Work Text:
The last notes are warbly – untamed and disoriented. Ugh. It’s getting worse.
Akihiko sighs, dropping his violin and bow to his sides. It’s possible to over practice, or at least practice too long and late into the night that his focus and coordination take a dive. He tucks the instrument away neatly and rolls his neck, wincing at the pops and cracks.
He wasn’t aiming for an extensive practice session, but he didn’t exactly have Saturday night plans. How lame.
He wanders to his tiny kitchenette and brews himself shitty instant coffee. It’s bitter and a tad watery, but it’s good enough for his lacklustre evening. Haruki’s been spoiling him with high-quality coffee, so fancy and refined it makes everything else taste pathetic. Hm. Considering the depressing state of his apartment – his night was a bit pathetic.
He’d go see Haruki – drink the finest coffee brewed by pretty hands to stay up talking till they inevitably fall asleep or make out. Then his evening would have some life to it. But he can’t, because his boyfriend is too helpful of a son and drove all the way to Miyagi to help his parents with house maintenance – for the entire weekend. So no, his evening would remain uninspired and he’d drink muddy coffee.
He gulps down the gunk like it's medicine and abandons the mug in the sink.
He flops onto his bed – immediately tangled in the sheets, having not made the bed this morning, or yesterday morning. He eyes his tiny apartment. Noting that the askew coffee table is covered in disorganized sheet music, but only what wasn’t scattered on the floor. That the dishes were piling up. That his laundry was beginning to flow out of the basket. He sighs loudly. Maybe he should tidy the place – then at least when Haruki was back home he’d have a nicer time existing in Akihiko’s space again.
Hm, yes. That would be a productive evening.
He scrolls on his phone instead. Another pathetic activity for his pathetic evening. He briefly considers texting one of the kids – but they were teenagers and it was too close to curfew, and more importantly, Akihiko didn’t want to be the lamest twenty-one year old to ever exist. Ugh. He had a hot boyfriend! He should be with him.
Maybe he should have asked to tag along on Haruki’s trip home. It may have been fun. He’s young and strong, and could put himself to work – Haruki’s parents would probably appreciated the extra pair of hands. It would’ve been fun to sneak a peek at Haruki’s childhood bedroom too, and innocently snoop for High School pictures of a probably too cute teenage Haruki in uniform. He chuckles at the thought.
That option wasn’t explicitly on the table. Haruki’s parents knew about Akihiko – making comments about his pictures thrown into their family group chat. All positive, thankfully. But he’d never officially “met the parents”. He doesn’t think there is any particular reason why. They could chalk it up to the simple fact that they are busy and Miyagi is a substantial drive, but Akihiko thinks Haruki needs more time to mentally prepare for his family to smother them with invasive questions about their relationship. Akihiko thinks it's sweet – not having particularly involved parents of his own – but he'll cut Haruki some slack.
His evening takes a grim turn – his fingers and exceptionally bored brain deciding that cleaning out old folders and files on his phone to make storage space is a thrilling activity. So lame!
Cleaning out audio files was the worst. He never had the foresight to name undesirable takes and would resort to listening to segments of short poor performance clips to weed out the good from bad.
Untuned strumming – nope. A mistimed drum fill – yikes. Mafuyu singing ridiculous “filler” lyrics – no thanks.
Haruki’s pretty little moan – Ah? Wait.
He stares at the file below his hovering thumb. It’s not labeled; the autofill is generic with only the recording date. Akihiko remembers what it is.
He scrambles from his bed, body awkwardly stretching and crawling to snatch his discarded headphones off the coffee table. He plugs them into his phone and settles back on his bed, his heart picking up pace with anticipation. Yeah. He knows exactly what this is.
That fake “assignment”. That heavenly evening, alone in the studio with Haruki. The thrilling night he convinced his shy boyfriend to be loud on tape – vocalizing the hedonistic joy of getting fucked.
