This is a request and also something I have never written before :)
Warnings: NSFW, 18+, soft smut, video call sex, mutual masturbation, consensual sexual content, long distance relationship
The soft glow of your monitor spills across your room, casting gentle shadows along your face. You sit at your desk, chin resting in your palm, fingers tapping lightly against the wood as you wait. Anticipation hums quietly beneath your skin. One glance at the clock tells you it’s 5:30 a.m., and you groan softly. It’s too early—but it’s worth it.
You hate waking up at this time. But if you want to see your boyfriend after his late-night dance practice, this is the only moment you get. It’s 10:30 p.m. for him, and he should be calling any minute now. You continue tapping your fingers, trying to stay patient.
You’re incredibly grateful for video calls. They make the ache of being apart a little more bearable. With him still in Korea and you studying in Los Angeles, the distance is challenging, but these calls bridge the gap just enough to keep your connection close.
The sudden ringing of your computer startles you from your thoughts. Excitement sparks in your chest as you quickly click the button to answer him.
The screen flickers, and then his face fills it—familiar and achingly missed.
He’s bare-faced, his dark hair swept forward and tucked beneath a hat, a few strands falling into his eyes. He’s propped on one elbow, the outer edge of his hand supporting his cheek as he looks at you through the camera—unhurried, like he’s finally allowed himself to slow down. There’s something disarmingly intimate about seeing him like this after practice—worked hard and undone—your favourite version of him.
A soft smile curves your lips, sleep still heavy in your body.
“There’s my girl,” he says softly, eyes warm and affectionate, like ending his night with you is the best part of it.
You feel a flush rising to your cheeks. No matter what, he always has a way of making you feel special.
“Hi,” you whisper. “How was practice?” You slouch a little in the chair to get comfortable, unsure how long the video call will last.
“It was tough,” he admits, exhaling as he shifts in his chair. “But I think I have a handle on it.”
You can tell he’s stressed—and probably sore, the good kind—the aftermath of hours spent moving without rest. You wish you could reach through the screen and smooth the tension from his shoulders.
“I’m sorry, baby. I wish I could help. I miss you, and I hate being so far away,” you say, moving slightly in your seat.
“Just seeing you helps,” he says, gaze soft as it lingers on you. “Although… a game may help too. Can you keep me company?”
You smile softly and nod. Thinking about being more comfortable, you grab your blanket from the bed. The early morning light creeps in through the crack in your curtains. “I was planning to,” you say as you wrap the blanket around your shoulders and sit back down.
He smiles at that—small, fond—and turns to the other screen. You see his hands disappear and hear the soft clack of the keyboard. He starts the game, but his movements are slower than usual, looser, fingers still precise but unhurried. Every now and then his attention drifts back to you, eyes flicking over like he’s checking you’re still there.
“You’re not even watching,” you tease.
“I am,” he says, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Just… multitasking.”
He plays a couple of rounds, and between them he stretches, arms shifting, shirt lifting, just enough to remind you of the body beneath it. Warm. Worked hard. Familiar in ways distance only intensifies. He lets out a quiet breath, the kind that tells you how much he pushed himself tonight.
“You’re tired,” you say quietly.
He exhales, a soft laugh under his breath. “Yeah. Worth it. I wanted to see you before I sleep.”
The way he says it—like it’s obvious, like there was never another option—makes your chest tighten with longing.
When the game ends, he doesn’t start another. He pushes the keyboard aside and turns fully toward you. The silence that falls between you two feels intimate.
His gaze lingers now—slower, darker. Not rushed. Not shy. Just honest.
“You look good,” he murmurs, voice lower now, roughened by exhaustion and the late hour.
A warmth spreads inside you at his words. His deep voice is one of your favourite things about him.
“I wish I could touch you,” he adds quietly.
You swallow, knowing exactly what he means.
The words hang between you, heavy and charged. His gaze stays locked on yours, steady and knowing, as if he’s giving you time.
He leans a little closer to the camera, close enough that it feels unfair.
“If I were there,” he says softly, “I wouldn’t rush this.”
Your breath catches. The world narrows to his voice, his eyes, the quiet tension humming between you. He leans back slightly, a knowing smile playing at his lips.
You already know you shouldn’t, but you want to hear him say it.
“What would you do?” you ask, voice quieter now, wanting to be close to him in any way.
“Well,” he says, voice still low, “first off, I’d place my hand on your neck and kiss that amazing mouth of yours.”
Your hand moves instinctively to your neck, resting where his would be. You let your eyes drift closed, letting yourself imagine it’s him. A soft moan escapes before you can stop it.
He chuckles lowly, clearly enjoying the effect he has on you even through the screen. You open your eyes at the sound, pulling your hand away as colour rises to your face.
