
“No,” Rath replies.
The noise Percy makes in response, a deep, throaty, primal growl, is downright sinful. “So fucking good,” he says. “That’s a good boy.”
Rath is helpless to stop the needy mewling sounds that punch from his lungs. Percy’s words hit him like a physical blow, every one of his nerve endings lighting up, synapses firing like fireworks as sparks go off behind his eyes. His limbs feel impossibly heavy and disembodied all at once.
“Yeah?” Percy checks.
“Yes,” Rath hisses. He rubs the barred skin of his neck, presses his fingers hard against his thundering pulse. “You can – as much you want. I like – it’s good.”
“Of course you like it,” Percy says. His voice is tight and strained. Rath can just hear the wet sound of skin slapping against skin. “You’re my good boy. So needy for me. I bet your dick is leaking. Tell me how wet you are.”
“I’m– fuck,” Rath groans. He glances down at his cock, thick and flushed and dripping precum, smearing against the neatlytrimmed hair on his abdomen every time it twitches, desperate for attention. “I’m so wet, Percy.”
“For me,” Percy says.
Rath nods. “Just for you. Everything, it’s all for you.”
“God, Rath.” The slick noises on the other end of the line speed up. “Wish I was there to taste you. Mark you up. Make sure you know who you belong to.”
Rath pants, his chest flushes. He presses his fingers against the sides of his throat.
