[RPF] FIC: "The Piper's Calling," Mike/Steve, NC17

[stephanometra]

Title: The Piper's Calling
Pairing: Rosenbaum/Carlson (no Jensen/Chris this time, WOE.)
Rating: Shameless pornography
Summary: Here there be dragons phone sex. Proceed with caution.
Warnings: Tangential mentions of some kinky shit, nothing serious.
Notes: Moving right along after Rings of Smoke, we have hot boys having hot phone sex, and there is much rejoicing. vinylroad and ww0308 are the awesomest prereaders in the history of awesome prereaders. And I still maintain that all of this is Kwen's fault. 1400 words.

***

Steve gets home early, stomach full and head pleasantly buzzing from the wine he had with dinner. He'd love to have stayed out, joined his friends for drinks at whatever club they end up at, but he's got a 3:00 meeting most of the way across the country tomorrow, and like all right-thinking people, he hates flying when he's hungover. It's just coming up on eleven when he walks in his door.

His phone rings as he tosses his keys on the kitchen counter, and he smiles when he sees Mike on the caller ID. "Rosenbaum!" he says.

"Carlson," Mike says back. "How's tricks?"

"Turning. What's up, you in town?" Maybe he'll go out after all.

"Uh, no. Maybe in a couple of weeks." Mike pauses, thinking maybe, and then says, "It's awful quiet there. Kind of expected you'd be out."

"Nah, staying in tonight."

"Home alone on a Friday night? Loser."

"Yeah? What are you doing, tough guy?" Steve shrugs off his jacket, hangs it up one-handed.

"Absolutely nothing."

Steve rolls his eyes. "And I'm the loser?"

"Fuck you, man, I had a five A.M. call and didn't leave set until almost nine; I deserve an early night. What did you do today?"

"Smoked a lot of pot and wrote a song that probably isn't any good," Steve answers truthfully. Fuck, being a musician rules.

"Rat bastard," Mike scoffs, and then he clears his throat. "So why are you home, anyway?"

"Going to Nashville tomorrow for something Chris lined up. Flying out at fuckin' 8:30."

"Shit, that sucks," Mike says, sounding genuinely sympathetic, which surprises Steve a little since Mike spends fully half of every year getting up earlier than that. Then again, nobody likes dealing with airports at six in the morning.

"Yeah," Steve says. "But, well. I could put off sleep for a bit, long as you make it worth my while."

There's dead silence on the line, and Steve can just see Mike's mouth opening and closing, lips moving soundlessly while his brain tries to catch up.

He flops down on his bed, grinning up at the ceiling. "You still with me, Rosey?"

Mike makes a helpless noise. "I really just called to talk."

"Oh, that's cool. I just want to talk about how much I want to taste you right now."

"Jesus Christ." Mike breathes out, just a little huff into his phone, sexy and immediate. "Your mouth, man. Shouldn't be legal."

"You say that now," Steve laughs. "I haven't even gotten to the good part."

"Yeah? What's the good part?"

"Mm." Steve unbuttons his pants and palms his cock through his boxers. "Want you to strip first. Do that for me?"

"Um, okay, not a problem," Mike says, and there's a rustling on the other end, cloth whispering on skin.

Fuck, just the sound gets Steve hard, his dick heavy and blood-hot through thin cotton. He kicks off his trousers, his shorts, and strokes up his thigh. "You naked, Mike?"

"Yeah, go." He sounds so attentive, so eager, like he's already revved up and ready. Shit, he probably is.

Steve licks his lips, curls a hand around his cock. "Last time," he begins, stroking himself slowly. "When you were leaving, I couldn't stop looking at you."

"God, I know. Could feel you staring, made me want to crawl back in bed and never leave."

"Loved the way you were all marked up from my mouth, how I could see where I'd been." He smiles, predatory, his eyes losing focus at the memory. "Made me hungry for you, the taste of your skin under my tongue, feeling your blood move."

"Shit," Mike pants. "I caught so much shit for that, dude."

"Yeah?"

"God, yeah. Jared and Allison, half the fucking PAs. Makeup hated me."

