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Boredom is a disease.
Silvester catches it a lot, because his brain runs on nocturnal and his body runs on nothing, so when he’s alone he’s often just rotting in bed. He tries to fill the time with useless fantasies, but they gradually gain terrible wear-and-tear, leaving him with an empty room.
It was bad in Lithuania before, because the room would stay empty and his flat would stay locked. But now that he has somebody to talk to he doesn't feel so alone.
Right now he’s in Lithuania and Kyle is in Norway, and he’s starting to miss him quite a lot. In all honesty he’s missed him the whole time, but today is thanksgiving and it’s making him sentimental just by proxy. Obviously he wasn’t there for the meal, he just ordered some food for himself to eat and he had Kyle on FaceTime while he ate the feast that he and his stupid dumbass idiot friend made. Kyle got all sappy and sobby about the fact that Silvester wasn’t there with him, and Silvester deflected all attempts at affection but he is feeling the loneliness now that he’s hung up.
Kyle is going to call him back soon, after he's cleaned up, but Silvester is just waiting in the meantime. His clean up job of chucking the rubbish in the bin took all of five seconds and now he’s rattling around in his home. It feels much bigger than usual.
Tired of moping through the silent corridors, Silvester naturally gravitates towards his bedroom.
Silvester just stands in the doorway for a moment, saddened by its emptiness. He manages to dredge himself up pretty easily, though, because Kyle’s going to call him soon enough and then they can sleep-call, and Silvester gets to have him all to himself and he doesn’t have to share him, not with the world or any stupid idiot friends.
Silvester isn’t jealous of his friends. He knows that he’s better and smarter and funnier. Sometimes he just… worries that Kyle doesn’t know that. But he’ll get over it when he calls, he always does, insecurity creeps up on him when he’s alone but Kyle always smacks it away without question or hesitation.
Stepping into the room, Silvester flicks on the light and peers around. There’s still a tangible mess; clothes slung over chairs, empty drink bottles, an unmade bed. He could pretend that Kyle was about to wander in just behind him, talking about his usual nonsense.
Silvester closes his eyes, takes a deep breath to heave the scent of decadent perfume and stale sunshine into his lungs. It smells like Kyle, sweet and cute and sinfully beautiful. The humidity melts him into a puddle so he freezes himself with a fan and cold showers that Silvester laments. New clothes bought on a whim and expensive food that they compete over not paying for, each of them secretly celebrating when they lose. Kyle buys Silvester gifts that are precious and thoughtful and rare, while Silvester snatches up trinkets and snacks and anything that reminds him of his partner, presenting them with feigned flippancy. Silvester cooks meals that feel like safety hazards on many different levels but always end up tasting amazing, and Kyle sits on the counter and entertains him with conversation and kisses.
Silvester misses him so much, his time here.
It’s a terrible ache, sitting inside his skull and behind his sternum, throbbing constantly with the persistent beat of his heart. His only reassurance is that Kyle is feeling the same pulsing pain, the red thread connecting them tugged taut by the distance, yanking at them in a futile attempt to drag them back together already.
Wanting to shake off the melancholy of the empty bedroom, Silvester crosses through to the bathroom. He may as well go through his bedtime routine before they sleep call, that way he can focus all his attention on his partner when he finally has him all to himself.
He likes thinking about the fact that they’re partners. It makes him feel warm and cozy and special.
Silvester pokes around at the items scattered over the sink counter. It’s a mishmash of soap and deodorant and random clutter. There’s a bottle of Silvester’s face wash, which fills him with bright, bubbly warmth, but he ignores it in favour of the brand that Kyle uses. He picks the bottle up, imagining Kyle doing the same, and just holds it for a moment before setting it down on the edge of the countertop. He finds the other items Kyle uses, all that Silvester can specifically recall, and sets them up in a line. Soap, moisturiser, cream, deodorant, cologne.
