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The buzz of his phone has Edwin blinking awake, disoriented in his groggy, half-asleep haze. His eyes open to complete darkness, save for the glow of his phone sitting face-up on his nightstand. He props himself up on his side, blearily putting on his glasses and fumbling for his device.
2:36 a.m. Edwin isn't sure whether to be irritated or concerned. Before he can decide, his phone vibrates in his palm and declares that he has two missed text messages.
Unknown Number: u up baby?
Unknown Number: im sooooooooo horny
He nearly chokes on his quick inhale. Edwin certainly does not make a habit of giving his numbers to strangers, especially ones who would send him such uncouth and — quite frankly — desperate messages in the middle of the night.
But before he can even think it through, his fingers tap out a snarky reply.
Edwin: That sounds like quite a predicament.
Most people would get the hint. If it really was someone Edwin had exchanged numbers with at some point, this would either allow them to remedy their approach — or it would scare them off entirely.
Unknown Number: been thinking bout that thing u do with ur mouth…
Unknown Number: 🍆💦🔥🥵
Edwin’s nose scrunches at the vulgar use of Emojis. Why anyone would respond favorably to such a ridiculous mating ritual is beyond him.
And the thing is, Edwin knows he should just ignore the texts and go back to sleep. He has brunch with Niko, Crystal, and Charles at their favorite drag bar downtown in the morning. Charles’ boyfriend, Monty, is headlining for the first time, and they all want to show their support.
But Edwin is protective of his time and his privacy, so the idea that someone so crude and tone-deaf has his number simply irks him. And, if he actually lets himself think about it, he may also admit that part of him is curious. So he turns on his bedside lamp and fluffs his pillows to prop him up against his quilted headboard and types out a quick question.
Edwin: Who is this?
The stranger on the other end of the phone must have been waiting for his response because another message pops up mere seconds later.
Unknown Number: hint: u were screaming my name last night 😈😈
Despite being alone in his apartment, Edwin rolls his eyes out of habit. He is certain this man — because that message is certainly the work of a man — must be so pleased with himself. He must be imagining his flavor-of-the-week blushing at the memory of their illicit encounter. Perhaps he expects them to act coy, or maybe lavish him with praise.
It gives Edwin no small pleasure to dash this man's dreams.
Edwin: I'm sorry to be the one to inform you, but it looks like they gave you the wrong number.
Edwin: Suffice to say you must not have been that good with YOUR mouth.
Edwin can't help but smirk tugging at his lips. He would normally consider it beneath him to ‘troll’ someone, as Charles would call it, but he feels like this egotistical, horny, pathetic little man deserves it for messaging him this late.
It takes longer than Edwin expects to receive a response, though when he does, a series of messages are sent in quick succession.
Unknown Number: ouch
Unknown Number: well sweetheart
Unknown Number: do you believe in fate?
Unknown Number: because u sound exactly like my type 😜
This gives Edwin pause. Out of all of the reactions he anticipated, he surely did not imagine the stranger would take his insult so…well.
For the first time, Edwin lets himself wonder who this man could be. Crude, certainly. Impatient. Persistent. Probably straight — your run-of-the-mill ‘bro’ type that Crystal always seems to find herself attracting, unfortunately no less so after she came out as a lesbian.
Possibly-misplaced anger is what fuels him to continue this petty little back-and-forth.
Edwin: I highly doubt that. I'm a 23 year old MAN, so I'm probably not exactly the type of person you were hoping to message.
And Edwin truly thinks this will be it, that this will be the message that either sends his conversation partner running or brings out something hateful and ugly.
It's not as though he has never been called a homophobic slur before. It was an unfortunately common occurrence growing up attending a military boarding school. But thankfully, this isn't like dealing with Simon and his buddies — he can have a laugh at this man's stupidity and then block him without repercussions.
He strongly considers blocking him preemptively when his phone buzzes again.
Unknown Number: actually that's EXACTLY what i was hoping to hear 😉
Edwin honest-to-god drops his phone in surprise. Surely this must be a joke. His phone buzzes with back-to-back messages tangled somewhere within his silky blue sheets, and he finds himself scrambling to find out what this stranger could possibly say next.
Unknown Number: intelligent
Unknown Number: gay af
Unknown Number: AND a total bitch?
Unknown Number: sounds like the total package to me 💯
And despite himself, despite every logical part of his brain screaming at him to not be fooled — well, Edwin smiles. The man on the other side of the messages is annoyingly flirtatious and unwaveringly crass, but he's also kind of funny and hasn't yet shied away from Edwin's personality.
