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“What time is it there, again? Nine?”
“Ten. I’m nine hours ahead.”
The sun here is hot, even by mid-morning. Klavier’s hotel room is close enough to the ocean that he can see it, but its presence makes the air even more humid. He hasn’t even bothered to style his hair yet, and it’s curling up all by itself. He thinks it might suit him. “...It’s one in the morning over there, Häschen, you’re going to be exhausted tomorrow.”
Apollo huffs stubbornly into the receiver. “I’ll be fine, work’s been slow. Don’t you have to go to some big conference today?”
“Mm. Not till eleven-thirty. I trust you’ll be fast asleep by then, ja?”
“...Probably.”
Klavier runs a hand through his hair, tucking a piece behind his ear. “I appreciate your dedication, liebling, but don’t tire yourself out on my account.”
A sigh, audible through the phone. “Not my fault you wake up when most people are already working.”
“Adjusting to the time difference,” Klavier shrugs, despite how Apollo can’t see him. He'd slept in; a red-eye flight and a five hour layover will do that. “I’ll set my alarm for seven tomorrow, if it makes you happy.”
“It would,” Apollo replies. Then, there’s this peculiarly long pause. “...How’s it been so far?”
“Good. Well, other than my luggage being held hostage for a few hours, but everything’s safe. The view from my room is fantastic.” Klavier strides over to look out the window — maybe half a kilometer from here, he can make out colourful umbrellas on the beach. Further down the shore, there’s a marina, sailboats bobbing up and down in the blue water. Very picturesque. “I’ll try to take some photos later.”
“Will you go swimming?”
“I’ll try, if I have the time.”
Apollo hums again. Then, silence. “...What else will you do?”
Klavier raises his eyebrow, and sees the faint reflection in the glass. “...Work, mostly?”
“Anything else?” This time, there’s a tremulous quality to Apollo’s voice. Klavier purses his lips.
“...Are you up to anything right now, Apollo?”
Silence again, but then, a gasp — oh-so quiet, like he didn’t want Klavier to hear. “...Nope.”
“Oh, don’t lie to me.”
Apollo sighs again through his nose, and, oh god, Klavier knows exactly what he’s doing; on the other side of the world, at one in the morning. In his apartment, alone. It makes Klavier feel almost sick with want. “...I miss you,” Apollo finally says, shyly.
Klavier feels want pooling in his stomach. His mind comes up with something vivid: Apollo, on his stomach, desperate and needy. His boxers pulled down around his ankles, maybe his shirt rolled up to his collar. Shyly rocking himself onto his fingers — or, no, maybe he’s seated on a toy, a big one, bouncing softly while he plays with his nipples, maybe his clit, as he listens to the sound of Klavier’s voice through the phone, pretending it’s Klavier inside of him. On the other side of the world, Klavier’s cock twitches with interest; he goes to sit down on the edge of the bed. “Tell me what you’re up to, Häschen.”
He hears a soft inhale on the other end of the line, followed by a sigh. “What are you using?” Klavier corrects himself.
“Uh,” Apollo’s voice wavers more now. “Just my hand.”
Klavier groans, despite himself, and palms himself softly through his pants. “Have you been doing it this whole time?”
“...Yeah.”
Oh, fuck. “Slut,” Klavier replies, without any malice — oh, he’s completely elated. He tries to unfasten his slacks. It doesn't work well one-handed, so he holds the phone between his shoulder and his ear as his fingers fumble to unhook fastenings and pull down his boxer briefs, releasing his half-erect cock.
“Keep talking,” Apollo asks him quietly. He’s not trying to hide the want in his voice, now; breathless, strained. Klavier groans, and strokes himself once, loosely. He wants this to last as long as possible — he has to leave in just under an hour, but that's plenty of time.
“Are fingers enough?” Klavier asks, his voice dipping lower, gravelly with lust.
“Mm... I don’t know.”
“Ach, don’t be coy. I know you wish it was me.” He wraps his hand around the head, and thumbs at the pre-cum that's begun to bead there. “How many are you using?”
“Just two.”
“Can you do three?” Klavier asks him, and hears a soft sigh in response. He can see Apollo, in his mind’s eye, working a third finger — maybe his index finger, maybe he’s already using the middle and the ring — into the soft, wet heat of his cunt. Eyes sinking closed, biting his lip from the stretch, but adjusting quickly. Three fingers, and it’s enough he can really pretend it’s Klav’s cock fucking him.
“...M-hm.”