He uses each of them in turn, slow and careful, savouring the familiar scents and the gentle texture on his rough skin. Usually Kyle is the one to coax him into the shower, both of them knowing that the shared nudity will almost certainly lead to heavy touches and coursing pleasure. But Silvester is alone right now and he’s feeling the weight of it all at once. It’s crushing. The filth he felt clinging to his skin is scrubbed away, but there’s dirt layered underneath the surface that he can’t get rid of by himself.
He dries his face off with a towelt that was discarded on the rack, dabbing the fabric over his damp skin and then pressing his face into the fabric. It has faded, but Kyle’s scent is still faintly lingering, even the small hint of it overwhelming to Silvester: cologne and that heady sweetness drifting heavily underneath the rest of it, tangled and tantalising.
Rubbing his nose into the towel is entirely counterintuitive given that he’s trying to wash his face or whatever, but Silvester really doesn’t care. He’ll shower it’ll be fine. The goal isn’t really cleanliness so much as closeness. He can imagine Kyle going through the same process on the other side of Europe, rubbing sweet-smelling foam into his skin, rushing through the routine so he can talk to Silvester sooner.
It’s a sweet thought, and it fills Silvester with a bittersweet sadness. He loves being back in Lithuania, it’s fun and lively and he feels very productive even if technically speaking he’s not really doing that much more than he would in England, he just wishes Kyle could be here too. He wishes Kyle was just with him all of the time, it would make everything so much better. He’d always have someone to bicker with and bite and kiss and cuddle and argue with and talk to and love.
He shakes off the useless fantasising, focusing on the present and the near future, when he gets to call Kyle and fall asleep. He smears too much moisturiser over his face, and then peers at his face in the mirror searching for spots he could dab the cream onto, but he can’t find any so he just sprays deodorant and cologne over himself to compromise.
He breathes in deeply, eyes closed so the scents swell in the velvety darkness. Again, he can feel Kyle’s presence like a shadow, always so close and yet impossibly, achingly distant.
He blinks his eyes open, feeling dazed, and quickly busies himself with grabbing Kyle’s toothbrush. It’s an electric one, similar to Silvester’s but not quite the same.
Kyle's really left everything and Silvester can't help, but thank him for that.
He tucks it into his mouth, closing his lips around the smooth plastic as the bristles tickle his tongue. He just sucks on it for a second, imagining soaking up all of Kyle’s spit that lingered on the brush. Opening his mouth slightly, he presses the button to turn it on and makes a steady cycle around all his teeth. The lack of toothpaste makes it taste strange, kind of stale and sour, and the scrape on his gums feels like it’s shuddering through his skull down his spine.
It’s weirdly good though, making a thick heat stir in his lower stomach. He sits in the feeling for a moment as he carefully brushes, switching the brush off once he’s made thorough a pass over each and every tooth. Then, he squeezes a dollop of toothpaste onto the bristles, and goes back to brushing.
His phone buzzes in his pocket just a few moments later. He startles, then fumbles eagerly to grab his phone from his pocket and accept the call. Kyle starts talking as soon as it connects, but it’s a mere mumble under the buzz of the toothbrush. Silvester grins, foam nearly dripping out of his mouth, laughing as best as he can at the way Kyle tries to shout over the din.
Although it hasn’t quite been two minutes yet, Silvester really doesn’t care. He turns the brush off, spitting and swishing water around his mouth and rinsing the brush as Kyle rambles on, playfully annoyed.
“… that was actually stupid loud, right next to my ear, you’re literally terrible Silvester, I hope you know that! I’m just trying to be nice and call my boyfriend to tell him all about how thankful I am for him, and —”
“I was literally just brushing my teeth,” Silvester cuts him off. “Would you rather all my teeth rotted and fell out?”
“Yes,” Kyle retorts, and then they cut right to the chase. “I miss you a lot, will you please come visit me soon? I'm starting to miss you too much.”
“Well, too bad, I don’t miss you,” Silvester blatantly lies. The words are sticky and sour and awful to say but he can’t quite figure out how to take them back without sounding pathetic.
“Yeah you do,” Kyle responds easily, quiet and gentle. His voice is low and rough, softened by a full day of doing absolutely nothing seeping into the sleepy darkness of night.
