bakerstreet | Call me, call me any, anytime!

Good. Take shorter showers.

at...school?

i thought i was already pretty quick...

Now, dummy.

i haven't even gotten in yet.....

...

I'm going to kill you.

you distracted me!

with such a nice picture

So you've just been sitting there staring at it?

you've also been talking to me!

i'll go, i'll go

just stay like you are okay?

You mean I can't...?

you don't wanna wait for me?

I always want to wait for you.

But you're slow.

maybe if you'd let me get in the shower it'd be faster

Maybe if you put your phone down, you'd get in there faster.

i'm goin' i'm goin'

i'll call you when i'm out?

I'll be here.

[ Hair and skin still damp, Taichi's only in a towel when he flops back onto his bed. It had been a somewhat embarrassing scramble from bathroom to bedroom, realizing only too late that, thankfully, Mom's out and so is Hikari. So maybe he's not feeling quite as embarrassed—maybe bold, even—when he dials Yamato's number instead of calling him back, his legs dangling off the long edge of his mattress. And instead of a proper greeting, Yamato gets something rushed, almost breathy, and definitely just as excited as his incessant messages had been. ]

You waited, right?

[ The sound of his phone nearly buzzing off the nightstand catches his attention, makes him stretch out an arm to palm it up and bring it to his face to check the screen--where he's been laying, oddly obedient, in his bed alone for the past fifteen minutes, his incessant need to be touched dwindled down to something smaller, less dire; it picks up immediately as he hears Taichi's voice through the phone, breathy and almost too close to his ear. A jolt of heat goes down through him, resonating in the still-open gap of his jeans, where his free hand idles down over his stomach as he cradles the phone in between his ear and shoulder.]

I waited.

[ There's a hint of annoyance there, just barely a tease, at the thought that maybe Taichi expects him to have not listened--and granted, it's not like the sentiment is wrong, normally he'd complain or do whatever anyway, but this is different. This is his fingertips walking over the skin of his stomach, thumbing gently at the elastic of his boxers, thinking of where Taichi might be and what he might look like now.]

Did you? [ Soft, playful. ] I forgot to tell you not to touch yourself in the shower.

I'm not that dumb.

[ A tease made of a half truth because they both know Yamato can't put too much past Taichi, even nowadays. But he'd been good, even though it was probably the first time he'd showered in a long time without relieving that pressure, especially as it asserted its presence in the wake of that photo. That's why it's especially good to hear Yamato's voice now, deep and smooth, as he reclines in bed with only his bath towel draped around his waist, his hair still a little too wet to be getting it all over his pillows without consequence. He grunts gently as he gets comfortable, and his eyes glance across his ceiling, eventually falling on the glow of his alarm clock, like he can really guess at how long he's got the place to himself. ]

You still wearing all those clothes?

All those clothes...

[ He repeats, scoffing a little, but he supposes it's true--because if Taichi is just out of the shower, that means that he's probably changed into something more comfortable, or perhaps not changed at all. The thought makes him swallow, a faint sound, before he's training his eyes up to the ceiling and then, gratefully, beneath his lids; it feels more natural that way, as though he doesn't have to think too hard about it if he's all alone. ]

Yeah. They're exactly the way I showed you, still. [ Still soft, though his fingers smooth over the elastic of his underwear and his breath catches a little, as if he's thinking of Taichi's hand there instead. ]

What are you wearing? That's more important.

What!

[ A reasonable protest because Yamato does seem to wear an awful lot of layers, even when he doesn't have to. Taichi supposes it's all part of that ~cool image~ he cultivates, but bringing two shirts seems excessive in the middle of summer. It isn't a real complaint, though, because excessive or not it works, even on Taichi. Although he also wouldn't complain about zero shirts, either, which is what he's got in mind as his hand travels over his stomach to the tuck of the towel—until Yamato confirms the opposite. Oh, well. ]

What do you think I'm wearing~? [ His voice is unabashedly teasing, with an audible smile and a playfulness that doesn't quite match the mood Yamato has been steadfastly trying to create. So he doesn't let the question linger any longer than it needs to before a quiet, shy follow-up— ]

Just a towel. For now. [ His fingers are still poised around it, almost unready to untuck it, as if it's some point of no return. This kind of thing with Yamato is still fresh, and he's still learning to navigate it along with his feelings and urges. He sort of wishes he'd asked to come over, but that can't be helped now. Maybe next time. ]

You want me to take it off?

