Something has to give. I'm laying here, staring up at the ceiling, and the only thing I can think is that what's going to give is going to be me. Giving up... giving in. Just giving, really. It's like an addiction, destroying me from the inside out, and every time I think of Sakae with someone else, I want to stalk down the hall, throw open his door and lay claim. But he isn't mine, however much I want him to be, and no matter how often I envision that slender form under mine, face twisted with desperate pleasure, it's never real.
I groan, scrubbing at my face with one hand as the fantasy I'd meant to only lightly touch upon hits my brain full-force. It's been shifting of late, and this time is no exception. As one hand creeps down to my hip, lingering there while my mind works, I see him over me. At first, he's riding me, head thrown back and chest out. I can see it as though it were real. In my mind's eye, my hands climb up that flawless chest, lingering at dusky nipples to twist and pinch, until little gasps of pain and pleasure spill from his lips. But that voice is changing, deepening slightly. I gasp, catching his arm and pulling him down, and for a moment, it's Kazuki staring back at me, his lips on mine. As soon as the sight registers, it's gone, and I'm scrambling up from the bed to pace to the window.
What's wrong with me? Is it just frustration? A simple need to deal with the temptation of the boy living with me? Or is the shifting fantasy something more, some deeper meaning in my psyche that's echoing Kazuki's darker thoughts. Is Sakae playing with us both? I don't know. All I know is that the thought of touching my archrival has some strange appeal that I can't completely ignore. Before that train of thoughts finishes, I've reached out, fingers curling around my phone. I know Kazuki's number, had to program it into my phone in case there were issues with Sakae. But now, I dial it for a different reason. I wait until he picks up, and slowly, I slide my hand to my crotch, stroking there lightly through the fabric. "Kazuki..." The word is whispered into the phone and I can almost hear him freeze up.
"Where are you?" he demands of me, and I just laugh more, the sound horribly strained. He falls silent at that, and for a few moments, all that can be heard is the two of us breathing, one over the phone and one on the other end. When my thoughts finally organize themselves, I almost blanch. But... if nothing else, this could be considered stress relief, right? A few moments' respite from the world around us?
"Wh-what are you wearing, Kazuki?" I manage, in a deep, husky voice. That's how these phone calls start, after all. I hear him catch his breath, and the lingering silence makes me wonder. Why isn't he just hanging up? What is it that's keeping him on the line? Now that he has my blessings with Sakae... what's next?
"Boxers," he says, and I freeze, eyes wide and staring blankly at that small crack in my ceiling. What? "You caught me just out of the shower." There's a faint embarrassment in his voice, as though he's admitting to something horribly dirty, and in my mind, I can see the way those tanned cheeks are coloring pink.
"Still wet?" I ask, when the pause has stretched out between us until I'm overly aware of the way his breath sounds on the phone. At my question, there's a hiss of indrawn breath, and a soft, barely-heard 'oof' that tells me he sat down hard. He's still not hanging up... "I bet your hair is dripping down onto your back, isn't it?"
"Yeah," he whispers, and even with that concealing tone, I can hear the strain. Could it be that he's as bad off as I am?
My hand slips down, flicking open my pants as I continue to talk to him. "Pull some around over your shoulder. Let the drops fall along your chest instead," I direct, my eyes now closed as I envision it in my head. My hand has moved up now that the immediate pressure is released, and is making short work of the button-up I'm wearing. "Is it cold?"
"Cool, yeah," he murmurs, his breath hitching slightly. Is he touching himself yet? Maybe trailing blunt fingernails over his chest, or stroking himself. Whatever he's doing, he sounds utterly delicious, and for a moment, thoughts of Sakae are finally eradicated from my mind.
"Get out of your boxers. I want to see you," I direct, and now my fingers are squeezing my own nipples, rolling them as I pretend it's Kazuki's mouth on them. One hand lifts, and I pause in my speech for a moment to wet a single finger before stroking it over one nipple. When the air hits a moment later, turning the moisture cool, it hardens into a little pebble.
"See?" he questions softly.
"My fantasy, my rules," I tell him, wondering if he'll hang up now. I wait for it, my hand sliding down to stroke at my cock once more. It's odd. I thought I hated him, but now, hearing him like this... I want to know how he sounds when he comes, when every drop of pleasure is being wrung from his willing body.
"Do you like what you see?" he asks finally, and I freeze, a shuddery breath the only thing I can manage. It takes a moment before my throat can open enough for words again.
"Yes. Gods, Kazuki," I manage, and hear a shaky, shuddering breath in return. It could be pleasure, but knowing what has gone on between us until now... "Why are you crying?" I try to put all the gentleness I can manage into that question, while my hand is stroking madly.
"It's nothing," he manages, and that small answer admits that he is crying to me. Why do I suddenly want to drop the phone, get his address and go to him? Aren't I the one pulling strings here? "Why are you doing this to me?" he finally asks, and I pause there, knowing inwardly that if I give an answer that's even slightly false, this is the end. His breath hitches again, and my arms feel incredibly empty now, useless weights at hung from my shoulders. Why can't I put aside my fear and go comfort him?
"Because...," I start, and then I'm just laying there, cock half-hard and forgotten and soul aching for him. He sounded so lost, so utterly alone. And the only reason I can think of... the only thing that makes perfect sense to my soul, if not my mind is, "Because I need you." But that's too close. It's too much bared to him, too dangerous a place to consider, and before he can reply, I've hung up the phone. I drop it to the bed beside me, staring up at the ceiling as tears slide down the side of my face from my eyes, tickling my ears. And I listen as the phone rings.