He swallows, chest already rising and falling with the heavy breaths that remind him of that studio session. He takes a slow breath and drags the playback to the beginning – refusing to miss a single second of this recording – and carefully hits play.
Hm. Right. He started it. Of course he did. Dirty talk did seem to get Haruki going – judging by his tiny squeaks and whines – but it is remarkably awkward listening to his own voice utter those words. He bears through it, searching his mind for an image that could pair with the nondescript rustling of bodies shifting.
He remembers Haruki under him. Making all these tiny gasps, whimpers, and whines as Akihiko made him writhe in desperation. The light crinkle of hands grasping at clothing, perhaps pulling items away to bare skin. It’s a smooth build-up – each sound increasing in volume and tempo as they race to touch each other.
Then he hears it. His name – or the shortened affectionate version of it that Haruki often used when submissive and attention-seeking. That beautifully mewled “Aki~!” that strikes a line of fire through his body, his muscles twitching taught. Then he hears it again, and again. Of course he does, he can hear himself asking for it; encouraging his boyfriend to say his name over and over again until he’s breathless. And he’s certainly growing breathless with every gasped obscenity.
Akihiko is right there along with him, his own breathing becoming heavy in his chest.
And, fuck, there’s that sigh. That deliciously satisfied sigh that follows when Haruki is pent up and finally penetrated. He’s probably getting fingered judging by the low intensity of his cries. He’s much louder when he takes cock.
He’s right – he finds out. When he hears Haruki’s shaky voice begging for more, begging for Akihiko to fuck him. He holds his breath, listening carefully to every shift, the clink of tearing open his belt and jeans, and Haruki’s yelp when he’s folded into position.
If he thought his nickname was hot being uttered on tape, hearing the broken syllables of his given name shouted as Haruki takes his cock is nearly too much to bear. That “A-ki-hi-ko!” echoes in his mind as he shifts to slide a free hand down to palm his hardening erection through his sweatpants. He exhales hard through his nose, hissing at the satisfying pressure. Fuck, he wishes it was Haruki’s hand.
Haruki’s finally reaching a volume that is complacent with the quality of his phone microphone – every electrified moan, desperate plea to take it “harder!” or “faster, please!”, and hiccupped gasp aligned with each thrust ringing clear in his ears. He closes his eyes, trying to remember how he had Haruki folded under his weight on that studio floor, taking his cock over and over again. He slips his erection up past his waistband and starts stroking it, skillfully matching time with Haruki’s hitched breaths. God, he wishes he was fucking him.
Having Haruki in bed with him would be divine. It always was, time and time again. Even when they had no plans; no pretense of a movie night, no work to complete in the comfort of one another’s company, nothing that insinuated that they needed a reason to be together, only the quiet agreement to go home together to talk and spend time away from needy teenagers and, of course, fuck each other senseless. Those nights were perfect.
Tonight may be uninspired. Jerking off alone in his apartment certainly wasn’t the most appealing activity for a Saturday night, but listening to Haruki’s breathy moans and sweet cries of his name add a nice spin to it. He can tell Haruki’s close, his sounds becoming almost deafening in his ears. He chases his own orgasm, rucking up the hem of his shirt and thrusting into his hand, hoping to time it just right.
Haruki helps him along too, continuing to beg and beg and beg for release because fuck he’s close and he needs Akihiko to get him there. He will. He always does.
It’s his favourite sound, that bright unrestrained shout of Haruki finishing on his cock. He tightens his grip, mimicking the way Haruki’s body tenses and squeezes around him when he comes, and follows right behind him a beat later, spilling onto his stomach.
He’s a bit dazed after, body relaxing after the climax and soft pants in mistime with Haruki’s playing over speakers. The recording ends shortly after that, a sudden absence that breaks the illusion. He stares up at his ceiling amongst the silence, remembering that Haruki’s not really here and he’ll be sleeping alone tonight.