Silvester has to chew the inside of his lip, pacing the floor a couple of times to contain himself before flopping on to the bed.
He feels like a girl from the 80s, twirling a twisty phone call around his finger as he lays stomach down on a soft bed in a room drowning in pink fluff. He’s all cartoon heart eyes and stars-and-planets dizziness. Kyle makes him so stupid. All sentimental and squishy and soft and sappy.
“Kyle,” Silvester drawls, hoping his voice accent drowns out the fluttery beating of his heart, and the excitement currently buzzing behind his teeth.
“Silvie,” Kyle replies, not trying as hard with hiding their feelings. “My dear. My darling. My baby.”
“You’re my darling,” Silvester corrects. “My pretty little darling.”
“Whatever makes you feel better,” Kyle relents cheekily. So he doesn't want to bicker either, that’s good, Silvester feels like an overripe peach, delicate and already bruised. The marks he let Kyle bite into his thighs and chest and hips the night before he left are faded into an ugly yellow that he can barely even see. It’s awful.
“Nothing could make me feel better,” Silvester says morosely, overly dramatic but still definitely true.
“Aw, honey,” Kyle coos, all soft and cutesy, tender yet teasing. “I miss you too.”
“I wasn’t finished,” Silvester deadpans. “Before I was so rudely interrupted I was going to say nothing could make me feel better besides throatfucking my best and most favourite toy.”
Kyle makes a happy humming noise, and dreamily says, “I’m your best and most favourite, that’s so cool. I love you too.”
“You’re being annoying,” Silvester says, rolling his eyes. Even though Kyle can’t see it, Silvester knows for sure that he can hear it.
Just like how Silvester can hear Kyle’s smug grin as they point out, “You love me anyway.”
Silvester just huffs. He doesn’t want to say back, not right now, he’s worried uttering the words aloud will lead to him doing something stupid like crying. He takes an easier option by saying, “I wish I could’ve had some of the food you made. My sushi was really mid.”
“That’s not what you were saying when you were eating it, Silvie. I seem to recall a certain somebody trash-talking my delectable feast and moaning around every other bite of his own meal.”
“That's not what your mother was saying when I was eating her,” Silvester retorts.
Kyle laughs brightly, and Silvester can’t help but join in. The sound is tinny and their giggles don’t quite meld together as melodiously as they do in person but it still fills the room with a softness that settles gently over him, relaxing the tension in his body.
They lapse gradually into silence, soft breaths travelling through the phone. Silvester closes his eyes, trying desperately to smooth out the sound in his head so it feels like Kile is right beside him, but it doesn’t quite work.
“Our room is messy,” he remarks, wanting a distraction.
“So is mine back home,” Kyle says, his smile obvious.
Taking the competition gladly, Silvester continues, “You forgot to take the hoodie you were wearing on your last day here. It’s comfy though, I’m kind of glad you left it.”
“The one you fucked me in?” Kyle laughs, sounding terribly endeared. “I’m wearing the red sweater that you stole from me.”
“Are you wearing boxers?”
“Yup.”
“Lame. Boring, even. Now you’re going to have to waste time taking them off.”
“I think I’ll manage,” Kyle says. “Do you want me to take them off?”
“Hmm, not yet,” Silvester says musingly. “Which boxers are they?”
“Are you seriously doing the whole ‘hey babygirl what are you wearing?’ thing?” Kyle laughs.
“I guess you can be my babygirl if you want it so badly,” Silvester shrugs. The room is starting to feel warmer, a pleasant soft warmth compared to the heavy heat he’s been dealing with lately. He traces his fingertips idly over the tops of his thighs, shivering at the barelythere sensation.
“They’re blue,” Kyle says. His voice is soft and warm as well, the tone of the call shifting slowly, like chocolate melting in a pan. “Almost too small but not quite. The ones with the waistband you like snapping.”
Silvester hums in acknowledgement. “Pretty. Are you like all ready for bed?”
“Why, do you want me to roll over and go to sleep?”
“No, I want you to roll over and grab the lube from the bedside drawer,” Silvester snips back.
