Summary: One night, you decide to call up Beau Arlen, your dad’s best friend, because you miss him while you’re at college. The conversation quickly turns different.
♡ warnings: NSFW, MDNI, 18+, smut, phone-sex, dbf!beau arlen, age gap, descriptions of sex, virgin!user, teasing, beau has a thing for uniforms ahaha, guided masturbation (f + m), talking you through it, user is 23, no mentions of y/n, reader-insert.
wc: 2.4k | i miss writing for him. So much.
“Why’re you callin’ me, sweetheart?”
The voice is quiet over the line, just a smooth Southern accent that rings in your ears. You grin to yourself, biting your lip, shifting your hips against your dorm room bed, and you gaze at the ceiling of the empty room.
Your roommate was gone for the weekend, finally, leaving you alone to do whatever you wanted, and your mind had drifted to one idea only: calling Beau Arlen, your dad’s best friend, who was only a couple hundred miles away because you’re currently shipped off to college.
“I don’t know… I miss you,” you admit quietly to him, listening to him sigh to himself. “It’s been weeks since I last saw you… won’t see you until the holidays,” you mumble, holding your phone close to your ear.
Beau’s sitting at the desk in his office, rubbing his hand over his scruff, his green eyes scanning over unfinished paperwork. He was working a late shift and stopped the minute your name appeared on his phone, your father’s name in brackets beside it. He sighed and answered, knowing you were probably up to no good.
“Miss me, huh?” he asks, leaning back in the leather chair, glancing out of the glass windows, and out at the rest of the station; empty, all of the employees had already gone home.
“Yeah…” you nod despite the fact he can’t see it, and you shift against your bed again. “Why? You don’t miss me?” you ask, and he can hear the smile curled into your lips.
“‘Course I miss you, sweetheart,” Beau sighs, resting his free hand on his thigh. “Jus’ don’t know why you’re callin’ me so late,” he shakes his head, his tongue poking into his cheek.
“I just told you, I miss you,” you laugh softly, and you lift one leg out of boredom, gazing at your black tights. “It’s weird being away from home,” you explain further, listening to the silence.
“I know,” he drawls quietly, shifting his hips. “What’re you doin’ over there?”
“Just… in my bed,” you shrug, groaning when you adjust against the blankets. “My roommate left for the weekend; it’s all boring,” you mumble, and he’s tipping his head back.
Beau is trying to act like he can’t hear the soft ruffling of the bedsheets and blankets, or the way you breathe heavier, the soft grunts and groans when you roll around slightly. He sighs.
“Why ain’t you call your daddy? Friends?” Beau questions, his lips drawling into a thin line, waiting for your excuse.
“Wanted to talk to you instead,” you admit, biting your lip, and he goes quiet.
“Over your friends, huh?” Beau asks, and you can hear the smile in his voice now. “Real sweet of you, darlin’,” he grins, gazing down at his lap, blinking at the zipper of his jeans.
“Mhm, real sweet,” you reply softly, turning your head to gaze at the dorm door, then back up at the ceiling. “My uniform isn’t comfy,” you tell him, shifting your hips against the bed, sighing.
Beau swallows hard.
Your uniform? His head drifts to an area he doesn’t want to think about right now: the skirt you’re probably wearing, the white button-up, the black tights. He reaches down, pressing his hand down against the front of his jeans, his palm lightly brushing his denim.
“Wearin’ a uniform?” he chuckles, shaking his head. “What? You goin’ to some private school?”
“I am,” you mumble, biting your lip. “You know my daddy… wants the best for me, even if that’s spending a couple grand at some private school where I’m forced into a uniform at almost twenty-four,” you giggle, and he laughs along, nodding.
“What’s it look like?” Beau asks quietly, his free hand sliding up to scratch his beard instead. “Can’t be too bad, sweetheart,” he drawls, brushing off the perverted curiosity as a genuine concern about how your body feels wrapped up in nylon and cotton.
“Oh, it’s bad,” you laugh, gazing down at the silly uniform you’re still in. “Plaid skirt, white button-up, tights, a tie…” You drawl out, and you hear him sigh, and you smile.
“Huh,” he mumbles across the line, looking at his lap again. “And you’re still in it?” he asks, his eyes focused on his zipper, feeling how hard he is getting behind it.
