Big Book Of Smornby One Shots

Call Me Maybe (N)

TW: Masturbation, Phone Sex, Smut

"God I miss you," Ross says to Smith with a deflated sigh. It's been three months since they've seen one another. He's been jumping from project to project for work and Smith has been traveling for work as well. It was no one's fault, except maybe the universe, who decided that visits were out of the question and even phone calls more than five minutes were a thing of luxury.

"I miss you too." Smith's heart aches. He's never really understood what people meant by that before now. There's a tightness in the center of his chest making it harder to breathe. A lump rises in his throat. Fuck, he's going to cry. The last thing he wants to do is spend the five free minutes they both have bawling his eyes out.

"Are you still there?"

Smith clears his throat in the way that people do when they try to convince someone they aren't going to cry. "Uh...yeah, sorry. Just thinking."

It's Ross' turn to pause. "You know, I've been thinking too," he finally says. His tone is different, darker.

"About what?"

"How much time do you have?" He asks.

"Well. It's after midnight and 6AM comes earlier than I think it does but I'll stay on as long as you can." Smith glances around the generic hotel room. They all start to look the same when you've stayed in as many as he has these past few months. "I figure you don't have long. I know it's morning where you are."

"It's alright. I'd do anything for you, you know. Even skip my morning coffee."

Smith feigns a gasp. "Who are you? What have you done with my Ross?"

He laughs nervously. "That's not the last time you're going to ask that question tonight."

Smith raises an eyebrow and lays back on the spacious king-sized bed. He hates it when they give him a king suite while he's traveling alone. It's lonely as hell to crawl up into one without someone else to share the space with. "Okay. Seriously, what's going on? You're acting weird."

"I was wondering if you'd like to...ehm...and I mean you can say no. I won't be offended."

"Ross, spit it out." What the hell is going on with him tonight?

"Fine. Fine. Okay." He inhales sharply before continuing, "Would you like to..." he gets quieter, as if he's afraid someone will hear him, "...touch yourself, you know, while I talk to you."

Well, he certainly wasn't expecting that. He feigns another gasp and drops his voice, low and serious, "Ross Hornby. Are you asking me to have phone sex?"

"Oh my God! Don't say it like that. It makes me sound like a twat!"

Even though Smith's laughing at him, even through his embarrassment and the enjoyment Smith's getting from Ross' discomfort, there's a stirring below his waist. It has been three months after all. Three months of missing Ross' comfortable weight on his side of the bed, the smell of his shampoo on the pillow next to Smith's, the heat of his body as he presses against him. Three months of frustrated (and let's be honest, frequent) masturbation.

Ross starts talking again, "No. You're right. It's stupid. Totally bonkers. I should have–"

"Ross," Smith interrupts. "Let's do it."

His breath catches but he recovers quickly and then he's all business. "Put the phone on speaker. Set it down next to you," he instructs. "You're going to need both hands."

Smith inhales sharply, already aroused just listening to him take control. The idea that he's thought about this, imagined this, drives Smith mad with lust. He does as he's told.