Chapter Text
1
Tsumugi ducks into his car and slams the door so hard the whole thing rocks. Today. Today fucking sucks . He turns the key and starts pulling out of the parking garage before he even has his seatbelt on. Getting away, getting as far as possible from this office is the only priority. He turns onto the frontage road as he loosens his tie and yanks it over his head. The loop of it catches on his neck for a second and he laughs darkly. It's one of those days where dying is more charming than usual.
And because he's worked on himself a lot, instead of running his car into oncoming traffic he dials his therapist's number on the touch screen console. It's long been memorized, and he's more than used to paying for last minute appointments like this.
As soon as the line picks up he blurts out, “I can't do this anymore, this company is going to kill me. It's Eichi again, he's taking my data and using it so fucking inaccurately in his presentations that as soon as anyone notices it'll be my head. I'm so done, I'm so done with this, with him.”
He breathes. Does some counting. Like a toddler. It's humiliating.
“I think you have the wrong number??” Someone who is decidedly not his therapist says over the car speakers.
Tsumugi glances at the console, gets honked at for swerving a little, and sure enough the caller ID is not for his therapist's practice but something called ‘Num+.’
He groans in frustration. “I am so, so sorry.”
The voice laughs. It's a little raspy. Really cute. A nice reprieve. “Rough day?”
“Yeah, I- hold on,” he almost misses his exit and dives for it. More honking. Great.
“Are you driving?”
“Uh, haha, yeah.”
“That's dangerous, pull over.”
“You know what, just hang up on me. It's fine. I'm almost home.”
“No, I'm not going to let some suicidal business man off the line. I have a conscience.”
Tsumugi laughs more. “What even is this? Num plus… Online banking?”
“So close. A gay sex line.”
It's absurd. This is what Tsumugi's life has become. He laughs so hard tears form in his eyes. “Oh god, how much am I being charged right now?”
The voice hums. “About a dollar a minute.”
“Oh? That's not bad.”
“No, I like to think we're pretty reasonable. What's your name? I'm going to need it for the payment log.”
“Aoba,” He wipes the tears from his eyes. “Aoba Tsumugi.”
He can hear a smirk when the voice says, “cute.” It makes him smile a little less painfully.
“What about you? It's only fair.”
“Just Natsume is fine.”
Tsumugi pulls into his apartment complex’s parking lot, gets a shit spot at the back of the lot because he stayed to work overtime, and cuts the engine. He switches to his phone and pins it to his ear with his shoulder as he gets out. “So what is your shift usually like? Hopefully not as bad as mine.”
“Honestly it's kind of boring most of the time. I have scripts. Not written by someone else, I just mean that I know what gets my regulars going and it doesn't take long to assign one to new callers either.”
He pulls off his jacket as he walks, juggling his messenger bag as he frees his arms one at a time, wanting to be rid of all reminders of work as soon as possible. “Do you just talk to them until they come?”
“You're not shy. Yeah, pretty much. Today's been slow so far but peak hours are coming up. I'm going to have to let you go soon, my typical clients are going to start calling in like,” a pause, “thirty minutes.”
“That's fair.” Tsumugi cards himself into the building and pings the elevator. He doesn't have the willpower for stairs today. “Well, I definitely have thirty dollars to kill because this was going to be a very expensive last minute call to my therapist instead.”
There’s a ding and some awful screeching and the elevator doors open. “That is, if you’re cool with talking to a guy who’s not going to be jacking off.” He passes two people exiting as he enters and they look at him like he has three heads. Oops.
“Why not. This will be my good deed for the year.”
The elevator closes and Tsumugi leans against the wall. “Does that make this a really good deed, or you kind of a bad boy?”
“I thought we weren’t having phone sex.”
Tsumugi grins and absently eyes himself in the tarnished doors. He looks so tired. The bags under his eyes are clinically severe, even with his glasses obscuring them. It’s not really a surprising sight - he feels tired too, all the time. “Just curious. Hey, what’s the weirdest thing someone has ever asked you to say?”
“I get this question a lot. Believe it or not, people are very tame ninety nine percent of the time. There’s always a guy who wants to focus on feet way too hard every once in a while. And I don’t get these callers, but my coworker with a deeper voice gets asked to do daddy roleplay frequently. He hates it so much.”