“Already done, Silvie,” Kyle says. Their grin is so wide his cheeks must be all squished up and their eyes crinkled almost shut. Silvester wishes he could see it, real and alive and in person.
“Don’t call me that right now,” Silvester murmurs. “I want to hear you say my name.”
“Okay,” Kyle agrees easily. “Can I take my boxers off, Silvester?”
“Not yet. You wanna just have one tonight or do you wanna go for more?”
“I think I’ve got a couple in me,” Kyle says eagerly. He's a quickshot, but makes up for it by being able to bounce back incredibly fast. On their intense nights Silvester can wring a few orgasms out of him before he even fucks him to chase his own.
“Alright, slut, calm your tits,” Silvester laughs, as if he’s not frothing at the mouth with excitement himself. His hand has come to rest on his hip, thumb absentmindedly stroking the sensitive skin at the crease of his leg. “You’re gonna come in your pretty blue panties for me, okay? But you can’t actually touch yourself yet. I want you to stick a pillow between your legs and rut against it.”
“Okay,” Kyle says, already breathless, voice soft and raspy over the phone. There’s loud rustling noises that make Silvester scrunch his nose up in distaste, but soon enough Kyle settles himself into relative silence, before breaking it, “I’m starting.”
“You’re supposed to ask,” Silvester huffs, but he’s not in the mood for proper discipline right now. He just takes a mental note of it so he can punish him for it later.
Kyle’s soft moans and whimpers fill the room. Silvester wishes so badly that he could see him, watch his desperation and hear all his filthy whines in real time.
He closes his eyes, fingertips tracing over his stomach and thighs, poking and prodding at the fading bruises left by Kyle’s lips and teeth. He wishes the pain was more distinct, something to focus on to distract himself from the abstract loneliness scuttling around in the back of his mind.
“Does it feel good, darling?” Silvester asks, teasing and tender in equal increments.
“Yeah,” Kyle whimpers. “Feels — feels good. Thank you.”
“Good manners,” Silvester says, shifting so he can shove the hoodie up, exposing his stomach. Goosebumps prickle up as he strokes softly over the sensitive skin surrounding the place he most wants to touch himself; tracing across his lower stomach, digging his fingernails into the marks ornamenting his hips, caressing his upper thighs and drifting gradually from the outside to the more delicate skin inside. His breath catches in his throat, fingers trembling with the temptation to just give in and wrap his fingers around his cock, which is half-hard and twitching with need.
Kyle’s soft sounds echo through his head, sickly sweet like candy, sticking to his teeth and coating his tongue with shattered sugar. It’s mostly wordless whimpers, but every so often he lets out a broken cry of Silvester or please that sends hot pleasure sweeping through Silvester’s body.
He’s drowning in Kyle’s scent, heady perfume and sweetness and lust filling his head with dizzy desperation. Still, he refrains from giving himself the pleasure he desires. His fingertips brush over his cock, which he wraps gentle fingers around, stroking a slow fist down the length to coax it to full hardness before letting it fall back against his stomach.
A shiver racks through his as his cock jerks in protest, straining for more touch. He takes a shaky breath to steady himself, smiling as Kyle’s whines become louder and more desperate, a clear sign that he’s nearing his peak.
Ignoring his own desire, Silvester puts his focus on Kyle instead, distracting himself from the need pulsing through him and pooling in his lower belly.
“Are you getting close, baby?” he asks.
“Mhm, mhm,” Kyle moans. “Please, Silvester.”
“Please what, darling? You have to use your words, remember. You can’t just give me vague demands and expect me to read your mind.”
“I wanna cum,” Kyle says, sounding pathetic and miserable, voice broken up by pitiful whines and shuddering gasps for air. “Please Silvester I need to cum, I need it so bad, please.”
“I decide what you need, Kyle, don’t forget that,” Silvester chides, more gently than he usually would. They’re both too raw and achy for the back-and-forth meanness that they’re accustomed to.
“I know,” Kyle whimpers. “Please, Silvester, I love you, please, I’m so close, I’m being good.”
