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“Too much?”

“No.” He sighed. “Just miss you. Not fair that you get to say things like that when you’re a million miles away.”

“I’m sure you’ll prove me right in Brooklyn,” Henri said. He looked forward to it so, so very much.

“Hell yeah, I will. Suck you off and⁠—”

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“Don’t you want to fuck me?”

Dylan’s eyes flew open. “What?” His voice wobbled.

“Your mouth is so good,” Henri continued, “but I want your cock. Don’t you want to fuck me, Dylan? Aren’t you tired of me coming down your throat when you could be coming inside me?”

His expression was unreadable as Dylan stared at the screen, which might’ve made Henri nervous if not for Dylan’s eyes. There was only a faint ring of blue around the edge.

“Could I?” he whispered, so faint Henri might have imagined it.

“You can do anything to me you want,” Henri said. Did Dylan really not know how much Henri craved his touch? If all that was in their future was more warm mouths and strong hands, Henri was still on board. He’d never been so physically satisfied in a relationship before. But greedily, he wanted more. He wanted all of Dylan.

He desperately wanted the other man to bend him in half, hold him down, and fuck him with wanton abandon.

“You don’t mean that,” Dylan said. He bit his bottom lip and looked so uncertain. Like this was a test, and he was terrified to fail. “I don’t ne⁠—”

“Do you want to fuck me?” Henri interrupted. “If you want to, you can. If you don’t…” He shrugged. “You do have a very good mouth.”

“I…” He hesitated again. Then his gaze ran down Henri’s chest to where his hand disappeared just out of view, though there was no denying what he was doing. How hard and quick he was working himself over. How tightly his stomach muscles were clenched in an effort to stave off his orgasm. “Are you jerking off to the idea of me fucking you?”

“Dylan,” he said seriously, even though it was hard to speak evenly. “I have been jerking myself off to the idea of your dick inside me for years.”

The sound Dylan made was filthy. Needy and desperate, so thoroughly undone. “I want to fuck you,” he confessed, the words seemingly ripped from his chest. “Henri, please. I want to fuck you.”

“Yes. Next time. Next time I see you. When—” Henri hissed as his orgasm overtook him, sense and reason gone as his vision blotted out. He briefly, genuinely felt Dylan’s body pressed close to his, whispering in his ear how good he was, how much he missed him. When he found his way back to the world, he found the words were all true, but there was a void where Dylan should be.

“Tu me manques,” he said.

“What’s that, Hen? English, please. The French is cute, but I feel like you wanted me to understand that.”

Henri picked up his phone and held it close. Stroked a finger over Dylan’s slightly pixelated face. “I miss you,” he said again (hopefully in English) and poured as much feeling into the words as he dared.