The elevator dings again and Tsumugi steps out onto his floor. His apartment is just a few doors down from the elevator, a blessing and a curse. He digs in his doffed jacket for his keys. “It’s nice that you know your coworkers.” There they are. “I assume this is a work from home gig, because a sex line call center sounds like an HR nightmare.”
“You could not pay me enough money to do this with other people around.”
Key in lock and Tsumugi is home. It’s a small place, but comfortable. He would’ve been able to afford better for a long time now, but there’s no point in renting something sleek and expensive in a high rise if he’s just going to sit in the cold elegance by himself. He half-throws his jacket on a peg by the door and misses, looks at it crumpled on the floor.
“Is the pay decent at least?”
“Oh yeah. Flexible hours too. It’s a good job.”
He gives up trying to get himself to pick it up and kicks the jacket to the side of the entryway. “Not your passion, though, I’m guessing.”
“You never know, I could be a nymphomaniac using this as a safe way to get my kicks.”
He toes off his shoes, drops his bag, and walks the few feet forward it takes to get within flopping distance of the couch. “You’re a little uninterested in convincing me to have phone sex with you if that’s the case.”
“Fine, fine. You caught me. I’m just a guy paying the bills this way. What about you?”
Tsumugi blinks up at the ugly popcorn ceiling. “Am I a nymphomaniac? Seems like an obvious no.”
“No, stupid. Are you at your dream job or whatever.”
“Ah.” He stares more into that jagged abyss. If someone had told a freshly graduated Tsumugi that he would raise a startup from the dirt with his best friend slash boyfriend, have a successful sale, and stay with the acquiring company to make a hefty salary - he would’ve been overjoyed. That’s what the dream was, then. But reality is cruel and twisting. He gives and gives and gives to his job, the best friend slash boyfriend thing is now thoroughly categorized under ‘it’s complicated,’ and his life is mostly hollow. “No. No I am not.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
The condolence is jarring, and Tsumugi realizes he’s never alluded to anyone but his therapist how much he hates his job. “I-it’s fine. Most people don’t like their work, right? It’s just what we do to get by.”
But he could get by just fine for years at this point if he stopped working. He just… can’t let go. Maybe he should’ve hung up and called his therapist instead after all. The line is quiet for a moment and Tsumugi knows his lie was caught.
“Well,” Natsume says with finality. “This was really weird. I’m gonna go brace myself to make grown men whimper again. Have a good night, don’t kill yourself.”
Tsumugi yawns. “Yeah, not tonight,” he agrees. “Goodnight Natsume.”
2
Beer is a painfully mediocre beverage. Tsumugi is convinced that everyone who claims to enjoy the taste has thoroughly gaslit themselves. It is at best inoffensive and at worst disgusting. But there is a comfort it lends to spaces, to people - the slow build of a buzz as conversations flow. It is not the snobbery and headache of wine, and it is not the mania and nausea of a cocktail. It’s usually barely there, a background nothing-drink to sip in between stories.
He's at a bar after work with some coworkers. It's a sit down, chatty kind of place where they can pretend to share their true feelings about their projects while only giving half-hearted grumbles. Eichi isn’t there, which lends both relief and boredom.
People ask how Tsumugi is, in his life outside of work. He tells them he's fine, and not much else. Other people talk about their hobbies and their friends and their partners. Tsumugi lacks all of that. He should really find something fun to do with his free time, but he's just so exhausted. Work has turned into his hobby, friend, and partner. Because it is the best distraction - there is always more to be done and it always forces his thoughts away from his general dissatisfaction with his life.
People joke with him about when he's going to get a promotion because of how late he stays at the office - how much he contributes to both his department and others. But Tsumugi knows the truth. He doesn't have the ambition and he doesn't have the backbone. He is the perfect middle manager, content to take on orders and unfair requests. He can see it in his coworkers’ eyes when they ask - they too know that he is not going to make it farther than this.
He finishes his third beer and decides that he has been sufficiently sociable. He briefly considers driving home - he's only buzzed - but getting in a wreck might be his last straw. So he calls a car and makes his way home chatting mindlessly with the driver.
And at home there is more beer. It's not all that late so he opens another and sits and does very little besides sip at it. He could watch TV, he supposes. He flicks through the streaming services he's not sure why he still pays for and nothing grabs him. He has a few texts he should respond to, but he's ignored them long enough that there's an anxiety to replying this late.