“Yeah,” you whisper, like it’s a secret. “Finished my last lecture like forty minutes ago… just crashed when I got back to my room,” you explain, nodding.
Beau is experiencing every emotion right now: guilt, confusion, and arousal. He’s trying his hardest not to picture you right now; sprawled out on your bed, your skirt riding up, your legs covered in the sheer tights, and how exhausted you must be, how he should be there, relieving all of that stress from exams and studying.
“Must be an exhausted girl,” he drawls out, tipping his head back when he realizes that unfortunate sexual tone slipping through. “Workin’ your ass off all day,” he adds, his hand sliding back down to the front of his jeans.
“Mhm, I am,” you agree, and you look down at the pleats on your skirt. “I know you’re working hard too… being a sheriff and all,” you add, knowing how much that stupid man loved praise.
Beau chuckles. “Yeah, workin’ real hard, sweetheart.”
There’s a pause, and you shift again, and he hears it over the static line; the shuffling, the brushing, the soft breaths and sighs when you adjust your body. And he’s hard. He hates himself a lot right now.
“Maybe you could come here, at some point,” you offer, breathing in. “Like… you know, could show you my campus,” you explain, and he squints.
“Where am I gonna stay, darlin’?” Beau asks, swinging the leather office chair back and forth. “Can’t be stayin’ with you in your room,” he adds, and god, you wish he could.
“Motel,” you mumble, looking at the clock. “I could stay there, too,” you add, holding your breath.
There’s another pause at the thought; you and Beau staying at a motel together, doing god knows what—maybe indulging in the fantasies you’ve both been having about each other since you last saw each other.
“Yeah,” Beau mumbles, swallowing hard. “Maybe.”
“Why maybe?” You ask quietly, lifting your hips. “I want to see you,” you whisper, like someone else is listening over the line.
“C’mon, sweetheart,” he whispers and shakes his head, clicking his tongue. “What’re we gonna do in that motel room, huh? Talk?” He asks, and you giggle.
“Yeah,” you say innocently, crossing your legs. “We can talk,” you agree, and he rubs his hand over his beard again.
“We ain’t gonna be talkin’ in that motel,” Beau shakes his head, sighing heavily.
“What will we be doing then?” You ask, shifting your hips, feeling that dull ache growing between your thighs, and he’s already lightly palming himself through his jeans.
“Fuckin’,” he says plainly, that Texan drawl suddenly coming out thicker, and your eyes widen, your lips parting in surprise. He was always so blunt, but right now it hit harder.
“Really?” You ask quietly, biting your lip. “You wanna take my virginity?” You question, swallowing hard.
You hear Beau curse under his breath, clearly reacting to the thought of taking your virginity in some seedy motel; your soft body beneath him, the soft whines and cries that he’d hear from you. He looks at the office door again.
“Yeah, baby,” he mumbles, blinking slowly, trying not to groan over the line as he palms himself. “I’ll take your virginity,” he agrees, licking his lips.
You go quiet now and squeeze your thighs together, your eyes shutting at the thought; his strong body, all of those thick muscles on top of you, sweaty and warm, his longer, shaggy hair, those green eyes. God, you’ve never wanted a man this bad, not in your life.
“Please,” is all you whisper over the line, and it hits him in the gut, and he presses down harder, the heel of his palm driving into the front of his jeans.
“I’ll fuck you, sweetheart,” Beau groans out, his hand lightly working now, focusing on soothing that ache. “You’ll like it too; moanin’ and whinin’, trustin’ me,” he tells you, and you almost whine.
Your eyes stay shut as you slide your hand down your stomach, bypassing the waistband of your skirt and sliding down. If only he knew what yoy were up to.
“You ain’t even on birth control, or nothin’,” he shakes his head, that risk and thrill making his own eyes close. “Would be such... a risk, sweetheart, Jesus Christ,” he mumbles, shaking his head again.
“I don’t care,” you whisper, sliding your hand down, gently cupping yourself through your cotton underwear. “Beau… Beau, I don’t care,” you whine into the line, and he already knows what you’re doing.
“You touchin’ yourself, ain’t you?” Beau suddenly asks, and all you can do is whine in response—his body goes still, and he groans, his own thick thighs squeezing together.
