Hey guys, I'm back! Forgive the super long absence, there were some problems in real life that popped up and took away my ability to write. That's a major reason why I haven't updated Busking For Hearts in so long, and for that, I'm extremely sorry and there are good reasons for this. (So this one likes to claim, at least.) For those that are curious or care, you can check out my Tumblr for what I've been up to, give me prompts for new fics, message me about things I've written or whatever~! Go see my profile page for the link. I won't babble much here, but I will say this is my first USCan fanfic. (Not your last either.) They're my OTP right now, so expect more stories! Enjoy this one shot for now, just while I get back into the swing of writing!
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the "plot" (it's there if you squint), nor am I gaining profit from this.
Warnings: Swearing, sex.
Word Count: 7602
Hot breaths mingled in the air, echoing in the darkness of the room with the rustle of clothes and sheets, the smack of lips kissing and pulling apart, the moans, and the slick sound of skin on skin as two feverishly heated bodies moved.
"A-Ah… Oh… Oh God…"
"That's right, baby; moan for daddy."
"O-Oh, oui! D-Daddy, please!"
Let it be known Matthew did not have a daddy kink, nor did he have daddy issues. His father was loving; always there for him; still alive and kicking. But there was something about this stranger that hovered above him, hand slick and sliding roughly up and down his cock that made him want to say anything just to be able to cum. The hand on his erect organ was as large as his own, with slightly thicker fingers, calloused and kissed by the sun, much like the rest of his skin.
Muscles rippled beneath the prettily coloured flesh, flexing and tensing with every jerk, shift and movement. They were hard, oh, so very firm, those sexy muscles beneath the softest of layer of squishiness, Matthew confirmed, grasping onto the man's biceps before dragging his nails along them to the elbow, the hand that wasn't jerking him off grasping both his snow white pale hands and pressing them to the bed above his head. Another moan mingled in the room, this one disappointed as the hands stilled and disappeared, violet eyes fluttering open, struggling to see in the dark.
Beautiful bright blue eyes almost glowed, hovering close to his face, framed by dark blond eyelashes and set in a handsome, well structured face, half lidded with lust and focused intently on him.
"Me, me, me, no one else, only me!"
"Got a condom?" the stranger asked, kiss swollen lips forming the words that fell into the heated air in the southern husk that the man spoke in, the low timbre voice rumbling in his chest.
Nodding fervently, the fair skinned blond turned his head to gesture at his long ago discarded jeans on the floor, his chest rising and falling with the heavy panting that fogged his glasses. "I've got lubricant in the right pocket too," he murmured, voice cutting off in a strangled moan, head tilting back when the American's lips closed around some skin on his neck, sucking firmly, leaving behind a blooming red mark that made Matthew hiss at the pain-pleasure-pain of it. The heat above him was gone, leaving him to shiver on the bed briefly, sitting up and yanking off his unbuttoned top, tossing both it and his tie somewhere to the darkness of the floor before the stranger returned.
They'd only just met and he was spreading his legs.
They'd only just finished sharing drinks at a bar and the man was knuckle deep inside his ass, fingers slick with warmed lubricant.
They'd only just reached Matthew's hotel and their clothes had been shed, tossed to the floor and forgotten.
They'd barely even had time to lock the door before they were on the bed groping, touching, biting, scratching and pleasuring.
Closing his eyes, Matthew grasped the sheets beneath him, twisting them up as the blunt tip of the other blond's erection pressed against the puckered muscle of his sphincter and breached. He let out a slow breath, muscles relaxed. It wasn't his first time, and it certainly wasn't the first time with a stranger, and it most definitely wouldn't be the last time either. The nameless man pushed in deep, a pink tongue darting out to lick lips before they kissed again, panting through their noses. It was just sexual fulfilment. Just a physical gratification that lacked an emotional plane in the act with the way they moved, thrust, bucked, cried out softly, grunted and moaned as they sought orgasm for themselves. It wasn't a partnership, and they didn't think of each other because they were just strangers.
"Mon dieu, harder," Matthew gasped out, his hips bucking down on the slick cock inside of him, making the man penetrate him deeper and deeper.
"S-Shit," the grunted response came, the man grasping the sheets tightly by the Canadian's hair, splayed out in a mess of wavy, silky strings across the pillow that lay half beneath his head and half propped against the headboard.
Hips pounded in faster and rougher, Matthew's toes curling, fingers raking down a golden back, angry red marks burning in the low light and his breathing became erratic like the beating his heart. It was only a physical heartbeat. The emotional was lacking. He could feel the pleasure thrumming from his head to his toes to his weeping prick that was stimulated by his own hand frantically, but he couldn't feel that pleasant tingling warmth that would make him arch and numb and smile. His body was hot and sweaty, but he still felt cold, an unpleasant ache in his chest as the man fucked him the way he begged for it; fucked him until the man's hand joined his on his arousal, jerking his wrist hard and fast, digging his thumb into the slit until he couldn't take anymore, and he was moaning, teeth clamping down on his bottom lip to keep silent, cumming hard and back arching and—
… and it was done.
