Work Text:
You started on your stomach, the phone pulled from its stand, wire uncoiled as you twirled it around your finger. It was cliche and cheesy, but then, so was the way Steve spoke to you on the other end.
“You miss me, beautiful?” He asks, stranded at some conference in Indianapolis for the video store. Who knew video stores had conferences? Or that Steve was good enough at his job to be invited?
“What do you think?” You reply, flipping over to stare at the ceiling, knees pulled up and legs crossed one over the other. Your pajama shirt slides down your thighs, and the quiet hum of consideration from Steve has goosebumps rising on the skin.
“Well, I don’t know.” You can sense him skirting around a question, can see the kick of his lip as he holds back a smile, his breath a little short.
“Mm, you alone in that hotel room?” Grazing your nails over the top of your thighs, you close your eyes and pretend they’re Steve’s.
“Got it all to myself, Robin complained about my snoring, smiled at the general manager, and he got her the hookup. I don’t think she knew what she was doing, but, never know with her.” He loses the plot for a moment before reorienting, “Point is, yes, the room is all mine.”
“Not the only thing that’s all yours.” You chuckle as a punctuation to the statement, an incredulous, sarcastic laugh that goes over Steve’s head and has him falling over his heels.
“That right?” He’s self satisfied, and you hum an affirmative before he continues, “So how much was it that you missed me?”
You slip your fingers under the hem of your underwear, drawing your moan into your throat and instead letting out a deep, shaking sigh, “I don’t have the words, but I can still articulate it, if you want.”
There’s the quiet clatter of a belt buckle on the other end before Steve says, “Jesus Christ, yes.”
You laugh again, slipping your middle finger between your lips, slicking it up to circle around your clit. You moan into the receiver, playing it up just a little, and he starts spilling soliloquies without you even asking.
“Fuck, shit,” He whispers, “Wish I was there. Wish it was your mouth around me instead, fuck,” Laughs intercede the monologue, “Hard to go back to my hand when you wrap around me so nice. N—nothing compares, fuck, I swear on God and Jesus and Magnum PI himself that I will never go to another one of these damn conferences.”
Smiling to yourself, you sit in the mental picture of Steve at the desk of his hotel, fisting his erection, his jeans just pulled past his ass. He’s struggling to talk, white knuckles stroking down a reddening shaft, precum dribbling over his skin as he laments his love and frustration.
“Nothing that takes me away from you and that pretty mouth. I just, shit, just wanna bury my tongue between your legs, make you squirm like you’re doin’ right now.”
You arch your back as you circle your clit, lit up with desperation and want for Steve, for the little whimpers and choked moans he breathes into your mouth, for the rough pad of his fingertip on your wet cunt. You drive down deeper into the bed, whispering, “Shit, Steve, please, keep going. Keep going.”
“Keep going?” His voice is steadier now, his desperation staved off by the pride he feels satisfying you, “Keep telling you how much I miss that body? Miss how wet you are when I slip into you, how tight you wrap around me, miss you pushing yourself against me, miss how your tits feel against my chest, shit, fuck, I’m—”
He loses his composure in a matter of seconds, and it’s the heaving sigh at the outset of his orgasm that sends you careening into yours. That mental picture of his lips parting, pretty and pink and exhaling moans and guttural noises that he can’t hold back. The stilling of his hand on his length, spurts of cum spattered on his jeans and the desk and, if he’s really missing you, the wall.
You can just hear the quiet, “Ohh, yeah, just like that.” as you’re shaking through your orgasm, fingers frantic over your clit as you dredge out every last bit of pleasure you can before the slightest touch becomes overwhelming.
Catching your breath, you laugh a little in embarrassment. Crawling into Steve’s arms is typically an easy way to escape the awareness that comes after sex, logic and conscience seeping back into the spaces of your body that were taken over by love and desperation. Now though, all you have is the intangible comfort of his voice over the line, laughing right there with you.
“I am just the luckiest guy in the world, huh?” He says, a dreamy sigh to follow.
“Only person luckier than you is me.” You smile, shifting under the covers, the receiver under your head. If you close your eyes you can almost pretend Steve’s right there with you.
“Fat chance.” There’s the clink of his belt as he pulls his jeans back on, scoffing at the notion.
“Bite me.”
He laughs, “I can do that. Soon as I get back, promise.”
The lull of his voice pushes you closer and closer to sleep, and you mutter out an, “I’ll hold you to it.”
“Hey, you falling asleep on me?”
You mumble a negative, and Steve huffs a laugh, “Yeah, alright. Go to sleep, I’ll see you tomorrow night. I love you.”
Your heart kicks in your chest as it always does when he says that, and you push off sleep enough to firmly say, “I love you.”
There’s a smile in the sigh he lets out, and a quiet, “Goodnight, my beautiful girl. I’ll be here.”
You fall asleep with the receiver pressed against your cheek, Steve’s soft breathing on the other end.
It’s almost like he’s there.
Almost.