Nervous

Pairing: Connor/Greenly
Rating: R-ish.
Warnings: m/m slash, not beta'd. Bad me.
Disclaimer: C&G belong to Troy Duffy, not me. I'm just playing with them in a non-threatening manner.
Summary: Connor's nervous about phoning him.

Nervous


I don't know what I'm saying
I don't know if you're there
["Porcelain" by Better Than Ezra]


"Y'comin'?" Murphy asks me, pulling on his gloves.

"I... Aye, later."

He just raises a brow at me and grabs a scarf because it's fuckin' cold out there tonight. "Right. Later. How much later?"

"Just fuckin' later, alright?" I growl. "I said I'll be along, and I will. I've just got somethin' to take care of first."

He starts to grumble, fastening the scarf tight around his neck. "Christ, Conn, if y'just wanted a wank, say so. I'm gone, alright? Out of your hair."

I try to say I'm sorry, didn't mean to snap at him, but he's already slamming the door behind him.

And fuck, but he's right. Sort of, anyway. I mean, I do want to... Just not alone.

I pull the scrap of paper from my back pocket and look at the number, then at the phone. I can do this, I want to do this, Christ my palms are sweaty, what if he's not even there? What if he's asleep? What if he's already...

Oh, God. I shift around, trying to get comfy. Fucking pointless, until I realize what's nagging at the back of my mind. I rectify that little problem by jamming a chair underneath the door knob. I doubt Murph'll come back any time soon, but if he does... Okay, maybe I need some beer or something. I take a can from the fridge and pop it open, then sit back down again. Pick up the phone. Listen to the dial tone for a couple of seconds and hang up.

What the fuck is wrong with me? It can't be that difficult. It's just talking, isn't it? And it's not like we'll be talking much. Fuck, Connor, just pick up the phone and fuckin' call him. I dial the number quickly, before I can talk myself out of it again. I listen to it ring. And ring, and ring. Then the answerphone kicks in. Shite.

I listen to his voice, because yeah. I'm feeling that fuckin' pathetic at the moment. I've about convinced myself that this is stupid when he picks up with a breathless "Hey."

Oh, fuck... What was he doing? I don't like the way I sound, choked, "It's me. Connor."

"Connor, hey. I was, uh, I was in the shower and I didn't hear the... The water, you know?"

"You were in the shower?" How fuckin' stupid do I sound?

"Yeah." He sounds faintly amused. "But it's okay."

"You're, ah... So, are you dressed?"

Definite amusement now, and I'm starting to wish I hadn't called.

"Not yet. Unless you count a towel as dressed. What's up, Connor?"

I put down my beer and lean back against the cushions, swap the phone to my other ear. "Nothin' is up. I wanted... I wanted you to. With me. Fuck, I mean..."

"Should I go sit on my bed, maybe?"

Christ. His voice has become something close to a sexy purr, and it makes my insides shiver. Or something, but... "Aye," I croak.

There's silence for a few moments, and then, "Okay. Now what?"

I laugh quietly, nervously. "You want to lose that towel?" He doesn't say anything, I imagine he's either looking at the phone thinking what the fuck? or he's unfastening the towel, pulling it out from beneath him, from under those solid thighs and... Jesus. I pop the button on my jeans loose, listening intently.

"Okay," he whispers again. "Are you...?"

I feel myself blushing, nodding as I pull down the zipper of my fly. Till I remember he can't see me. "Aye, just a sec." I cradle the phone between my jaw and shoulder, having to lift my hips to get my jeans and shorts off. I sit back down, the couch surprisingly cool on my skin. "What are you doin'?"

"Is there somethin' you want me to be doing?"

I swallow. "I... I want y'to. You know. An', an' think about me. About me bein' there, doin' it to you instead of y'own hand an'..." I gasp, wrapping my fingers around my own cock, look down for a second to see them there. "Oh, Jesus..."

"Mmm, Connor." Another low, lazy purr. "You're-"

"Yeah," I say, breathing out slowly. I search the recesses of my mind; dirty talk has never been a strong point of mine. Not when it comes to sex, anyway. "How," I begin. Stop, having to just squeeze a bit when I hear him groan. "How's it feel?"

"Feels fucking good," he replies, his voice starting to sound a little more strained.

"Tell me?" I bite my lip, trying not to stroke myself too hard, too fast. I want to hear him lose it, want to be coherent enough to listen. I wonder what he's thinking. Is he thinking of me? Should I ask him, or would that just sound too fuckin' weird? He's silent, I press the phone tight to my ear, desperate for some sound. Please don't stop now. "Hey, are-"

"I'm..." His breath hitches, and I imagine him skidding his thumb across the head of his cock. I squirm, rubbing my own thumb in slow circles. It's not fuckin' enough, but it's all I can take right now; anything more and I'll just want to finish it. Too soon, way too soon. I listen, waiting for him to go on. "Shit, Connor. I can feel you... Is that fucked up or what?"

"No, God, no. If I were there, I'd be down on my fuckin' knees for you. I love the way you taste, the way you look, the way your whole body just fuckin' trembles when you come..." I swallow again, almost bite my tongue. I don't know where the hell that came from, but it seems it worked because he moans, growling my name. My hand is shaking on my cock. Fuck. "You just... Abandon everythin' you know. An' I know I've not seen-" I have to stop, to hiss, because I can't breathe.

"Connor?" He whispers, soft and fuckin' intense and I just know, I know he can't breathe either.

"'m alright," I rumble, flexing my fingers.

"God, I bet you look so fucking good right now," he murmurs, the words rippling into my ear like feathers.

"I look a mess," I tell him, my usual argument when he tries to compliment me. It's half-hearted, though, because I'm starting to feel that drowsy prickling. Warmth at the base of my spine, spreading through nerves and veins and muscles and the fuckin' air. "I wish I was there... Fuck, I want to be there, fucking you..." My hips give a little jolt; a forewarning. My hand becomes his mouth, his whole fucking body, and he's here with me and I wonder if it feels the same for him.

All I can hear is his breathing; loud, erratic, punctuated by sighs and groans and ohfuckingoh, that's it, he's going to come and I'm almost there too, jesusfuckingchrist he grunts. I think I hear my name, listen to his muted cries because he doesn't scream or shout when he comes; he's too self-conscious or it's more to do with his body than his voice but it's him and it fuckin' gets me every time, makes my breath catch in my throat and my cock twitch. And that, that's enough, and I close my eyes, feel my mouth hanging open as I come, sticky warmth splattering my hand and thighs. A long, low moan. That's me.

.

My hips are still moving, shallow little thrusts in the aftermath of my orgasm. I scramble to bring the phon my my ear again, having dropped it at some point, and I listen to him. He's getting his breath back, slowly.

"That-"

"That was... Yeah." Another silence, and then he chuckles quietly. "Shit."

I grin. "Yeah?"

"Uh huh. Fuck. I, uh... I guess I should take another shower."

"Shit, I'm-"

"Don't say you're sorry. Connor?"

"Aye?"

"You, uh... You should come over. Later, tomorrow. Soon."

"That good?" I'm still grinning, pretty sure I'm going to be grinning for the rest of the night. "Okay. I'm going to go meet Murph for a pint, but... Later."

"Thanks. I... I'll see ya."

"Aye, y'will."

"'Bye, Connor."

I listen to the movement of him hanging up, don't put the phone down until I hear the dial tone.

Later.

END