--

"Have I ever told you how much I hate you?"

Ray practically heard the grin on the caller's lips before he'd formed his reply, and decided quickly, despite the fingertips that burned hot against his own skin as a decidedly unsatisfactory substitute for Joel's own, that this particular show of desperation was probably best executed without an audience.

Well, an audience that would see how flushed he was getting not even three minutes into the call, anyway. The listener on the other end of the line was evidently indulging as a voluntary captive.

"Tell me and your mattress all about it."

Ray groaned at the voice over the speaker, depositing the phone among the mussed blankets from where it had rested against his cheek as he moved up the bed. 

"You could at least deliver, asshole. How do you even know I'm in bed?"

"I can hear it in your voice. The fabric shifts too, you know. Very subtle."

Dick, Ray hissed between his teeth, moving onto his stomach. He'd agreed on coming into work early, which he'd immediately regretted once the handshake transpired, and Joel had happened to agree to stay late. He'd insisted Ray go on to sleep without waiting up, but when the younger sent a flurry of texts that had likely distracted him from his editing haze, Joel opted for what he was calling a humanitarian approach.

One that no doubt turned to torture once Ray answered the phone with a whine that sent all altruistic intent on Joel's part spiraling into despotism, and Ray wouldn't dare admit that he liked hearing this side of the older man. The side one might easily overlook if they didn't know him as well as Ray did; the side that culminated in a commanding edge to the low, gentle tone he'd been known for.

So here he lay, restless and hard and alone, and he'd be damned if he didn't draw sympathy for his cause from the elder. 

"Tell me you don't want to be here, Joel," he cooed, moving his hips from side to side as he spoke, fingers lingering just within the elastic of his briefs. "You wouldn't have to imagine, you could just be home, here, destressing and experiencing."

"But that would take the fun out of hearing you come undone."

Between the tapping on a keyboard in the background and the hesitance in his tone, he sounded distracted.

Ray sneered. That just wouldn't do.

"Joel," he murmured, dragging the name out on his lips into a moan as he rutted against the mattress beneath him, folding his arms beneath his head and allowing his hips to move on their own, "nothing fits like you do."

The intake of breath on the other end of the line was telling enough. Ray grinned as the tapping fell silent.

"You make this thing called ‘work’ really hard sometimes, kid.”

“That’s kind of the idea,” Ray breathed, words cascading into a sigh as his hips glided forward, moving his cock against the fabric between. His skin was starting to heat up and he could feel it where his fingers had begun to dig into the sheets, on the verge of perspiring but trapping it in for the sake of friction’s expense. “But I didn’t know we were calling your dick work.”

He heard Joel’s laugh from low in his throat, and sucked his lip between his teeth in an earnest attempt to focus on the task at hand.

“Well, well. Your agenda is crystal clear.”

“So tell me about yours,” the younger sighed, dipping his head beneath his arms to suppress another lewd groan as his hips meet the mattress. “Make this empty bed more appealing.”

“Not empty, and you’re making it pretty appealing from the sound of it.”

“Joel.”

“Maybe if I were there, I’d pull you on top of me so you could do what you’re doing with your hips to mine.”

A jolt went through Ray’s nerves as his hand slid from where it clutched the sheets to flatten against the mattress.

“Like that, huh?”

“You know I do. I’d get my fingers slick and get to work filling you up.”

He doesn’t have to call Joel a tease for him to know and bear the title well. Ray’s head fell to the sheets and he braced himself against the mattress, movements of his hips working sharper and harder against it as he lifted his fingers to his lips, taking the digits in his mouth and swirling his tongue around them with ease. He remembered the long nights that had faded too quickly with the rising sun, stretching by with every part of Joel meeting Ray’s lips at least once, and almost always beginning with his fingers, amongst other popular selections that certainly allowed for the proverbial “pass go, collect $200” with which he absolutely lived to indulge himself. Joel didn’t seem to mind, either, capitalizing on his little oral fixation with absolute pleasure. Ray made sure of that.

“And I know you like it when I rub circles,” Joel continued, gentleness apparent in his voice alongside the razor’s edge, “tease you to the point of pleading so by the time I slide in, I can feel you relax around my dick and god, Ray, it’s so fucking good. You’re so fucking good.”

He wasn’t shaking. Nope. He certainly didn’t almost bite his fingers off from a mix of frustration and arousal.

“Relentless, aren’t you?” Ray gasped around his fingers instead, pulling the shimmering digits from his lips and licking a stripe across his palm in substitute for that of the older man.

