In all respects, Lance is a total expert on dating. Like, sure, he’s only been on a handful of dates, but he knows all the rules in the book. He is totally familiar with the concept of waiting 24 hours before calling someone after a first date. Because you didn’t want to come across as clingy, or anything. Which Lance definitely isn’t, of course.
But even though he’d been sitting on the bed with his textbook balanced on his knees for the past hour, staring at the pages so hard he was sure his eyes were going to burn holes in them, he wasn’t getting any studying done. Nyma’s silky blonde hair and killer purple lipstick that matched her purple eyes (colour contacts, maybe?) kept surfacing and resurfacing in Lance’s mind like the background music of a popular commercial. Lance decides it’s time to take action.
He glances at the clock. Seven o’clock p.m. They’d met at like… ten o’clock the night before, at that party. Technically, they hadn’t been on a date, so he could bend the rules a little. Besides, twenty-one hours was close enough. Steeling himself with resolve, he picks up his phone with one hand and the slip of paper with her number on it with the other and dials.
The phone rings a couple times, in which he can hear his own heart beating. And then—
“Hello there, sexy,” drawls possibly the sultriest, sexiest voice Lance had ever heard. And it was male. It was a male voice and Lance was red all the way to his ears just from hearing three words.
The fact that it was clearly not Nyma registered belatedly in his head. Who was this stranger? Did Nyma actually have a boyfriend? Why did he think Lance was sexy? Was he a swinger? Lance’s brain kicks into overdrive, and he can’t respond.
“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?”
He isn’t even saying anything lewd, but that low, husky voice sounds like something straight out of a porno. Lance responds involuntarily with a (totally dignified and manly) squeak (not a squeak, just a— a noise of surprise).
“Nervous?” The voice on the other end lets out a sexy chuckle. Since when were chuckles capable of being sexy? Since five seconds ago, apparently. “That’s cute. Don’t worry, I’ll take you through it. Just need to grab your credit card info, and then we can get this show on the road.”
Credit card info?
“Uh, who are you?” Lance stammers.
“I’m whoever you want me to be for tonight.” The words roll right off his tongue. Jesus, this should be illegal. Lance has a problem in his pants. But there’s an even bigger problem. The fact that Lance had not called Nyma was already obvious. What is becoming apparent, however, is the ridiculousness of just how wrong the number had been.
“Oh my God,” Lance breathes. “Is this a sex hotline?”
The voice on the other end falls silent for a moment. When he speaks up again, he sounds exasperated and more than a little pissed. “You could’ve told me you had the wrong number. Would’ve saved us both time.”
Lance isn’t gonna lie— the magnitude of this change in attitude is kind of throwing him off. But still, he needs to get to the bottom of this. “No, no, I called exactly what she wrote on this paper.” For emphasis, he reads the number aloud.
The stranger on the other end laughs, a completely different sort of laugh than the chuckle he gave earlier— the sound rings out, genuine, and actually really nice. “Dude. She gave you a fake number.”
“Don’t laugh," Lance huffs, even as he thinks that he doesn’t actually mind being laughed at. The stranger— the phone sex worker, or whatever— doesn’t seem to have any malicious intent.
“Sorry, but it’s pretty funny. Who gives out the number of a sex line? You must’ve really got on her nerves.”
Okay, forget that comment on the lack of malicious intent. This guy’s brutal honesty is grating on Lance’s nerves. “I did not,” he says, a little pitifully even to himself. “I was a total gentleman for all of the five minutes that we talked.”
“No kidding,” the guy deadpans, though not without a hint of amusement. “Anyway, sorry about the girl but I’ve gotta hang up now. Got clients to take.”
“No, I’m sorry,” Lance sighs, slumping backwards against the wall. “I wasted your time, didn’t I. Yeah, I’m just gonna go now and wallow in self-pity now. Hope you have a good night, uh—”
I didn’t get your name, he’d planned to say, but then trailed off, feeling stupidly awkward. Good thing he hadn’t asked. Phone sex dudes didn’t just give out their names. And besides, “have a good night?” Really? Yeah, this guy was gonna have the time of his life making lewd noises to strangers on the phone. Good one, Lance.
He isn’t usually such an un-smooth talker. There’s just something about the guy’s voice that has him tripping up.
“Keith,” the voice says, and then stops short, as if he didn’t mean to say it. “Yeah, ‘night.”
The abrupt click of the phone on the other end signaled the end of the devastatingly brief conversation. No— what? He meant devastating and brief, yeah. There was absolutely no reason to prolong that trainwreck that had just happened.
So. Nyma had given him a fake number.