Matthew lay alone in the bed, staring up at the ceiling, sexually satisfied but not emotionally gratified. He'd kicked the stranger out once the man had released inside of him, forced the blond American to get dressed and had thanked him for the pleasant fuck, lit his cigarette, and shut and locked the door to objections. The lit cancer stick hung from his lips, ash peppering his strawberry blond waves, damp at the roots with sweat as he closed his eyes.
"It's still missing…"
You have received 1 New Message(s).
Violet eyes blinked, turning lazily from the website he was surfing to the alert of another, cigarette once more hanging from his lips. His hair was pinned back, little red clips holding back his wavy fringe, a small pink hair tie holding the rest of his just-below chin length hair in a high ponytail, loose strands fluttery around the nape of his pale, marked neck. With the leisure of someone who had an eternity to live, Matthew removed the cigarette from his mouth, tapping the edge on the metal ashtray the hotel provided before returning it to his lips, balancing it between his teeth as he clicked on the tab alerting him to human contact.
The dating website logo practically raped his eyes sickeningly; all pink and hearts and fuck you, I may be a fag but I'm not a fairy.
Ash fluttered to the table by his laptop, only to be brushed aside to the floor and ignored in favour of opening the new message, or, flirt, as this website liked to call them.
You sound awesome, dude.
Upload a picture?
"Fuck off," Matthew grumbled, setting his hands to the keyboard, typing in his response.
"Does it matter what I look like? Use your imagination."
Sitting back, he rest in the sofa, eying the message wearily before hitting send. Like hell he was going to think twice. He needed to put his foot down firmly so he wouldn't get bullied into any more relationships, or experience any more awkward "oh hey, so I found you on this dating site, ha-ha" conversations from colleagues and workmates. The only time that had happened had left Matthew hunching his shoulders and ducking his head to hide the bright red blush of humiliation spreading across his cheekbones to his ears, darting off to his office cubicle to get back to work.
You have received 1 New Message(s).
Well, wasn't he popular today? Another message from the same man…
"Your personality sounds pretty sexy, so I bet you are too ;)
Tell me more?"
With a slightly amused quirk to his lips, Matthew placed his cigarette down on the rim of the ashtray, fingers returning to the keys and typing.
"Let's start with you, eh? Why's your username burger_loving_hero?"
It carried on for a month this way, messages sent back and forth on the dating website, exchanging flirts, winks and suggestive sentences. Matthew went between home and hotels for work, Canada to America and back to Canada, but his laptop always stayed by his side, safely tucked away in his hotel rooms.
Messages on the dating website turned to emails, and after another month, emails turned to text messages. SMS's were sent daily, and Matthew found himself smiling when he woke up to a good morning text sitting pleasantly in his inbox (that is, after he woke up properly, because burger_loving_hero had learned the hard way what happened when you texted before sweet, vanilla Mattie's wake up hours).
Trips to the bar slowly decreased, and eventually, they came to a stop.
Matthew no longer went and got blind drunk whilst in America on business trips; no longer grabbed strangers and had sex with them in his hotel room, and he began to wonder if that regular fuck buddy he'd acquired would miss him. He hadn't said anything to either men- the one he was texting, nor the one he would constantly find at the bars after he got drunk and have sex with. It wasn't an affair, because he wasn't in a relationship.
… But he wanted to be.
They didn't know each other's names, and it was nice that way, an air of mystery, both agreeing that they'd introduce themselves by name properly if they ever met in person. Burger_loving_hero had been the one to suggest meeting by slip of the tongue (or rather, finger, since it had been proposed over text), just through one simple text.
"When we meet, tell me your name, Maple."
Maple had become a little pet name, considering his username was the_invisible_maple. It was cute and original, and badass_Canadian had unfortunately been taken, along with hockey_master.
It wasn't long before text messages became steamy. What was to be expected? Matthew was a twenty five year old man, single, lonely, and had starved himself of sex for quite a long time now—at least; compared to before he began speaking with burger_loving_hero. The stranger wanted proof that he was texting who he thought he was, but Matthew had reluctantly replied that he wasn't about to send any pictures of his face. The man agreed, and sensing Matthew's unease (after fifty back and forward messages of "Please?", "No.", "Why?" "Because.", "Because Why?", "What if you work with me?" "So?" "So, what?" "Please?"), he had initiated, sending the first picture.
