Chapter Text
"So, um, how does this work exactly?"
The person on the other end isn't snappish or mocking, probably, Arthur thinks, because she's gotten the question before. "I connect you with someone and you tell them what you want."
"And do you have, er..." Oh God, Arthur is blushing already and he hasn't even properly started yet. "I know most of them are women, but are there...?" Arthur lets the question go unfinished.
Luckily, the operator understands. "We have a number of male actors to suit a variety of needs, of course. Is there anything in particular you'd like?"
I'd like to know how I ever thought this might be a good idea, Arthur thinks to say, but doesn't. Arthur does know, however, perfectly well how he'd gotten into this situation. The seedling of an idea had been planted in his brain by a passing remark from his friend Gwaine. Unlike Arthur, Gwaine has a calendar—yes, a bloody calendar—with a different name on practically every day of the week to keep track of when he was fucking who. Arthur—reserved, traditional, stick-up-his-arse Arthur—hasn't had a good shag in almost three years. It was really time he put an end to that.
The only problem is, Arthur isn't just quiet, he's shy. He has trouble making the first move. This was a logical solution, right?
"N-No. Just any bloke will do," Arthur replies.
"Alright. I just need your credit card number and I'll connect you. We charge by the minute."
Arthur gives her his information and waits while she transfers him to his partner. Arthur's mouth is dry and his heart is thumping irregularly in his chest. He swallows hard when he hears a low voice say, "Hello. What can I do for you tonight?"
For a split second Arthur panics and almost hangs up. He hesitates first because that would be just plain rude and second because if he can't even have anonymous phone sex there's no way he can handle an actual date.
"I-I want you to fuck me," Arthur says in one hurried breath.
The man's tone is light and playful, but deep and seductive at the same time. "Oh yeah? And how would you like it?"
"I—God, any way I can get it."
He clicks his tongue, disapproving. "Surely you have a preference. I could lay you down on your back, and fuck you slow, bite your neck while you claw at my back, begging for more. Or you can lay on your stomach and I'll pound you into the mattress, your face so deep in the pillows you can barely breathe. Or maybe you like it standing up? Bent over the sofa with your knuckles white from clutching the cushions."
Arthur moans and palms the bulge in his trousers. He can picture it so perfectly, the filthy things this man describes to him. And he wants it, god he wants it so much.
His partner doesn't stop. "But maybe you're the type that wants to be in control, yeah? Maybe you'd prefer riding me and fucking yourself at your own pace. You see, I don't know any of these things. That's why you've got to tell me."
Arthur wiggles his arse so that he scoots down the bed. "Laying down," he nearly whispers his voice is so hoarse. "On my back. But don't go slow."
He can hear the smile in the man's voice. "You want it hard and fast, huh? You like it a bit rough?"
Arthur's breath hitches as he dips his hand beneath his pants and touches his cock. "S-Sometimes. Yeah."
"Alright. You got your kit off?"
Arthur wiggles his hips again as he lowers his pants and trousers to his knees, then momentarily lodges the phone between his ear and shoulder so he can pull them off. "Yeah."
"Good. I want your legs wide open. I want to fit perfectly. Do I fit perfectly?"
He imagines the shadow of a man hovering above him, dragging a leaking cock against his own as he looks into wide eyes with a devious twinkle. The sides of the man's thighs brush the insides of his own deliciously smooth.
"Yeah. Yeah, why don't you get inside me already?" Arthur asks, surprising himself.
The man chuckles, throaty and playful. "And ruin the buildup? It won't be nearly as fun. You won't come nearly as hard." Arthur moans again and has to squeeze his cock at that. "I'm going to take my time with you. You sound like you really need it."
"You have no idea," Arthur admits, pulling long and slow on his cock. The skin is dry so he licks his hand before doing it again.
"Why don't you arch into me, yeah? Wrap your legs around my waist to hold me close. I'm gonna suck on your neck a bit now. You don't mind if I curl my fingers in your hair, do you? You feel so good, I need something to hold onto."
The man's voice raises in pitch just slightly near the end, like he's hard and desperate and close. Arthur's spine curves as he plants his heels in the mattress and suspends his hips in the air, trying to grind upward into the invisible body above him. The back of his head sinks deeper into his pillow and most of his weight is shifted to his shoulder blades.
