Pt 1: Only you (Neil/Lyle, phone sex)

This was originally written for the Gundam 00 S2 Kink Meme Livejournal. The prompt was Lyle/anyone, phone sex, wall sex, and bed sex.

"Only you would join a terrorist organization for the hot ass," Neil says, like it's something he would never in a million years dream of doing.

Lyle snorts out a laugh, shaking his head and looking up at the ceiling. "If I recall, you did mention something about a pink-haired girl? And a purple-haired boy. And-"

"Yeah, yeah, okay, so maybe we have that in common," Neil admits, amusement coloring the grudging words.

"You get any yet?" Lyle asks, trying not to sound too interested. Even though he is and Neil probably knows it. They always maintain that illusion of distance, the necessary aloofness in tone and action.

"Wouldn't you like to know," Neil says, voice dropping down a couple octaves.

Lyle thinks, Oh yes. It's on, now. "i..."

"What's the magic word?"

"Cocksucking." Lyle says, making it sound like the most natural thing in the world.

"Mm-mmm. Physically impossible; I'm in space and you're on Earth and neither of us are that limber. Try again."

"Masturbating." He wasn't, yet, although he was stretched out in bed, sans pants. He may have been counting on something like this happening. Just maybe.

"Getting warmer. Try multiple words-'magic word' is sort of a euphemism, you know."

"Phone sex?" he asks, breathing the word out like it's his lover's name. He's rewarded with the sudden hitching of Neil's breath, no sound at all and then a woosh followed by a shaky inhalation. "What are you wearing?"

"Gloves," Neil murmurs.

"That's all?" Lyle wishes he could imagine it better, but having not seen his brother since their eighteenth birthday there's a very clear image of Neil's face and of his cock-both mirrors of Lyle's-and the further away he gets from those two areas the more blurry the imaginary lines of Neil's body become.

"Yep." The word is almost a sigh.

"You still wear them all the time?" He remembers the comment, almost offhanded at the time, after a week of Neil wearing the gloves indoors and out: Neil would take the gloves off when he could work-live-without them and still keep his hands clean.

"Yep." Another sigh, this one sounds forced.

Would you take them off for me, Lyle almost asks, but bites his lip so that he doesn't. He's tried before. Neil won't take off the gloves for him.

"What about you?" Forced casualness, now. Lyle's kicking himself for acknowledging the gloves.

"Tank top and socks," Lyle answers, making the words as sexy as he possibly can. Needs to get this back on the right track-it's not as if they have hours to spend, here. It's not like things were when they were teenagers.

"No gun holster?"

Lyle's cock throbs a little at the mention-it's a kink they share. "On the nightstand. Want me to-"

"Yeah. It's loaded, right?" Neil's voice has that tell-tale breathlessness to it, the one never-failing dead giveaway that he has a boner.

"Always." Lyle reaches for the handgun on the nightstand, fingers wrapping around the grip and lifting the piece from its resting place.

"Mmmm. What kind?"

"Glock 54."

The sound that Neil makes is something between a moan and a noise of acknowledgment. It's both, caught in the middle as it is, and it makes Lyle's cock jump in anticipation. "Been a while?"

"Since I've held a pistol?" Neil asks, voice dreamy. "Yes."

Lyle runs his fingertips over the barrel of the gun, from rear sight to front sight and back again, relishing the feel of the smooth, cool metal. "They don't let you have handguns up there in space?"

"Ti- my ... teammate ... says too many things could go wrong."

"Ah." Lyle can imagine a few likely scenarios pretty easy, and he's never been in space before. The idea of Neil explaining why he would want a gun with no ammunition made him smile. But this is distracting; they only have about ten minutes left before Neil has to cancel the call-security issues, he'd said. "Well, I-"

"Fuck yourself with the gun," Neil says in a way that should be abrupt but isn't. Just normal Neil, telling Lyle what to do.

And normal Lyle, scooting to the edge of the bed fumbling blindly under it for his lubricant. "Gimme a sec. Lube."

"Do it rough." Rough like Neil's voice, Lyle thinks. "I want you to be sore tomorrow."

Like Neil himself would do it, that dark, inhuman quality creeping into his voice as he bends Lyle over- Lyle groans, fingers finally closing around the elusive bottle of lube and squeezing probably a little too hard. He'll have to clean that up, afterward, and maybe even one day learn to refasten the cap properly after use. For now he just lets the gun rest on his stomach as he squirts slick fluid onto his fingers and spreads his legs wide.