Matthew's breath had been taken from him. The man was stunning. It had only been a shot of the shoulders down to just below hips, and it had been taken in a bathroom mirror using a camera phone (and probably re-blogged through Instagram, but burger_loving_hero vehemently denied that because he apparently felt body shy), but it had been fabulous. Pretty tan skin across delicious looking muscles, hidden under the softest and faintest layer of fat, soft hips, slightly rounded and peaking the tiniest bit over a pair of jeans in what would probably turn into love handles one day. The best part of the photo was that the man wasn't wearing a shirt; dusky nipples visible and pectorals slightly flexed. Curse the poor pixel quality because he wanted to know if there was a treasure trail and wanted to imagine just where it would lead.
Never before had Matthew masturbated so much over a single picture before, grasping his phone in one hand, occasionally nudging the touch screen to stop the back light from fading and turning off, the other hand furiously working his cock- hard and dripping. He'd panted in the bathroom, having just emerged from a meeting to that photo, releasing in the toilet with a choked moan, glasses a little askew on his nose, sweat sliding down his jaw line. Lust hazed violets drunk in the sight of that body one last time before pocketing his phone and tucking himself back into his dress pants, returning to his office cubicle in flustered silence.
It embarrassed him taking a photo of himself that night, even though he was in the privacy of his own home. The thought of sending topless pictures of himself to strangers whilst he was sober made him blush from his ears to his collarbone. In the end, with some gentle coaxing, Matthew took the photo and hit send before he could regret it, rationalising that they'd known each other for months now!
A response came two hours later from the usually chatty American, and Matthew was smug to think that he'd had the same affect on the other man as he'd had himself.
"God, you're so sexy, Maple… I really want to meet you."
A cold stone of fear lodged in Matthew's stomach, his blood running cold and he quietly put his cell phone down, turned off the lights and went to bed without responding.
"Time's up, changeover!"
Speed dating was something new, now afraid and desperate because no one but that one man had responded to his dating profile online. He'd go to meetings of other singles, sit down and chat with them for five minutes, and then move on to the next man. It had been difficult finding speed dating for gay men, but when he did, he was sorely disappointed by it. There just… weren't any good men around… Frequently, he found his chin resting in his hand, elbow on the table and pretending to listen, being polite, whilst his other hand remained below the table, phone in hand, texting the man he quickly dubbed his hero.
"I'm dying of boredom. You saved me. My hero."
"Hahaha! Don't mention it, Maple! What're ya doin' anyway?"
Guilt wasn't allowed to make its appearance when he looked up at the brunette across from him, divulging his hobbies in mock shyness, but it gnawed at his gut when he sent a reply text.
"Just in a meeting, nothing special."
They weren't dating, and they hadn't met face to face, but that pit in his stomach only worsened.
"A-Ah… Oh… Fuck me harder…"
Matthew's voice was wispy in the dark of his hotel room, spreading his legs wider. Sweat rolled off his body, night shirt clinging to his torso, boxers hooked around his ankles that arched, feet pressed to the mattress and toes curling.
"Hero… Oh… Oui, please, harder," he gasped out, glasses knocked from his face and falling to rest on the bed, his thumb teasing the slit of his erection, smearing the pre-cum dribbling there along the thickness of his shaft.
He'd given him a pet name. Hero.
He didn't know this stranger's real name- this stranger he was pleasuring himself over. This stranger who had been sending photos to him, steadily getting raunchier and raunchier by the week and Matthew had found himself sending pictures back. Shaky hands grasped at his glasses, sliding them back onto his nose as he held the screen of his phone up to his face to see, drinking in the sight of strong thighs, soft and muscled and golden. Violets trailed up to the hips, nude and begging to be grasped and held onto and bruised, the teasing V dipping inwards and leading Matthew's eyes to the goal.
A thick cock stood erect on his screen, damp with semen and dripping in rivers along the thick vein that ran underneath the organ and Matthew imagined it to be pulsing, throbbing and aching. He imagined the musky scent and burying his nose in the pubic hair at the base—blond. This man was a natural blond like him, and the fact that he didn't wax or shave- simply kept it neatly trimmed- was enough to make Matthew's mouth water. Never before had he wanted a cock in his mouth so bad.
To satisfy the ache in his jaw, he'd suck on lollipops, all day suckers he'd shyly by from sex shops that were shaped like a penis, sucking greedily on them and picturing them as the man in the photos.
"I'm cumming… M-Mon dieu! Hero!"
The orgasm would leave him breathless; tracing his fingers lazily through the white substance splattered on his belly, his cock still sensitive and hard as he set his phone to the camera function. Lowering the phone and massaging his testicles to make himself squirt that last little bit for the camera, he snapped up a photo, sending it to burger_loving_hero as he drifted off, spent and cuddled up to his pillow on the bed with a simple sentence to accompany the image.