And suddenly, with this new context, their exchange feels less like antagonism and more like banter. Edwin finds that any residual anger has dissipated; he is instead amused.
It's a harmless little game of cat and mouse, and Edwin is ready to play.
Edwin: I never said I was gay.
He smirks down at his phone and finds himself actually looking forward to what the other man will say next.
Unknown Number: im an optimist
This startles a chuckle from Edwin. And while it occurs to him that he could be speaking to anyone at all, in his mind's eye he pictures a man his age, possibly a little older.
Edwin is fully aware that it may just be wishful thinking on his part. Perhaps he too is an optimist tonight. He doesn't get a chance to say as much before more messages pop up on the screen.
Unknown Number: what do u say?
Unknown Number: u up for some fun? 😈
Edwin, for once, is at a loss for words. Despite his buttoned-up appearance, he is not a complete stranger to random hook-ups. On occasion, he's let strangers lead him to bathroom stalls or back to their place — once even only as far as their backseat. But he has never ventured onto dating apps, nor has he ever had a fling last long enough to evolve into sexting.
The thought intrigues him and makes squirm at the same time. He decides to buy himself some time and throw out another jab.
After all, Edwin's conversation partner seems to enjoy a bit of a verbal lashing as foreplay.
Edwin: Your conversation skills have left me unconvinced of how “fun” this will be for me.
The next message Edwin receives does not contain any words at all.
Unknown Number: Sent a picture.
It takes a moment for the image to pop up on his screen, but when it does, Edwin’s eyes widen.
The picture is a selfie of a man reclining against plum-colored sheets, probably in his mid-twenties, with golden-brown eyes, tousled honey hair, and a wicked smirk tugging against a small scar above his lip.
Oh, and he also has the abs of a Greek god.
And Edwin can't help but stare, can't help but imagine. Could this guy really be the one he has been conversing with? He's toned, but not overly masculine, adorned with both cat-eyed liner around his striking eyes and a bit of stubble highlighting his sharp jawline.
He's, quite frankly, intimidatingly gorgeous, someone Edwin would never consider approaching in public.
There is no way that this is the man who had texted who he thought was a casual hookup in an act of desperation after two in the morning. Not when people should be throwing themselves at his feet.
And, well, that thought ignites something in Edwin. It makes him feel silly for enjoying the conversation, like he's wasted time better spent sleeping on someone who can't even show him his real face.
So Edwin decides to stop playing this game and hits the call button next to the unsaved number with a jab of his thumb.
The phone rings only once before he can hear it being picked up. He doesn't give the man a chance to act before he spits out, “Bullshit!”
The response on the line is a soft, sultry chuckle. “Well hello to you too, handsome. To what do I owe the pleasure?” His baritone voice has a velvety quality, all confidence and mirth; however, it's not enough to deter Edwin from his crusade.
“There is no way in Hell that I was randomly texted by a man who looks like that,” he scoffs, tucking his knees up to his chest.
The man hums, seemingly unbothered. “Is that an accent I detect? Gay, sexy, and British?” And oh, Edwin can practically hear his smirk. “Must be my lucky day.”
Edwin seethes. “It is not your lucky day, you — what are they called — oh, you bloody catfish!”
For a few validating seconds, the man is quiet. When he responds, his voice holds a gentler quality. “I'm incredibly flattered that you find me so attractive, but I can assure you that I most certainly am not a ‘bloody catfish.’”
Even his imitation of Edwin’s posh little British accent is attractive.
Edwin realizes with a growing sense of dread that he sounds completely and utterly sincere.
“Oh,” he says softly, shifting nervously where he sits. Edwin struggles with his next words, his throat suddenly dry.
Dear Lord, he has spent all night insulting the most attractive man he has ever seen.
“You still there, sweetheart?” the man asks, clearly amused. “What's the matter — cat got your tongue?”
Edwin laughs weakly, defaulting to their earlier banter. “You're insufferable.”
The other man rasps, “Oh, please, do tell me all about me.” Edwin marvels at the way he drops his voice, as if purring directly in his ear.
It's more intimate than it has any right to be.
But this is still uncharted territory for Edwin, and he can't bring himself to drop his stuck-up, pretentious schtick. “You must be awfully lonely if this is how you choose to spend your Friday night.”
“Says the one who thought he was calling a catfish,” the man snarks back. “Still, I think we've stumbled upon a rare opportunity here. You think I'm hot, I think you're hot…why let this opportunity go to waste?”