He swipes through different apps with no purpose. The numbers of the calculator remind him he should probably call his therapist soon and schedule some regular appointments instead of just calling when he feels like he's seconds from insanity. He hasn't spoken to them in a few weeks and tries to remember why - ah. That misdial. What a crazy incident. The guy was pretty nice though. Their banter was kind of fun…
Fuck it, it's as good a use of his time as any. He goes to his call history, scrolls a little, and presses on the entry for Num+. The line is answered immediately.
“Hey there, handsome.” Ah shit, someone else picked up. This must be a routing line. “This is Num plus, your quick dial to delicious sin. My name is Hinata, what can I do to you?”
“Ahhh, is Natsume there?”
There's a beat of quiet. “Oh, a return caller? Guess he forgot to give you his direct line. Sure you don't want to take a spin with me? I'm way more fun~” and then there's a very dramatic kissing noise.
Tsumugi laughs. He twirls the neck of his beer bottle between his fingers. “No, it's ok. I'd really like to talk to Natsume if he's around.”
HInata sniffles. “Be that way!” And Tsumugi is put on hold to the worst sax music he's ever heard. Ten whole minutes of it. He finishes another beer.
The line crackles and the terrible hold music blissfully stops. “Who is this and why on earth did you willingly suffer through that for me.”
“Hi, nice to talk to you again too.”
There’s a pause. “Depressed business guy?”
“Some people call me Tsumugi,” he laughs.
“Right. Aoba-san.”
Tsumugi wrinkles his nose. “That sounds like you're talking to my dad. Which is something you really don't want to do.”
A sigh crackles through the phone. “Are you calling for phone sex or should I route you to the appropriate suicide hotline.”
Tsumugi thinks about it. Getting off to a nice voice could be relaxing. But it's not what he wants. “I'm just lonely.”
“Friends don't cost to call, you know.”
“I uh, don't have too many of those. Not anymore.”
“Jesus, what are you a martyr? Lighten up or I'm disconnecting and writing this up rightfully as a misdial.”
“So you’ll talk to me if I’m less annoying?”
“Ugh, sure. I needed a break anyway and I’m not passing up getting paid commission to take one.”
“Do you only make money when you’re on a call?”
“No, I’m hourly too, but most of my pay comes from my active minutes. I get to take home about half of what we collect.”
“Half isn’t bad. It’s not all though. Ever thought of going independent?”
“God, no. Dealing with the finances and taxes and whatever bullshit sounds awful. Being an independent sex worker is always a game with the government.” There’s something like the creak of a chair leaning back. “Let’s not talk about work, I’m on break, remember.”
“Okay. Hmm. What do you do for fun?”
“Magic.”
Tsumugi gets up to grab another beer from the fridge. “... what does that mean.”
“I read tarot. Make potions. Stuff like that.”
Ah, it’s the last one. Shame. He’ll have to go to the store soon. “Do they… work?”
“The potions? Oh yeah. It’s just herbalism and chemistry really. It’s not gonna cure cancer or anything but I can make ones for general aches and pains, or something more abstract like a broken heart or bad luck.”
His scalp prickles.
“Oh. Uh, haha. My mom believed in that stuff.”
“Good for her.”
“Um. No, not really. She believed a little too hard and she’s dead now.”
Silence. He waits for Natsume to say something pitying.
“Well that was dumb of her. What, did she not go to the doctor like a sane person?”
And maybe to anybody else, that would make them hang up in anger. But Tsumugi is so relieved. He just pops the top off the new bottle and takes a long drink.
“Yeah.” He stumbles slightly back to the couch. “She refused to get checked out by a professional. Turns out she had stage four breast cancer. It was metastasized before anyone who could do anything got a look at it.” Tsumugi expects his voice to shake, his eyes to water. It’s been so long since he talked about his mom. But he’s calm. Just chatting like it’s any other topic. The words don’t drag like daggers in his throat as they come out.
“Man. Bad job, dead mom. What other trauma do you have for me, an abusive lover?”
Disturbingly right on the money. He drinks again. “Well, we’re not together anymore-”
“Oh my god what baggage don’t you have,” Natsume says but he’s laughing. It’s lighthearted. “No wonder you’re depressed.”
“Yeah, yeah I’m a mess I know. Hey- are you going to get in trouble for this? Talking on the clock?”
Natsume laughs. “You mean doing my job?”
“You know what I mean.”