"Thinking of you xx"
Speed dating wasn't Matthew's thing. Not here, at least, in Montreal. He'd jumped through three different speed dating circles, given them all plenty of weeks of chances, but in the end, he'd given up on each and every one of them. There was something about his fellow Canadians that he just… couldn't… find… appealing. Not physically, not mentally, not sexually. They were all quite quickly friend zoned; the only benefit to it was that he made quick friends and found himself starting to sort-of relax.
"Hey, Maple! Need a hero? Your meetings are usually at this time, so, thought I'd save ya!"
Guilt chewed him out and took away his comfort zone, apologising to the man he was with to attend "urgent business".
"Yeah. You certainly have impressive timing, like you're here and just waiting to catch me in the middle of something important."
The fair haired blond had never purchased alcohol faster in his life when he got the text back.
"I wish I was there with you, Maple."
It was commitment issues, or so his mother had said with a quaint and certain nod at him when he'd confessed his uncertainty. Matthew had gone back to visit his parents for the weekend, deciding what harm was it to ask his mother for advice?
"You've always been like this, Matthew," she spoke softly, sipping at her tea, pushing her glasses up her nose, "Relationships mean permanency, and you've always been scared of that."
A frown marred his pale features, toying with the cake on the plate in his hands with the silver fork, the handle delicately intricate with some fancy pattern from some fancy brand Matthew really couldn't care less about.
It was a big deal to his mother.
One word against it and it was the back end of a wooden spoon he'd get in reply.
"You're just too used to everything in your life being transient. It's a bloody miracle you've kept a steady job for as long as you have. All your relationships have flopped, you've never seen a project through, and I'd be damned if I've seen you complete anything apart from high school and university," his mother continued, British accent prim and proper as she sipped at her tea, emerald eyes focused on her son, "I think what has you scared isn't the relationship, otherwise you wouldn't be looking through dating sites, but rather the fear of getting attached and rejected is what frightens you, poppet."
Violet eyes focused on the mashed apart cake miserably, the icing smeared along the pink rose floral pattern on the porcelain plate.
"You're still afraid of being left behind and forgotten, dear."
With a soft chime, Matthew tugged out his phone, mother an onlooker as he checked the text that had appeared.
"I was wondering… We've been texting a while… I want to hear your voice, Maple… When can I call you?"
The cake was placed, untouched, back down on the living room coffee table, uneasiness gripping his stomach like a sickness, and he didn't need his mother's bad cooking to set off what felt like buckets of vomit.
It was awkward.
It was awkward, and it took a lot of pepping up to do it.
Lots of mental work, lots of planning, lots of reassurances, and then setting a time, date, and who would call who. In the end, it was burger_loving_hero who called first.
Matthew cursed his shaking voice, soft as he spoke into the speaker, leaning against the bed, knees tucked to his chest, staring blankly at a spot on the white sheets below him.
For a moment, there was only breathing until a shaky cough broke the silence, one of utter apprehension.
"Hey, Maple… I guess we're both kinda nervous 'bout this, huh?"
A choked sound of agreement fell past Matthew's lips, gripping his cell phone tighter in a sweaty palm, shaking.
"But… it's good to hear yer voice!"
The laugh that followed the American's declaration made a smile break forth on Matthew's lips, closing his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall.
"It's good to hear your voice too, Hero."
"And change it up! Switch partners!"
Matthew had long ago given up speed dating in Canada, having found no one in his town, or other provinces for that matter, that fit his criteria on a man he could date. They were all either too rough, too much of a fairy, had the stupid gay lisp he hated so much, or were overly buff. Why couldn't there be normal gay guys?
One had even fluttered their eyelashes at him and started sniffling, blushing like some girl and getting stupidly timid.
Needless to say, he ended that potential date with a tight lipped smile as he stood and stiffly walked away to find a brick wall to punch, his knuckles (or perhaps the brick wall) saved by the melody of his phone ringing, draining his anger out as he caught sight of the caller ID. Answering it, he raised the phone to his ear.
"Dude, you know what just clicked for me? About, like, Squirtle? It's called a Squirtle because it's a cross between a turtle, and a squirrel!" His voice was so energetic.
The Canadian chuckled. "How would you feel if I told you that Gengar was actually just Clefairy's shadow?"
"… BULL SHIT!"
Without realising it, hearing his voice had become a part of daily life, and Matthew feared the day when he wouldn't get a phone call and be left waiting anxiously by his phone, afraid to call first, afraid he was too annoying…
… Afraid that his hero would hate him and disappear forever…
Matthew blinked up at the ceiling, idly twirling some strands of strawberry blond around his fingers.
