ace drunk calling nick while at the frat party but they end up getting off each other through the phone instead
happy pride month everyone !!!
bright light gleams up into his face as he stumbles ever so slightly back into a wall. every word takes an excruciating amount of brain power, fingers working faster than his head as he sends out a mess of a text.
something closer to another language, one ace couldn’t quite make out in the slowly tilting hallway.
one thing he knows for certain will work is one little button. the one right under his pretty name — the one with a, albeit slightly blurred, icon of a phone.
the ring back tone chimes loudly against his ear before its shortly cut off.
“hello?” to nick, the chances ace would be calling for anything other than an immediate emergency was foreign to him. so much so, he found himself double checking the caller id.
“nick. i called you.” ace slurs back, almost like he’s only just become aware of the fact.
“yeah, you did.” he scoffs back, amusement slipping out. “did you need something?” he knew better than to ask if he was okay, or anything along those lines — mostly because he’d get a grumble of a response.
“uh, no… jus’… callin’ cause y’know.” ace trails off, almost tripping over his own feet as he stumbles further down the hall — avoiding a few stragglers that had made themselves comfortable on the floor.
the door swings open quicker than he can process before slamming shut behind him. he hadn’t been entirely sure this was his room until he sunk down onto the bed — feeling the familiar comfort of the mattress.
“i don’t know actually, you’re kinda confusing me right now.”
there’s a quiet pause over the phone. “but..” nick prompts back.
“… s’not like i can’t get off.” nick remains silent on the other end of the line, awaiting the rest. “jus’… not the same.” it’s barely there, nothing more than a mumbled confession.
nicks not sure if he’s hearing things right, holding his phone so close to ear he can feel the warmth spreading to his skin. he’d learnt very quickly that ace struggled asking for what he really wanted, but nick wasn’t exactly the type to take the lead.
it was uncharted territory, something he didn’t know how to navigate till he heard the clanking sound of a belt. “what are you doing?” it comes out in a panic, enough to hide the lustful curiosity.
there’s no response, just the distant sounds of rustling. “hang up, if ya want.” ace says quietly, almost shamefully — like he’d rather just not ask, and consequently not get .
“…why would i wanna hang up?”
ace stares down at his phone that lays face up next to him before reaching over, putting nick on speaker. his hand snakes down, pulling out his hard dick — a state he’s been in since he began thinking of nick ten minutes prior.
with his tight grip he pumps his cock lazily, already struggling to keep his breathing in check.
it doesn’t take a genius to figure it out, it’s all nick needs to hear to understand where this had gone. the part he didn’t quite get was the immediate swelling beneath his pyjamas; a few breaths and his body was already responding like a moth to a flame.
a minute goes by, nothing . as if they were both too scared to speak, for completely opposite reasons.
“are you thinking about me?” nick asks quietly, clearing his throat as he speaks.
aces eyes squint shut, hand working faster over his dick. “…yeah.” it comes out as half a breath, although he doesn’t want to admit it, he knows he can’t sit on this side of the call silent — not with the current throb in his balls.
nick passes his hand over his covered length, a slight pressure, enough to ease the attention its craving despite the fix he needs. “what am i doing?”
ace almost can’t register the tone, and if it had come out as anything but clear he would’ve assumed nick was asking himself under his own breath.
but he was asking ace , wanting to know what he was thinking about. and if that wasn’t the most intimidating yet hot question he’d ever been asked. “suckin’ me off.” he murmurs, the jolt through his dick easing the tightness in his throat.
those words send nicks head reeling, mostly because it’s something he’d thought of — something they hadn’t done yet. he swallows down the immediate hesitation to answer, “i wish you’d let me.”
an uneasy pang settles in aces stomach full of regret and the painful need for it. he snaps. “come over.”
nick lets out a breath at the hushed plea. “i can’t, ace.”
he swallows in return, a hot flush pressing over him. “tell me how then.”
it’s safe to say nicks never done this before, nor had he ever imagined he’d be doing it with ace of all people. but this was it — the return he’d been desperate for all these months, laid out on an inviting platter.