“No, my boss is chill. As long as the lines are ringing and callers are paying, it doesn’t matter. Upper management might care, but it’s not like they’d ever know.”
They end up talking for over an hour. Meandering topics with raw truths about themselves that don’t feel dug so deep when two people can’t see each other. Natsume explains that he dropped out of college - absenteeism ruined his grades and lost him a scholarship. Tsumugi talks about his childhood trauma of being an unwanted son. It’s nice, getting to be honestly dour for once.
Natsume clicks his tongue as they finish a train of thought. “Damn, one of my regulars just got put on hold. I have to go. This was… not terrible. Thanks for the paycheck.”
“Anytime,” Tsumugi says and means it.
3
He means it so much he calls less than a week later.
“Hi.”
“Is this going to be a regular thing?”
“Yeah,” Tsumugi laughs. “I think so. I like talking to you.”
“I suppose you’re not so bad to make money on.”
4
Tsumugi has been neglecting his kitchen, he knows. One Saturday night he is craving real food - home cooked food. But there is almost nothing in his apartment to cook with. He has some shelf stable dry goods, and a carton of eggs. Some frozen things. No beer. It's not anything he wants. So he gets himself presentable and drives to the store.
The grocery store can be a bit of a challenge for him. It's crowded and loud, especially on the weekends. He gets caught up in feeling like he's in everyone's way. It's why he particularly doesn't like being here by himself. The memory of the old days shopping with Eichi aches. They owned every aisle, took their sweet time at every shelf. Everyone else might as well not have been there - Tsumugi only had eyes for Eichi and whatever had caught his interest. But this - traipsing around timid and alone - is making his eyes dart and his breath come quick.
He unlocks his phone and dials without thinking about it.
“Tsumugi.” Natsume purrs. “Lonely again, loser?”
Tsumugi's heartbeat relaxes automatically, slowing to normal and steady. He grins at the insult. “Hi. Sort of.”
“Well that's cryptic. Where are you, it sounds like you're out and about.”
Ah the background noise of other shoppers must be slipping through. “I'm grocery shopping.”
Silence.
“I… I don't think anyone has ever called me from the grocery store before. And I've been called from a lot of places.”
Tsumugi giggles. “I can't imagine it's conducive to phone-” a child runs past after their mother and Tsumugi catches himself “your business!”
“No, rather not. But neither are you.”
Tsumugi turns down a new aisle and picks up a few things. “But it's still early for your shift, right? I bet you have a little time for me.”
Natsume sighs. “I suppose. ” He says it like they don't get along, despite more than two hours of personal conversation under their belts. He says it like Tsumugi is nothing but an annoyance. But he still takes his calls. Tsumugi can't feel anything at that but an amused fondness.
“What should I make for dinner?”
Natsume scoffs. “I'm not a chef, idiot.”
“Well, what do you like? What kind of food do you make for yourself?”
He grumbles, but Natsume does eventually answer, short and irritated, “I like fresh foods. Good produce. I… I garden sometimes.”
Oh that is so cute. Tsumugi says as much and Natsume yells at him, then shouts something dismissive away from the phone.
“Hm? What was that?”
“Oh, just my roommate asking what I was yelling about. Told him you were being annoying. Again.”
Something warm and fuzzy blooms in Tsumugi's stomach. “You talk about me?”
“Wha- no! I complain about you.”
Tsumugi walks over to the produce section and picks out some onions and garlic. “Mhm. That's still talking about me though.”
“Shut up, it's different.”
He grabs some baby bok choy next, and some fresh Thai basil. The ingredients of a stir fry are gathering in his basket, joining some flat noodles he had already grabbed earlier. He is surprised to find himself excited to make it. Cooking hasn't been fun in a long time, just a survival skill.
A small bit more of idle bantering and Tsumugi is ready to check out and head home. He mourns the call ending before it even happens.
“Hey, thank you,” he says in the middle of the next insult Natsume is slinging at him.
“-huh? For what?”
Tsumugi gets in line at a register, his time short. “I was having a hard time. Anxiety and stuff. Thanks for talking to me.”
Natsume quiets, lets the barbs whither. “Glad I could help,” he says with a strange tension in his lilt.
“I have to go check out now, but I'll call again soon alright?”
“...talk to you soon, then.” Natsume says quickly and clipped, and hangs up.