"C'mon. You're not even fingering yourself yet, Lyle. I want to hear-"

Lyle's shaky inhale as he slides two fingers into himself-what's the sense in starting with one, when he'll end up sore anyway?-is soft, but obviously what Neil was listening for because it makes him cut off. And listen for a moment. Lyle gives him something to listen to, breath puffing out in a series of soft hah, hah, hahs that match the rhythm of his fingers in and out of his ass.

"Mmm. That's more like it." Neil is silent for a few long moments; Lyle adds a third finger to the first two, barely managing to work it inside of him before Neil interrupts. "Okay. Now the gun."

He's not ready-he knows it. It's going to fucking hurt. But that's not what stops him. What stops him is-"Condom."

"Of course. Don't want to get it dirty."

Lyle's fingers are shaky, but the condoms are kept in a certain place, unlike the lube. Very back of the drawer of his nightstand. Easy enough, and an excuse to roll over and grind his hips against the bed a little. And- oh, he likes this position, he thinks. It's a little hard on the headset, but...

"On your stomach?" Neil has an uncanny ability to pin down Lyle's movements, based on the sounds he makes. Probably also based on the distortions of the sounds thanks to the placement of the microphone.

"Mmm," Lyle confirms, best he can. He opens the condom package, sliding the latex over the barrel. It's not exactly a tight fit but he can't bring himself to care. "Want me to do it like this? I'm- mmm. Kneeling, now. Reaching between my legs-"

"Yeah. Just like that."

Lyle moans, hand automatically stopping at his cock to give it an encouraging squeeze. It's not him-it's Neil, making him relax, gloved finger gliding over the head of Lyle's cock slowly.

"Imagine it's me behind you-"

"Fucking me with your gun," Lyle supplies, in a voice that's probably not entirely comprehensible. Drawling some parts of words, cutting off others. "That-long-barreled pistol you had in sixth form. 'member?"

"Oh, god," Neil moans, and Lyle's cock throbs. They hadn't thought to use guns this way in the days when they were together in person. Just- in the time since. But mixing the past and the present always made things more vivid.

"I'm- ah!" Lyle can't keep talking and push the gun inside of him at the same time. He just can't, not with the chill and the complete lack of give, the solidness, of the metal making him shake. He could never imagine it was anyone's cock, Neil's or- nobody's. It's too inhuman, too completely unforgiving as he pushes it in deeper, ragged moan wrenching its way free from his throat.

"Hurts, doesn't it?" Neil's voice could've been cruel, in some world, and probably was, but inside the place Lyle is now it's pure audible sex, low and mean and just for Lyle. "Do you want to stop?"

"Y-yes," Lyle heard himself saying, even if it wasn't strictly true. He didn't want to stop. But he wanted the pain to stop, wanted the loneliness to go away, and most of all wanted his brother to come back.

"Too bad. Are you jacking off?" The way the pitch in Neil's voice rose and fell rapidly-every other word-indicated that even if Lyle wasn't, Neil was.

"Sh-sh-should I?" Oh, god, he sounded so pathetic.

Neil didn't seem to mind, though, breath growing shorter, soft schtick-schtick of hand-on-cock in the background. "No. Fuck yourself."

"With the g-gun?" Lyle asked.

And was rewarded with a low, needy sound from Neil. "Yes."

Lyle did. Not fast-too tight for that, not a good position for relaxing-but steady. At first, anyway. Then he managed to hit his prostate-Neil moaned, softer than Lyle's but no less pleased-and the world got a little shaky around the edges and it quit mattering that he wasn't relaxed enough to go fast.

"Yes, yes, yes." Neil's mantra was unstopping, if breathy, steadily increasing in pitch and frequency until it became an almost feminine sounding "yesyesyesyesyes" and then- Neil cried out.

And the connection cut off.

Lyle screamed his frustration into the pillow, hands falling away from the gun. His thighs shook as the gun slowly slid out of him, falling unceremoniously onto the blankets. The ache in his balls was more painful than anything else so far, so he rolled over onto his back and closed his eyes and finished jacking off, imagining his brother.

Imagining that he was shaking with sexual need and not anything else.

He came quietly; no one was there to hear him.

That, Lyle thinks, explains a lot.