“You’re being very good,” Silvester assures them, tracing a single finger up the length of his own cock as he continues. “You’re so sweet, aren’t you. Alright, darling, you can cum. Cum for me, there’s my good boy.”
Kyle's cries out, sheets rustling and distorting the sound somewhat as he frantically grinds against the pillow. Silvester can imagine his flushed cheeks, face shiny with sweat, eyes hazy but bright, a loopy smile of pleasure gracing his pretty face. The fabric of the blue boxers must be darkened with the thick dribble of precum that Kyle always has, as well as the cum currently bursting from him.
Silvester wishes he was there so he could peel them off, press his face into the mess and lick the boxers clean while his boy writhed and pleaded for more pleasure, to be touched and teased through another orgasm. Silvester would lap over the stickiness coating his crotch, never giving quite enough stimulation for Kyle to cum, not unless he begged and moaned and sobbed for it.
Kyle’s broken moans are suddenly tragically muted, as if he’s pressed his face into a pillow, or maybe even sunk his teeth into one in his frenzy.
“Naughty,” Silvester scolds. “I want to hear your pretty moans, don’t muffle them.”
“S’rry,” Kyle mumbles. “’m sorry.”
“Shh, it’s okay, I know,” Silvester reassures him. “You’re gonna be good from now on, right? You’re gonna let me hear you moan like the lovely darling you are?”
“Y’h,” Kyle murmurs. “I’m good. I’m your good boy?”
“You’re my good boy,” Silvester says, soft and clear and true. The tremble in Kyle’s voice tugs at the ache in his chest, wobbling through the thread connecting them like the vibrations in a spider's web. “Perfect for me. I love you so much. You wanna cum for me again? You deserve it, darling.”
“Yes please,” Kyle says sweetly. He's pretty deep in it, it sounds like, or maybe he's just decided not to brat as much as usual because he's feeling the same tenderness that Silvester is. Either way Silvester decides to drop any kind of mean act; he just wants his partner to feel happy and loved and cared for.
“Alright, baby, you can take off your boxers now if you want.”
“Thank you,” Kyle says, sheets sighing as they slip them off. Silvester waits for him to be still again, murmuring mindless praise in the meantime.
“You have the lube, right, darling? Do you wanna finger yourself?”
“Yeah,” Kyle whispers. “Can I?”
“Of course. You can do whatever you like, okay? You just have to wait until I tell you to cum. Does that sound okay?”
“You’re being nice,” Kyle points out.
“I know,” Silvester whispers, voice suddenly rough and ragged. “Do you want — I can be mean if you want me to be. I’m just — lonely without you. I always am.”
“I like it when you’re nice,” Kyle says, just as softly. “It makes me feel special.”
“You are special,” Silvester murmurs. It sounds stupid and tacky but he truly means it, and he hopes Kyle knows that.
Kyle hums happily. “I love you.”
“You’re being too sweet, we’re supposed to be being horny right now.”
“We can be sweet and horny at the same time,” Kyle points out with a small laugh. Silvester hears him shifting around again, presumably searching for the bottle of lube.
“I guess,” Silvester says, prodding at a particularly nasty bruise lingering on his chest. The pain lances through him in a rush of heat and he has to bite back a moan.
“Okay,” Kyle mutters to himself.
“Okay,” Silvester mimics them teasingly.
“Shut the fuck up,” Kyle bites back.
“You need to stick some fingers in your slutty mouth, baby boy,” Silvester says, voice stupidly soft despite the harsh words.
“You told me off for doing that before,” Kyle grumbles.
Silvester’s chest shudders with a hitched breath as he recalls Kyle’s muffled moans from before; the image of the soft sound dribbling out around spit-slick fingers makes his stomach twist with heat.
“When I come to visit you, you can suck on my fingers, how about that,” Silvester suggests.
“But I wanna suck your dick when you come here,” Kyle protests, sounding truly mournful.
“There’s plenty of hours in the day, my dear,” Silvester soothes him.
“Yay,” Kyle cheers, very soft and very cute and it sends a pang through Silvester’s chest, like someone has pulled and snapped the rubber bands of his heartstrings.
