#itms

Bound by the sizzling hum of the telephone wire, Harry breathed evenly through deep huffs of pleasure, clenching a thin Polaroid in one hand, and edging his cock with the other. The silky sheets tangled between his restless legs as he laid impatient and aroused, awaiting the sleep-warm answer of his boy. Staring into the blue of his sinful bedroom eyes and envying the soft bite of his cherry lips was too much. He selfishly needed Louis in a form.

“Hello?” Louis answered low and tired. The five hour time difference clearly coming into play.

“You’re cruel,” Harry hissed as he gives himself a harsh tug. “It’s criminal the things you do to me.”

“Who’s this?” Louis groaned out.

“S’me, baby. Wake up.”

“Daddy?” Louis questioned soft and groggy, seemingly still wiping the sleep from his mouth. “How did—how did you get the number to my room? Will this call show up on my bill—”

“Quiet, Love, I’ve taken care of it.” Harry untangled himself from the sheets to sit up properly in bed. “I think we need to talk about this care package you sent me, yeah?”

Louis giggled quietly as his own sheets rustled through the line. “No.”

“No?” Harry asked affronted, giving himself another tug at the sweet sound of Louis’ brattiness, and the numerous polaroids spread out next to him. “Sweetheart, you know I don’t like to ask more than once.”

“Sweetheart,” Louis imitated. “You know I don’t like having my sleep interrupted.”

Harry hummed out a laugh that sat deep in his chest. The sound of it low and unamused, and perfectly masking just how turned on they both knew he was.

“Someone’s been naughty,” Harry tsked as Louis giggled under his breath. “First you send me dozens of dirty polaroids, and now you’re disobeying me?”

“Mmm, guess you’ll just have to punish me,” Louis sighed light and exaggerated, likely stretching out his limbs, but the sound getting Harry off no less. “Did you like them, daddy? Took ‘em on your camera and everything.”

“Of course, baby. They’re stunning.” Harry gathered a few in the palm of his free hand, mouth practically watering at something that should be obscene, but was rather soft in a sensual way. “Some of these, Louis…..fuck. How did you even take them?”

“Set the self timer and spread my legs,” Louis answered without hesitation. “Something about it felt so good too. Just knowing I was posing for you and that you would look at those photos whenever you miss me, got me all riled up. It was hard to stop, s’why there’s so many.”

“I don’t mind,” Harry smirked as he moved his hands to card through them. “M’all riled up myself just looking at them. That’s why I called. Want you to know how pleased I am. Want you to hear me get off on these.”

“Yeah?” Louis asked somewhat shy and Harry could do nothing other than agree. “Which is your favourite then?”

“S’impossible to pick a favourite, babe, but I’m really drawn to this one,” Harry shuffled through the stacks to find it, almost knowing it just by the feel. “Fuck. You belong in a centerfold.”

“Which is it, Daddy?”

Louis’ gentle voice knocked Harry back against the warmth of his sheets. He cradled the telephone between his shoulder and ear, and held the photograph up against the last of the dying sunlight. It perfectly haloed around it. Painting Harry’s near perfect image of heaven.

“You're lying on your side with your pretty head propped up against your hand, and you’re wearing that white satin robe I like, left open, and hitched up against your thigh. It’s not as revealing as the others, it’s actually quite modest, but your expression is fucking lust personified. The deadliest type.”

The crisp swish of sheets against the telephone mic blended seamlessly with Louis’ hum of gratification. Line gone silent for only a moment, Harry let his free hand wander across his torso, imagining the slick slip of Louis’ lips.

“I could see myself in the mirror while I was taking that one. I was watching my hand as I raised my dressing gown higher and higher, and I imagined your breath on my neck and the way your hips fit perfectly behind mine,” Louis sighed and seemingly squirmed around in the sheets going by the crackle through the line. “I thought about your hands and lips, and how good I taste on your tongue.”

Harry let his eyes roll back at the sound of his words, clenching his jaw, and taking a calming breath to cool himself down. He gripped the base of his cock and conjured up the same images, recalling every last taste, sound, and feel.

“Did that get you hard, baby? Thinking of me?” Harry asked desperately yet masked in a tone quite deep. “Did your body tremble at the thought of my hands touching you? Did you touch yourself too?”