“I’m sorry,” you say softly. “I just miss you… and need you in more ways than one.”
He leans forward again, eyes twinkling with mischief, though something deeper lurks beneath. “Don’t be. I enjoyed that. I have an idea—do you trust me?”
“Of course,” you say, confusion flickering across your face.
You watch as he pushes back and stands from the chair. He heads to the door, locks it, then lowers the shade.
“Now we have privacy,” he says, settling back into the chair comfortably.
Realisation sets in, and the flush on your cheeks deepens. You’ve never done anything like this before, but you need closeness—and this feels like the perfect way.
He notices your silence, sensing your thoughts turning. “Are you okay with this?” he asks, sincerity and love shining in his eyes.
You nod, words failing you.
“We can stop whenever you want,” he says, removing his hat.
“No, leave it on,” you manage quietly.
He chuckles softly again, giving you an encouraging smile. He leans back slightly, eyes never leaving yours, and you feel that familiar tug in your chest—the ache of distance sharpened by quiet intimacy.
“Now place your hand back where you had it before,” he murmurs, voice low, almost a whisper. “Go slow. I’d take my time with you.”
You obey, sliding your hand to your neck, letting your eyes drift closed again. A gentle, unconscious squeeze sends a shiver crawling through you, warmth pooling beneath your ribs.
He leans in, eyes darkening as he watches every subtle move. Your pulse quickens, every nerve alight with imagined closeness.
“That’s it, baby. While I’m kissing you, my other hand would slowly make its way down, savouring every inch of you.” You don’t see it, but his hand begins to move, tracing the outline of his arousal through his pants.
Leaving your hand at your neck, you use the other to explore your body slowly. You trace every inch of your breast through your shirt—a rush of heat courses straight to your core, blooming softly inside you. You jump slightly when you touch your nipple, and he notices. You bite your lip, soft gasps slipping out as you imagine his hands where yours are—guiding, teasing, lingering, just long enough to make you tremble.
You slip your hand beneath the waistband. His groan, deep and unrestrained, makes your chest tighten—and gives you more confidence. When you find your clit, already swollen and hot, a sharp hiss escapes your lips. You circle it slowly, and a louder moan follows.
“Oh fuck,” he breathes, his hand slipping beneath the waistband of his grey sweatpants, moving with slow, deliberate rhythm over his hardened length.
Feeling braver, you pull your fingers away from your clit, whimpering at the sudden loss—but when you slide them to your folds, the wet heat makes your breath hitch. Your mouth falls open as you glance up at him. He’s still there, watching, moving his hand with that same unhurried precision.
Finally, you release your neck and lift your singlet, baring your chest to him.
His groan is low, guttural, filled with something primal—and you feel it against your skin like a spark.
You keep moving slowly, curling your fingers, letting the feeling build, imagining it’s his long, slender fingers—familiar, practiced, knowing. Your body responds eagerly, every nerve alight with need. You shift slightly, opening your legs wider, letting him see you completely open, trusting him with every reaction.
He groans at the sight of you like this—unguarded, wanting. His breathing uneven now. You hear the soft rustle beside him as he reaches for something off-screen, anticipation thick in the air.
“Oh my god,” you breathe, words slipping out on a broken exhale. You hadn’t realised how tightly wound you were, how much you needed this—needed him.
You shift again, wanting to see him too, and he looks back at you with a soft, blissed-out smile that makes your chest ache.
“That was… incredible,” he says between breaths, pumping faster. “I want us to finish together.”
You nod, unable to find words, focus narrowing to the shared rhythm between you. Your hands move with more urgency now, guided by his voice, by his gaze.
You hold each other’s eyes through the screen as the moment crests, the distance briefly forgotten in the intensity.
Afterwards, both of you are quiet, coming down from the high of release.
He tidies himself up while you do the same. You fix your clothes and sit back in your chair, blissed and a little amazed at what just happened. He pulls closer to the screen, the distance between you softened, though not gone.
For a moment, no one speaks. Just shared breathing, quiet understanding, closeness, trust—something only the two of you share.
“You okay?” he asks gently, concern cutting through the lingering heat.
You nod, gazing into his eyes. “Yeah,” you whisper. “I feel really close to you now.”
A soft smile spreads across his face. “Good. That’s all I wanted.”
He exhales slowly, leaning back in his chair, eyes still warm as they hold yours. “You should try to get some sleep; don’t you have the day off today?” he asks. “I’ll message you when I wake up.”
You smile, warmth settling deep in your chest. “Yes, I do. You should go to bed too. I love you.”
“I love you too,” he says back, giving you your favourite grin.
The call ends, the screen going dark—but the feeling lingers. The closeness. The comfort. The quiet promise of more.
