Page 47 of In Frame
Toes still wanting to dance, whole self thrilled for Leo and thrilled about seeing Leo, whirling with ideas and possibilities, he said, “Did you say phone sex, earlier?”
“I did! I’m very much in favor of that. But would you have time? I know you’re busy and it’s still early there.”
“Um…” A glance at the clock informed him that he had just under half an hour, give or take, until his sisters, having the appetites of teenage athletics-playing wolves, would start having questions about dinner. “Sure.” He’d make it work. “Not a ton of time, but enough for you to not have to worry about it. Have you, um, done the phone sex thing before? Or, wait, you said you hadn’t.”
“Not with a man, I said, but yes I have. I imagine the idea’s more or less the same. I should tell you I’m only wearing my robe and pajama trousers. Silky blue trousers, if you’d like the image. Though I could take those off. If you’d like me to.”
“Hmm…not yet.” Sam leaned back against the headboard, shut eyes, imagined: Leo lounging in bed, wrapped up in opulent sapphire and gold brocade, arousal tenting silky pants. Leo with parted lips, softness and excitement colliding in the color of that gaze, green and brown tangling with exuberance. Leo made of long lean pale skin and pert pink nipples, which had so clearly liked being played with…
His own dick, trapped under jeans, pushed upward. A swell of need. A craving.
He said, “Nice and silky, you said. Your pants. Touch yourself for me. Through them, no taking anything off yet.”
“Oh. I can do that—” Leo’s breath caught. “Oh. I see. That feels…you want me to tell you that it feels good? I’d like more, please.”
“Tell me what you’re doing.”
“Only…only stroking myself. Over my clothing, yes, as you said.” The smile warmed every layer of English-theater accent. “It’s nice. It feels…nice.”
“Good.” Sam gave in and rubbed a hand over himself as well, not really stroking but fondling idly, through denim. He could wait, if Leo needed some direction, some control. “Got lube or something?”
“Mmm…hang on.” Quick motion, rustling, a return; Leo sounded eager about upcoming events. “I’ve also got both hands free now. Not holding the phone. Go on. Tell me more things to touch.”
“Nope, we’re leaving your cock alone for now. Just making sure you had stuff.”
“But—” Leo stopped. “Oh, all right.” This time the forest groves weren’t so much annoyed as dismayed, entertained, willing to listen. “Should I say the yes, sir? No, that’s a bit odd. I’d probably laugh. But…I do like you telling me what to do.”
“I know. You like it just a little on the rougher side, don’t you? Having someone take charge, take care of you, give you lots of things to feel, so youcanfeel them…” Fuck. He scrambled for the zipper on his own jeans. Shoved them and boxers hastily down. His cock throbbed, fat and wet-tipped as he closed a hand around himself. “You liked me playing with your nipples, didn’t you? Do that for me. Both hands.”
Leo drew a breath, and then made a noise that was more or less a shiver.
“More,” Sam said. “Harder. Tug on them. Pinch them. Let me hear you.” He rubbed his hand slowly along his shaft, no rhythm yet.
Leo obviously did, and his gasping tiny cry shot like silver down Sam’s spine. “Oh God…that…I felt thateverywhere…I need to…”
“You need what I say you need. Do it again.” He paused. “If you want something else, if you want me to stop…you just say so, okay?”
“Yes,” Leo murmured, voice catching, skipping, snagged in desire. “I do tend to speak up about wanting things. Please, Sam…this feels so…I’m rather warm now, you know, I could take off some clothing if you’d like.”
“You don’t, you know. Talk about whatyouwant.” He’d never wanted to stroke someone’s hair, to cup someone’s cheek and make their eyes meet his, so badly. He needed to be there. Needed to fly across an ocean and hold Leo in his arms. “I want you to tell me what you need.”
“I do so—” Leo stopped the protest, though. “I don’t need much, really. Except right now. I need you. This is…it’s hurting a bit but in such a lovely way…they’re getting a bit pink and sore and I feel as if I’ve been drinking Colby’s homemade mead, but I promise you I haven’t. My trousers’re getting messy, by the way. I’m not certain I’ve ever been this hard before, either. You’re so very marvelous at phone sex.”
Sam’s heart broke a little, not from pain, but from love: fractured right along the line of Leo dismissing his own needs in favor of praising Sam’s skills. God, this man. This complicated beautiful generous man. His, somehow. For as long as Leo wanted him, whatever Leo decided they could be.
He managed, hurting with affection, “Stop playing with your nipples. You can lose the pajama pants now. But keep your robe on. I want you like that, in your bed, so I can picture you.”
“Are you touching yourself as well?” The question emerged unusually tentative, as if momentarily younger and unsure: hoping for a yes but afraid the answer might be no, afraid that Sam wasn’t truly honestly into this or into Leo. “Will you tell me if you are?”
“Yeah. Of course. To both.” He said it firmly, trying toeliminate any hint of doubt; he took himself in a tighter grip, gave himself a couple of strokes, knew Leo would be picturing him. “I am, and I’ll tell you. Got my hand on my cock, making myself feel good, thinking about you.”
“About me,” Leo said, less tentative now, “taking off my trousers? Here in bed, the way you wanted me? Feeling rather sparkly and hot and desperate? You like thinking of me…”
“I do. I promise, Leo. I like thinking about you.” Absolute truth. Conviction in every word. He hoped Leo heard it, believed it, knew it. “You can touch yourself—still not your cock. Your balls, though. Play with those for me. Not too gentle, either, you did say you liked it kinda rough. Tell me how you’re feeling.”
“Oh God—” Leo’s breath caught, someplace between a moan and a sob.
“What’d you do?”