A quiet moan drifts through the air, soft and slow and dripping like sweet syrup.
“Tell me what you’re doing,” Silvester demands, in a whisper so fragile it sounds like silk sheets.
“I’m — I have two fingers in, I’m just trying to — trying to… Silvester,” Kyle breaks off into a whine.
“Straight to two? I’ve trained you well, good boy,” Silvester teases. His head is alight with images of Kyle writhing on the bed, frantically fucking himself on his fingers, always greedy for more despite the thick cum already making a mess of him.
“Please, Silvester, ahh… please.”
“Please what, baby?” Silvester murmurs. He brushes his forefinger and thumb over his foreskin, gently pinching the velvety skin and idly playing with it while he waits for Kyle to gather his thoughts amid soft whimpers.
“Your fingers are just better,” Kyle mutters eventually, sounding reluctant to admit it. “It’s, like, hard when I’m by myself.”
“I mean I would certainly hope that you’re hard,” Silvester jokes. “I know I’m better, baby, but you just have to make do in the meantime. I’ll fuck you up when I come there, don’t you worry.”
“I don’t want you to fuck me up,” Kyle whines. “I wan’ you to — I wanna be good.”
“They’re the same thing, darling. Either I’ll fuck you up because you’ve been good for me or I’ll fuck you up because you’ve been bad. And either way you’ll love it.”
“Mhm,” Kyle hums distractedly, the affirmation dripping into a low moan. “I love you.”
“You’re so cute,” Silvester whispers. The gentle teasing he’s been giving himself suddenly feels like torture, need igniting under his skin and burning through him like a wildfire, desperate to devour him.
Fuelling the flames, Silvester curls his fingers around his cock, stroking it gently. He rubs his thumb over the head of his cock, dragging it through the droplet of precum oozing out of the slit. He brings it to his lips and licks over the pad of his thumb, savouring the faint heady taste.
He trails his fingers up his cock, hips rocking up as they try to chase the feeling. He finally gives in, properly wrapping his fingers around his aching cock and stroking it in earnest. Breathless moans fall from chewed lips as his hips grind up to meet the frantic drag of his fist.
Kyle’s whimpers drip through his head like gasoline, thickening the air with dark smoke and making it difficult to breathe. Silvester pants out rough groans, mixing with the bright moans that are melting Silvester’s core into red-hot glass.
Kyle has surely slipped another finger in, whimpering with a delicious mix of pleasure-pain as the struggles to find and keep the right angle to make bright heat spark through his whole body. He's shiny with sweat, Silvester can practically taste it, gleaming cheeks and bitten lips deep red with his blush cascading down his chest in soft pinks like flower petals, pretty and pristine.
“’m close,” Kyle whispers.
“Already, darling? I haven’t even cum once yet and you’re already tripping over your second?”
“Yeah,” Kyle mumbles mournfully. “Wanna be good. I’m — am I allowed to touch myself?”
“I think you’re already touching yourself quite vigorously, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, but I mean — I mean, um…”
“Um? Use your words, I’ve taught you good manners, come on. Just because I’m not there doesn’t mean you don’t have to be polite, darling,” Silvester chides. He knows what Kyle means, obviously, he just wants to hear him say it, wants to hear him ask for permission, beg and plead for Silvester to let him pleasure himself.
“I wanna touch my dick,” Kyle whispers shyly, like it’s a secret. Silvester can practically see the blush flaring up even brighter, the way he'd gaze at Silvester through his eyelashes, pretty eyes glistering like sunrise on a hazy morning. “Can I please touch my dick, Silvester? I need it so bad, it hurts, I wanna cum.”
A satisfying surge of possession twist through Silvester’s stomach; he owns Kyle, has his heart in a pretty box, under lock and key, and he keeps it safe and protected and unharmed. It’s his, Kyle is his, Silvester owns him, he’s claimed his perfect body with bites and bruises, he’s won his love with the light and shade of a chessboard, bitter and sweet and soft and harsh all braided together with deft fingers, real and rough and unequivocally true. And Silvester trusts Kyle with a tried-and-tested passion in return, his own heart is kept safe and steady, his own body is softened and strengthened with sharp bites and soft kisses.
