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The lights are off and Matthew is already in bed when his telephone rings, buzzing hard enough to nearly launch itself off of his bedside stand. He catches it before it hits the floor, pressing the 'accept' button as it vibrates once more.

"Matthew speaking," he answers formally, out of habit, stifling a rising yawn with the back of his hand. He's been up for eighteen hours now and counting, traveling from home to a routine diplomatic meeting in the heart of Moscow.

A familiar cheerful voice filters through the phone's speaker. "Hey babe, it's me. How's the cold weather treating you?"

Tired as Matthew is, Alfred's voice still brings a smile to his face. He glances over to the room's lone window, watching snow fall in soft, thick sheets outside through the parting of heavy drapery.

"I've experienced worse," he answers, wearily leaning back against the headboard.

Alfred makes a noise of disappointment; Matthew can imagine the brief pout that comes with it. "Aww, I was hoping you'd say you needed some warming up."

"Warming up?" Matt says with a short laugh. He shifts his phone from one ear to the other. "And how exactly would you do that from the other side of the world?"

"Well," Alfred hums across the line, taking on a sultry tone, "I'd start by telling you what I'm wearing."

Matthew pauses.

Oh.

So that's what he means by warming up.

Feeling some of his fatigue fade, Matt licks his lips, taking a quick peek at his phone to check the time. 1AM now with a meeting at six-thirty?

Not bad.

He can make it on five hours of sleep.

Still that deduction doesn't stop him from saying, only somewhat seriously, “You do know I have to get up early in the morning, don't you?"

"Yeah, I know," Alfred responds easily, as if he anticipated Matt's exact response. "Think of this as a nightcap."

"Nightcap, eh?" Matthew echoes, amused, settling down deeper into the bed and pulling his blankets up to his chest. He’s good and comfortable. "Alright, I'll bite. What are you wearing?"

Matthew hears the creak of their bed over the line, then, "Remember those black panties I bought? The lacy ones with the ribbons?" There's a pause, like Alfred is giving him a moment to bring the image to mind. "I'm wearing those."

"Mmm, okay." It's just like Alfred to try them on for the first time when he's not there to see for himself. Matthew closes his eyes to better focus on Alfred's voice. "And what else?"

"Just that."

Matt smoothes his palm over his abdomen, letting his fingertips rest just under the waistband of his boxers. He's betting that those soft, black panties cling to every line and curve of Alfred's groin, highlighting the swell of his cock and the cut of his hips.

"Are you hard?" he asks, wetting his lips again. The way Al sighs over the line makes his cock twitch with greater interest. His hand inches a little further into his boxers.

"Yeah,” Alfred breathes out, dropping his voice a little lower. “Got that way thinking about you."

Anticipation flutters in Matt’s belly as he wraps his fingers around his dick and squeezes. "What about me?"

And that seems to be what Alfred was waiting for, his words tumbling forth like he’s been carrying them in his mouth all day. "Been thinking about your kisses, Matty; ‘bout the way you get all into it, like you're gonna eat me right up. You don’t know how hard I get just remembering all those little hickeys you left on me last time. Had to wear my collars done up for days.”

Matt groans appreciatively, memories of their last tryst flickering behind his eyelids. He'd admittedly gotten a little carried away, but he couldn't help himself, encouraged by the way Al writhed under him every time he nipped a little harder. “Tell me,” he prompts huskily, his cock throbbing as he smears with his thumb the sticky fluid beading at the tip.

“I was gonna.” Matthew hears the bed creak again and imagines that Alfred’s got his own cock in hand now, that his panties are somewhere around his thighs, soft and sheer and totally forgotten. Al sounds breathless, almost distracted. “Just got a bit ahead of myself, was already at the part where you’re fucking me so hard I can’t see straight.”

“Shit,” Matt curses, gripping his cock as a sudden jolt of arousal tugs at his core. Under his blankets, he feels as though the warmth is clinging to his skin, seeping in and spreading. He drags his teeth over his lower lip. “I take it that’s what you want when I’m back, eh? You want me to bend you over the bed?”

“God, yeah,” Al moans over the line, shameless. “I wanna be able to feel it for days.”

And that gets an image firmly lodged in Matt’s mind: of Alfred spread out in front of him, the entire tanned length of his back visible as he muffles his sounds in soft, downy blankets. Just the thought alone is enough to get Matt close to his peak but he pushes it back, a desire to hear Alfred come apart first arising suddenly and fiercely within him.

“Might not even make it to the bed though,” Matt continues, listening for every hitch in his brother’s breathing. He opens his legs wide, rubbing his cock slowly, as slow as he can without stopping altogether. “Might just bend you over the sofa, open you up and fuck you right in the middle of the living room. Sounds like an even better idea to me. Could even flip you over, get your legs in the air—”

Fuck, Matty— you promise?” Alfred’s groan is desperate, loud in Matthew’s ears, cutting him off abruptly. The touch of hoarseness in Al’s voice, like he can’t quite catch his breath, has Matt squirming, trying to stave off his orgasm as long as possible. “Gonna come so hard thinking about it, thinking about you balls-deep inside of me— are you close? Please tell me you’re close—”

“Almost there,” Matt stutters out, unable to keep his hips completely still as he strokes himself, focusing on the familiar tremor he hears in Alfred’s voice, the barely-there whimpers that lets him know his brother is on the verge of losing it. He can hear their bed creaking, imagines that Alfred’s not at all restraining himself like he is, thrusting up lewdly into sweaty palms.

Matthew doesn’t realize that his voice has dropped, that he’s whispering little encouragements until Alfred groans, making a noise like all the wind’s been knocked out him; it startles his orgasm out of him, pleasure peaking hot and sudden and sharp through his body.

Kicking his blankets away to cool down, little aftershocks zip through him as Alfred pants on the other end of the line. The last of his tension has dissipated, and all he’s left with is pleasant, creeping exhaustion.

“That was awesome,” Alfred huffs out after his breathing has calmed. His tone is tired, but playful. “You still didn’t promise me, though.”

Matt’s smile, only a little self-satisfied, is obscured by darkness and distance. “Promise.”

These next few days of meetings won’t be over fast enough.