Edwin frowns, which carries over into his tone. “You haven't a clue what I look like!” Is this another joke?
The man makes a small affirmative noise. “What can I say, I have a thing for bitchy twinks who can kick my ass in Scrabble.” Edwin goes to protest that description, but it is almost alarmingly accurate. He adds nonchalantly, “Besides, you could always send me a picture.”
And yes, in theory, Edwin could send him a picture. He's already engaged in rather uncharacteristic behavior tonight — he might as well take the leap fully into the unchartered waters, right?
Still, he hesitates and decides to aim for some honesty. “I’m afraid I've, um,” his voice drops nearly to a whisper, as if that will lessen his nerves, “I've never sent a picture to a stranger.”
“I'm Thomas,” the voice on the other side of the line says easily. “What's your name, sweetheart?”
Edwin swallows. “Edwin.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Edwin,” Thomas says. He chuckles warmly, obviously pleased. “Look at us — we're practically acquaintances now!”
Edwin sighs, “Fine. Hold on.”
It takes him an embarrassingly long time to take a selfie he deems acceptable to send. Edwin feels unlike himself, with his dark hair falling loosely on his forehead and glasses framing his green eyes. He goes with one where he is smiling slightly at the camera, his faded blue sweatshirt from his vacation to Washington state on display.
Edwin presses send before bringing the phone back up to his ear nervously. When the other line stays silent, he fidgets with his sheets between the fingers of his free hand. “Well?” he asks quietly.
“Oh, wow,” Thomas breathes. “Did you take that just now?”
Edwin swallows again, twisting the fabric tighter. “Uh, yes? Is—is that alright?”
Thomas barks a laugh. “Oh, honey, you're literally my walking wet dream.” Edwin feels heat rise to his cheeks. “God, the things I would do to you…” He trails off with a disappointed groan.
The groan goes straight between Edwin's legs. He prompts gently, “Oh?”
And Thomas is emotive, even just with his voice. “Do you want me to tell you what I'd like to do to you, Edwin?” And Edwin has heard his name said many times by many people, but never before has it sent a shiver down his spine.
“Yes,” Edwin says slowly, trying to emulate the tone of Thomas’ voice. “Yes, I'd like that, but I've never—I don't know what to do.”
Thomas makes a soft humming sound. “We can take it slow,” he reassures him. “And if you're ever uncomfortable, we'll stop, okay? Consent is sexy.”
Edwin is surprised to note that he does feel reassured by the other man's words. He settles a bit more comfortably against his pillows and nods even though Thomas can't see him. “Yes. Alright. Let's get on with it, then.”
Thomas snorts. “What a romantic.” Edwin can hear him shifting against fabric, likely making himself comfortable as well. The thought spreads a pleasant warmth throughout his body. “Now, if I were there with you, Edwin, where would you like me to touch you first?”
Edwin has no trouble conjuring up the image of Thomas hovering over him, with his intense gaze and full, distracting lips. Edwin thinks he would like to take it slow, sensual — in a way his past encounters have not been.
He takes a deep breath, trying to ground himself in this desire. “I think I'd like you to touch my, um, my cheek first.”
“Your cheek?” Thomas asks, almost breathless. “You're fucking unreal. Now be a good boy for me, and close your eyes, hm?” Edwin should be embarrassed at the way his cock reacts to the words, but he's too busy following Thomas’ instructions. “Now run your fingertips down your cheek, gently. That's it. Along your jaw…down your pretty little neck…your collarbone…your chest. How does that feel?”
Like Edwin is setting himself on fire. “I, uh—good. Good, I think.” He feels drunk. Is it possible to be hypnotized over the phone? Thomas, Edwin thinks distantly, could make a killing doing ASMR. “Are you—are you doing this too?”
Thomas chuckles. “I am, sweet boy. Would you like to go lower, hm? All the way down your body?” Edwin slides his trembling hand down his abdomen. In the other he's clutching the phone so tightly it's a wonder it doesn't shatter. “Down under your waistband?”
A soft sigh escapes Edwin's lips as he complies, dipping below the waistband of his boxer briefs.
“Keep going, down your thighs. Mm, use your nails—fuck, you gasp so pretty.” Edwin can hear Thomas’ uneven breathing over the phone, voice practically ragged.
His nails on his thighs are tantalizing, something he had never considered doing. Touching himself has never been like this, not this vivid or intense. It's too much and not enough all at once. “More,” Edwin pleads.