“Thinking of you always gets me hard, but I never touch without you, you told me not to.”

The sound of that was promising. Something Harry could have easily glazed over. But he knew better than that. He knew just how naughty Louis could be.

“Did you rut against the sheets?” Harry smirked at the vision of it. “You did, didn’t you, sweetheart? You slipped off your robe and balled up your fists to resist yourself, but you couldn’t, could you?”

“No,“ Louis whined high and guilty. “I mean, no I didn’t. I—I—“

“Don’t lie to me,” Harry warned. “What are you wearing right now, darling?”

“Um, just—just one of your shirts and pants s’all.”

“One of mine? S’that mean you miss me, baby?”

“I always miss you.” Louis admitted through the line.

Harry gave himself a tug and a twist, and edged himself right on the cusp of coming in his hand. The gentle reassurance and familiar rasp of Louis’ words had him ready and willing, but Harry didn’t want this alone.

“God, Lou,” Harry winced as he pulled the pressure off his aching cock and caught his breath in time. “Need you to get me off, yeah? Need you to touch yourself too.”

“Okay,” Louis whispered as shuffling crackled it’s way through the line. “Touch myself where, Daddy?”

Fuck. Harry nearly let himself succumb to the pleasure of his power resting on the tip of Louis’ lips. Both lonesome in unfamiliar beds tonight yet falling into their favourite roles.

“Get yourself off as if it were me,” Harry instructed. “Touch every inch of your perfect skin, play with your sensitive little nipples, then take yourself in your hand, and give yourself the same attention I would.”

“Mmm, s’never as good on my own as it is with you.” Louis moaned.

“Why’s that, sweetheart?”

“Because,” Louis whined on the arousing side of pathetic. “I can’t feel your lips or the weight of your body on top of mine. There’s no trail of love bites. No squeezing hands. S’just me going through the motions, babe.”

“Alright,” Harry considered, knowing Louis only needed a bit of direction. Needed a bit of his own control taken away from him. “Get your hand up under my shirt and caress yourself, darling.”

“What? Wait, Da—“

“Do it,” Harry insisted. “Think of me as you drag your fingertips across your skin. Feel everything I adore about you.”

Louis sighed softly. Becoming wordless and quiet as he followed through with Harry’s direction. The hum of the wire and his murmured pleasure brought Harry back down. Touching the length of himself just as tenderly as he imagined Louis would.

“Suck on your pretty fingers,” Harry told him. “Get them nice and wet and tease yourself for a bit.”

“Mmm,” Louis moaned. Seemingly more turned on to this than just a moment ago.

“Take your time, darling. Let yourself feel how good it is when I have my own shoved against the velvet of your tongue.”

Harry cringed at the use of his own words but bit his lips at the sound of Louis’ response. Even with his mouth stuffed full of his fingers, he made room for a provocative moan. Low, drawn out, and needy. Just on the verge of satisfied. Harry allowed himself the pressure of his thumb against the slit of his cock. Swiping across harder each time Louis let out a cry.

“Fuck, I miss how you sound,” Harry confessed as his body trembled at his touch. “I could come just by listening to you whimper.”

“Mmm,” Louis moaned as the slick sound of his fingers leaving his mouth traveled through the line. “Yeah, Daddy?”

Fuck.

“Yeah, baby, shit.” Harry breathed heavily as he began to stroke himself again. “Let me hear how good you make yourself feel with your wet fingers around your nipples.”

“Oka—,” Louis half whispered before trailing off into a choppy whimper. “Fuck, m’so sensitive, Daddy. Feels — God — feels so nice.”

“Pinch them,” Harry ordered. “Make it hurt like the sting of my teeth when I bite you.”

Louis whined beneath the indulgence of pain and cursed filthily around Harry’s name. There was something so maddeningly enticing about the way Louis sounded muffled by the telephone wire. Something so infuriatingly hot about the two of them getting each other off without ever touching one another. Something about it being over the phone as well. It was bloody overwhelming. Harry was lost in the sensation of sound and his own imagination. Picturing Louis wincing and curling in on himself through his hardness and the pain.

“Hurts,” Louis cried out. “Make it better. Please.”

“Be gentle, now,” Harry drawled in his most calming tone. “Rub yourself slowly and featherlight. Imagine my lips kissing all the soreness away, yeah? Be as careful as I would with you, my love.”