He sighs, dropping a hand off the edge of the bed to rummage around for the box of tissues he tucks under there. He finds it eventually and mops up the mess, tossing the tissues aside as a reminder that he definitely needs to clean this apartment.
Listening to recorded Haruki was good – really good even. Yet it’s not the same as having his gorgeous boyfriend in his bed, arching his back, fisting the sheets, and clawing at his shoulder blades. He sounds better in his bed too. Not only can he hear the intricacies of every whimper and moan, but he can feel it too. Feel it vibrate through Haruki’s vocal chords as Akihiko presses kisses and bites to his neck, reverberate in Haruki’s throat when he swallows Akihiko’s cock, and bask in the heat of hot breath tickling his damp skin as Haruki gasps with each thrust.
Not to say he didn’t enjoy the experience. He’ll certainly make liberal use of that audio file on nights alone when Haruki’s the only thing on his mind. He simply wishes he could hear more; hear everything Haruki offers him.
He sounded glorious in the studio – he remembers that much. The soundproof panels and acoustics doing him many favours. Even so, it’s nothing compared to being on stage – especially at concerto auditoriums. The curved structure and ascending tiered rows onlooking a stage that focused soundwaves outward made for an exceptional listening experience.
Haruki would sound pretty on stage.
It’d be an incredible place to hear him moan his name.
Akihiko chews on the fantasy, aroused by the image of Haruki debauched and on display for an expectant audience, pushed to the brink of climax by Akihiko’s skilled fingers and cock. He could probably play him like his violin – probably better.
Maybe he’d stay dressed – only leaving Haruki stripped naked while he remained hidden under suffocating layers of orchestral formal wear. It’d be a turn on for Haruki too. He admitted as much one night when he got tipsy at dinner after attending another one of Akihiko’s violin competitions; bubbly and horny as he slurred a confession that Akihiko’s formalwear did things to him and he wanted nothing more than to crawl across the table and lay himself bear upon his suit. He took him home immediately after to grant his wish.
He'd love to prove what he can do to him – how he knows exactly where to touch, or kiss, or bite to coax the sweetest sounds out of his boyfriend. He knows what he likes too. Just how he likes to be bent over – a firm hand curled around his nape, pinning his shoulders down so he can only squirm and buck back against fingers and dick to force them deeper till it hits the perfect toe-curling spot.
Akihiko wouldn’t let him get away with that on stage. He’d much prefer to be the one in control – leaving Haruki at the whim of his ministrations till he’s playing the song Akihiko draws out of him.
He’d shiver, full-bodied, as Akihiko ghosts gentle fingers up his spine. Then he’d gasp, quick and sharp, when that gentle hand becomes forceful and insistent over his nape, shoving him down till he’s pinned. He’d squirm, only half-heartedly as a lie because he loved to be held down but earnestly in the way he’d jut his hips back to grab his attention. He wouldn’t get what he wanted, not right away, but he’d whine, high-pitched and urgent, as Akihiko would tease his fingers between his legs, stroking and pinching at soft flesh before pressing slick against his hole. He’d gasp there, hard and surprised like the wind has been knocked out of him, then he’d bury his face and push back against his hand.
He’d get what he want, eventually. Only with Akihiko’s permission. When granted, he’d slide his fingers in slow and deep till Haruki bottoms out around them with a low groan and that wonderful satisfied sigh. He’d take it like that for a while, delighted by the stretch of being finger-fucked until he’s begging and desperate for more more more. Akihiko always gave him more – he couldn’t resist.
He savours the thought of only freeing his cock while still dressed to the nines and fucking Haruki like that. He’s not sure if he’d go slow to agonize Haruki, or thrust hard to make him choke out a surprised moan.
Hm. The second option feels right for this composition.
He’d make Haruki moan his name – shout it, even. He’d be satisfied with whatever form it took, in full or that sweet short nickname, either would be a perfect addition. Frankly, the piece would be incomplete without it.