“In due time, my dear.” Thomas’ laugh breaks off at the end. “Need to make sure you're nice and turned on, just like me. Need you to imagine I'm there with you, all over you.”
And oh, does Edwin imagine.
He desperately wants to touch his cock, but the thrill of letting someone else take control of his actions, his pleasure, is intoxicating.
So intoxicating that he wonders what it would be like to push back. “You would take this long in person?” Edwin grits out, unable to keep his voice even.
Thomas clicks his tongue. “So impatient, sweet boy. Is there somewhere you need me to touch you, Edwin?”
A groan of frustration punches out of the back of Edwin’s throat. He snaps, “Yes, of course, I—”
“Touch yourself. Take your cock in your hand and touch yourself. For me.” His voice is rough and insistent, confident in a way that has Edwin scrambling to do as he's told.
He wraps his slender fingers around his length, not even bothering to take off his underwear. Edwin’s body jolts at the sudden contact. “I—ah, oh,” he pants. “Bloody hell, how do you manage to sound so sinful?”
Somewhere inside Thomas, the floodgates seem to open. “Fuck, you and that fucking accent will be the death of me, I swear. I wish I was there with you, so I could see the way you writhe and squirm beneath me. So I could touch you and taste you and feel you shiver and kiss those pretty lips of yours until you beg me for more.”
Edwin whimpers wordlessly, running his thumb over the tip and using the pre-cum to ease the friction of his movements.
“I'd make you feel so good, Eds, let you fuck yourself into my hand. Take whatever you want from me.”
Edwin can barely keep up with what Thomas is saying, but the sound of his voice alone has his back arching into his own touch. “Thomas,” he gasps.
Thomas lets out a filthy, indulgent moan, and Edwin can imagine how he's stroking himself in unison with him, together despite being apart. “Let me hear you, angel, fuck. You touching yourself? Thinking of me?”
Edwin nods fruitlessly, eyes still squeezed shut. “Yes, yes, I—I wish it was your hand,” he whimpers, too turned on to be embarrassed. He ruts into his slick fist shamelessly, and god, it has never felt like this. “You. Thomas, I want you, please.”
“That's it, I got you. Just like that, ah, keep going, sweetheart,” Thomas praises, voice thick.
White-hot heat coils in Edwin's abdomen, and it feels like he's standing on the edge of a waterfall. “I'm close, s’close.”
If Edwin had a brain cell left that wasn't soaked in pleasure, he'd be able to process the heady, quickened breaths and the sound of skin-on-skin on the other line. But everything blurs together in a lustful haze that has him floating.
Thomas babbles, “Fuck, come on, come with me, sweet thing, I wanna hear you, Eds—”
“Thomas—” Edwin gasps, and a final squeeze has him spilling all over his hand, his body singing with pleasure as he plunges over the edge.
He instinctively strokes himself through the orgasm, panting heavily as he returns to his body. As he does, Edwin realizes that he's come in his underwear like a teenager. He makes quick work of sliding them off and using them to clean himself, tossing them aside to become Future Edwin’s problem.
He distantly hears a voice. “Bloody hell,” he gasps, scrambling for the phone he dropped in his euphoric haze. “Hello?” Edwin asks tentatively, heart pounding, afraid that Thomas will no longer be on the line.
“Glad you're still with me,” Thomas chuckles, voice rougher than before. Edwin notes with pride that he sounds positively wrecked. “Are you alright, sweetheart?”
Edwin runs a hand through his sweat-damp hair. “Yes. Yes, I'm…wow.” A giggle bubbles out of him as he leans against the headboard.
“Wow, indeed,” Thomas murmurs. He falls into an uncharacteristic silence.
After a few moments, Edwin asks, “Are you still there?”
Thomas grunts an acknowledgement. “Not going anywhere, sweetheart. Not after I got to hear a beautiful boy fall apart for me.”
Despite all that they've done to this point, Thomas’ words still bring a flush to Edwin’s cheeks. “You're a menace.”
Thomas chuckles fondly. “Admit it — you're charmed.”
“Something like that,” Edwin responds, unable to hide the smile in his tone. He pulls the phone from his ear and types out a quick message before he can lose his nerves. “What I really want to see is if you can put your money where your mouth is.”
“Is that so?” Thomas asks, a teasing lilt to his tone.
“I've texted you an address,” Edwin says. “Pick me up there at 6:00 pm tomorrow night. You're going to take me on a proper date, and we'll see if I let you make good on your promises.”