Well. That could either be irritation, or - dare Tsumugi hope - embarrassment? If he's embarrassed, he cares. He cares about their conversations and anticipates another. As Tsumugi checks out and settles his groceries in the passenger seat, he can't help but feel like he's making a real friend through these bizarre circumstances.
5
There is blond hair in his bed, on his pillow. And there is a rock in his stomach, heavy and cold. Tsumugi swore he wouldn’t do this anymore, swore he’d get better at saying no. Eichi stirs and mumbles something like a good morning.
“I’m going to shower. I would appreciate it if you’re not here when I’m done.”
Eichi turns over and eyes him with that deceptively warm blue. “How cold, Tsumugi. Don’t act like you hate me when you were inside me just hours ago.”
“They are not exclusive things.”
Eichi huffs a laugh. Tsumugi doesn’t hate him, not really. He hates what he does, and he hates how he makes him feel. Like a bug under a cup, trapped and easy to squash. But Eichi is a complex man of motives he can’t possibly understand. For all that he uses Tsumugi, he cannot truly be angry. He can’t imagine living in Eichi’s chains, and does not begrudge him for trying to break them open on the nearest body. But he will not thank him for the bruises.
“Stay if you want to so badly. I’m late for a brunch so I won’t be here anyway. Just lock up when you go.” He hates himself when he says it because he really should be telling Eichi to leave his key too but the words don’t quite come out.
Tsumugi pays for obnoxiously expensive street parking outside the trendy restaurant Hiyori begged them to go to. It doesn’t put him out or anything, but it’s the principle. He glares at the meter all the way to the door with gaudy stained glass windows. Inside is an explosion of color - highly decorated walls with neon signs perfect for photo-ops, fake flowers hanging from the ceiling. It’s so Hiyori. Tsumugi spots the man himself and he is obviously overjoyed to be there, Jun beside him looking only mildly put out.
It is also crowded and Tsumugi has to squeeze between tables to get to their booth on the far wall, and still manages to bump into someone every five steps. Hiyori slides out of the booth to hug him when he finally gets there. It’s been a while since he’s experienced such physical affection that’s not the fake stuff from Eichi. It’s very welcome.
Jun gives him a whistle in greeting, pointing to the side of his own neck. Fuck. “Are we happy for you getting laid this time, or is it still that sick bastard.”
Tsumugi grimaces and Jun groans, his suspicions confirmed. “C’mon, man. There are other guys to stick it in, I promise.”
“Or get sticked from!” Hiyori cheerfully adds.
Tsumugi slides into the booth across from them and immediately pours himself a drink from the array of pitchers that sit half empty in the middle of the table. Hiyori was particularly excited about the mimosa flight offered here (‘they have so many different kinds of juice!!’) He downs his that looks ironically, generously maybe one percent fruit. “Well, we all fuck our coworkers sometimes. It's not that big of a deal. I have better taste though.”
Jun wipes a hand down his face. “You are the worst possible person to give advice on this. Aoba, do not listen to him, you gotta cut this out.”
Hiyori frowns. “So mean to Hiyori!! I can't help that my life is so fun and interesting, I'm just that hot.”
Tsumugi takes a big gulp of the drink, sparkling all the way down. It is not as refreshing as he had hoped. “Sazanami is right. It’s never worth it. This should’ve stopped a long time ago. Just… every time I think he’s lost interest he comes back, asks for it. And I’m really bad at saying no.”
Hiyori reaches across the table to pat his arm. “We know this about you.”
A waitress comes by and they all order food. It too is expensive and trendy - all super fruit laden sweets and exotic protein bowls. Even the conceptually simple avocado toast Tsumugi orders claims to be made with bread sporting twenty grains. He did not know there were that many.
“You know, we could always give it a go again, Tsumu~” Hiyori winks at him. They kissed exactly once at a party in college, but Hiyori loves to bring it up to try to fluster him.
“Very sweet of you, but the answer is still no.” Tsumugi laughs. “Enough about me. Where's Nagisa? I thought he was coming.”
Eichi is gone when he gets home. It’s not surprising. Waiting for Tsumugi just to be petty would be incredibly dull, and Eichi has never been good at suffering boredom. But his apartment feels emptier than normal and the fullness of seeing friends is wearing off fast. So, like he has every time he’s felt like this in the past few weeks, he slouches onto his couch and picks up his phone.
