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And I am sorry my conscience called in sick again

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Frank is just tuning his guitar when his phone rings on the desk next to him. Not his old, second-hand phone that he bought from a friend. No, it’s the shiny, store-bought phone he got for work.

He waits a few, obligatory seconds before he answers the call.

“Hey, this is Anthony, how can I help you tonight?”

He still has the guitar in his hands, the phone wedged between his ear and shoulder, as he waits for the person on the other end of the line to say something, but he’s only met with silence; not a single breath to hear.

It happens. Every now and then there’s some caller that pays for the first minute without saying anything and then hangs up. Frank doesn’t really get it, it’s just a sex hotline and he’s the one working there.

Yeah, he works for a sex hotline. That is, when he’s not at band practice or playing in basements, trying to make a living with what he loves.

He loves music, but as of now it’s not paying the bills. Working for a sex hotline does, surprisingly easy even. He can work whenever he wants and from wherever he wants. Most of the time he’s using the practice room they rent for the band; it’s soundproof and Frank doesn’t need to worry that his roommate will burst in at any moment – no sense of privacy whatsoever.

“Are you there? Come on, I don’t bite.”

He grins to himself. Sometimes it’s even fun.

“Unless you want me to, of course.”

This time, there’s a sound, almost like a chuckle. It sounds kind of familiar and Frank gets a warm feeling in his stomach.

“God, this is the best night of my life.”

The chuckle turns into laughter and Frank can most certainly feel his stomach drop. He almost drops the guitar, too, when he bolts out of his chair.

That can’t be- But Frank knows that voice. Knows it, because he hears it all day everyday when he’s at home. It’s not easy to ignore that voice or the guy it belongs to.


“What a small world, right, Anthony?”

Fuck, it’s really Pete.

And there it is again, that chuckle, and now that he knows its Pete, Frank feels stupid for not recognizing it before.

Probably because never in a million years would he have thought someone he actually knows would end up calling not only the sex hotline Frank has been secretly working for, but also call his line. Frank isn’t really good at math but he’s sure the chances are pretty slim.

He tries his best to stay calm; this isn’t the end of the world. Pete will endlessly tease him about it, but he can handle that. That’s Pete Wentz for you.

“Okay, I’m gonna hang up now.”

“If you do, I’ll only keep calling!”

Frank stops in his motion, bringing the phone back to his ear.  

“You know I will, you know how persistent I can be.”

Frank drops back down onto the chair and groans, because really, this is typically Pete. He’s rubbing a hand over his face, not that it helps in any way.

“I wouldn’t say persistent, more like totally annoying, but whatever. Pete, what do you want? You know you’re charged 4 $ per minute, right?”

“Well, then you better make it worth the money.”

Frank feels the urge to bang his head against his desk, he can’t believe this.

“Great, you just wanna whip it out?”

It’s meant to be a joke, sarcastic, but Pete’s answer is anything but sarcastic.

“Maybe if you try a little harder. Aren’t you supposed to- I don’t know, get things hot and heavy?”

Frank sighs. This sounds like the stupidest game of chicken Frank ever heard of. And knowing Pete there’s no way out of it.

But if Pete wants to play, they’re going to play.

With his mind made up Frank sets down the guitar, which has been all but forgotten while he was talking to Pete. He takes a deep breath and tries to find a start to this.

“Then tell me,” he begins, switching to the breathy voice he uses when talking to a customer, “what are you wearing?”

“Jeans, no t-shirt.”

He can’t help but grin to himself and leans back in his chair again. See, not that hard.

“Figures, you’re allergic to t-shirts. I bet you’re wearing the black jeans, with the cuts in the knees.”

“I do.”

It feels weird, a little, to know these things when Frank tries to remember that this is technically a business call. He doesn’t know anything about his customers, only if they tell him anything – which they usually don’t – and it helps to keep a distance. This feels more intimate already, more real; he knows how Pete looks shirtless, knows all the tattoos on his skin. He can picture Pete perfectly, on his bed maybe.

“Yeah, you love them; they’re your favorite pair. Mine, too, because they hang obscenely low on your hips and leave almost nothing to the imagination.”

“They do?”

“Don’t lie. That’s why you love them so much.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Another chuckle and Frank gets this warm feeling in his stomach again. Has that always been there? He shakes his head once, to get his thoughts back to the conversation.

“I know. And they look perfect on you, almost like they’re sprayed on, so tight around your ass and I’m sure they perfectly outline your dick when you’re hard.”

Frank breathes into the phone. It’s mostly show at this point, even though the thought of Pete in said jeans is not a bad one, something he thought about before. He’s not lying; they do look perfect on him.

“I always wondered, when you bring home your little adventures,” Frank starts and for the seconds he pauses he can’t hear Pete’s breathing anymore – maybe he’s holding his breath in anticipation, ”is it you moaning or them?”

Frank hears Pete’s sharp breath on the line again.

“Guess I’ll find out soon enough.”

“I didn’t know you could hear-“

“Again with the lies. Come on Pete. You knew. I bet you even liked it. Putting on a little show? Seems like your style.”