“i’d lick the tip, get a taste.” his hand shifts under his pants, lightly grasping his hard dick. “then.. take you as far as i can till you’re… till—”
“jesus fuck .” maybe it was the alcohol, or general restraint he’d put on this whole situation with nick. whatever it was, it already had him spilling into his hand — moaning and whining nicks name over and over like a fucking mantra.
every sound hit nick right in the pit of his stomach, fizzling around, prompting his dick to jump in his own palm. all he could think about was the number of times he was bound to replay that sound in his head, in this very position hoping and praying to hear it again.
the orgasm seems to sober ace up as he wipes his hands with a tissue, tucking his now soft dick back into his boxers. “i’ve got practice tomorrow.” he mumbles, and it’s more than clear he doesn’t know what to say right now nor how to round off the conversation.
“okay.” nick says quickly, finger already hovering over his phone, ready to end the call and cut the awkwardness short.
but ace beats him to the chase, a weird quiet settling in nicks room. he was utterly fucked up.
i think he’d like some indie and pop music, although there’s not much he wouldn’t listen to. i can definitely see him finding a walkman and some headphones and then collecting different tapes of music from everywhere
haii!! i’m sure someone already brought this up in your inbox but are u excited for matt’s book😊
i’m so so excited and proud of him !!! i’ve never bought anything from the triplets ( mostly cos of cost and shipping overseas ), but i’m getting my mitts on that book
you never quite know where to draw the line with bsf!chris, and neither does he
your front door clicks shut, all the noise and stimulation disappearing down the hallway leaving you with the aftermath to clean up. it sounded awful to say this was one of your favourite moments of the night — the quiet when everyone left, leaving some time for yourself.
you hold off from stacking empty snack bowls, turning your attention to the sound of a toilet flushing before the bathroom door opens. chris walks out, belining for the couch before he looks around. “where’d everyone go?”
“uh, home.” you respond, resuming the cleanup process as he occupies himself with a forgotten packet of sour patch kids, finishing the last few pieces.
“why? it's early.” he says it so matter-of-factly before tipping the remaining sugar into his open mouth.
you come over with the bin already in hand, waiting for him to finish. “it's home time.” you hold out the bin for him as he hesitantly throws the empty plastic in. he watches you return the bin to its place in the kitchen, picking up other empty packets along with you.
“you’re seriously kicking me out?” he scoffs, not seriously annoyed, although it's clear he's not close to making any effort to leave.
you can't help but roll your eyes. “everyone else left, what makes you think you're special?” you retort, raising your eyebrows. he remains where he is, arm slung round the back of the couch, body contorted round to see you.
he clears his throat, resting his free hand on his leg that's brought itself onto the sofa. “well.. i can think of one thing.” it comes out hesitant, of course it does because this isn't something you ever talk about — and you were stubborn about keeping it that way.
“thats very presumptuous of you.” you're looking at him from across the kitchen island, pouring out half empty cans of beer into the sink. “expecting something?”
he knows better than to be cocky and honest, turning back round to hide the growing smirk on his face. if he'd learnt one thing about messing around with you for the past few months; it was that a humorous tone meant good things from you, no matter how annoyed you tried to sound. a quiet ‘not at all’ slips out from under his breath as he draws his attention to a deck of cards that had been left out.
nothing about what you'd been doing for the past months made any sense, nor were there clear boundaries as to what could happen. it was bound for utter failure from the beginning, and instead of discussing and establishing some sort of sexual relationship it seemed to just.. float into a whole lot of nothing and everything .
the only constant appeared to be the way you kept ending up in these very situations.
“mm, your tongue’s all sweet.” you complain, pulling back from the intense making out. he grins ear to ear, relaxing back against the couch with his grasp hesitantly hovering over your hips.