Arthur fights the urge to beg, hand fisting his cock. "You can do whatever you want to me, just don't stop."
"Mmmh. Kissing down your front now. Nearing your cock. I—fuck—want you in my mouth."
"Yes."
Arthur hears an obscene smack of lips over the phone and swears he can feel a tongue drag down his length. It's only for a moment though and it has him bending himself nearly in half for more. He licks his palm again, messy and wet, and takes himself in hand once more.
There's a moan coming from the other end, long and wrecked and ending on a high-pitched sigh. Arthur wonders if the man whose voice is driving him wild is enjoying this as much as him. Is he touching himself too or is he just sitting in his living room, acting?
It becomes clear that the man is actively participating when he starts panting. "Are you ready? I've got my fingers all slick and ready to open you up and my tongue wants to lick you all over."
"Yeah. Oh God, yeah." Arthur finally lowers his hips and butterflies his legs wider, inviting the imaginary man inside. If he holds the phone between his ear and shoulder and closes his eyes and uses his fingers to nudge just a bit...
"Fuck," the man gasps, and Arthur's fingers are his fingers working their way deeper inside. "You're so tight. Look at how your arse clenches around me. Just sucking me in like it can't get enough."
The faster he goes the more the stretch stings, because Arthur didn't have the foresight to keep lube handy, he was so nervous about calling in the first place. He slowly removes his hand from between his legs, one hand still firmly wrapped around his cock, and leans over to retrieve the bottle from the nightstand. The man on the phone is making obscene noises again, slurping and smacking sounds that clearly resemble someone licking an arse. Arthur scrambles to wet his fingers and get them back inside and when he does his body shudders.
After a few breathy moments, the voice says, low and hoarse, "I'm going to fuck you now."
It's deep and dripping with seduction and right in Arthur's ear and it takes a good amount of concentration for Arthur not to come right then. He does let out a rather undignified whine though as his fingers brush his prostate.
"Nnnh, fuck you so hard you'll see stars," the man breathes, and Arthur can hear the tempo of skin slapping skin increase. "You want hard and fast, I'll give you hard and fast. Raise your legs up a bit."
Arthur does, shifting some of his weight back on his shoulders again. The pleasure heightens instantly as the angle is better. He thinks he must look ridiculous bouncing on the bed with his arse in the air and his legs to his chest but he finds he doesn't care, it feels so good. The heavy breathing and unashamed moaning in his ear makes it even better.
"Oh, oh yeah, that's it. Just—oh God, fuck. So perfect, so fucking perfect. Oh, oh." The voice is loud, wailing almost, and Arthur can relate. He fists his cock faster, thrusts his fingers deeper, and bites his lip to keep from screaming himself. "T-T-Tell me you're close, God, please, I can't last much longer, fuckfuckfuck—"
"I—I—"
"Shut up. Just shut up and let me kiss you."
Arthur unconsciously licks his lips and it's that last sensation that finally pushes him over the cliffs of release. He comes hard, just as the man promised, and can't hold back the moan that escapes from deep in his throat.
The voice on the other end must have climaxed as well because when Arthur comes back to himself he hears shaky, uneven breathing that matches his own.
"That was amazing," the voice sighs in satisfaction. A nagging feeling tugs at Arthur when he thinks that's probably what this man says to all his clients. "And it only took...sixteen minutes."
Arthur swallows hard before asking, "I-Is that a lot? For you I mean. I know to you I'm probably just another perv calling, but this...I'm kind of shy, you see, and this meant a lot to me. And I'm rather well off so—" Laughter cuts him off and his heart jumps in his throat when he thinks he's made a fool of himself. The fact that he's anonymous only slightly soothes him.
"Alright, take it easy, yeah?" The man's voice has changed. It's not as low and there's a slight Welsh accent that lets Arthur know the man has stopped acting. It's a strange comfort. "Sixteen minutes—well, seventeen now—is fine. I've got a real job, it's not like I do this for a living. Just so I can afford luxuries like ice cream and iPhone apps."
"Oh."
