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Across the Pond

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December 25, 2016, 03:17


He almost missed the call, he was so focused on the code he was compiling. It was an update to his profiler, using some of the hacks that DedSec had released recently—nothing vital, but definitely something that needed doing. Blume was getting better at plugging their holes, so everyone else was getting better at finding them.

The low rattle of his phone vibrating didn’t even register against the background noise of the schlocky holiday movie he’d put on to drown out the Christmas Eve celebrations from the room behind him. It wasn’t until he glanced down at the newly lit screen that he realized what he was hearing, and even then he was almost too late to pick up.

“Wow, nearly made me listen to your bitchy voicemail. I’m hurt, Aiden.” Jordi, because of course it was Jordi. Aiden squinted at the clock in the corner of his screen, then leaned back against the headboard of his bed.

“You know it’s three in the morning?” he said, watching the tearful family reunion happen on the shitty motel television. Must be close to the end of the movie.

“Nah, try again. It’s nine over here, and I even let myself sleep in late as a Christmas present to me.” Jordi sounded amused by that, and he could hear the faint sound of sheets rustling as the man moved.

After some quick math in his head, Aiden made a guess. “Paris?”

“Berlin, but close. Like hell am I flying out right on top of Christmas traffic though, so I’m staying over for the week before moving onto my next job. This one was a treat, you would’ve loved it.”

“I’ll take your word for it. Why are you calling me first thing in the morning?” Not that calls at o’dark thirty were that uncommon with Jordi—less common than texts, which might arrive at any given time from any given number, only identifiable by the particular cadence of the words—but this was unusual for him. Normally Jordi opened up with some anecdote or joke that he’d thought of and just had to share with someone. Half the time, he hung up before Aiden could respond.

“I wanted to know what you were wearing.” There was a hint of laughter in Jordi’s voice.

“...You’re going to have to give me more than that,” Aiden said after a pause, setting his laptop up on the side table. The credits to the movie were rolling now, accompanied by chirpy Christmas music. Nothing else in the motel made a sound, even the loudest of partiers gone to bed by now.

“C’mon, just paint a picture for me here. I want to imagine some lacy panties, but I know you don’t buy those for yourself, so that’s bunk—at least tell me that your pants are off. It’s Christmas. You can’t wear pants on Christmas.”

It dawned on Aiden that despite Jordi’s tone, this wasn’t just a quick joke at his expense. He was wearing pants, because the motel wasn’t exactly the warmest place and Pennsylvania was cold in December, but somehow he felt like Jordi wouldn’t take that without question.

“My pants are on. So is my jacket, and my hat. I’m dressed, Jordi. It’s cold.” Hepacked as much sarcasm into his voice as he could as he stretched his legs out. Not like he was going to be getting any work done, and Jordi’s voice was nice to hear, all things considered.

“You wear your hat to bed? That’s sad, Aiden.” Aiden made an offended noise, but Jordi went on like he hadn’t heard. “Have you considered pulling your pants off? You know, just getting your ass naked—you can leave everything else on, but pants? Nah. What color’s your underwear?”

“Black, and I’m not taking my pants off. What part of ‘it’s cold’ do you not understand?” He couldn’t keep the note of exasperation out of his voice, just like he couldn’t keep a smile from tugging at the corners of his mouth. At least Jordi couldn’t see his face.

“You’re the fucking worst, I hope you know that. I can work with black underwear though. I’ll just pretend you’re actually sexy.” There was the sound of sheets rustling again, and Aiden reached for the remote to mute the television as it spun up into an infomercial.

“There’s easier ways to get me to play along for your… what, what is this Jordi? Is this phone sex? Is that what we’re doing? Because I can start charging you four bucks a minute and make this whole thing more authentic.” He rolled his eyes, not that Jordi could see, then got a little more comfortable, tipping his head back against the backboard. Maybe he should put Jordi on speaker, or slip his earpiece in.

“Hey, you said it, not me. I’m just the guy that woke up with a stiffy and thought, hey! Aiden Pearce is going to be up at whatever god awful hour it is stateside, and nobody’s going to be cruising on a Christmas morning—nobody I’d actually fuck at least—so why don’t I hit up that guy and actually get something out of it?” There was the sound of more rustling, and then a faint wash of static. Jordi had opted for the speakerphone route.

“Why is this my problem again?” Despite his words, Aiden was already sliding a hand up under his turtleneck, biting back a curse when he realized how cold his fingertips were. This motel had shit insulation.

Jordi hadn’t missed that either, his voice gloating as he said, “Because I’m making it your problem, and if you’re really good for me, I’ll even let you get off to it.”

