bakerstreet | sext me by your name, tell me you love me in private

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sext me by your name, tell me you love me in private

meme op: what it says on the tin. leave a blank comment, include your preferences or a starter, it's all good. reply to others with a text, a dirty picture (please link all nsfw things!), misfires, misdials, drunk filthy voicemails, whatever your heart desires.
Sent: 01/19/21

SEXTING & PHONE SEX MEME (555-555-5555)

9:00 PM

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Right now?

[ A thoughtful kind of sigh, then; ]

Get under my clothes.

[ —as he goes to touch himself, between layers, his own handling likewise light. ]

Gentle, but. Specific.

Specifically— against your stomach? My hands running up your chest, trapped in between your skin and your shirt, tangling everything up?

[ He stops moving his hand, just putting light pressure on himself. Considering his pulse, and letting his mind drift to vivid memories of touch, and feeling. ]

[ The mmhm that gets sounds pleased. Now pushing his hand deeper and lower, cupping slowly stiffening flesh through soft cotton.

Then, ]

You stopped.

[ More of a flex than a complaint, a smile in his voice. ]

I'm trying to guess what you're doing.

[ —bit funnier (??) than the increasingly erotic mood of this, but if Clark's going to flex about hearing his fingers on his dick, well.

Bruce traces over the head of his cock, anyway, making himself twitch. ]

[ It takes more concentration than Clark is willing to expend to try to accurately parse exactly what that next little scrape of friction is, but

he can guess too, can sense the slight bodily shift and response. ]

What've you got so far?

You're listening closely, so I don't think you're really jacking off yet. Just holding yourself. How hard are you?

[ Bruce takes himself in hand, a slow stroke up and down, stilling after. ]

[ A breath of a laugh, which Bruce can take to mean: nailed it. Semi-subconsciously, he mimics what he hears after just readjustment to get himself properly in hand. ]

Getting there. You had me at 'tedious paperwork'.

[ Oh baby, etc. ]

Well, I do know what you like.

[ Erotically balancing spreadsheets. Do the columns slower, yes.

But also, ]

If it's my hand instead, what am I doing?

You're...

[ He should probably be getting creative, but Clark's mind immediately pulls up memories, of so many of these encounters between them. That, along with the scrape of Bruce's voice over the line (and in his honed in range of hearing) all seem to sense another pulse of warm blood in that direction. ]

...probably teasing me. Seeing how hard you can get me, without a lot.

[ Good notion. Good previous instances. Bruce strokes himself, lets it be with a firm touch, no gaps between palm and cock, nothing to dampen the sound of skin sliding over skin. ]

And you do get so hard, [ is even a little scrapier. Just for him. ]

Less teasing. I'd want to watch the way your eyes go dark when you're in the middle of it.

[ Well perhaps you oughtn't— maybe you're the one who— nope, too late, no time to summon something witty that would effectively knock aside the notion that gritty Bat voice saying certain things doesn't have an effect.

Less teasing. The quiet breathed okay is spoken out loud almost by accident, Clark wriggling a little to move enough fabric aside, to form up his fist and work himself firmer. ]

Can't report on my eyes, but, [ faintly amused, then less, ] that feels nice.

I think—

[ Letting himself get into it, now, taking a moment to just feel, and see Clark in his mind's eye. ]

That I like the idea of interrupting you on your business trip, crowding you onto that hotel bed, and getting you off fast, and hard, and dissolving all the boredom and tension of your spine. Suck of you off again in the shower.

[ Though the shower's probably unimpressive. ]

Did you bring something, or are you stuck spitting into your hand?

[ Clark sighs, a kind of I'd like that too sigh, even if it feels not unlike Bruce is doing something like that, interrupting, crowding him—

Certainly working on the next thing, body responding as much to the things he is saying as Clark's hand wrapped around himself. Some tipping point achieved, between circling around this prospect, and it happening.

A breathed half-laugh as he says; ]

No, I didn't bring anything.

I thought we were working on your tactical foresight.