Haruki’s vocalizations would become unpredictable here – some string of moans, wanton begging, and profanity would follow. Though, Akihiko knows it would be a crescendo. Soft and wanting as the pleasure builds to a loud and frenzied cacophony till his climax.
Akihiko adores the final diminuendo – the short faint pants that rise and fall from Haruki’s spent body. It’s an eternally beautiful ending.
He hopes the audience would regard the piece in all its chaotic yet predictable passion. Haruki deserves a round of applause as the curtain falls.
The jarring buzz of his phone startles him from the fantasy – utterly lost in the self-gratification, he nearly forgot he was alone in bed. How disappointing.
He peeks at the notification – a negligent thing: a message to the Given social media account. He swipes it away, those were Haruki’s problem.
He moves awkwardly, grunting at the returning hardness between his legs. He wishes that was Haruki’s problem. He’d been too immersed in the fantasy of getting Haruki off to bother with himself, only meekly palming his hand over fabric to stimulate his imagination. He unlocks his phone – faced with the audio recording that already got him off once. He could listen again.
He considers that, thumb hovering over the play button once more. He already knows how this song goes. He swipes the app closed and opens another. He wants something new.
He finds the contact quickly – it’s his most recent call. He presses the green call button and adjusts his headphones as it begins to ring, waiting patiently for him to answer.
The ringing stops. Slight rustling. Then, “Hi, Aki!” in the cutest damn voice he’s ever heard.
“Hi, baby,” comes his response, voice croaking and awkward. He suddenly realizes he hasn’t spoken all day. He clears his throat, “Are you busy?”
“Hm, no,” Haruki sighs, “It’s late and my parents went to bed ages ago. I snuck out for a smoke since my mom gets mad if she catches me.” He huffs a laugh and it’s the sweetest sound, “My dad usually wants a cigarette after she’s done scolding me.”
“I miss you,” Akihiko blurts, unable to focus on anything other than his desire to be with that man, sharing that lit cigarette on the balcony or in bed.
“Aw, Aki,” Haruki laughs. He can hear his smile. “I’ve only been gone for about a day and a half.”
“Even so,” Akihiko reasons, deeming it a strong argument.
Haruki hums and Akihiko wishes he could feel the vibration through the phone. “What did you do today?”
“Practiced violin, mostly.” He doesn’t add that he jerked off to his voice, or that he’s hard because he couldn’t stop thinking about how amazing he sounds getting fucked. Instead, he sends the audio file to Haruki.
“Oh, what’s this?” faint taps on his phone, “You recorded yourself playing violin?”
“Hm, it’s better than that,” he offers with no real explanation.
Haruki’s surprised yelps are cute too. A squeaky gasp that tells him he hit play.
“Aki!” he shout whispers into his phone. Akihiko hears a titch of excitement. Yes. “I forgot about that stupid recording,” a small tch of exasperation, “And I most certainly can’t listen to it here on the porch.”
“It’s hot,” Akihiko grins. He hopes Haruki can hear it. “It’s been very helpful since you’ve been away.”
Another surprised gasp, tiny and aroused. Perfect.
“I see,” there’s a hint of amusement in his voice, “so that’s how you’ve been missing me.” There’s a pause, and Akihiko faintly hears him exhale a drag from his cigarette. “How was it?” he asks, suddenly curious.
“Good. You always sound so good,” Akihiko purrs, relishing in the memory of Haruki’s cries blaring through his headphones. Nevertheless, he has his heart set on a live show tonight. “Though, I can’t say it’s better than the real thing.”
“Oh dear,” Haruki teases, “Is my Aki not satisfied?”
“Absolutely not.”
A hum, thoughtful and stretched-out, then: “I bet you wanted to fuck me,” Haruki accuses in a tone Akihiko’s never heard, sending sparks down his spine and heat straight to his cock.