“Just want to watch you come for me, push you to the edge again and again and hear my name falling from your lips every single time. That sound good to you, baby boy?”

Oh god. One of Joel’s strong suits was what he didn’t leave to the imagination. Ray wasted no time palming his way down his front to finally wrap shaking fingers around his aching erection, relishing the slickness against his skin as he ran a thumb down the side with a groan. With the words in his ears and the thoughts in his head, it was just enough to add an extra spark to the movements of his hips, taking advantage of and creative liberty with the dark room and the warmth of their bed. He felt it so clearly that he ached with arousal, so imagining it was Joel’s hand working between his parted legs with his voice against his ears was simple.

Joel made sure he remembered to voice his contentment, too, refusing to continue until he heard proof of Ray’s enthusiasm.

“How’s it feel? Fingers slick enough for you?”

Under any other circumstances, he might have cursed the day he’d lusted after the man’s smug side. But Ray had no trouble spilling what’s on his mind, holding back only to keep himself from babbling as he murmured against the fabric of the bunched-up sheets, wrist moving in erratic jerks as his eyes drifted shut. “So fucking good, Joel, oh my god—”

“Don’t stop. I want your back to arch up against that mattress like you do against me when I fuck you, want you sensitive and desperate and willing to fucking beg me for it. Like you’d keep yourself hard until I got home and could finish you off myself.”

It’s almost like Joel knew how intoxicatingly thick the haze of lust sat in Ray’s mind, because his legs were shaking and he was so close to hurdling over the edge, but god, he’d do anything he asked for getting him to feel like this. And he was fucking shameless in letting him know.

“Anything you want,” Ray gasped, “fuck, I’ll do anything, just—”

“In fact, my only regret in this lovely dilemma of ours is I can’t be there to lick up every drop you’re about to spend, and keep the momentum rolling for a round two so fast you shake in my hands by the time I’m finished with you. At least, not yet.”

His lips had long since fallen to autopilot, and between murmured words of encouragement from Joel, Ray was writhing in his palms.

“God, Joel—”

“Come for me, Ray, let me hear it,” Joel finally, finally coaxed, and it sounded like the fucking sky had opened up. “Hell, let the entire complex hear it.”

For all the sounds that escaped Ray’s lips prior, every moan and every sigh, he complies with gusto. Joel’s name drips from his tongue like verse as he comes, arching up with teeth grit as he imagines him there watching the thick cum sliding between his fingers and dripping onto his thighs. He rode it out vocally just as he did with his wrist, squeezing just as Joel did because even if he couldn’t be there to watch, Ray wanted to be good for him, especially if good meant partaking in such deliciously filthy things.

And god, the praise during and throughout made good feel even better.

Past the haze that followed, Ray allowed himself the luxury of finally sinking into the mattress as he lay still, smiling as Joel promised he’d be home as soon as he could. He grinned at the shake in the older man’s voice while he licked his hand clean, followed quickly by a reiteration of the sudden dedication to a time-efficient work ethic and something muttered beneath his breath that Ray swore sounded like a backhanded compliment.

--

“Quiet tonight,” Joel mused softly, tipped back on two legs of a chair in Burnie’s kitchen, a can of beer dripping with condensation pressed beneath his jaw. Two glasses sit forgotten on the table behind them, originally intended to be filled with scotch, but the idea had been nixed with a curse once they realized that Burnie didn’t have any ice and the power wasn’t due back on for a few hours. The last of the cold had leaked out of the fridge when they’d retrieved the beers, and they were too lethargic to get in the car to remedy the situation.

Not to mention they both refused to bake in the heat of the sun hanging low in the sky.

Joel had padded over to the nearest faucet to check the cold water situation when he made a noise of surprise, yanking Burnie from his thoughts.

“You holding out on me, Burns?”

He turned to see Joel pluck an ice cube out of the sink, raising a brow accusingly.

Burnie snorted. “Are you kidding me? I dumped the tray, there were like two cubes. Hardly enough for a glass.”

“And in this heat,” Joel began, taking long strides toward Burnie to close the gap before pressing the ice cube between the younger’s lips with a crooked smile of his own, “one wouldn’t want to waste any.”

The tone in his voice is one that Joel learned how to use (and abuse, he’s frequently reminded) over the years, the one that lets him wrench Burnie out of his chair and walk him backwards to the sofa with no effort at all. They’re hardly draped over the furniture when Joel’s shirt is being yanked off, his back is being pressed to the cushions, and a thin, freezing line is traced down his torso with a soft snicker.

“Not wasted if it’s melting all over you, huh?”