"When you did," Midnighter says, a little smug. He realizes belatedly that he's trying to coax Marcus into a proper picture, but maybe moving him into it slow is better? It doesn't feel manipulative, at least, not very much. "Tell me what you're doing- tell me and I'll move 'em."
He moves his hand over his cock and tries to imagine it's Marcus'. "Please-"
Marcus laughs, and it feels good, punctures some of his anxiety. "Bastard," he mutters, affectionate. The moment of laughter means he's a little more relaxed when Midnighter says tell me what you're doing, means he doesn't flinch from it quite so much. His breath pours out of him a sigh. The please helps, not least because it goes straight to his cock. For a second, he imagines what Midnighter might sound like or say if Marcus were inside him now, if the pitch of his voice would be harsher, if his gasps would come quicker.
He can do this. It's fine, he can close his eyes and just push the words out of his mouth, he wants to. "God," Marcus says, "uh. I'm — I've got a hand on my dick." Saying it makes him go even more scarlet, makes his hand work faster, sliding up his shaft. "I — gimme a second." There's lube in his bag, but he doesn't reach for it. Too far away. Instead, he spits on his hand to slick up his palm, takes himself in hand again. "I...I'm thinking — about you, about how much I like the noises you make when you're — yeah."
Another warm puff of affectionate laughter, like rocks being ground together. "Fuck," he says, his tone turning impressed. "And people usually say I'm too noisy. I can- I can make more noises for you, babe. Your cock is-" another whine- "three fingers at least. You- you wanna see that, baby?"
Edited (i am literally tutoring a small child in grammar.) 2018-10-10 16:55 (UTC)
Too noisy? Who the hell has told him that? Marcus can’t get enough of hearing him and he’s about to say as much but the words melt away like snow on his tongue. He groans softly instead, closes his eyes.
So Midnighter sends a picture, the camera tilted at the proper angle this time. He also provides the soundtrack, which is largely his own gasps and moans, followed by a throaty, "Fuck, I wanna feel you. When're you free? I fucking- I need you, babe, please..."
There's a delay, of course, and then Marcus receiving the picture is signalled by a quiet, dizzy, "Oh," his hand quickening on his dick as he takes in the sight greedily. He can't think for a moment, definitely can't think about scheduling. He just ends up saying:
"Soon, I. God — mn — soon, love, once you're all fixed up, I'll come take care of you. Like you said, make a day of it," the words are tumbling out of his mouth now, some dam broken, as he drops the phone to slide his other hand down to cradle his balls, his back arching up a little, "take you nice and slow, get you ready for me, Christ, and — fuck you til you're yelling darling, God, I want that..."
Midnighter's breath is coming out quick and ragged as he works himself over. Curled in, whining and gasping as he fucks himself the way he imagines Marcus would. The way he wants him to. "Please," he doesn't like begging as a general rule, but this feels more like securing a promise. "Please, fuck, that's how I- hnn- how I like it, just like- like that-"
The SmartMark network was made to carry orders from generals to soldiers across galaxies. Instead, it carries the sound of Midnighter's incoherent climax straight to Marcus' ears. A moment later he'll get a picture of Midnighter lying back in bed, grinning and relaxed, one arm thrown up over his eyes, his own come shot up over his torso.
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He moves his hand over his cock and tries to imagine it's Marcus'. "Please-"
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He can do this. It's fine, he can close his eyes and just push the words out of his mouth, he wants to. "God," Marcus says, "uh. I'm — I've got a hand on my dick." Saying it makes him go even more scarlet, makes his hand work faster, sliding up his shaft. "I — gimme a second." There's lube in his bag, but he doesn't reach for it. Too far away. Instead, he spits on his hand to slick up his palm, takes himself in hand again. "I...I'm thinking — about you, about how much I like the noises you make when you're — yeah."
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“I. God, Midnighter. Yes, please, lemme see.”
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"Soon, I. God — mn — soon, love, once you're all fixed up, I'll come take care of you. Like you said, make a day of it," the words are tumbling out of his mouth now, some dam broken, as he drops the phone to slide his other hand down to cradle his balls, his back arching up a little, "take you nice and slow, get you ready for me, Christ, and — fuck you til you're yelling darling, God, I want that..."
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The SmartMark network was made to carry orders from generals to soldiers across galaxies. Instead, it carries the sound of Midnighter's incoherent climax straight to Marcus' ears. A moment later he'll get a picture of Midnighter lying back in bed, grinning and relaxed, one arm thrown up over his eyes, his own come shot up over his torso.
"Fuck, you're good to me..."