Shit. Was Haruki more confident over the phone? Perhaps the lack of prying eyes and safety behind the speaker granted him control – so his pink flushed cheeks wouldn’t instantly spread to his nape and tips of his ears. Or maybe they still did, but no one was around to bring attention to it and spur him on.
It’s unexpected, and so unbelievably hot.
Akihiko exhales a shaky breath, much sooner than anticipated. He swallows, “I did. I do.”
“Mm-hm.” Haruki chews on the confession in silence, only the faintest sound of his lips tasting his cigarette. Fuck, Akihiko wanted those lips on him. “How did I take it?” Haruki asks finally, voice direct and composed.
“O-On your back.” Did he just fucking stutter? He clears his throat. It’s a fluke. “At first. I imagined folding you in half and fucking you like that. Just like when we did it on the studio floor,” he finds stability in his voice, reclaiming his role.
“At first?” Haruki asks, unwavering and simply curious. Shit. Akihiko hasn’t reclaimed anything. “How many times did you make me take it?”
“T-Twice.” Fuck! Not a fluke.
“Hm, seems manageable,” Haruki muses, very well acquainted with the number of rounds they typically achieve. He exhales long and slow, probably completing his final pull of that lucky cigarette. “How did I take it the second time?”
“Bent over. From behind,” he nearly gasps out the words. Unlike his fantasy, a pure work of fiction, this was real. This Haruki was real. And, god, did he want him. He can’t help himself, hand already finding searing pleasure between his legs. A small pleased hiss escapes his lips and he knows Haruki heard it.
“Hm,” Haruki thinks, scrutinizing the position choice. “We didn’t do that at the studio,” he remembers accurately, “Why did you want me to take it like that?”
“The audio was nothing compared to hearing you live,” he admits in a rushed breath. “I-I thought about how pretty you’d sound somewhere that’s built for it. Better than the studio.” Shit. Maybe he should withhold his admission. It would only give Haruki more ammo to ruin him with tonight. “I-I…” he can’t stop, “God, I want to fuck you… I thought about fucking you at a concerto auditorium. You’d sound so perfect there.”
Haruki laughs, it’s breathy and so damn sexy. “That’s quite the performance,” he ponders like he’s imagining the space around them, building the fantasy out of Akihiko’s desperate words, “Are we on stage? Doing it on the floor again?”
“Ah~” Akihiko chokes out, his hand steadily pumping his cock again, “Y-Yes.”
“Are you dressed for the occasion?”
“I’m wearing my suit,” he’s struggling to keep his voice steady, “ I know you like it.”
“I do like it,” Haruki purrs, “It makes you look so handsome. I’d let you do whatever you want to me wearing that.”
Akihiko is dying to do whatever he wants to him. If only he was here!
“It’s a nice choice for this fantasy,” Haruki adds after a moment of contemplation, hopefully indulging in the fantasy too. “What about me? Do I get a suit?”
“N-No!” Akihiko answers a bit too aggressively, unable to regain any ounce of composure, “You’re not. You’re exposed, a-and on display.” That was most definitely not true now.
“I see. I suppose we’ve done it like that before. A few times.” His voice drips with fondness, and there’s a hint of arousal, but he’s nowhere as wrecked as Akihiko, who’s too caught up in fucking his fist. “How are you doing, Aki?”
“Ah, fuck!” he curses too loud under heated breath. He flips over, needing new friction that still won’t be nearly as satisfying as Haruki’s hand or mouth or ass. He settles for rutting against mussed fabric instead, groaning into his pillow. “I want you so bad!” he hisses, the desire becoming painful.
“So. I take it you’re doing well,” he taunts, plenty aware of his overwhelming arousal and desperation.
“Shit! What is with you, Haru?” Akihiko demands to know where the fuck this Haruki came from – radiating confidence and sexual prowess like it’s nothing. Was he really so protected behind the phone that he could act assertively so easily?
“Whatever do you mean, Aki?” the cheeky grin in his voice is cruelly evident.