"Nn?" The sound was soft, sleepy, a contented hum as he let himself bask in the purr of the southern husk he'd gotten so used to hearing every day, every morning, every night. At first, the Canadian hadn't known how or where to place the accent, guessing American states until Hero had simply laughed and confessed he'd moved around a lot as a kid so he'd developed a blend of American accents. Though it was a bit more southern than anything, and Matthew liked the lazy way words were slurred and rolled off like a summer afternoon snooze in the fields.
Picturing that only ever made Matthew fantasise about gentlemanly cowboys and wide brimmed hats, white teeth chewing at a piece of hay and he knew it was stereotypical, but the thought of Hero dressing as a cowboy for him and using his broad hands to grip him and make love to him rough and sweet made the violet eyed man shiver in delight.
How he craved this stranger's body against his…
"So… Ah… What're ya wearin'?"
Hands rested against the bed stilly, one still with a lock of blond twirled around slim fingers, the other holding his cell to his ear. It was new… They'd talked about it before, but both had been too shy to instigate it, even though Matthew had insinuated that yes, he wanted it and he wanted it bad.
"Nothing fancy: just my baggy white sleeping shirt and a pair of red boxers," he replied easily, pink dusting his cheeks, though his eyebrows knitted when he heard the softest of groans.
Hero's voice was luscious, though it sounded off ease.
"Christ, Maple, so little already?" There was a huff of breath, followed by another shaky intake, the rustle of fabric and Matthew smiled softly.
"Hey, you don't have to push this. When you're ready, okay?" he reassured, arching his back to shift his torso comfortably on the bed, removing his glasses and placing them on the bedside table with a little stretch of his arm, "It's okay if you're not comfortable with this."
"That's not it at all. I…" There was a pained sigh, frustrated, heavy and forlorn. "I just wish I could see. I… I really wanna meet you, Maple. I wanna hold you in my arms, undress you myself, see what you look like, feel you, taste you- watch you react to my touches… I…" There was a stutter in breath, followed by a forced laugh, though Matthew pretended to not notice the lacklustre sound. "I'm sorry, I just…"
"It's okay," Matthew choked out when the man trailed off.
A pregnant pause filled the air between them, listening to each other's breath, Matthew anxiously fiddling with his sheets, tracing no particular pattern around on the white cotton, guilt eating him up from within, gnawing up his oesophagus and chewing into his lungs, making breathing harder. He swallowed, gripping the phone tighter.
"I think I should go now. Good night."
"Y-Yeah… G'night, Maple…"
The next day, he called in sick for work, the ache in his chest too heavy for him to drag through the office that day, leaving him with the medicinal aids of vodka, reruns of hockey on his too-big-for-one-man LCD television, and a packet of cigarettes.
That day, Hero didn't call.
It took a few attempts before phone sex worked, and in the end, it had been Matthew who had started it, chewing on his bottom lip, breathing out a soft and needy, "I'm so horny… Will my hero save me?"
It was cheesy, but the man couldn't resist a plea for help like that, and he'd eagerly delved into the role, a little clumsy in his speech, almost inexperienced when it came to voicing sex, though it sounded like he clearly was no virgin. He knew what he was doing. He just didn't know what he was saying. There were clumsy periods of silence, puffed breath into speakers and sentences broken with um's and ah's, and the awkward talk of who liked to metaphorically give the presents or receive the presents at Christmas, but when they finally found a sort of rhythm, Matthew was left trembling on his bed, pleading softly for more, more, more.
"I run my lubricated fingers around the base of your cock," the husky voice purred, and Matthew obeyed it, circling slick fingers around his throbbing organ, arching his hips into the touch, panting into the phone.
"I'm so needy, ah, please, put them in, please, please," he panted, continuing to torture himself even as his hand twitched with the urge to just grab his cock and furiously masturbate. But he didn't. He held out. He waited for instructions.
"My fingers, ah, they touch your balls, my thumb rubbing gently between them as I, ah, um, cup them and use my other fingers to… um… rub them."
Hero wasn't the best at describing sex, and Matthew as a French-English minor in university found himself partially amused by the repetition in the American's vocabulary, though mentioned nothing of it, simply letting the words take him to pleasure.
His fingers dipped down, hand twisting a little awkwardly at the angle as his index and middle finger cupped one testicle, his ring and pinkie encircling the other and began the massage them while his thumb pressed between them, making them feel so much tighter in the sac of skin. He let his head fall back, moaning softly into the speaker, hearing a hitch of breath.
"A-Are ya doin' it?" an uncertain voice sounded.
At first, Matthew nodded, but then remembering the man couldn't see, he voiced a soft "Oui" to be heard.
"Okay. I move my hand down, tracing your, er… your… your asshole? Yeah, uh, I trace it with my fingers as I squeeze your balls."
Matthew paused, opening his eyes. "Which hand?"
