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you called but i can't hear a thing

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Returning to Lockland early was the best decision, Victor thinks. His mother had complained half-heartedly as usual, muttering about the importance of family time especially for adolescents , but the truth is that she was too busy editing her latest book to really care. She sure as hell didn’t see him off to the airport; she never has in her life. And when Victor arrived, designer luggage on hand and bundled up in a cashmere scarf, it was Eli who said hey, who slung an arm around his shoulder and drove him back to their apartment.

Snow has blanketed the campus in white. It would be poetic, Victor thinks, if it wasn’t so fucking cold. But at least it’s desolate and empty, the way he likes it. The way he prefers it; no other human beings in sight. Everyone else is still at home, making the most out of holiday break.

If he focuses hard enough, he can pretend that nobody else exists. It’s just him and Eli, the way it’s supposed to be. Eli, who manages to exude warmth like an overgrown furnace. Eli, who picked up Victor’s heaviest suitcase (at his insistence) and chattered on and on about the research he did over the break. Victor is exhausted from the flight, still half jet-lagged and in desperate need of a shower and a change of clothes. But he likes Eli’s voice, likes the familiar cadence of it, likes how Eli’s overwhelming presence makes him feel on edge and relaxed at the same time.

Likes how being with Eli feels more like belonging than anywhere else.

And when Victor peels off his coat, his scarf, his jacket Eli watches him hungrily, hands still gesturing in mid-air as his gaze traces the edges of Victor’s slender body. Victor watches back, cold blue eyes glinting, just daring him to make the first move. This is the game they always play; two predators circling each other, daring the other to pounce.

There’s nobody else on their floor. Nobody else in the apartment below and above. And so there’s nobody to hear Eli’s sure and steady steps towards Victor. Nobody to hear the way his voice dips, dark and cruel, as he reminds him that they’re finally alone.

Not that Victor needs reminding, the smug bastard.

Sure, it’s still cold as fuck, but Victor’s room has always been the warmer of the two. Victor’s bed has thicker, more expensive sheets. Victor’s bed doesn’t creak. Fitting two overgrown young men on a twin-sized bed is a feat in itself, but practice makes perfect and they’ve always been diligent students. This is a familiar pose, a familiar game: Eli standing over the bed, looming over his best friend; Victor lying beneath him, his legs wrapped around Eli’s waist, his fist curled around Eli’s collar to drag him down, down for another kiss.

Eli, the true Eli, is a vicious kisser, which Victor appreciates. Eli doesn’t treat him like a fragile bauble, like a girl about to break. Eli sucks and bites and snarls like a feral animal marking its territory. Victor says he hates it, even as his fingers scrabble across Eli’s back, digging deep into his muscles, his spine. Even as his back arches, as his throat is bared for the brush of teeth. Eli’s lips close around his pulse—soft enough to hide the sharpness of his teeth.

And when Victor gasps, Eli chuckles like he deserves a medal.

Eli, the true Eli, is a rough fuck, which Victor appreciates. He throws one of Victor’s legs over his shoulder and drives right in, hard enough that the bedframe shakes. Victor hisses. Eli’s hand on his hip is bruising, but at least it’s a distraction from the pain of the stretch, from the sense of wrongness of having a cock inside of him. It will feel good in a while, sure, but he knows that Eli does this on purpose. Eli likes seeing him unravel. He likes it when Victor’s eyes go glassy and when his pale cheeks flush pink.

Fucking bastard.

Eli looms over him, dark and heavy. His hair casts shadows across his face. Just between the two of them in the silence, Eli’s smile gains a hard edge. His eyes glint with black fire, with jagged shards of glass. The hint of the real monster peeking through. This is what makes it worth it, Victor thinks. Having Eli’s attention focused solely on him. Eli revealing himself in his entirety.

Victor reaches upwards and yanks at Eli’s hair, hard enough that his head snaps backwards. Eli swears, his nails digging into the flesh of Victor’s thigh. Still, Victor laughs, and then the laugh turns into a moan as Eli thrusts just right.