"you've always got somethin’ to say when we're kissin’.” he murmurs, although there's an alarming amount of adoration behind it.
you lick over the faint sweetness on your lips. “so i’ll just shut the fuck up then.” you hum out all petty. exactly the way he liked.
“mm, maybe you should.” he nods in agreement to your own sarcasm, not giving you the chance to snap back as his words melt against your mouth, resuming the kiss like you'd never pulled apart — tongue brushing over your bottom lip, curious with a mind of its own.
you'd been keeping your hips as still as possible, always afraid of taking these late nights too far. but with the way his lips needily moved against yours along with his lingering hands on your waist, it was hard not to.
he groans quietly, letting it slip between parted lips the second your hips press forward against him — hands already slipping down to grip your ass through your jeans, pulling you firmly against the bulge in his own.
“ chris – i…” it's hard to find the words, let alone get them out. but he knows what you mean, he knows what you're trying to say.
he pulls back breathless, shifting his hips up to get comfortable before kissing down your neck — leaving a wet trail of breathy kisses and sharp nips. “just do what you want.”
fingers thread through his hair, gripping on as you try to keep your moans to a minimum. “what?” you whine, struggling to give in and selfishly take the green light he was giving you.
“ use me.”
well that you heard loud and clear, no matter how much you wanted to argue with it or how badly you felt the need to talk this out first — it's not like you hadn't gone further than this before. but usually you were drunk, both naive enough to blame it on the alcohol or pretend it never really happened.
but this was stone cold sober, and a very obvious choice. one you'd remember and most likely silently beg for again.
you hesitantly reach down to unbuckle his belt, leaning into the touch of his lips against your neck, surely sucking red marks into the skin by now. the moment you undo the zipper on his jeans he's pulling back, out of breath. “fuck.” he whispers lowly, locked on your every move as you shift back — taking off your own jeans.
he gets the gist pretty quickly, shuffling out of his trousers before discarding them somewhere on the floor. “is this okay?” you double check, because despite his enthusiasm this was new territory. potentially stupid territory.
he pulls you in by your hips, flipping you down onto your back as gently as he can before getting comfortable between your open legs. “i’m stupidly hard right now.” he murmurs into the crevice of your neck, his way of saying ‘absolutely yes’.
and god could you feel it, through nothing but his boxers and your underwear — the rigid length of his dick pressing against you in ways you'd only let your imagination think up.
“ fuuck chris.” you moan out, fingers deep in the roots of his hair, keeping him there to kiss and suck at the sensitive spots on your neck. “we can't do this again.. just right now.” you manage to breathe out.
the way he falters for a second goes unnoticed by you before he picks up a rhythm, grinding his cock against your covered slit. he doesn't need to respond, or argue. it was evident that half the promises you'd both made in the past had gone down the drain pretty quickly, because nothing about this was exuding ‘ clear cut boundaries ’.
it reeked of confusion and desperate need that neither of you knew how to handle yet alone navigate . tethering dangerously close to actual sex as you shamelessly got each other off — as if underwear itself was keeping this friendship platonic.
because nothing about you moaning his name and his dick pulsing out pre cum in response was platonic.
“oh fuck , i can’t—” he tries to pull back, tries to breathe through it and hold off whats already happening. but one look at your fucked out face from just some friction of his dick has him collapsing down, pathetically groaning as he coats the inside of his boxers.
a faint apology slips out, like he knows it was embarrassingly quick and only highlighted how much he'd wanted this and previously spilt into his own hand thinking about this.
but you're still grinding against him, catching the tip of his still hard dick over your clit to desperately push yourself over the edge. and when you do, it completely fucks him over — because no other sight will ever compare to this.
your walls down, whining out his name with nothing but utter bliss etched on your face — using him to cum. wanting nothing but his length to push you over the edge and send waves rolling through you.
he's hooked, officially addicted . and knowing this couldn't be anything more, that there were stupid unspoken restrictions and nothing but complications at the end of the tunnel; it unfortunately had him by the throat, bound to leave him strung out.
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