"Were you embarrassed, Rosey? Covered in hickeys like a teenager, my mouth all over you for days?"

"No, fuck no. Wanted," -- Mike's voice breaks off into a groan -- "wished you'd given me more, wish they'd lasted longer."

"Yeah," Steve breathes, pushing up into his hand a little. "Yeah. You want it again, baby?"

"God. Yes. Makeup can go fuck themselves."

And they both laugh at that, Mike's breathless chuckle making Steve arch up into his hand.

"Could give you more," Steve says. "Just bite the shit out of you everywhere, bruises for a week."

"Jesus, Steve, please." He sounds awed and desperate, wrecked. Steve imagines Mike's hips arching off the bed, too hot to keep still, needing it too badly.

"Never even touch your cock, and you'll be begging to come just from me marking you."

"You mark me up good enough, you won't have to," Mike says, and it's low and filthy like a confession, like it's a dirty secret that he gets off on feeling owned.

Steve is so hard it hurts, wet, precome smearing over his hand and his belly. "Want to," he moans. "Want to make you wet and then suck you down, swallow you. Wanted to since the first time, but you're always -- Christ, you're so ready to fuck, can't resist that ass when you offer it up so nice."

Mike moans. "God, I can't -- need you to fill me up. Love getting fucked, want it, need it."

And Jesus, Steve knows, because Mike's ecstasy at being fucked has been fueling his fantasies for weeks. "Could suck you while I fuck you with my fingers, yeah? You open up so pretty, so hot and soft inside. You'd beg me for it."

"Fuck yes, please. I'd take your hand if you'd let me have your mouth, just. Fuck." There's the constant sound of movement on the other end, like Mike can't stay still, like he's thrashing around searching for Steve's body, his mouth, his cock, all laid out naked like an offering and gasping with how badly he wants it.

"Mm, don't want you to take my hand, not tonight." Steve is panting himself now, fucking his fist, leaving the phone precariously balanced on his pillow next to his ear while he cups his balls, presses two fingers hard against the spot behind them.

"Tell me," Mike says. "Tell me what you want."

"Want you to mark me," he says, and Mike cries out sharply. He's close, Steve can tell, on the edge where the slightest touch feels so good it's like pain. "Want to suck you until you start to come and then take it on my face. Want to be dripping with you, Rosey, want --"

And just like that Mike's gone, grunting into the phone, faint wet slapping sounds, and Steve can just see it, Mike covering his hand and his chest with spunk, the scent of it sharp and hot and fucking everything Steve wants.

While Mike gasps into the phone, coming down, moaning weakly, Steve just lets go, lets his mouth run off. "Yeah, want you to come for me, and then when you're spent and I'm wet I'm gonna slide into you, hard, hot -- no rubber, just me, and you're so fucking gorgeous, so hot around my cock I can't stand it. Want to fuck you hard, fill you up --"

"Fuck, Steve, want you to. Want to feel it, feel your come sliding down my thighs," Mike says, voice gravelly and languid, and that's all Steve can take; he comes so hard he hits himself in the fucking chin.

When he can breathe again, when he can hear Mike's breathing over the blood rushing in his ears, Steve just starts to laugh, low and astonished with it. "Holy shit, man."

"You're, uh." Mike sounds almost tentative, the first time Steve's ever heard that tone from Mike, well, ever. "You're not kidding."

Steve grins so hard his face hurts. "In case you were wondering, that was the good part."

"Yeah, I kind of figured." Mike sighs, shifts his phone against his ear. "I didn't actually call you for phone sex, I promise."

"What can I say, I'm a giver."

"A giver who has to be at LAX in seven hours."

Steve groans. "God, I'd almost forgotten. Thanks a lot, asshole."

"Anytime."

Neither one of them wants to hang up, so they don't, and Steve doesn't care that it's kind of weird to fall asleep listening to someone breathe over the phone, especially when the someone is an occasional fuck who's currently like a thousand miles away.

***

NOW WAS THAT GOOD PORN OR WHAT. Somebody rec this shit, man.