Leaning back against the plush hotel room pillows, Klavier pumps himself once, twice, smearing pre-cum down the shaft. “Good,” he purrs. He hears Apollo sigh again, more ragged this time, and it’s music to his ears. “Oh, good boy.”
“Ah…”
“I can get you to do whatever I say, even when I’m not there. You’re so sweet.” He pumps a bit harder now; he’s almost completely erect, listening to the soft sounds of Apollo pleasuring himself, growing more bold with every passing minute. “I wish I was there, though.”
Apollo’s breath hitches — there’s a thud, as his phone slides, presumably off his pillow, before being readjusted. He mumbles an apology.
“Clumsy. Are you that desperate?”
“Klav.”
“Do you have to use two hands?”
He hears Apollo whine through his teeth. “Are you touching yourself, too?” Apollo asks, voice strained.
Klavier twists his hand on the upstroke, squeezing tighter around the head. He leans his head back into the pillow. “M-hm.”
“Getting off to me fucking myself — ah — on my fingers, huh?”
This time, Klavier muffles a moan by biting his lip. “Ja.”
“Oh, fuck…” Apollo cuts himself off. Klavier can see him: arching his back and squirming as he tries and tries to tip himself over the edge, crooking three fingers inside himself, chasing pleasure on his fingertips. It’s just not enough, though, not quite.
“Touch your cock for me, baby?”
There’s a little nnh sound. Apollo reaching his other hand down, dutifully. Brushing two fingers at the head, the way he likes, stroking up the top until he’s rubbing at the root, then back down. Getting more frantic. “Close,” he spits out, strained, and oh, it’s so evil that Klavier can’t be the one touching him right now.
Klavier pants, gripping himself harder now as he fucks his hand. He tries his best to pretend it’s Apollo, his slick heat enveloping his cock, so tight and wonderful and perfectly him. “Apollo, Apollo, oh, fuck — when I get back, I won’t be able to stay off of you, you understand?”
“Gonna — ahh, oh — fuck me real good?”
“Oh,” he tips his head back, eyes screwing shut as he pumps himself frantically, feeling pressure and heat building in his core. “Oh, Hase, I’m gonna make you my bitch when I get back, you’re not going to be able to walk.”
“Please — ” Apollo dissolves into something incoherent and gasping.
“You want that, ja? Want me to fuck you until you scream? Want me to fuck you until you’re all knocked up?”
“Please, god, Klav — !”
He cuts himself off, and all Klavier hears is the sound of Apollo wailing. Eyes rolling back, mouth agape, body twisting as he fucks himself and toys with his cock through his climax. On the other side of the world, he’s probably a sloppy mess. Maybe making a little wet spot on his sheets as he loses his mind to the force of his orgasm, fucked dumb on his fingers. The thought is what tips Klavier over the edge, and with a quiet, stuttering moan, he spills over his hand and the soft sheets.
(...The hotel cleaning staff will hate his guts.)
For a minute or so, all Klavier can hear on the other end is Apollo panting to catch his breath. And even though he’s utterly drained, Klavier feels smug, knowing he’s the one who gets Apollo this worked up, even when they’re not in the same room, the same country. He smiles; a secret one, just for himself. As if his ego wasn’t big enough already, or so he’s been told.
“What’s the internet like where you are?” Apollo ventures, his voice reedy from exertion.
“It’s fine. I could pay for a better service package.”
He hears Apollo scoff, before he replies, “I was only wondering. Because — well, maybe, we could try video calling — oh, shit!”
Klavier can hear a muffled commotion, the sound of Apollo scrambling out of bed. “Everything okay?”
The phone is muffled for a minute, and he can hear Apollo scolding someone. He returns, and explains, “Um. Mikkie had a hairball just now.”
And, despite himself, Klavier laughs, breathlessly. He hears his boyfriend snicker on the other end.
“He has immaculate timing, doesn’t he?”
A disgruntled little whimper. “No kidding. At least he waited until…we were done.”
“M-hm.” Klavier is cleaning himself up now. In a few minutes, he should have breakfast; check that his laptop is charged. He grabs his keys from the nightstand and tucks them in his pocket.
“I’ve gotta clean up after him.”
“I’m sorry,” Klavier offers.
“It’s okay.” There’s not much Klavier can do about it, after all. The door creaks faintly; Apollo is opening a cupboard in search of paper towels. “Love you,” he says, and sounds tired. Tired, but happy, in a way that makes Klavier’s heart sing, and wish he was there, or wishes Apollo was here, enjoying the sun and the ocean.
“Ich liebe dich, Haschen. Please go to bed after this.”