Harry wrapped his hand fully around his length at the blissed out sound of Louis’ breath. Precome bubbling over just from hearing his boy wither from a bit of nipple play. He twisted his fist slowly and tensed down to the tip of his toes.

“Feel better, baby?” Harry asked as the telephone dug into the muscle of his shoulder.

“Yeah, s-so good.”

“Are y’hard yet?”

“Yeah,” Louis whimpered. “Daddy, let me touch.”

Harry clenched his fist around his leaking cock. Groaning at Louis’ desperation induced behavior. He always did get a bit lippy when he wanted to come.

“Ask correctly, sweetheart.”

“Pleeease,” Louis dragged to the edge of his needy lips. “M’cock is aching, Daddy. Can I please touch?”

“Fuck,” Harry whimpered as his pleasure nearly consumed him. “Yes, darling—fuck. Touch yourself for me.”

The static of the line wrapped seamlessly around their huffs and whispered curses. The sounds of their skin tugging, and the filthy visuals of the other side of the line, had Harry panting and shivering. Clenching his eyes and fist, and steadily losing the will to hold on.

“Miss your hands,” Louis whined. “They're always so warm and careful, and rough when I need it.”

“You n-need it now, baby?” Harry held his composure as best he could. “Tighten your grip. Play with your arse a bit, yeah? Just like I would.”

“Ohh—feels—“ Louis’ one indulgence cut him short. Breathing, moaning, and quickening the pace on his dick. “So good, Daddy. So—“

“Touch your hole,” Harry instructed. “Let me hear how good you make yourself feel.”

Louis groaned a filthy curse as Harry lost himself in the sound. He moaned around the tightening of his cock and the soft whines from the other side of the line.

“Oh, Daddy,”

Harry got off on Louis’ gentle tone and filthy words. Come landing up under his navel and spilling over the edges of his hand. He was a mess. A bloody satisfied one. Moaning as he finished himself off to the image of Louis caressing his own hole.

“Fuck, baby—so good for me. Thank you,” Harry stuttered out as he slowly came back down to earth. “God, you always do just as Daddy says, huh?”

“I love to please you—ahh,” Louis whimpered. “It gets me off.”

“Yeah?” Harry implored as if he wasn’t already aware. “Tell me how you’d please me right now.”

“I’d lick you clean,” Louis said. “I’d suck you off just the way you like, I’d clean your fingers with the tip of my tongue, I’d get a bit greedy with it, but only to show you how good I am.”  

Harry’s spent cock gave a feeble twitch as he envisioned it clearly.

“Always so greedy,” he huffed under a smirk. “Can never get enough, can you?”

“Mmm, never of you,” Louis whispered; pleasure resting on his tongue. “Miss you, Daddy.”

“I miss you too, baby.” Harry mumbled. “Go on. Make yourself come for me.”

It wasn’t fair how quickly he moved on. It wasn’t fair how quickly he strayed from play to the depths of loneliness. Here Louis was, giving his all to him in the dead of his night, and Harry was ruined by only the sound of that phrase. Miss you.

Harry encouraged him, but his heart wasn’t in it. The ‘fuck yeah’s and the ‘good boy’s were chants to get him off, and part of his responsibility, but more than anything they were distractions. Harry couldn’t think about missing Louis. Harry couldn’t lead on that he was weak and exhausted, and wounded in paradise. He was meant to be stronger and not so bloody codependent. So he masked it.

“You’re perfect.” Harry croaked between the withered pants of Louis’ pleasure. “Let’s sleep now, yes? Stay on the line, but sleep.”

“Um, o-okay,” Louis breathed in deep, catching his breath the best he could. “Harry?”

“Yes, Love?”

“I, um, fuck—I can’t really think, or breathe right now, but...” the line crackled under the sound of Louis tossing and turning, and settling in for the night. “I love you and I’m proud of you….We’re right where we’re supposed to be.”

Harry meant to speak up, meant to respond with a love you too, or a thank you. Something along those lines. Anything. But instead, he closed himself off. Sat motionless, silent, and fucking soiled as Louis’ last few words rang deafeningly in his ears. Where they’re supposed to be. Opposite ends of the states. Connected by a telephone wire. Both on their way to sleep, one too early, and one too late.

