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When Jeff gets back to the hotel room he feels like hell. It’s past midnight and he doesn’t think he’s been this exhausted since grad school. It’s four days into a week long conference put on by the International Physics Association, and he has spent the better part of all of them stuck in the hotel convention center presenting his latest research to oblivious science-enthusiasts and infuriating academics alike. If this weren’t bad enough, a few years in the academic community has taught him that he’s also expected to socialize with all of them. After hours. In bars. In Fourside. He manages to drag himself across the hotel room to crank the AC up as high as it will go before he crashes, face-down, in bed.
It’s a typical Eagleland summer, which means it’s hot and it’s humid and pretty much unlivable as far as Jeff is concerned. Although the only exposure he’s had to the elements is the short walk from the hotel to the bar and back, it’s blistering, even in the dead of night, and he feels significantly more drained for it. Combined with the beers that his associates cajoled him into drinking, he feels a little sick and downright grumpy.
Mostly though, he misses Tony, who’s schedule at the hospital prevented him from coming. The social aspects of conventions were always much more bearable with Tony there, acting as a buffer. He’s so much better at these sorts of things.
Jeff groans and flips over on the bed, and the fluorescent lighting makes him squint. Still too hot for comfort, he sits up, shrugs out of his his suit jacket and tie and dumps them unceremoniously on the floor. He knows that leaving them there means that they will be a wrinkled mess at tomorrow’s presentation, but he can’t muster the effort it would take for him to care right now. With his extra layers successfully shed, he flops back on the bed and lets that wonderfully cool air work its magic on his mood. He can’t help feeling a little smug at his triumph over the Eagleland heat.
There’s a digital clock sitting on the bedside table and Jeff glances up at it. 12:34 am. He’s about to roll over and commit himself to sleep for the night when his eye catches and lingers on the black phone that sits beside the clock. After a quick conversion he estimates it’s about 6:30 am on Tuesday morning in Winters. Right about the time that Tony should be getting home from the graveyard shift at the hospital. If he was home right now (instead of in Fourside) he might’ve been up all night working on a project, so it’s right about the time that Tony would set a cup of tea next to him before scooting off to bed. He was clockwork like that. It’s one of the little things he especially misses right now.
After a moment’s waffling over long-distance fees, Jeff sits up, grabs the phone and dials home. It rings once. Twice. Then there’s a click and his heart twists at the sound of Tony’s voice on the other end of the phone.
“Hello?” He sounds as exhausted as Jeff feels. And despite his previous mood, Jeff can’t help the smile that cracks his face.
“Long night in the emergency room, Doctor Kincannon?”
“Jeff?” There’s an immediate and dramatic change in Tony’s tone and he’s gone from half-asleep to a kid on Christmas morning in less than a second. “You called!”
“Hey there.” Jeff says, already feeling significantly more relaxed than before. Tony has always had that effect on him. He scoots so that he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, closer to the phone, and undoes the top couple of buttons of his dress shirt with one hand. “How are you?”
“I’m - Good! Better now, anyway. Long night. And I smell like the ER.” He hears Tony’s breathy chuckle through the crackling filter of the phone. “But that’s not very exciting is it? How’s the conference going? Are you blowing their minds?” Tony is genuinely eager, and Jeff feels another wave of tiredness wash over him at the prospect of talking about the conference.
“It’s hot here,” he deadpans. “The average summertime temperature in Winters is much better suited to humans, or anything really.” Tony laughs.
“But what about the conference?” Tony presses. Jeff flops back down on the bed and stretches with his free arm. His back pops and he sighs at that little relief.
“It’s been... Long. I have to prepare between presentations. And answer a lot of elementary questions. And rebut to a lot of uneducated challenges...” He lets out a heavy sigh and digs the heel of his hand into his forehead, already feeling the beginnings of a headache. “And I guess that wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t for the fact that all of my cohorts expect me to go out with them afterward. It’s miserable, Tony!” Tony chuckles and Jeff feels a little bit petulant. “I have nothing to talk to them about. Shut up.” It’s a half-hearted scolding at best, but Tony’s mirth abates and he clears his throat. And then there’s an awkward silence, which Jeff is a little taken aback by as it’s a rarity between the two of them.
“I miss you.” Tony says out of (what Jeff feels is) the blue. It’s probably not. He’s always been told that he often misreads situations, or responds incorrectly to them.