"Which hand is doing what?" Matthew asked shakily, rolling about his testicles like a pair of dice, soft and slow, "My lubricated hand… Nnn… is playing with my—ahh—my balls."
"Oh. Um, use that hand to touch your… h-hole…" Matthew smiled at the bashful tone and the heavy swallow on the other end of the line, the man struggling to pick his words tactfully. "And just bring your other hand down to keep touching your balls like I told you."
"One sec, lemme, ah, put you on speaker."
There was a bit of fiddling, but then the American's heavy breathing was projected into the room, the cell resting by his head, his hands returning down, dry hand cupping his balls, the other trailing down along the skin behind his testicles down to the sphincter, tracing wet circles and shivering.
"Mmm, keep going, Hero," he pleaded to the side, rocking his hips up into his own touch, pert nipples glistening with lubricant in the light of the moon that shone from the window to the left of his bed.
"I push in one finger, nice and slow. Fuck, I bet you're tight, aren't you?"
"Oh! Mmm, yes, I can feel your finger rubbing me, I'm squeezing you."
"Ahh… Mmm… Thrust it. Thrust it deep, I, ah, I finger fuck you deeply until my knuckle presses against your ass."
The Canadian's slim white finger pressed in, rocking his hips onto the single digit, toying with himself, panting lewdly into the phone because he knows his voice can't be as soft as he normally is during sex, because they're both touching themselves to each other and there's something there that's different to the times he's had a stranger between his legs pounding him. There's something insatiable now as he adds another finger beside the first, and then presses in a third and pushes deep, eyes rolling back in his head, back arching off the bed and he's pushing down hard, grinding, rutting against his hand. He calls out into the darkness of the room, sweat's gliding along his skin and he's trembling, hair a beautiful mess and he fucks himself, getting off on the way Hero's moaning and panting into the phone.
"Fuck! Fuck me harder! Harder, please, Hero, harder, please, please, please," he begs, thrusting his fingers mercilessly, a dirty squelch in the room of slick fingers ramming into his stretched hole hard and fast, but it's not enough.
"M-Maple… I… I'm g-gonna… Fuck… Touch yourself. I w-wanna hear you—nngh—fucking your hand," the voice chokes back, and Matthew guides the hand not inside of him to his cock, rubbing hard and fast.
He moans, sounds falling from his lips like a song cry for the American he wants, heat building inside of him, licking every vein, muscle and pore of his being, making him feel like he's burning. "Hero! Hero! I—Ahh! I-I wanna cum!" he cries out, his legs shaking and jerking, needing something to wrap around, body tensing and arching, legs bending in, feet cramping with how hard his toes are curled into the mattress, desperate for more and needing to hold onto the source of pleasure but having nothing there.
"M-Me too, Maple… Ah… Ah-hah, ohh, nngh, fuck, fuck, fuck, Maple!"
There's a grunt and a long moan, and it sets Matthew off, voice echoing in the night as he throws his head back, his seed splattering his stomach, body taught and cramping but it's a wonderful feeling, being consumed by this blaze that's within him and he feels like he's melting into everything around him, hyper aware and lost to the nothingness.
The night is silent, but he can hear it all, the soft breeze that carries the snow whispers, the crackle of white noise that hums beside the hot and heavy panting of Hero, the squelch of his fingers rubbing inside of him against his prostate, moving back and forward lazily. His hand on his crotch moves slowly, milking himself and he can hear the slick way his thumb rubs against his slit, feel the way his body jerks with every light touch and makes his breath hitch. Sweat glides along his white body like rivers along mountains, glowing a soft shade of rose in pleasured contentment, and the cool breeze against his skin makes him shiver, arch up into his invisible lover he wishes was there to keep his body heat like his own personal thermal blanket.
By the time his vision clears, his fingers have stilled, one cupping his softening crotch, splattered in cum and the other simply resting with three fingers inside of him, refusing to leave the torrid heat of his insides, and he pictures briefly that it was Hero's cock nestled inside of him, softening after releasing his seed inside; pictures Hero rubbing his over sensitised cock and lifting it to his lips to lick clean; pictures the way they would kiss slowly and passionately and sweetly after it all and he lets a final moan fall from his lips.
The man is breathing hard still, breath hiccupping every so often into the phone and Matthew slides his fingers out regretfully, scissoring them and flexing movement when he hears it. A soft sob.
"I gotta meet ya, Maple… Please… I-I'm bookin' a flight to Canada… I think I'm fallin' in lo—"
Matthew doesn't hear the end of that sentence, his fingers smearing cum and lubricant on the phone's touch screen as they slide away from the End Call button, violet eyes wide and terrified. The heat is gone, the fire extinguished, and it feels cold in the room again, as though only now he has realised the thin layer of snowflakes on his chest of drawers or the way the breeze coils around his naked and lonely body atop the white covers of his bed.