Pete already sounds a little wound up and Frank likes it, likes it a lot. He’s getting hard just from this. In the back of his mind he remembers that it’s Pete and he’s apparently about to have phone sex with his friend, but the way Pete’s voice sounds makes it easy for Frank to push the thought aside.

“Seems like you like to listen, Frank.”

At the mention of his name he feels a shiver run down his spine. This, too, feels really intimate, because he never uses his first name for this job.

 “You whipped it out yet?”

Pete’s laugh rings into Frank’s ear; a sound so contagious Frank has to joins in.

“No, asshole.”

He’s aware he probably just ruined the mood, but Frank is pretty good at this, when it’s not his friend calling, so it’s not a big problem to find the right words.

 “But I bet you’re hard already, aren’t you? Bet you’re already imagining the things I could do to you.”

He clears his throat as silently as he can as he waits for Pete’s answer. Frank is sure they’re not playing around anymore.

“I have a good imagination.”

“Yeah, I bet. You gonna run your hands all over your body imagining their mine?”

“Where would you touch me?”

Frank closes his eyes, imagining Pete on his bed, long legs stretched out and waiting for Frank to tell him what to do.

“Everywhere. But I’d start with your neck, get you all- hot and heavy.”

Pete’s breathing gets louder, more intense, with every word Frank says. It’s all Frank can hear, but he’s really waiting for some different sounds.

“I’d use my mouth, too, work my way down your chest.”

In his head, he does just that, kissing Pete’s neck, working his fingers over his body, over the tattoos. He might have thought about that before, too, once or twice.

“Bet those tight jeans don’t feel so good anymore, do they? A little- constricting?”

At last, there’s the sound Frank’s been waiting for, a little moan, almost missed between Pete’s heavy breathing.

“Never knew you’re such a tease.”

“Well, as a paying customer I want you to be completely satisfied.”

Frank smiles to himself.

“Then tell me what to do.”

At the command – or plea, Frank’s not sure – his breath rushes out of him in a low groan and it’s not at all for show this time.

“You like that? Me telling you what to do?” he asks and when Pete only moans into the line the sound makes Frank just a little bit harder. He presses his free hand against his dick and sighs with relief.

“I believe I was just on my way down your stomach, feeling your muscles tight under my lips, kissing your hipbone where your jeans hang oh-so-low.”


Frank hears some rustling on the line, maybe Pete undoing his pants in anticipation.

“And when my hands finally reach your cock, I can feel it hard underneath your jeans. I can’t wait to get my hands into your pants.”

“Please,” Pete mumbles into the phone, moaning again into Frank’s ear.

“Impatient? Sounds like you’re cheating and getting ahead of me.”


He thinks Pete’s almost desperate plea might be his favorite thing and he wants to hear it again and again, but he can’t wait to push Pete even further and find out what he sounds like when he’s really losing control.

“Okay, okay. I’m done teasing you anyway, so let me just wrap my hand tight around your cock. I know you like it a little harder, that’s what you always tell them.”

“Fuck, yes. I do.”

Frank never jerks off when he’s working the line and he’s not exactly jerking off now, but it’s close. He’s rubbing his hand against his dick, pretending he’s keeping the same rhythm as Pete, imagining Pete with him in the practice room, moaning into his ear so he could feel his hot breath against his skin instead of the phone.

“I know, it’s hot. So hot. Definitely you moaning all those nights.”

Pete’s breath hitches over the line before he moans again.

“I want you to think about my lips wrapped around your cock, hot and wet. Think about how my tongue swirls around the head, how you push inside my mouth to the back of my throat.”

Pete’s moans turn into words, little yes’ and yeah’s and Frank is so hard, it’s so uncomfortable with his pants still on. He’s usually not jerking off when he’s working, but there’s a first time for everything. He has to open the button and zipper, to get his hand inside his jeans. He’s panting heavily into the phone, biting his lip once to contain a moan threatening to escape his lips.

“Tell me you’re close.”


“Good. I’m doing that, don’t forget,” he says, not sure where that comes from, but he wants to make sure Pete is still imagining him and not anybody else, “I want you to come and I want you to think about shooting down my throat, about me swallowing every drop.”

By the guttural moan he can hear, almost feel all through his body, he’s sure Pete just did as Frank told him and Frank swears it’s with his name on Pete’s lips, but he might just imagine it. Either way, that and the idea he painted in his head – of Pete bucking his hips off the mattress and his whole body tense before he relaxes back onto the bed – are enough to push him over the edge, too, have him spilling hot into his hand and underwear.

And then they’re both silent, just breathing – panting – into their phones, listening and coming down from their shared high.

 “Satisfied?” Frank drops his head back, looking at the ceiling with its grey tiles and imagining Pete on his bed, hand still around his dick, cum streaking across his stomach.


“What else do you want me to do?”

“Get your ass home and I’ll show you.”

Frank has no time to react in anyway because Pete just ends the call, not waiting for a reply. Frank looks down at his phone, the display turning black.

He definitely didn’t expect this turn of events.

His thought gets interrupted by his phone ringing again, but Frank is sure it’s not Pete again and he isn’t really interested in talking to anyone else right now. After all, there’s someone waiting for him at home.