Dry humour of the Keith incident aside, there’s a sort of strange emptiness in the pit of Lance’s stomach, and he attributes it to that— the fact that he liked her, and the fact that she hadn’t felt the same. Just another day in the life of Lance, really. It’d be a lie to say he didn’t want to get laid, but it was so much more than that. He was just starved for affection and human contact, damn it. That was how the world was— everyone went around minding their own business, pretending like they didn’t cry alone in their rooms at three in the morning. Or at least, that was how Lance’s world had been for too long, and he was sick of it.
He gets up and goes over to the fridge, pulls out a six-pack of beer, cracks a can open. Takes a sip, and turns on the radio.
It’s just another lonely night
They happen all the time
He gulps down a couple more sips.
And it’s never enough
It’s another heartbreak coverup
He turns off the radio, chugs the entire can, and tosses it on the floor, kicking it away. It wasn’t like he was really all that heartbroken. It was just— did it really have to be that hard to find someone? Maybe he’s just looking in all the wrong places. Maybe he’s just being too traditional, thinking along the straight and narrow lines of romance.
Maybe he’d been too quick to hang up on Keith.
Because when he thinks about it, it’s too much of a coincidence. If fate has you calling a phone sex line and hearing the hottest voice in the entire galaxy, maybe that’s a chance you shouldn’t pass up. After all, when one door shuts, another opens, or something like that.
Before he can talk himself out of it, his phone is back in his hand and he’s pressing the number he most recently dialed.
“Hey there, sexy,” Keith says, and even knowing that the line is rehearsed doesn’t stop Lance from shuddering, just a little.
“Hi,” Lance says. “Remember me?”
“Of course,” Keith says, his voice rich and sultry. “How could I forget the best night of my life?”
Okay, so he has no idea who Lance is.
“It’s me, Lance,” Lance tries again, and then realizes he hadn’t given his own name the last time they talked. “Uh, the wrong number guy? The one who got rejected by a girl and found out through you?”
“Oh,” says Keith, his voice relaxing. He chuckles. “What is it this time? If you need a shoulder to cry on, I’ve got one right here. You still have to pay, though.”
“Yeah, I know,” Lance says, squeezing his phone between his shoulder and his ear as he rummages through his backpack. “Gotcha.” Credit card in hand, he reads out the series of numbers to Keith, and with half a mind listens to Keith typing out the numbers on his keyboard.
“Alright, thanks.” Keith says, then clears his throat. “So, what do you wanna talk about?”
“I didn’t call to talk about her,” Lance blurts out. “I called as— as a customer.”
“...Yeah?” The interested lilt to Keith’s voice sounds genuine. Or maybe that’s just Lance’s ego speaking. And then Keith lapses back into what Lance has already labelled his sex voice. “Not gonna lie, I kinda hoped you would.”
Lance swallows, finding that his throat has gone dry.
“You have a really nice voice,” Keith said, and Lance can hear a little smirk in his tone. “And I know you’d have a really nice body, too. Tell me… what do you want me to do to you?”
Lance shudders. He’s never thought much about this at all. “I don’t know,” he admits. “Whatever you want to do to me.” His breath leaves him in a rush, and he flushes, not realizing he’d wanted that until he put it into words.
“I like that,” Keith says, and Lance can almost see his lip curling into a smile. “Alright. Tell me, Lance, what are you wearing?”
“Uh…” Lance glances down, suddenly wishing he was wearing something worth describing. “A t-shirt and boxers.”
“Good. Take them off.”
The sudden authoritative tone in Keith’s voice makes his pulse jump. Hurriedly, he puts the phone on speaker, places it next to him on the bed and takes off his shirt and— after a moment’s hesitation— his pants. He lies back on the bed, feeling bare. Like, he’s literally naked, but he feels… exposed, somehow, and that makes him blush.
“Fuck, you’re so hot,” Keith breathes into the phone, and Lance shudders, forgetting his nervousness. “You look so good like this. I’m gonna run my hands over you, touch you all over…”
Trying to follow along, Lance tentatively presses a hand to his own chest. He closes his eyes, and his touch tingles as he imagines a foreign hand dragging along the skin there. The smallest of moans escapes his lips. To his surprise, Keith picks up on that.
“Yeah, baby. Does that feel good?”
Lance nods, then remembers Keith can’t see him. “Yeah.”
“I want you to touch yourself for me.”
There’s something in Keith’s voice that has him obeying every command. He reaches down and curls a hand around his cock and can’t help but let out a whimper.
“Fuck,” Keith says, his voice raspy, and Lance squirms, heat coursing through his body. “You sound so hot right now, you have no idea.” Lance continues to stroke, faster, and lets his head fall back— imagines that Keith is right there with him, imagines Keith’s hand, stronger, rougher than his own, stroking his cock, thumbing across the slit. His hips jump and his toes curl as he pants for breath.