“Hello Tsumugi,” Natsume greets him and Tsumugi can hear his smile. It warms him up inside out, even if his tone is smug like he’s amused at how Tsumugi can’t keep away for more than a few days. “You’re calling awfully early. You’re lucky I’m working a double today because I’m bored. How is my favorite disaster doing this fine weekend?”
It’s backhanded affection and shouldn’t make his heart flutter. It does. “Hi. I feel like garbage. Slept with my ex again last night.”
“Again? Do you do that a lot?”
“Um. Is a few times a year a lot?”
“... for how long.”
They broke up in their early twenties, shortly after Eichi coerced Tsumugi into selling his startup. Tsumugi was out of town, visiting his mother on her deathbed. She died that weekend. In the wake of his grief, Eichi convinced him that getting the business off his shoulders would be a relief. He did not disclose that their buyers were a rival company of one under the Tenshouin conglomerate and that he had been buttering them up and planning this for a long time. That all came out later, in one of their increasingly frequent fights. That is, if you can call Tsumugi crying and Eichi clinically dismantling his grievances a fight.
They don’t ‘fight’ anymore. Eichi has climbed the ladder at work marvelously while Tsumugi is still in lower management, so they don’t have much to do with each other at the office. Except for when Eichi hunts him down deliberately, usually after they’ve been forced into proximity by the rare meeting between their levels. The only time they see each other outside of the office is when those encounters lead them back to one of their apartments for ill-advised sex. That and accursed company parties that aren’t technically mandatory but definitely are in practice.
“Five or six years. The end of our relationship was kind of messy so I never know where to draw the line.”
“Oh that is fucked .”
Tsumugi sighs. “I know.”
“Do you have any self-respect? Like, at all? Random, mediocre one night stands would be better than that, jesus christ.”
“The general consensus is ‘no.’”
“Have you even given sleeping with other, less shitty people a chance?”
“In theory, yes. In practice… I can count the people I’ve had sex with other than him on one hand. I know he gets around though.”
“Wow, it gets worse. Is the sex that good? Or is it some kind of emotional addiction.”
“Oh the sex is great. The emotions are not. He makes me feel like the worst possible version of myself.”
The line is silent for a beat. He cannot tell if it is a judgmental or a pitying silence. Or some secret third thing that would make him feel less terrible.
“Do you want to get off?”
Tsumugi sputters at the non sequitur. The third thing, then.
“Oh please, save me your prudishness. Just because you've been wasting your money on only talking to me doesn't make me not a sex worker.”
Tsumugi cards a nervous hand through his hair. “I just don’t see how this is relevant?”
“Think of it as clearing the air. Forget about what you did last night and focus on what you can do right now.”
He pulls at his bangs above his heated and probably flushed face. God, it’s so tempting. And Natsume is making it sound like a very good idea. “...okay. Yeah, okay.”
“I'll start simple, just for you. I know you're a coward.”
“Wow, ouch,” Tsumugi hisses but he can't say being talked down to isn't doing something for him. That's a new discovery, yet not really surprising at all.
“Get somewhere comfortable. You're going to do exactly as I say, no more no less.”
Tsumugi lays back on the couch and breathes in hopes of calming his sudden surge of nerves. Something about this feels wrong . They're kind of friends, right? Tsumugi has tried to keep from sleeping with his friends (see: whatever Hiyori and his boyfriends have going on). Sleeping with his best friend turned out to be a decade long disaster that he doesn't particularly want to repeat with someone else. But… Natsume also isn't real, is he? Tsumugi is paying him for his time, a superficial tether through the magic of cell service. So it's fine - the rule isn't broken because it does not apply. It's fine. Everything is fine.
“Don’t take anything off. Just bring one hand down and apply a little pressure. Rock up into it.”
Tsumugi does as he's told and it feels strange. There's a little bit of a stirring in his groin just from the fact that he's participating in phone sex, but the sensation of his hand over his jeans is almost nothing. Still, he grinds up into it.
“Do you have big hands, Tsumugi?” It is a simple question but the way Natsume says it is dirty, sultry. His name tacked on at the end, practically purred, brings Tsumugi's blood to a low simmer.
“I-I guess so? People have told me I do, at least.”
“Mine aren't. I like big hands - they can touch so much more. Fuck into me better.”
The simmer flares to a rolling boil with those last few words. Tsumugi is beginning to see the appeal. Without tangible touch, words become so much heavier. The blunt force of them weighty with sensuality the way dirty talk has never been in person - at least not with anyone Tsumugi has fucked. Then again, Natsume is a professional. It's possible he's just as bold in person, with practice to ease away any embarrassment.