He hated how appealing that sounded. Hated the way Jordi’s voice curled around him like his body would have if he was here, hated how even when Jordi was being an ass he knew the right buttons to press, and most especially, hated that he didn’t really hate any of it at all. The bastard knew it too—it was why he’d called, no matter his cracks about the early hour.

“Alright, so I’m wearing black underwear,” Aiden said, trying to ignore how awkward this was. “What are you wearing, Jordi?”

“Absolutely nothing at all, babe. Dick hard and at the ready. Tell me what you’re going to do to it.” Jordi was absolutely making fun of him now. Aiden considered hanging up, because bad behavior didn’t deserve to be rewarded, then sighed instead.

“Hold on a second, I’m putting in my earpiece. These walls are thin enough that my neighbors will hear and try to join in if I put you on speaker.” He ignored the burst of laughter from his phone, grabbing the headset and firmly settling it in his ear. Jordi’s snickering came through loud and clear. “Believe me, I’m overjoyed that you’re finding this so funny. I will hang up, Jordi.”

“No, you won’t. Now come on, tell me what you’re going to do to my dick. And you might as well start warming your hands up while you’re at it.” Jordi added the order so casually that Aiden almost missed the fact that it was an order—this wasn’t one of those situations where a ‘no’ would cut it.

That shouldn’t have been enough to shift things from awkward to embarrassingly arousing, but it was. Go figure. He slid both of his hands up under his sweater now, pressing his cold fingers to the heat spilling off of his stomach. From the pleased noise Jordi made, he’d caught the way Aiden’s breath had hitched with the sudden shift in temperature.

He cleared his throat and closed his eyes, hoping that maybe without the visual of someone trying to sell him grout cleaner this would be easier. It wasn’t, not at all, but at least it wasn’t quite so obvious that he was alone. Jordi might as well be a figment of his imagination with how far away he was right now.

“Alright, uh…” Damn, this was even worse than he’d thought it would be. It was tempting to call the whole thing off, but Aiden took a careful breath and said, “I’d probably, I don’t know, start touching it?”

“With which hand?”

He thumped his head against the headboard, digging his nails into his own skin. It helped a little. “Whichever one you like better, Jordi. Probably the right, because I’m not sure if I want to just rip it off right now and my right hand’s stronger.”

“Oh, somebody’s feisty. Alright, so you’re grabbing my dick, violently, and I’m magnanimously choosing not to break your wrist. We’re off to a great start. Are you planning on doing anything with my dick, now that you have it in hand?” Jordi was laughing at him again, Aiden could tell. It was there in his voice, running under the words.

Goddamnit. He dragged his nails over his chest, recentering himself with the burst of pain, then tried again. “I’m stroking it, because unlike you I can be nice, and touching your balls too. Please tell me this isn’t going to be the only thing we do tonight.”

“But you’re so goddamn adorable when you try to play along, why wouldn’t I exploit the hell out of that?” Before Aiden could answer, Jordi’s tone shifted, changing to something darker. “I want you to touch yourself like you’d be touching me. Get your hands all up in that black underwear of yours and get yourself hard.”

“Shit, alright.” Aiden swallowed, shifting his right hand down past the hem of his jeans. It was a tight enough fit that he popped the fly with his left hand only a couple seconds later, curling his fingers around his length once he had the room. He knew the best ways to touch himself, where to stroke and when to squeeze, and even if he didn’t do it often these days, the hungry approval in Jordi’s voice… he’d do a lot of things for that.

“How’s it feel?” Jordi was moving on his bed again, from the sound of the sheets. Aiden wondered if he was touching himself too, then sucked in a sharp breath at the mental image of Jordi sprawled across his bed, lazily tracing the lines of his own muscles.

“Good. It feels good. Could probably use some lube, but…” He licked his lips and dragged his thumb over the head, a surge of heat rolling through him. He should have at least spit in his palm before doing this, but he was loathe to break an unstated rule by doing it now. Not when Jordi sounded so pleased with him.

“That’s perfect.” His voice was low and rich, coming in through Aiden’s earpiece clearly enough that it was like Jordi was sitting right next to him. With his eyes closed, he could make the fantasy a little realer, his fingers tightening around his shaft like Jordi’s might when he wanted to tease him. “Tell me what else you’d do to me. Tell me how you’d touch me, Aiden.”

“Fuck,” he whispered, a shudder rolling through him. “I’d… I’d stroke you, slow. You like it slow when I’m actually calling the shots.”

Jordi hummed approvingly, sending heat rolling through Aiden’s body. “You’ve been paying attention. Are your eyes closed?”

Aiden swallowed, reflexively squeezing his eyes tighter shut. Stupid, how easily Jordi could get to him. Dangerous too. But he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the hell out of it. “Yeah.”