[ Bruce isn't giving himself handjob burn in solidarity - soft sounds pause, while he shifts to get something off the bedside table. Clark can suffer or nab some complementary body lotion, he figures. ]

Haven't done that in a while. Get you to choke me with your cock.

[ He wonders what Clark's face is doing. Something about the distance makes it easier to be verbally vulgar, when he usually just does it. ]

[ >:/

Hearing Bruce start to fossick around has Clark scanning this room and the next, abandoning his phone on the bed as he goes to collect exactly that from the tiniest bathroom in Chicago.

The phone isn't on speaker, but he does hear Bruce perfectly fine. His shirt is left abandoned on the floor as he returns, just in range that even at a mutter he is just faintly heard; ] 'Get you to'.

[ The mattress springs creaking. ]

I think we're working on tactical foreplay.

Do you not like it when I ask nicely? [ —under the sound of mattress springs. Who knows which Bruce thinks counts as asking nicely; aggressively demanding it or ending up too suffocated and overwhelmed to do anything but wordlessly beg.

But. ]

Oh, well, I'm hanging up now.

Sorry, [ he says, smiling. ] Stay.

[ Only a subtle uplift in tone, nearly a question. Asking nicely. ]

Sometimes when it's fast like that, it doesn't feel like enough. [ Maybe that's Kryptonian physiology, altered the way it is, able to last and dial right back up, no breaks necessary. Maybe at least some of that's just Clark.

He deposits trace of lotion into his hand. The sigh that comes with contact again is probably familiar enough to Bruce to imagine. ] And I'd be thinking about you for the rest of the evening. Not paying attention to anything else.

[ Bruce smiles to himself. Probably a bit alien, and a bit just Clark. ]

You're cute frustrated. And distracted. Especially when I want to take you to bed again anyway.

[ A ninja-like absence of continuity (or maybe it was just while Clark was thinking about his own dick) results in the softer, wetter sound of Bruce's hand stroking himself. ]

Good.

[ He wonders if anyone else could get away with calling him cute when frustrated. If it'd be a turn on, with anyone else. ]

'Cause I'd find you after. Get all over you. [ Resolving the memory of the cosy leg selfie, the sounds of Bruce working himself, into a more vivid imagining. ] I like that part, when we don't know what we're doing yet.

Mm. [ Get all over you. Bruce likes that, too. Clark's forwardness and how little shame he feels, how joyful he always seems in it, even when he's doing something as simple as pawing Bruce's shirt off. ] What do you like best about it? Just knowing, that I want you enough that we could do anything?

[ And boy, do they ever. ]

That's—

[ A quiet, breathy laugh. Yeah. His eyes are closed, the world contracting to just this bed, just Bruce's voice, his own hand, and the field of hearing he's laser-focused with a reliable heartbeat at its centre. ]

And I like hearing you get excited. Feeling it.

Mm. Do you like hearing my blood pressure?

[ A little jokey, because what. But also, the strange, invasive way they micromanage each other is... also kind of hot, so.

Bruce is jerking himself steadily now, managing not to feel like an idiot having phone sex at his age. Shouldn't they at least be on facetime, or something. No, that'd be weirder. ]

You make it so interesting.

[ Slight twang there, rare, in all the newscaster genericness. Inneresting. Hard to tell over there if it's jokey or real, slipped through the cracks in distraction. It might take Clark more critical thinking to find what they're doing silly, immature, when it mostly just feels like

well, nice, extremely better than reading about news media advertising revenue on Facebook, and exciting in the odd restriction of it, of only a voice, a heartbeat, little sounds, to get keyed up by. ]

[ It is nice. Bruce doesn't have a lot of history with nice things. They've always seemed out of his grasp. For real people, with real connections, and souls and whatever else. ]

I like it when you listen too close like that, though, [ he admits, which is not really an admission for how Clark knows already. He shouldn't. ]

Careful,

[ voice a little tight, ]

or I'm gonna say something romantic and ruin the mood.

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nightlife - 2021-05-11 06:41 (UTC) - Expand

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