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As infrequent as business trips are, Dio knows that Vanilla gets lonely when he's gone. Intermittent texts are not uncommon, asking how he is, how he feels, reminding him that Vanilla loves him. Quite frankly, he finds this habit endearing; Vanilla's clingy brand of affection is a perfect match for Dio's constant attention cravings. They work together, as imperfect as they are.
It doesn't come as a surprise when he receives a few flirty texts. Dio likes these just as well as I love yous, if not more. But he's standing in the lobby of his hotel, and he has to shut his phone off until he reaches the elevator.
In what must have been a two minute timeframe, Vanilla has asked what he's wearing and sent a picture of his own outfit. Dio looks around the elevator as if he isn't completely alone, tapping on the attachment. The camera is set up somewhere, Vanilla sitting on their bed. He's wearing Dio's favorite sweater, a snug fitting burgundy one that comes down to Vanilla's hips, and light wash blue jeans. It takes a moment for Dio to recognize his favorite set of small hoops in Vanilla's ears.
He saves the photo, for safekeeping.
When he enters his room, fumbling with the keycard, he drops all of his things in a heap on the bed and heads into the bathroom. It's small, but the full body mirror bolted to the back of the door will have to do. He's sure Vanilla won't mind, as long as he pops the top buttons of his shirt.
He's right to have thought so.
Are you in your room?
Dio works the rest of his buttons with one hand, typing with his thumb. Yes.
Get comfortable is the only thing he receives for the next five minutes. Instead, Dio opens his suitcase on the floor and begins to unpack. The evening is coming on fast, and while he's got a good idea of what's to come, he wants to have some rest tonight.
His phone buzzes as he's plugging in his laptop. It's another photo, but Vanilla has abandoned his jeans. A black thong is barely visible under his sweater, but the white stockings are stark against his dark skin. Dio's mouth dries, staring at the curve of Vanilla's thighs. Suddenly he hates this trip and wants it to be over, wants to be home and able to grab and touch his boyfriend.
He tries to think of a reply, barely managing to spell out fuck. He can picture Vanilla's laugh, sweet and flattered.
That'd be nice Vanilla replies. Dio snorts, jumping on the bed and settling in.
Send another.
Vanilla must have been one step ahead of him. No sooner than he taps send does another photo appear. Dio chews on his lip. Vanilla was sitting on their bed with his legs underneath him, but now he's bent himself over. His ass is out just far enough for his bulge to show, sandwiched between his thighs, his torso twisted so he can give the camera a coy smile. The stockings come up to right underneath of his bulge. Dio finds the subtle bump of fat where they cut into his legs adorable, wishing he could run his fingers over it. He knows the stockings are soft and silky, for he was the one to buy them.
You're stunning. It hardly describes him, but Dio figures it will have to do.
Dio cannot reply faster when Vanilla asks him if he wants more. One more photo of Vanilla in the same position comes, except now he's pulled the thong aside and grips his ass cheek, spreading himself. Dio feels a pang of want rush through him, fixated on Vanilla's asshole, the dark brown skin clenched around a lavender plug.
The next comes before Dio can reply. Vanilla is on his back, legs spread, showing off his ass. The plug is gone, and so is the thong; he has a finger inside himself and his cock rests against his stomach. Dio's mouth has never watered over a simple lewd photo before.
He texts a quick, filthy message and a request for Vanilla to keep the stockings on, undoing his belt. If he stops texting him now, Dio will be unbelievably upset. He wants to call him, to hear his voice and his moans, but he resists the urge, more than happy with the pictures.
Dio grips himself through his pants, scanning over the last photo again and again. Finally, Vanilla sends a video.
He's switched positions again, laying on his side with his ass close to the camera. His thighs clench as he moves his finger in and out his hole, pressing in a second. Dio turns up the volume, not caring how thick or thin the walls may be, pleased to hear Vanilla panting as he fingers himself. His cheeks are tinged with red, undoubtedly from showing off. Dio does his best to undo his trousers with one hand, shoving them down his hips one at a time. The video is short, but there's certainly more to come.
As a response, he finds a decent angle and sends a photo back. He isn't completely hard, but Vanilla appreciates it enough to reply with how much he wants him.
Then comes question.
Should I use a toy?
Dio swallows. He tries to inventory in his head what they have, although it isn't exactly much. Thinking of how Vanilla looks using each one is enough to make his cock twitch, as he makes his decision.
The massager.
Their prostate massager — an unappealing name, Dio thinks, preferring to call it a vibrator — is Vanilla's favorite. Dio has rarely used it, since Vanilla is more than happy to have sex whenever and wherever, but he knows it's good.
While he waits, he scrolls back through the things Vanilla already sent, focusing in on the video. It's erotic, watching his fingers disappear inside himself, and the way he bites his lip is so adorable. Dio doesn't touch himself yet, only offering brushes of his hand, figuring he won't last very long no matter what Vanilla decides to send next.
It's a video. Dio almost drops his phone with how quickly and forcefully he taps to open and play it.
Vanilla starts off in the same position as before, with more fingering, quick and deep. Dio watches with perverse interest, feeling his face warm. How he wishes those were his fingers, and he could lean over Vanilla and kiss him and hear all his muffled sounds. By the time the toy comes in, Dio is ready to stop the video and just call him.