“Good. Do you want to know what I’d do to you, Aiden?” Jordi sounded so fucking pleased to be asking this, like there was nothing he wanted in the world more than to whisper filthy things into his ear. Aiden’s hand was moving faster despite his efforts to keep himself steady, the nails of his free hand digging into his stomach hard enough to bleed.

“Please,” he said after an internal struggle between being too eager and getting cut off entirely. His ears strained to catch the sound of Jordi moving on his bed, for any whisper of sound that could add to the fantasy Aiden was building of them together, here, Jordi’s hands touching him as he said every dirty thought that came into his head.

“I’d keep you pinned,” Jordi said, “so you couldn’t touch yourself at all. I’d stroke you slow, not because you like it, but because you’d hate how long it took me to work you up. It wouldn’t matter how much you squirmed because I wouldn’t let you do anything—you’d belong to me and you’d know it. The only hand that touches you is mine.”

He couldn’t stop the ragged moan that escaped him at the thought. It seemed like that was the response Jordi wanted, because he laughed softly. Not the mocking laughter from earlier, but something warmer, hungrier. Like he was feeding off the sounds Aiden made, like the involuntary noises were the thing he wanted the most. This wasn’t just a game anymore.

“Yeah, you’d like that. I bet I’d get you begging, because you break so fucking easy for me. And maybe if you begged loud enough, I’d give you what you wanted—you’d have to tell me what that is though. I like hearing you say it. I like hearing you scream it.”

The fact that he was in a motel with paper-thin walls was almost enough to make him freeze up again. Almost. But Aiden craved Jordi’s approval like he craved the sweet release of violence, needed it like he needed cigarettes and alcohol to keep him going. He was too far gone now, his own hands mimicking the things he wanted Jordi to do to him, pressed back against the headboard with his eyes shut and his lips parted for ragged, desperate breaths.

“I want to hear you say it,” Jordi said, his voice rough like Aiden was getting to him too.

“Please,” he gasped, “please let me come, Jordi. Fuck, I want—”

The groan Jordi gave him was worth every second of begging. He’d do a lot worse than beg to hear Jordi come undone like that, especially when Jordi whispered, “I want to hear you scream.”

He didn’t, biting his lower lip to stay quiet, but the muted, desperate noise he made while coming seemed to be enough. His back arched as he jerked his hips, hand stilling on his cock as Jordi crooned approval into his ear. For a few minutes, everything was almost too much, his heart pounding as he slowly relaxed back into the sheets and pulled his hands out from under his clothes.

Then Jordi started snickering and the illusion shattered. Aiden squinted one eye open, then groaned softly when he remembered that he’d have to do laundry now. On Christmas. When none of the laundromats nearby were going to be open.

“Goddamnit Jordi,” he swore to the sound of laughter, fighting his clothes off piece by piece. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into that.”

“I know! I figured you’d hang up, that was great!” Jordi laughed harder at the noise of frustration Aiden made, then said, “No, seriously, you didn’t hang up, I’m so touched.”

“Like hell you are.” Aiden sighed as he tossed his hat across the room last, wiggling his way under the covers on the shitty motel bed. The sheets underneath were freezing, but warmed up fast. After a moment he grabbed the laptop and pulled it back onto his chest, not bothering to end the call. Jordi started this, so Jordi could end it again.

“Like, on the list of things I thought I could get you to do, phone sex was definitely close to the bottom. Next to some of that weird pet fetishism shit and crossdressing. Is crossdressing back on the table? Because I’m thinking crossdressing is back on the table.”

“Crossdressing is not on the table,” Aiden said, but the protest was more routine than anything. His profiler wouldn’t need much more work, and then he could move on to something else to pass the time.

“So definitely back on the table, got it.” The faint sound of a television crackled through his earpiece, just underneath the sound of Jordi’s snickering. “You’re really gonna stay in and be a sadsack on Christmas?”

So tempting to let himself be overwhelmed by other memories, but Jordi was a decent distraction. “I’m really going to stay in and be a sadsack on Christmas. Shocking, I know, but I have things to do.”

“That’s pathetic. Oh, shit, I haven’t seen this one before. You ever watch Mord mit Aussicht? Probably not, don’t answer that, they’re running a marathon. I’ll catch you up.”

He could reach his phone and hang up. But Jordi’s voice was more intimate than the infomercial still playing out on his motel television, and the room would be echoingly empty without it, so Aiden didn’t bother. With only half an ear on what Jordi was saying, he went back to coding.

Three hours later, after Jordi had run his way through four different television series plots and his neighbors had finally started waking up and banging around, he finally said, “Merry Christmas, Jordi.”

“Yeah yeah, you’re welcome. Now like I was saying—”