Like a bucket of water to a flame, the fuzzy and happy feeling in him is doused, and it must be the sudden change in body temperature why he begins to shake, curling up on himself to protect his exposed flesh from the winter cold. It's the winter, he reasons, it's the winter that was causing it and he was stupid enough to forget to shut the window before he masturbated and of course that's why he's shaking so bad.
Matthew finds no rationale to explain why he sobs heavily into his pillow that night.
"I'm new 'round here!" The friendly voice chirps, and Matthew looks to the man with a sadness that hasn't left his eyes in a week. "To be honest, the move was kind of spontaneous, but, it's totally gonna be worth it, I reckon!" A bright laugh falls from the man's lips, pink and soft and emitting the brightness of a thousand suns in the way the blond smiles at him. His hair is short and straight, a sunshine golden blond that frames a handsomely structured face with smooth, sun-kissed skin, and bright sky blue eyes, and it pains Matthew how everything about the man reminds him of a hot summer's day.
"I moved here from Louisiana. Lovely place, but, y'know, gotta travel the world a bit! I really wanna go explore, y'know? But I'd love to do that with a partner. Like a Batman and his Robin, or a Sherlock and his Watson! Maybe I'll find that partner here in Montreal?" Another bright laugh, the blond leaning back lazily in his chair, all confidence and charisma that made the room shine.
There are tired shadows under the American's eyes, and Matthew wondered just how bad his flight could have been to have put dark circles there. Who knows? Domestic flights were a dick and a half. Or maybe the man drove?
"What brought you here to Canada?" he asked softly, hand sliding under the table, phone in his palm once more.
"Hero, I got a question. Where do you live? You told me your accent, but I didn't catch where you are in America."
It was a casual message, violet eyes flicking up to the man across him before he hit 'Send' subtly.
"Well, there's just something about the people here. I mean, I'm lookin' for someone—" A startled yelp fell from the blue eyed man's lips as his phone shot out its signature tone that a message had arrived. "Crap! Dude, I, uh, I'm sorry, I thought I'd switched that thing to silent," he mumbled, pink dusting the warm cheeks of the stranger as he tugged out his phone, glasses adjusting on his face. There was a brief look of confusion, eyebrows furrowing and knitting until his fingers flew across the keypad and then the phone was back in his pocket.
"Sorry, I, uh, I got a message," he apologised, embarrassed as he sat forward in his seat.
Matthew offered a small smile, shaking his head as he felt his phone buzz and vibrate quietly, unlocking the screen once more without even needing to look, memorised to perfection where to slide his fingers. "It's okay, I don't mind, we all have things outside of dating life," he replied, glancing down to inspect the message.
"Louisiana. I lived there until a few days ago. I didn't tell ya?"
Realising he was staring at his phone, the Canadian's head jerked up to look at the stranger who looked uncomfortable, embarrassed. "Um, so, you like comics?" he asked idly, trying to strike up a conversation because he'd mentioned Batman, so, stab in the dark hobby? Oh how he hoped so, he needed to think of a reply to Hero.
To his luck, the stranger seemed to light up like a child in a candy store.
"Yeah! I'm a great fan of comics! I love Marvel and DC just as much as one another, so it's hard to pick a favourite! They're just so fantastic, like, Batman's got the coolest villains, and you gotta love Superman, 'cause, like, there's seriously some skill in doin' what he does. Speakin' of skill, Captain America. Like, oh God, his whole story just breaks my heart, but in the Civil War, I think I actually cried when the Cap got shot and I saw that one panel with Iron Man sitting by his body!"
It had been hard to text through a heartfelt speech like that, the comics fan across from him looking so passionate about mere comics that it had been hard to concentrate on replying to Hero.
"Where are you now?"
"I mean, I'm pretty sure Marvel just likes to jerk our heartstrings because I swear I was waiting in that panel for Iron Man to lean over and—huh?" Blue eyes looked down, phone not subtle as it let off another ping. "I turned you to silent! Don't tell me your buttons are jammed!" he whined at the device, plonking the phone on the table to better give leverage to his hand, digging his thumb into the button with a grunt, "Maple, I'm sorry."
Matthew froze up, body going stiff, palms beginning to sweat.
"Maple?" he repeated softly, watching as the man huffed, clearly having not heard, sending a reply message and pushing his phone into his pocket.
"I'm meeting up with people. Can't sext now, baby 3"
"Uh, what was I saying?"
"Hero," Matthew mumbled, staring blankly into bright blue eyes, the man seeming to brighten up.
"Yeah! Heroes! They're, like, my favourite thing in the world next to hamburgers, football and space exploration!"
Fingers were shaky as they pressed the words into the message, hitting Send.
"What colour are the eyes of the man in front of you?"