[ There's the sound of his mouth opening and closing, resolutely--as though he's ready to start, immediately, into an argument, urged on by that teasing little lilt in Taichi's voice. But that would ruin everything, and luckily, Taichi seems to think the same thing; so he waits, quietly, lets out a soft breath of approval or interest or something similar, and lets the image of Taichi, wet and warm and lounged out on his bed, infiltrate through his imagination.

He shrugs a little, before he realizes it's not like Taichi can see him. So he laughs, soft and quiet-- ]

Yes. Take it off. [ It's not as commanding as it sounds, tinged with just the faintest hint of worry, like maybe Taichi will tell him he's just joking, not willing to do it at all. ]

...And I'll take something off too. If you want.

[ Taichi's not exactly adept at reading Yamato's sighs, even after all this time. But then, there's a lot he knows he needs to learn, and wants to learn about him, little and big alike. But this doesn't seem like much of a time for anything other than Yamato's answer to a playful question—an answer he doesn't actually expect to get, but which comes with a tone that's unexpectedly anxious, along with a clause like Taichi expects quid pro quo. ]

All right. [ Why is he nervous? It's not like Yamato can see him, although he does still get nervous about that, too. The handful of times they've managed to find alone haven't exactly been enough to warm him up to the idea of being fully nude in front of him. Yet somehow he feels like he is even though he knows Yamato can't see him when the towel unfolds to lay flat and perpendicular beneath him. He lets a little of that nervousness out in a laugh. ]

Take off your shirt, at least. The one around your waist. You don't need it.

[ It's the only moment that he's glad that Taichi's not here to see him: because the agreement makes him smile, something wide and ridiculous, and it takes him a moment to work it off his features; he likes thinking about it, likes the thought of Taichi's body and what it looks like, remembering the feeling of his skin beneath his fingertips and all the places he's still learning, still seeking to memorize like all of this is a dream that he'll be jerked out of someday.

He relents, though it's in relative silence; he keeps the phone to his ear with one hand, the other working to untie the loose knot of his shirt around his waist, lifting his hips up with a hot breath into the receiver and then he tugs and brushes the thing onto the floor, instead.]

Done. [ As he relaxes onto the mattress again, smiles faintly and then tries to hide it even though he's alone.] What next?

[ What next? he asks, and Taichi initially thinks it's just because Yamato's being his usual, contrary self. Like he wants to make him work for this now because he'd made him wait. Then he thinks that, maybe, Yamato's just trying to play instead. That's the thought he holds onto as a smile lights up his face, audible in his voice. ]

Your pants, of course.

[ He can just picture the long stretch of Yamato's pale legs along his bed spread. It's funny sometimes to see them together, especially in the summer when Taichi's spending half his life outside, crisping under the sun. It would be nice to be lying together, to tangle their legs...and arms and mouths into something perfectly complementary. Yin and yang.

His free hand slides over his abdomen, accustomed to the muscles but wondering if Yamato likes them or not. Down, fingers raking over a small trail of dark hair to curl around his arousal. He doesn't move yet; he just wants to hold it just like he wants to hold onto that image of Yamato in bed, though his thumb idles along the side of himself, just a little impatient. ]

Of course.

[ The words come dry and amused, but he's not particularly contrary--it's almost like they've already glossed over that part, like he's gotten as much out of the shields of his personality as possible. He's not as bare or as open as Taichi: who could benefit from a little discretion, he thinks, because he hates the way that his arms spread so wide and leave that big heart of his unprotected, even if he'll just laugh and shrug things off and try to hide it all some other way. But he could stand to open up a little himself, too; and maybe that's why he's quiet for a moment, cradling the phone between his ear and shoulder so he can use both hands to start to slide out of his skinny jeans, shifting and pushing until he can kick them off the end of the bed. ]

I wish you were here. [ --comes blurting out before he can stop it, once he's settled back on the mattress and his hand brushes over the front of his underwear like he can't help himself. He wishes it were Taichi's hand, too, but he figures he doesn't have to say that out loud: just like the sharp intake of air when he draws his fingers back and eases them beneath the waistband says everything that words can't. ]

Kind of miss you...

Call me, call me any, anytime!

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