“I miss you too.” And he’s about to jump into a rare but heart-felt monologue about how much he wishes Tony had been able to come with him, and how pathetic he is at being normal without him, but Tony cuts him off.
“It sounds like you need to relax.” And Tony sounds nervous as he says it, which Jeff finds confusing.
“Yes, you’re probably right.” He responds, neutrally. Tony feels a bit off to him.
“So,” and here Tony gulps audibly which causes Jeff to raise an eyebrow. “What are you wearing?” Jeff is confused. Tony sounds flustered and he has no idea what his clothing has to do with anything. They talk about pretty much everything on a regular basis: things that are much more personal and important. Discussing his wardrobe strikes Jeff as something akin to small talk, which they’ve never really engaged in knowing each other as well as they do. Still baffled, but with no explanation forthcoming, he chalks it up to the fact that their communication is audio-only and laments the limitations of phones.
“My gray shirt and my good slacks. Why?”
“Sounds kinda... Stiff.” He can hear Tony shuffling about on the other end of the line. “Why don’t you make yourself more comfortable?”
“Good idea.” That sounds reasonable, and now that Tony has mentioned it, he’s bit surprised he hasn’t already. He sits back up on the bed and resumes unbuttoning his shirt. The AC has made the room cool, the way that he likes it, and divesting himself of his clothing and stretching out in the chill sounds like the perfect nightcap for such an overly stressful day.
“So, what are your hands doing right now?” It’s said in a rush. Jeff isn’t quite sure what’s going on with Tony, but feels that, somehow, his answer matters, and irrationally he’s a little flustered in a way he hasn’t been since he was a confused teenager pining after his roommate. This is new.
“One of them’s holding the phone,” he says evenly. “And one of them is unbuttoning my shirt, like you suggested.”
“Ah...” Tony clears his throat again and Jeff thinks to ask if maybe he picked up a cold - that might explain a lot. “Well, get on with it then.” Jeff is hit with a wave of concern as he finishes the task. It’s not the arbitrary questions that have him worried so much as the manner that they’re being asked. It’s very un-Tony like, lacking his usual easy confidence. He taps the fingers of his freed hand on his knee idly.
“Are you okay?”
“Fine. Perfect.” There’s another drawn-out pause where Jeff waits for Tony to clear his thoughts. Then: “Are you naked yet?” Jeff shakes his head, taken a little off guard and laughs, which he sort of regrets as soon as he does it.
“Tony, what-?”
“Shh! Jeff, just... C’mon, please? Can’t you just... Play along?” Tony sounds a little sad, like he’s just been rejected. Jeff’s stomach twists with the desire to make his partner happy even though he doesn’t really know how. He’s not even sure what’s being asked of him. “I miss you. Just let me do this. Alright?”
“What am I letting you do?” Tony coughs nervously, and pauses.
“...Phone sex?” He eventually asks in a meek voice. Jeff almost laughs again. Oh. He knows better than to double check because that would be dragging it out and he can tell that Tony is feeling vulnerable.
“...Alright then.”
“Is your shirt off yet?” Is Tony’s immediate and overly eager reply, perceived-rejection already forgotten. He’s always admired Tony’s ability to bounce between emotions.
His shirt is open and hanging off of his shoulders so it’s easy enough to shrug off. He wads it up and throws it onto his growing pile of clothes on the cheap, hotel carpeting.
“It is now.”
“Mine too,” Tony hesitates, clearly unsure of how to proceed. Then: “Pinch your nipples.” He blurts out abruptly. In person, Tony is confident and sexy (and bossy, Jeff insists, if only to goad Tony into pinning him down and shutting him up), but over the phone, it comes out awkward and forced and fumbling, like they’re teenagers stumbling through the ins and outs of sex all over again. Jeff can hear the embarrassment in Tony’s voice, and, although he feels a little bad about his partner’s obvious discomfort, it’s also charming (and a little bit nostalgic).
He is intrigued at the novelty of this scenario and is unsurprised at how calm he also feels (because it’s Tony and how could he not feel comfortable?), and does as he’s told, first running the tips of his fingers back and forth across one of his nipples until it hardens, then pinching it between thumb and forefinger. It sends a wave of heat to his groin and he sucks air in through his teeth. They know each other through and through and Tony (damn him) knows exactly where Jeff is sensitive, how how he likes to be touched, and he takes Jeff‘s involuntary noise as his cue.