It's a sleek black thing, one end to go inside and one to sit on the outside. Dio can hear the subtle buzz when Vanilla switches it on, but it's quickly overshadowed by the breathy moan he makes. He readjusts his legs, spreading them apart, his head falling to the bed. As Vanilla's free hand cups his balls and squeezes gently, Dio mimics him, grunting.
Vanilla leaves the toy nestled in his ass. The hand on his balls stays, while the other strokes his shaft. His lips part, and Dio is filled even further with the urge to kiss him. He never thinks about how much he misses him on these trips, but it's impossible now to not recognize how desperate he is to be next to him now.
His pants quicken and grow to soft moans. Vanilla's ass tenses and then relaxes. The video ends. Dio feels cheated, the goddamn tease. He forces himself to close out of the player instead of replaying the video, calling Vanilla.
He picks up in no time.
"Hey, baby," Vanilla greets, but he sounds out of breath.
Dio doesn't waste time with pleasantries. "You're a tease," he accuses.
Vanilla chuckles. "I have to compensate for not being there," he says. More like manages, a quiet moan following right after his words. It sends a shock through Dio, and he begins to stroke himself.
"If you do more of that, you'll be just fine," Dio says. He closes his eyes, focusing on Vanilla's voice in his ear. "Tell me how you feel."
"I want you here," he says. His playful tone fades into a sincere one. "This doesn't feel nearly as good as you do, Dio."
"You'll have to be more specific," Dio says, a grin tugging at his mouth. "You know that I can't see you."
"The toy I'm," — a soft groan — "Fucking myself with for you," he says, emphasizing the swear. "I'd rather have you."
Dio hums. "How?"
"Your cock. I want you inside me."
It's always pleasant to hear Vanilla talk dirty, especially when it's mixed with all of the little noises he makes. Dio finds himself going quiet, listening to Vanilla's voice.
Instead of a reply, he commands, "Turn it up. I want to hear it."
"Dio—" Vanilla begins, but Dio cuts him off.
"You can take it, can't you?" He says. "If you can take me, you can take some little toy."
Dio knows it's vastly different, that the toy is vibrating right against Vanilla's most sensitive spot, that Dio only hits them for seconds at a time, but he needs to hear his overstimulated cries.
"Okay," Vanilla agrees. Not a second later, he can hear a faint buzz and his boyfriend inhaling sharply, letting out a groan. "Shit."
It goes right through Dio. "Feel better, love?"
"Yes," he breathes.
"How much better?"
"Not better than you," Vanilla says. His next words are needy and obviously an effort, low and rough enough to be a growl, "Fuck me."
"I wish I could," Dio promises. He presses his phone between his ear and shoulder, shoving his pants to his ankles.
Vanilla asks, "Are you getting off?"
"I'm about to finger myself," Dio says. He drops his voice to where he knows Vanilla likes it, the tone that he knows makes him shiver. "I'm going to fuck myself just listening to you."
Vanilla only offers a strained moan. As Dio does his best to make do with his spit, he teases his tip with his thumb to distract himself.
On the other end of the line, Vanilla's breathing is labored and interrupted by swears. Dio knows his own picks up as he slowly works the first finger in and out of himself. He thinks of how Vanilla's fingers looked, aching to go back and replay the video until he can't see straight.
They carry on this way, until Dio curls his fingers right and mutters, "Fuck."
It's a strain on his wrist, but he manages to keep massaging the spot. Vanilla showers him in praise from the phone, every word sending pleasant waves over Dio's body. With his eyes closed, it's easy to imagine his own fingers as Vanilla's, working him open for something far thicker and better.
From Vanilla comes a loud gasp, as the faint buzzing from the toy gets louder.
"I'm," — his voice cracks, music to Dio's ears — "Oh shit."
Dio smiles. "Come for me, love, you can do it," he encourages.
Vanilla goes quiet, and then a breathy moan of Dio fills Dio's ear. He bites his lip, feeling a tightness begin to pull together in his stomach. The sweat on his forehead is suddenly apparent to him, as he tugs faster at himself, Vanilla's lazy praises taking over his mind. He sounds so blissed out, Dio wishes he could have seen him come.
And then he realizes something that makes his fingers press deeper and harder.
"Did you— on my sweater?" Dio asks, panting.
Vanilla pauses. He can hear the embarrassment in his voice. "Oh God, I did," he says, rambling about how sorry he is, but Dio shushes him.
"Good," he manages through his grit teeth.
The mental image of a flushed and flustered Vanilla in his stained sweater and white stockings is enough to break Dio. He groans, fucking himself through his orgasm as his cock twitches, thinking of how perfect his boyfriend must look all those miles away.
He doesn't realize his hips are lifted until they fall onto the bed. His chest rises and falls as he takes deep breathes to ground himself again.
"You're disgusting," Vanilla chides.
Dio chuckles. "And that surprises you?"
"Do you want me to save your gross, cum stained shirt for you?" He asks. Dio can hear the rustle of him getting off the bed.
"No. Wash it."
"I will."
"...after you send a photo," Dio clarifies, a shit eating grin working its way onto his face. Vanilla makes a disgusted noise.
"You're the worst."
"That's why you love me."
"It is," Vanilla agrees. "I love you, by the way."
"I had no idea," Dio says, as he reaches over to the nightstand for a tissue. It's a stretch.
"Shut up," Vanilla says playfully. He sighs. "I'm tired now."
Despite that, they stay on the line while they both get ready for bed. Dio's phone rests beside him on the bed long after he passes out, Vanilla's soft snores cutting out when it dies some time during the night.