The man chuckles again. "And believe me, I've dealt with pervs and you're nothing like them. You haven't asked me to pretend to be a servant."
"Someone actually did that?" That gets a small laugh out of Arthur.
"You wouldn't believe the things I've been asked. What people can't get in real life they ask for over the phone," the man explains. "But enough about that. I'm not going to rip you off by charging you for just talking. Thanks for calling. I had fun."
The line goes dead before Arthur can say another word and he stares at the phone a minute then puts it down to clean himself up.
*
If Arthur had said he didn't know why he called the second time, he'd be lying. The truth is, there was something about that voice that sends Arthur scrambling for the phone when he gets home from work nearly a week later. Like a drug, Arthur needs it, has to hear it moaning in his ear again or he'll start banging his head against the wall.
"Can I, er, have the same man I had last time?" Arthur asks, voice shaky with anticipation.
"All our clients are anonymous, sir, so I've no idea who you are. If you have his assigned number I can connect you with him that way," the operator responds.
Arthur's stomach sinks. "I didn't get his number. But I think, uh...he might have been Welsh?" It's all Arthur knows about the man and he hopes it's enough.
"Oh, that's seventeen. I just need your credit card number and I'll transfer you to him right away."
Arthur's heart does somersaults and he fumbles over his card number so he has to give it a couple times. Seventeen, he commits to memory, seventeen, seventeen.
"Hello," the man answers, dragging out the word seductively.
"H-Hi."
"Oh, it's you. I was wondering if I'd ever hear from you again, Mr Shy-But-Well-Off."
"How'd you know it was me?"
"I had a feeling. And the stuttering might have tipped you off."
"Oh."
The man chuckles. "Yes, 'oh.' Did you have something in mind for tonight?"
Arthur momentarily panics. He'd been so eager to hear this voice again that he hadn't given a thought to what he wanted exactly.
"I just wanted to listen to you," Arthur says truthfully.
"What did you want to hear me do? I could touch myself." Arthur's cock jumps in his trousers and he presses a hand against it when he leans back on the sofa. His small intake of breath is taken as a yes. "Okay then," Number Seventeen continues, "let me get my trousers off. You've caught me in the middle of dinner, you see."
Arthur feels a slight pang of regret that he called with no thought to how he'd affect this man's life but it's gone the second he hears the sound of a zip. He undoes his own trousers and slides them down to his ankles. His cock is red and swollen in the v of his open legs and the leather sofa is cold on the back of his thighs.
The man sighs just as Arthur wraps his fingers around himself, and he's thrilled at how in sync they are. He tugs on his cock in long, slow strokes, listening to the admittedly exaggerated moans.
There's something different about the voice this time, something strained and edgy. The man hums low and whispers filthy things like,"Now I'm just pressing my thumb over the head a little and fuck, that feels good, oh yes," but it doesn't seem as real as it did last time. Regardless, it brings Arthur off in no time and he waits with a thumping heart for Seventeen to come as well. When he finally does, the moan is high-pitched and theatrical.
"You still there, love?" The man asks after a few deep breaths. Arthur can make out footsteps and what sounds like someone moving about a kitchen: opening cupboards, pulling out a glass, pouring a drink. "Hello?" He tilts the end of the word up like a short song.
"Yeah, I'm-I'm here," Arthur says. "Just thinking."
"Ah, well," he laughs, "Can't have that now, can we? That means I didn't satisfy you, and I do so want to satisfy you. Maybe something with a little more...participation will help, like last time. I could—"
"Actually, I was hoping we could just talk?" Arthur interrupts.
"Are you sure? I know last time I ended the call but if that's really what you want..." Arthur can hear the verbal shrug. "I'm not complaining about any extra money."
"Yes please. There's just something about your voice that...it's soothing," Arthur admits. "I really did just want to listen to you. And you don't have to hide your accent. I actually quite like it."
There's a few seconds of silence on the line and Arthur checks his phone to make sure Seventeen hasn't disconnected. Then: "You like my stupid Welsh accent?" in thick Welsh sing-songy tones.
Arthur lets out a breathy chuckle. "Yeah. It's a nice break from the usual London noise I hear. It's..."
"Makes me sound like an uneducated inbred farmboy? Heard that one before."