“Good boy,” Keith purrs in his ear and Lance groans, hips jolting into his touch— how could anyone make words of praise sound so filthy and good ? “Yeah, just like that. You’re such a good boy.”
“Mm—” Lance whines. He’s already close, just from the impossibly erotic voice sweet-talking in his ear.
“Y-yeah,” he stammers.
“I know what’ll make you feel even better.”
Lance’s heart stops for a moment.
“Do you have any lube with you?”
Lance shoots right off the bed, fumbling through his drawer until he finds it. “Yeah, I got it,” he says, settling back on the bed. He bites his lip and spills some over his fingers only a little clumsily.
“Good,” Keith says, pleased. “Spread your legs for me.”
A whimper escapes Lance’s throat as he parts his legs.
“You’re so gorgeous like this, you know?” Keith says, low. “I just want to fuck you already. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“God,” Lance moans. “Yes— yes .”
“Have you done this before, Lance?”
“Nn-nn,” Lance says, with a shake of his head.
“That’s okay, we’re gonna take it slow,” Keith says, honest, not patronizing. “I’ll take good care of you.” And Lance doesn’t doubt that. “I just want to touch your cute little hole first… get it all wet for me.”
Lance brushes his finger against his entrance and has to bite back another moan.
“Yeah… then I’ll push one in—”
Lance does as he’s told, whining at how impossibly good it feels— that’s Keith’s finger, inside him… Keith’s voice by his ear, telling him, “Fuck, you feel so good, so tight. I’m never gonna fit in there, with how hard you’re making me right now. I’ve got to add another, stretch you out.”
“Keith,” Lance pants, a debilitating surge of desire overpowering him. He pushes in another, scissors them and pushes in deep, like Keith would— brushes against his prostate and jolts and cries out. His legs are shaking with how close he is, how badly he wants Keith—
“There,” Keith breathes. “Yeah, right there, isn’t it? I’m gonna add one more, get you all ready for me. God, I could just fuck you on my fingers all day, you could come from that, I know you could.” Whimpering and quavering, Lance pushes in a third, curls his fingers like Keith would and brushes against that spot again just as Keith says, “But I don’t want you to just yet, I want you to come from my cock.” Lance’s body twists with pleasure, face pressing sideways into the pillow. It’s all he can do to keep himself from coming apart right then and there but he wants— wants Keith inside him— wants to be good for Keith, wants to do what he’s told.
“Lance,” Keith says, “I’m gonna fuck you now.”
Lance groans, thrusting his fingers, imagining Keith pushing in, imagines how full and how fucking good it would feel. “F-fuck,” he stammers, brokenly, because Keith is inside him, and he’s wanted this for so long. Keith groans, too. “You feel so good, baby, you’re so good for me,” he purrs, and Lance loses it— his final thread of composure snaps and he comes harder than he ever has before, body arching and limbs grappling against the sheets as he spurts hot all over his own stomach.
For a while, he feels like he’s submerged under water— he can’t hear anything above the dull pounding in his ears, and waits as the pacing of his breath returns to normal.
Once it does, the reality of the situation crashes into him. He’d just come from fingering himself, listening to a voice murmuring dirty things through the phone speaker. No, not just a voice— a real person.
And it was the best orgasm he’d had in his life.
“Wow,” he says.
“You did so well,” Keith says, and Lance whimpers and blushes, then covers his face with a hand. Not that Keith could even see him.
“Cute,” Keith says with a little chuckle, and Lance blushes harder.
“The sounds you make. They’re cute.”
Lance buries his face in the pillow. It’s not fair how Keith’s well-rehearsed lines work like a charm on him, making his face heat up. With that, a sliver of disappointment wedges itself into the euphoria he’d been feeling up until now. Right. Keith had only said all of those things because he’d gotten paid. And asides from that, this was going to rack up a huge bill on his credit card, and he should definitely hang up now, but somehow— somehow he just wants to stay on the line longer. Maybe it was the romantic in him that had always assumed that after his first time, he’d be making small talk in bed with a romantic partner whom he adored. Maybe it was that.
Lance recalls that he hasn’t replied yet and has just opened his mouth to say something when Keith clears his throat a little awkwardly. “You should go get cleaned up,” he says. “Don’t want to wake up with cum all over yourself.”
“I guess so,” Lance replies. So much for small talk. He’d been an idiot to think that paid phone sex worked that way. “Yeah, I’ll get going now. Um… thanks. For… this.”
An amused little chuckle, again. “Yeah, any time.”
Lance wipes himself down with his discarded shirt and lies in bed, counting the grains on the ceiling and wondering how the hell his life led up to this.