Eyes fluttering shut as the pleasure burns through him, Silvester’s hand creeps from where it was idly caressing his chest to find a specific spot, the soft bruise that so enamoured him earlier, darkening the skin right over where his heart is tapping out a frantic rhythm.
“Alright, darling, you can touch your pretty little dick,” he murmurs. His own hips buck up into his fist, the friction not totally dissipated by the precum dribbling from the time. Kyle swears brokenly, crying out a bright moan. Both of them are shattered open with pleasure. Silvester digs his fingernail into the mark like he’s trying to reach in and rip out his own heart, mad with frenzied love. The pain shudders through him, resonating through the thread to tug at Kyle with the same addicting agony.
Silvester spills over his fingers, pumping his cock as he drags his orgasm out for as long as possible before the sandpaper sting of overstimulation scorches through his stomach. His cock twitches valiantly as he snatches his fingers away, cum dribbling onto his stomach.
He can feel his heartbeat throughout his whole body, shuddering rhythmically as he struggles to heave in fresh breaths. It’s intense, but more vibrant than violent, resonating through him like a deep bass noise in a huge, beautifully intricate cathedral. There is something holy about it, he thinks deliriously, pleasure and pain twisting together like snakes.
His first cohesive thought is to check in with Kyle. He can hear him panting roughly, small whimpers escaping him every so often.
“How are you feeling, baby?” he asks gently, quietly, not wanting to disturb the softness of the moment. Kyle just hums out a vague affirmative, and mumbles an almost incoherent Silvester.
“I’m here,” Silvester reassures them. His hand is sticky with cum and it’s quickly becoming a bad sensation so he hastily wipes it clean with some tissue. “I’m right here. I love you.”
Kyle cheers, happy yet muted, their exhaustion apparent.
“Love you too,” they mumbles. “So so much. You’re my favourite person and you’re so good to me and I wish you were here so I could hold you.”
Silvester finds it very hard to swallow all of the sudden, throat jammed with affection and appreciation he’s not fully sure how to process.
“I miss you,” he manages to say for the first time. “A lot. I’ll come visit soon, I promise. We’ll organise a few days off for you so we can just do nothing and hang out and I can cook you all your favourites and we can make smoothies and watch tv and play games.”
“Please,” Kyle murmurs, softer and sweet and more hopeful than any of the desperate pleas he spilled like sugar earlier.
“Okay,” Silvester whispers, so soft he barely hears it himself and it almost certainly isn’t picked up by the phone. He needs a gentle reset, needs to get them both cleaned up and cared for so he can crash out into bed and sleep. “Do you have any water, darling? Or do you need to go grab some?”
“I have water,” Kyle says. There’s a rustling noise, presumably him sitting up and getting the water. He doesn’t get out of bed so Silvester assumes it was on the nightstand.
He gets up himself, wobbling on unsteady legs to the table. Silvester grabs his water bottle before quickly hopping back onto the bed, where his phone rests on the pillow. He takes a steady gulp of cool, refreshing water, screwing the lid shut and setting it on the nightstand before laying down.
“Hi,” he whispers as he wriggles around, trying to get comfortable. The bed feels unreasonably massive when it’s just him in it.
“Hi,” Kyle mumbles.
“You sound tired,” Silvester murmurs. Kyle lets out a tiny noise of agreement so he continues, “Sleepy baby. Little idiot sleepy baby.”
“Shuddup. Don’t be mean to me, asshole,” Kyle grumbles. His voice is slightly muffled, like his face is half-buried in a pillow.
“I’m never mean to you,” Silvester argues, voice soft and sweet. He grabs one of the spare pillows and squishes it close to his chest, hugging it. It’s small and cold but it makes him feel a little bit better, especially when he presses his face into it and his head goes hazy with how much it smells like Kyle.
“You’re always mean to me,” Kyle murmurs. Silvester can hear him smiling.
“You like it though.”
“Mmm. I guess so. G’night. I love you.”
“Love you too.”