“You! A-Are one of the most flustered, embarrassed, and painfully easy to arouse people I know! How fucking dare you be like this over the phone,” Akihiko grits through clenched teeth. He isn’t going to last if Haruki’s holding the reigns so tightly. He’s taking them back! “You squeak when I kiss you, hide your face when I flirt with you, and you’re flushed red the second I put my hands on you,” he says in a long exasperated breath, irritation prickling his sweat-damp skin, “so why the fuck are you so hot and in control over the phone?”
“Ah~” and that shaky moan is the first time it sounds like Haruki’s losing even a shred of dignity, “I…It’s easier when I can’t see you.” His voice spikes to a higher pitch and finally – finally! – he sounds like the typical blushing Haruki that Akihiko knows well. “Aki, I… Wait. One moment,” Haruki’s panic is followed by shuffling.
In his current state, needing to get off and silently cursing Haruki for leaving him like this, he can only pick out little echoes. The slide of a door, padded footsteps, and a barely controlled click of a lock.
“Aki?” Haruki’s voice is a shaky whisper, “Sorry. I-I’m in my bedroom now.” There’s a subtle creak of an old bed as Haruki settles under the covers. “I want to finish with you, Akihiko,” he pleads and the world seems right again.
“Haruki, please!” he moans, low rumbling in a way that drives his boyfriend crazy. About time for a little payback.
He hears that lovely satisfied sigh crackle in his headphones – Haruki’s touching himself now, and the thought ignites fireworks in his brain. He’s still rutting against the bed, chasing his orgasm with fists twisted tightly in his sheets. He wants to be fucking Haruki – he imagines as much spurred on by the accompanying muffled moans and whines of his boyfriend getting off with him resounding in his ears.
It's perfect! It’s exactly what he wanted – what he craved. To hear every depraved and lustful utterance pour from his boyfriend’s lips as he chased his climax.
Perfect, perfect, perfect!
Akihiko throws his final groan to the room, spilling sticky white on the linen below. He hopes it’s clear for Haruki on the other end of the line – hopes that man knows how achingly debauched he is because of him. He knows – judging by the similarly wanton moan he receives in reply that leaves Akihiko smushing a satiated dopy grin into his pillow.
The familiar diminuendo follows: hushed panting guiding heaving chests to soft breath. A quiet stretch. It reminds him of the countless times they’ve laid in bed together, lounging in the post-sex glow of warm bodies and gentle touch. He supposes this is a passible compromise.
“So,” Akihiko starts, his voice still breathy and tired, “since when have you been a phone sex aficionado?”
Haruki laughs – it’s breathy too. “Ha. It’s easier to keep it together when I can’t see how hot you are,” he rustles between the sheets, Akihiko imagines he was buried under the covers to muffle his cries, “and you can’t touch me.”
“It almost makes me want to be long-distance more often,” Akihiko hums, wishing to admire Haruki’s pretty face and caress his smooth warm skin.
“Well…” he draws out the word, giggling playfully, “I could extend my stay here…”
“Oh, absolutely not,” Akihiko snaps, even if he’s donning a smile, “I need you back in my bed immediately.”
Haruki giggles so hard he snorts. It’s so damn cute. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be back tomorrow evening. Then you can do whatever you want to me.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
Akihiko doesn’t want to hang up. He wants to stay on the line until they pass out – just like if they were together. So he keeps talking, asking benign questions about Haruki’s trip: Is Miyagi nice this time of year? How are his parents? How is the house maintenance going? Anything that keeps Haruki talking as he rolls off the bed to throw his sticky sheets in a heap next to his piled laundry and clean himself up in the bathroom. Listening to stories about Haruki’s day as he dresses the bed in spare sheets and cozies back under down-filled warmth.
It would be cozier next to Haruki, but his voice makes his heart swell all the same.
Haruki always makes his evenings better. Even if he’s far away.