“I wish I could run my tongue over them, then lick a trail down your chest.” Tony pauses and Jeff can hear some shifting from his end. “Touch yourself, Jeff.” Prompted, Jeff trails his hand from his nipple down to his stomach and caresses small circles into his skin with the tips of his fingers. It tickles in a good way, sending little jolts of feeling down his spine. He leans back on the bed.
“Are you doing it?” Tony still sounds awkward aiming for sultry; it’s endearing and it’s Tony and Jeff thinks there’s actually something kind of really hot about this. He feels himself beginning to harden and exhales soft ‘yes.’
“Unzip your pants.” Tony dictates. Jeff acquiesces, feeling his arousal mounting. Tomorrow’s panels and presentations are temporarily forgotten when his fingers brush against his semi-hard cock through the material of his pants as he searches for his fly. He half moans Tony’s name, and can hear Tony’s breathing hitch on the other end of the phone line. He strokes himself a few times through his boxers before deciding that he needs more, and then he’s simultaneously lifting his hips off of the bed and fumbling with one hand to clumsily push his pants down around his thighs. It’s inelegant, and his pants are bunched up uncomfortably beneath him, but he’s not focusing as well anymore. His other hand tenses, and he finds himself white-knuckled, gripping the telephone like a life-line.
“Are you hard?” Tony asks, and Jeff breathlessly nods before realizing that, of course, Tony can’t see him.
“Yes...” He manages to get out. He hears Tony grunt and feels himself throb in response.
“God, me too. I’m so hard, Jeff.” Jeff feels hot and clammy all over again, even out of the Eagleland heat. “Put your hand around your cock.” Tony orders, confidence building in his voice. His muscles trill in anticipation as he complies. He rubs a few times, dry, before thumbing the precum gathered at the tip of his cock and smoothing it down over his shaft. He audibly groans, and hears Tony sigh. He digs his teeth into his lower lip as he imagines Tony doing the same.
“I want your cock in my mouth.” Tony says in a husky whisper that emphasizes his slight accent, causing Jeff to clench up. The visual, and the memories, are enough to drive his core body temperature up another few degrees. He worries at his lip and the hand on his cock increases in frequency completing an additional one and a half cycles per second.
“That sounds... Amazing.” It does.
He’s tense and stressed and exhausted and sweating and does his voice usually sound this breathy? There’s no Tony here to muffle him with kisses or mask the sound of Jeff’s groans with his own and his voice surprises him but it’s really not important because now he’s thinking about Tony’s mouth wrapped around his cock and if he blocks out everything except for the sound of Tony’s voice on the other end of the line he can actually feel it, and goddamn, this feels so good right now. An inactive imagination is not something that Jeff has ever suffered from, and his mind is running rampant, bombarding him with all kinds of sensations and hazy visuals but he really can’t think much more than, shit, can Tony do some incredible things with his mouth.
Until now, he hasn’t realize how stressed and lonely and desperate this convention has left him. Now that he thinks about it, he’s worked most of the week (and it’s been a long one) and spent most of the previous week prepping, so he feels like he hasn’t gotten off in months. Leave it to Tony to take care of him, even thousands of miles away (he’s overwhelmed, sometimes, with the sobering awareness that he would be so incredibly lost without him).
He grits his teeth and clenches his eyes shut and imagines that it’s Tony wreaking neurological havoc on him and he whimpers. The hand around his cock tightens almost painfully and it’s good. Tony, apparently, is emboldened by his wordless, audible encouragement.
“If I was there right now, I’d run my tongue up the underside of your cock and tweak your frenulum with the tip of my tongue... Swirl your thumb around the head of your dick, Jeff...” Jeff lets out an audible moan at the way the ‘frenulum’ rolls so naturally off of Tony’s tongue and obeys. He’s overly sensitive and it sends shivers through him. The muscles in his pelvis contract even as his arms and legs start to feel like jelly.
“Are you...” Jeff pauses, feeling breathless, the unfortunate consequence of their current activity. If he had half a mind to, he would be a little bit embarrassed right now. He continues to pump his cock and throws a squeeze and a twist in at the end that leaves him feeling light-headed. “You’re touching yourself too, right?”