He listens to your soft breaths as you rub the heel of your palm against your clit through your underwear, and he’s doing the same action, just through his denim jeans. It’s the hottest thing ever, and you both barely know what you’re doing right now.
“Touchin’ yourself to my voice, ain’t that the sweetest thing ever,” he lightly teases, and you tip your head back, not moaning, just letting out a heavy breath. “Think about what I can really do to you.”
You are; that’s all your mind can think about: his body against yours, his thrusts, his relentless hips, all of it wrapped up in the heat of a motel room on a weekend. You’re getting off more than you’d like to, and you rut in your hand, lightly grinding.
“Bendin’ you over… holdin’ that pretty hair, maybe makin’ you look in the mirror—heard the way you were talkin’ about yourself, how you don’t think you’re pretty or nothin’. I’d show you how pretty you are,” Beau rambles on, and you whimper, swallowing back hard.
You don’t know how it’s possible, but you’re already close—it’s a feeling that’s so foreign; feeling good, because of your hand and Beau’s voice. You’re used to trying to think of him, trying to picture hands and fingers, and the way he’d speak to you, and he’s doing it right, over the fucking phone.
“You’d look so fuckin’ pretty; exhausted and sweatin’, that soft skin, glistenin’, your hair a mess… you ain’t know how much I think about you, baby,” he continues, feeling himself just getting close to you. “Can feel you… hear you, sweetheart; that voice, those whines, I’d make you feel so good,” he promises, and you feel dizzy.
Beau just hearing your soft whines and gasps over the line is enough to get him going, the thought of you in your uniform, squirming around, lightly begging him to keep going without asking. He’d do everything for you.
It’s his best friend’s daughter he’s speaking to with that sharp voice, all deep and drawn out, and the fact he knows you’re doing yourself too. It’s all too much for the both of you.
“Tell me how you’re touchin’ yourself,” Beau lightly commands, his eyes closing, and he pants. “C’mon, darlin’,” he encourages, his hips pathetically bucking into his palm.
“Just… through… through my underwear,” you whisper and nod, trying to hold the phone to your ear still. “With… with my palm, just my palm,” you babble, and the thought makes him curse.
“Two fingers, baby,” he tells you, trying to picture it in his head. “Slide ’em in that underwear, against your clit, sweetheart… slow circles, baby, nothin’ too quick,” he directs, and you groan, nodding, head tipped back.
You do exactly what he says; your fingers slide beyond the waistband of your underwear, right into the front of them, placing the pads of your fingers against your bare clit, no friction or restraint from the fabric. You moan softly, moving in the slow circles, just like he asked.
“Yeah? Feelin’ good, ain’t you? Movin’ those little fingers against your body, good girl,” Beau mumbles, listening to the soft sound of your breaths picking up, along with the moans. “All wet, too? Bet you are, thinkin’ about me stuffin’ you with my cock.”
“Mhm… mhm, really… wet,” you admit, nodding quickly, your back curling and arching off the bed. “Please, Beau,” you plead, and he knows what you want; you wanna hear his thoughts, what he’s thinking, what he wants, what he’d do to you.
“Oh, darlin’,” he groans, still palming himself through his jeans, his eyes closed. “Jus’ wish I was there to fuck you right now… against that bed of yours,” he tells you, imagining how obscene it would be to do in a god damn dorm room.
Your fingers are moving quickly, using his words to help strengthen your imagination, and you’re basking in it more than you’d like to; it’s all much for you, and you’re shifting your hips around, helplessly grinding into the tips of your fingers.
“I’d cum in you too,” Beau adds on, grunting when he realizes his words were syncing up with what was going on his jeans right now. “Fill up that stomach… stretchin’ you out, forcin’ it all in you, god,” he moans, feeling himself spill into his boxers, right in the middle of his fucking office.
“Please… please cum in me,” is all you plead, right before you feel it. You finish, just as quickly as he does.
It’s in your underwear too, all over the soft fabric, and right into your skirt and glistening on your fingertips. You’re both panting over the line, breaths in sync like you’re actually together, touching and talking to each other. You don’t speak; neither of you do. It’s just a silent acknowledgement of how both of you are just as pathetic for each other.
That silence hangs, both of you staring up at the ceiling in the empty rooms, wondering what the fuck happened.
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