"No! No. It's..." Arthur rubs the back of his neck and forces himself to finish the sentence by thinking of how he's still anonymous, thank God. "It's cute."
"Oh. Well, in that case. I guess. Okay then."
"Yeah..."
"So, um. What did you want me to talk about?"
"Anything. You said you had a real job. Tell me about that."
The man laughs humourlessly. "Ha, well. It's not so much a job as it is slavery. I'm in London too and I'm a television runner so I do a shit tonne of work for just about no money. The people I have to deal with are always bossy and rude and bitchy and cranky and supercilious and just so...so infuriating. On top of everything else they really do think my accent makes me sound stupid and never pass up an opportunity on letting me know whenever it slips."
"You haven't lived in London long then?" Arthur asks.
"No. Just a few years. Almost four. I came because I figured there'd be more chances to direct than in Cardiff. That's what I really want to do, be a director. I dunno if you could tell but I really can't act to save my life. It's a wonder so many people request me." There's a pause. "Shit. I probably shouldn't have told you that."
"It's alright. I wouldn't say it to your other clients though."
"No, that would be bad."
And because it's been bothering Arthur since the beginning: "Did I really interrupt your dinner?"
"Hm? Oh. Yeah. But don't worry about it. It wasn't all that great anyways. Leftover pizza. Not even fully cooked."
"Is it hard? Being a...a..."
"A phone actor?" Seventeen finishes, laughing. "Sometimes. My hours are six to ten, so I try to build my schedule around that. It's always a pain if I'm eating or on the toilet or watching telly when the phone rings and I have to put everything down. And then I have to get into my whole mindset to make myself into whatever the client wants me to be...but it's given me a new appreciation for actors. And I guess if I ever have to direct sex scenes I'll have some experience on getting the noises just right."
They both laugh at that and then Arthur asks, "Do you like it?"
"It's alright. I don't hate it. It's just tough sometimes. Like today, I had a really shit day at work. I just wanted to come home, eat, and lay in the bathtub, then fall asleep. But I've got to keep on going, you know? Most days it's not so bad though."
Arthur feels bad for the guy. He knows not everyone can have a secure job like him or make as much money as he does, but he never has to really confront poverty on a daily basis. And no, this man never said he was poor, but Arthur has a feeling the flat he lives in isn't nearly as nice as his own, and he probably only owns a couple pairs of worn down shoes. Arthur wants to give this stranger all the help he can, for some inexplicable reason, and he wants to give the guy a break. It's not as if Arthur doesn't have the funds for it.
But it's only the second time he's spoken with the man and nobody is that nice these days. Wouldn't it be a little creepy?
Arthur decides to risk it. There's something about this man—his voice—that makes him want to take chances in ways he never thought he would. "I could...stay on the line. While you go relax. If you'd like. That way you don't have to take any more calls and you'll still get paid for it. I don't mind."
"Are you...are you joking? That's...who does that? Seriously?"
"If you'd rather not—"
"No, no, that'd be...wow, that'd be great! But are you sure? I feel terrible already."
"I'm sure. You sound really stressed and honestly, your performance suffered because of it. I'm doing those other clients a favour."
Seventeen laughs heartily. "You know, you're pretty funny once you get past the whole shyness thing."
"Er, yeah. I'm not that shy, it's just...meeting new people and all. Kind of makes it hard to date."
"You're a half-decent bloke. Any guy would be lucky to have you. And you don't sound unattractive either."
"Um...thanks?"
He laughs again. "Wow. I can't believe this. Thanks so much!"
With that, he puts down the phone and Arthur hears footsteps leading away. Arthur gets up and puts the phone on speaker so he can move about his own flat. He eats, he watches telly, he reads, he goes over what he has to do tomorrow when he goes into the office, and all the while he listens to the background noises coming from the phone. In the distance on the other end, he hears water running, a tub filling with water. A little later he hears humming and shuffling about, probably Seventeen tidying up his living room or something. He hears television voices and recognises they're watching the same programme and they laugh at nearly all the same things. When ten o'clock rolls around Arthur hangs up without a word, because he can just barely make out faint snoring and lets the man sleep peacefully until morning.