Tony groans which is a fine answer and enough to make Jeff’s toes curl inside of his slightly sweaty loafers. He twitches, tightens his grip and pumps himself faster.
Then, suddenly, Tony switches gears and, damn him, Jeff can hear the grin and the mischief (and the sex) in his voice: “Dopamine is addicted to novelty you know. Which is kind of ironic, considering.” Jeff squirms, not comfortable half clothed, half on the bed as he is (but lacking the wherewithal to do anything about it), and he hangs off of Tony’s voice, which is deep and syrupy and rich like a heavy stout. The hand stroking his cock is sticky from insufficient lubrication and it almost burns. He grits his teeth.
“Your dopamine levels must be through the roof. Your parasympathetic nervous system induces vasocongestion and stimulates your bulbourethral glands which secrete lubrication.” Tony ‘hm’s in the back of his throat and amends: “Precum. Which you’re undoubtedly using to stroke yourself with.”
“Tony.” It’s practically a whine. Jeff’s cock twitches in his hand and leaks said precum anew. A couple more strokes and it smooths the motion of his hand. He kind of misses that slightly painful raw feeling that he had before, but this is good too. All of it’s way too good at this point to matter much anymore. Jeff groans.
“Sympathetic impulses cause sequential contraction of smooth muscles in the prostate gland. And-” Tony inhales shakily, “-and seminal vesicles. The filling of the urethra with seminal fluid triggers nerve impulses that activate skeletal muscles at the base of the penis causing contractions... That throbbing that starts at your prostate.”
It really has been awhile since Jeff’s last ejaculation because he can feel his orgasm building, that throbbing deep in his pelvic complex, and the world is losing focus. Tony is still breathily talking to him through the phone, but his words have no meaning (the sound of his voice is all that Jeff needs right now anyway).
Then that throbbing comes to a head. His orgasm crests and he comes so hard that his thighs shake and his calves cramp. He turns his head to the side that doesn’t have a phone pressed against it and buries his face in the pillow as best he can but it doesn’t quite muffle his cry.
The world is hazy and he’s vaguely aware that Tony must have also come because, he notices, he’s also slowly regaining control of his breathing. For a moment, Jeff is content to lay there and listen to the soothing sound of Tony’s meticulously timed respirations.
He shifts and his legs are sore and unsteady and still tangled up in his pants and his feet feel cramped and clammy in his dress shoes. He’s a sweaty, sticky mess and there are disconcerting damp spots on the blanket underneath him. He might have cleaned up under different circumstances, but the phone is attached to a short chord and he’s not ready to not be talking with Tony.
“Better?” Tony chuckles, voice full of smug, self-satisfaction that is, no doubt, due mostly to the fact that he just got them both off, in a manner of speaking. Jeff hums half-heartedly in reply, and basks in his solitary afterglow a moment more. Then the damp area on the blanket gets a little too cold in his air-conditioned environment so he shuffles to the side and off of it.
“Tone?” He ventures.
“Hm?”
“That was... Different.” Tony laughs, deep and unrestrained. It’s another one of the things that Jeff has always appreciated about him.
“Yeah, it was.” There’s a smile in Tony’s voice. He hears Tony shifting and imagines him flushed and naked, stretched out on top of their comforter back home. It brings a smile to his face.
“I love you.”
“Love you too.” Tony mumbles. His own eyelids are heavy but he manages to stifle a yawn, which is more than he can say for Tony who yawns rather loudly into the receiver.
“I’ll be home in a couple of days. Maybe you can take a few days off from the hospital?”
“Mm.” Is the muzzy reply. Tony’s been up all night and he can hear the exact moment when Tony slips into sleep. He’s boneless himself, and the sound of Tony’s deep, rhythmic breathing is soothing.
Tomorrow, Jeff will be slightly embarrassed. His pants never make it past his knees and he will awaken with dried semen all over his clothing and his person. He will be irritated with himself for racking up his phone bill by leaving it on the line all night long when he checks out of the hotel in a few days. He will especially kick himself for soiling his good pair of slacks leaving him with no choice but to finish up at the conference in the pair of jeans that Tony packed for him, which, Jeff thinks, is completely unprofessional.
But for the time being, Jeff wouldn’t trade anything for the soft sound of Tony’s breaths through the phone as he, himself, drifts to sleep.