"You look like the hero type," Matthew replied, catching the man glancing down, looking surprised before looking up and leaning closer against the table between them. The Canadian let him, holding his breath, their eyes locking.
"Are you feelin' okay, dude?" the man asked, noticing the way that the fairer blond's complexion paled, eyes glassing over with tears.
Taking a deep breath, Matthew nodded.
"What's your favourite type of dessert topping?" he asked, fingers slippery against the touch screen on his phone.
"Tell the man Maple."
The atmosphere was thick around them. Conversations carried on around them, laughter and playful gasps and excited chatter. A bell rang somewhere in the corner of the room, the moderator announcing that they all had to change partners. Both men remained still in their seats, blue eyes locked on violet, expressions afraid, hopeful, uncertain, yet neither dared speak even as the scrape of chairs echoed in the small space when other men began to shift.
"Maple," the man whispered, lips forming the syllable in a purr so familiar and Matthew watched the tongue curl against straight white teeth, the lips mould the sounds, the drawl of a southern accent that had travelled too many states around America filtering to his ears despite the clutter of noise around them. It was that low timbre voice he was so used to hearing, but it was a bit higher in pitch than he recognised off the phone, and he slapped himself mentally for not realising who it was he was seated in front of.
"Hero," he breathed, drinking in the sight of the man he'd been talking to for almost half a year, the man who he'd dreamt about, fantasised making love to, sent dirty pictures to and grown so attached to that it hurt and made him cry at the aching hole in his chest that only this one man seemed to fill when they spoke.
"Alfred… Alfred F. Jones… That… That's my name, Maple," he spoke, and that smile couldn't get any brighter, outshining every source of light in the galaxy, "Nice to meet you."
The Canadian couldn't help but smile, tears brimming his eyes pathetically as his shoulders lowered from their hunched and tense posture.
"My name's Matthew… Matthew Williams… It's nice to meet you too," he answered, pressing his phone to the table, an unsent message addressed to Hero resting in drafts, reflecting on the screen.
Alfred smiled wider, his phone following suit, the last text received by the Canadian bright on the screen above a text waiting to be sent.
"So, Matthew…" the American began, placing one hand atop of Matthew's, broad, hot, calloused and just the size he'd pictured, "Are you lonely too?"
Matthew nodded and laced their fingers together, picking himself up from the chair to lean in across the table, catching sight of a tear rolling down Alfred's now flushed cheeks.
"So lonely… I've been waiting for you, Alfred."
Their lips meeting was soft and innocent, tentative, the press gentle enough to be chaste but with enough pressure behind it to convey their desperation and neediness, fingers curling into each other's blond hair, their heads tilting, perfectly in sync, and that fire that had been doused so coldly nearly a week ago was once more ignited, spreading throughout his body from his lips right down to his toes and every last fibre of his being. A sound that could have been a sob or a moan alike echoed between their lips, unsure which of them had made it, and they pulled away gently, their eyes shut, one pair of hands laced with another, and the other pair tangled in the opposite's hair. Slowly, violet eyes fluttered open, focusing on Alfred's lips, watching them turn into a smile and he couldn't help but smile in return, standing in unison to slide across the table and hold each other, hearts beating against their rib cages beneath layers of long sleeved shirts and jackets.
"I finally found you, Maple," Alfred's warm voice breathed in his ear, causing the Canadian to shiver, but in all the pleasant ways that made him smile wider.
"Want to go get some coffee? There's a café nearby that's beside a book store. We can go browse the comics together after some maple laced lattes," Matthew offered softly, breathing in deeply, inhaling the scent of musk, guava, ginger root, and amber wood, fingers tracing along a strong back that shook in his hold.
"Yeah… Yeah, I do," Alfred choked back, voice shaky, "And you know what else?"
Alfred pulled back, bright blue eyes damp, tears rolling down his cheeks, a lopsided smile on his face as he chuckled, arms around Matthew's slim waist.
"I love you, Maple."
The Canadian looked deep into Alfred's eyes, studying, putting together all their conversations, all their pictures, all their text messages to a face and a person, finally able to let himself admit that he had been afraid; afraid to be left alone, afraid he was being lied to, afraid Hero wasn't real and just some maniac trying to lure him in to be murdered. One look in his eyes and Matthew could tell that Alfred was real; he was genuine.
"I love you too, Hero," he whispered, boldly sealing their lips together once more.
The backlights on their phones dimmed by their hips on the table, and when their lips parted once more, smiling, they pocketed the cells and left the room hand in hand, their final and identical texts remaining unsent.
"I've finally found you."
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed it, let me know what you thought about it, what you liked, or what you disliked. I love reading what you guys think; reviews are always much appreciated! Hope to see you next story~! (Bye bye~!)