“What are you working with?”
Tsumugi makes a questioning noise.
Natsume clicks his tongue in impatient annoyance. “Do you have a cock or a cunt, stupid.”
“Oh. Uhhh, the first one.”
Natsume hums. “Should I let you take it out? Do you want to touch yourself for me?”
For him? God, Tsumugi finds himself desperate for it. He grinds into his hand harder and gasps. “I-I do. If you want me to.”
“Oh, Tsumugi,” Natsume purrs. “You're eager to please, aren't you. I knew you would be. You get off on this, taking orders, don't you.”
Tsumugi's breath hitches. He does, doesn't he? Eichi was never all that demanding in bed but he was definitely the one in charge. It always felt natural. Tsumugi did not know he wanted it to be more intense, more commanding. He very much knows now.
“Go on, then. Get yourself in your hand and stroke loose and slow.”
With one hand Tsumugi unbuckles his belt and undoes his pants, pulling them and his underwear down his thighs in one go. The first touch to his cock is an out of body experience with Natsume's voice in his ear - his hand almost doesn't feel like his for just a split second.
“What do you like to think about, when you get off?”
“Um.” Tsumugi hesitates. But under Natsume's thumb anything but honesty is impossible. “Mostly fucking my ex.”
“Pathetic,” Natsume sighs. It makes Tsumugi's cock jump in his grip. “You know what you're going to think about now?”
“Wh-what?”
He can hear Natsume's self satisfied grin when he says “me.” Tsumugi whines. “You like that? You wanna imagine I'm the one touching you? Go ahead. I'll do you one better. Sometimes I think about seeking out one of my clients. Letting them bend me over the nearest surface and fuck me raw.”
A moan escapes Tsumugi, pitched high and needy.
“That's right, even you. Especially you. I think I could fix whatever's wrong with that brain of yours if I broke it first.” Natsume's words are painting insidious pictures. Tsumugi doesn't know a single thing about his appearance, but it's not hard to imagine the warm, smooth skin of a man underneath him. “Stroke hard and fast for me.”
Tsumugi gasps and does as he's told.
“You’d like it if you could fuck me right now, wouldn’t you. Flip me over and slide right in. I have the latter, by the way.”
Through the haze of arousal Tsumugi has no idea what he's talking about. “What?”
“Think. What did I ask you earlier.”
Oh god. Oh god . Tsumugi groans.
“Mhm. You ever fucked a cunt before? Too bad you've been giving yourself to that whore ex of yours - who knows where his body’s been. You wanna fuck me? Cut that shit out. I might let you. I know you’re nearby by your area code.”
Tsumugi's thighs quiver. “Oh, oh- I'm gonna- ahn ,” he can't even finish his sentence with the heat in his gut building lightning quick.
“I guess since you've been good, I'll let you. Come for me, Tsumugi.”
He does, with a loud shout that the neighbors will definitely hear. It is hot and blinding and leaves him shaking.
“That's a good boy.” Natsume's praise travels up his spine almost like a second climax and leaves him choking on the too-much of his pleasure.
Tsumugi whimpers through the aftershocks, soaking in Natsume’s rare sweet words. It’s like he’s talking him down from a great height and grounding him. It is comforting. Healing. Tsumugi hasn’t not felt self-loathing and disgust after sex in a very long time. That there can be a different way to feel afterwards, he forgot.
“You doing okay?” Natsume asks softly.
“Yeah. That was- wow. Thanks, I think I did need that.”
Natsume laughs. It is a sparkling and pleasant thing, not his teasing tittering. It will probably be on repeat in Tsumugi’s mind for days to come. “I should go. It’s about to be that time.”
“Yeah it is, isn’t it. Hope the rest of your night goes well. Talk to you soon.”
“Sure, sure. Get some rest. I know you desperately need it.”
The line disconnects. Tsumugi balances his phone on the couch arm and reaches for tissues on the coffee table to clean himself up. He’s too tired to shower. Natsume is right - he’s exhausted like always. Sleeping with Eichi was not restful even when he was trying to actually sleep. He changes out of his jeans, puts on new underwear, and crawls into bed just like that. For the first time in a long while, sleep comes easy and he makes it through the night without a disturbing wakeful hour of existential dread.