He can already feel the pressure building at the bottom of his abdomen. Eli hasn’t even touched him yet, which should be pathetic, but he can’t find it in himself to care. He grinds against him, shudders, just the way he knows Eli likes. And when Eli’s eyes light up—

His phone rings, loud as church bells. It’s slightly muffled from where it’s been buried inside the pocket of his jeans.

With a burst of speed, Eli pins Victor’s wrists above his head. He thinks he’s going to continue, but then the phone won’t stop ringing, and the noise is so loud and grating that he’s getting soft, hell.

Eli fishes the phone from the floor and stares at the screen.

“Who is it?” Victor asks, voice hoarse. Though the real question is why are you still staring at it? Hurry up and switch it off already.

But Eli blinks.

“It’s Angie,” he says.

“Call her back later,” Victor grinds out. His hands are still pinned above his head, and Eli is heavy. But Eli just stares at him slyly, a vengeful tilt to his mouth.

“Hey,” Eli says, answering the phone.

“Fuck you,” Victor whispers.

Eli grins. And then he resumes thrusting, somehow managing to fuck Victor while balancing on the edge of the bed, without missing a beat.

“How are you?” Eli asks, voice even. Not as breathless as Victor feels. A drop of sweat sticks to his brow but his face isn’t flushed. In fact, he’s got that familiar politician’s smile plastered all over again.

Eli changes his angle, slides in deeper, and then laughs brightly as Victor whines.

“Nah, nothing much,” he says, meeting Victor’s gaze. “I’m still at the airport. Victor’s flight got delayed. There’s a crazy snowstorm out here.”

The groan is an accident. Victor doesn’t mean it, but how can he go on like nothing’s happening? Eli’s still looking at him sure, his pupils more wide-blown now, but his voice is smooth as butter. And he won’t stop talking.

Eli surprises Victor by releasing his wrists and wrapping a hand around his throat instead.

Victor freezes. Chokes. His hands scramble towards his neck but he doesn’t pull Eli’s fingers away. His palm is large, warm, rough against his jugular. He swallows thickly, throat bobbing against the pressure of skin.

Eli leans in closer. Victor’s cock twitches between them.

“That’s good to hear,” Eli continues into the phone. “It’s freezing out here. I’m so jealous. You should tell me all about it. Do you have pictures?”

Another thrust. Another squeeze. Not hard enough to truly hurt. Not hard enough to cut off air. But hard enough to remind him that he can.

Victor wraps his legs tighter around Eli’s waist. And then he smiles, slow and sharp as a shark.

When Victor grinds back, Eli’s voice hitches just the tiniest bit. It’s almost indiscernible.

“Mhmm.” Eli’s voice is as dark as his stare. “That sounds like so much fun. All I’ve done here is study.”

Victor’s hand slowly trains down his own chest, his abdomen, his hips. He wraps his hand around his prick and mouths nerd. Eli’s jaw twitches. He digs his fingers into Victor’s neck, painfully this time. But Victor just inhales sharply, his hand tightening around himself.

“Yeah,” Eli says. “Hey, I think Victor’s flight is here. I have to go. Missed you too. Bye. See you soon.”

Then he hangs up and throws the phone to the ground without sparing it a glance.

“You’re a monster,” Eli grumbles. He speeds up his pace. But now his hips are awkward, jerky, like he’s close to the edge. And Victor notices the way his chest rapidly rises and falls, like he’s barely holding it in.

Victor only snickers.

“Missed you too,” he mocks.

Eli kisses him so hard that his teeth draw blood from Victor’s lower lip. And when Victor’s nails scrape across his back, he comes with a shudder and a swear, his hand still resting on the smallness of Victor’s neck.

Angie does call again later that evening, but Victor’s head is buried in Eli’s lap and his phone is locked in the other room. Neither of them notices.