The mood edged from titillated to tense. Blissful to awkward. A rare form of silence that wasn’t comfortable between them and was too painful to confront. At least for Harry, anyway.

It was evident Louis bit his tongue against it until his breathing evened out. The muffled sound of it bringing Harry a sense of peace where he was finally able to relax again. Unclench his fists and remove himself from his untroubled facade. He let himself crumble back into the bed sheets. Let himself get tangled up comfortably in the polaroids and wire that held Louis on the other side.

6th March, 1983

Rochester was far less glamorous than the opposite side of New York. Blue moonlight gleaming off the lazy ripples of Lake Ontario and bearable cool wind slipping up under the thick wool of his coat. His bus hadn't stopped rolling for the past six days. Hitting a different city every night between New York and New Jersey, and not stopping for even a minute. It was fucking exhausting, and everyone on this tour was beginning to get antsy and restless. Not a single hotel in Rochester could accommodate Harry and the entire entire crew behind him, leaving everyone to fend for themselves in deserted parking lots, and taking to uncomfortable tour bus bunks for the night.

Sleep abandoned Harry at the end of February. Nights were spent searching for Louis in his dreams and trembling awake when he realized he wasn't there. Tonight was no different, and instead of trying for sleep, Harry wandered aimlessly around Rochester’s empty streets, searching for any sign of an outgoing postbox.

Jeff would have a fit if he found out Harry snuck off his bus, and was out here alone, but Harry couldn't be arsed. Six days on the road meant six days without Louis, or his voice, or the chance to send the handwritten letters he promised he would. He couldn't sleep anyway, might as well put these empty hours to use. Harry had at least an armful to send. Some stuffed with polaroids and American money, and others dripping with sap and poetry. Some were pages worth, and others were no more than a few lines.

Harry looked over his shoulder, checking to be sure that no one had trailed him from where the buses were parked, before he rounded the unlit corner. A blue drop off box was bolted down beneath the light of a lamppost. Payphone nearby and park bench overlooking the midnight coloured bay. He took the few strides against the gum stained and deserted pavement, until he reached the blue metal of the postbox. Pulling the mouth of it open and carefully sliding every last letter in there. He hoped they'd reach California soon. Hoped Louis would forgive him for going missing for nearly seven days.

Maybe he could render that with a phone call. He knew he ought to try anyway with a payphone just within his reach. He dug past his lighter and a stash of pocket lint before reaching the bottom and pulling out a small handful of loose change. Stepping up to the dodgy telephone, Harry slipped in his nickels and dimes, praying it was enough for a long distance call. Muscle memory of his thumbs punched in his home line without him really considering the time. It was difficult to tell how late is was here just judging by the moon in the sky. Louis was three hours behind him anyway, it should still be early enough in California.

The line buzzed dully in his ear. Heart racing with each choppy dial tone, and the hope of hearing Louis’ voice after what felt like a lifetime. He waited patiently, huddled close into the phone booth, and let the germ infested receiver rest against his face. He waited, perhaps a bit too long, but Louis’ voice never came. The line rang, and rang, and rang, until eventually the time his spare change allowed expired. Harry tried not to be bothered by it as he hung up the phone, and moved to take a lonely seat against the oddly placed park bench.

He pulled a hand rolled cigarette from the pocket of his coat and followed suit with his cheap gas station lighter. He never did smoke these. Couldn't stand the taste. It really only served to keep his hands occupied and let the curls of smoke remind him of home. Even if Louis didn't smoke much these days, the overwhelming scent of nicotine reminded him of their time alone.

The wind stilled just long enough for him to bring it to his lips and light up. Blowing out the taste before it had a chance to reach his lungs and letting it burn between his two fingers. Patterns of grey wisped into the moonlight like a storm cloud over the city. His fingertips itched for Louis’ touch as he let the memorable scent lull him into simpler times.

Harry let his head hang in the muffled sounds of water rushing up to the bay, and bustling highways somewhere off in the distance. It took him back to LA for a moment. Picturing the halo of sunshine that complemented Louis’ face in the 5 pm traffic. He wondered if Louis was thinking of him right now, or at all. Wondered if he was lost inside a midnight dream of just the two of them together. Dancing beneath the stage lights without the threat of people watching.