Warning: Profanity, crude humor, and sexual content. (Issa Jupiter Queen fic—did you expect anything different?)
A/N: To those who have been reading my fics for a while, this started as a reworked version of "Telephone You," but deviated into much different territory. It's interesting how a single line of dialogue can change the course of an entire fic. Per usual, I only wrote where the characters led me. This quickly became filth… Love and young desire, but also filth.
And, as always, this is a post-series fic that neglects the series finale. You know the drill: Nikki never moved. Finally, the characters are eighteen to avoid any iffy implications.
Anyways, enjoy!
"Jonesy, you're demented."
"But I'd so do it again. Streaking makes me feel all free and shit, babe."
"Just don't do it at anyone's bachelor party again."
"Hey, don't knock it 'til you try it."
"News flash: I'm never going streaking."
"Aww, but if you did, it'd be for me, right?"
She rolled her eyes as he purred over the line. "In your dreams, Garcia."
He chuckled. "Trust me, I'm dreaming of no one but you, baby."
"And what exactly are we doing in these dreams of yours?"
In recent summer nights, they'd burned their battery life and skyrocketed their parents' phone bills for the sake of talking to each other, especially on days where they didn't see one another. Though they could chat via video, Nikki prefered holding her phone against her ear, not angling it in front of her face. (Jonesy didn't mind either way. As long as he got his "Nikki fix," he remained satisfied.)
With each conversation, however, the content grew more crude.
"The kinda shit that makes me hard just thinking about it."
"Tell me," she said, adopting an alluring tone.
"Wait, you really wanna know?" She pictured him with his eyebrows raised.
"Yeah. Who knows? Maybe we dream of the same things."
"Oh, shit," he murmured.
She loved to subvert his expectations. "Did you really think I'd deny you, Casanova?"
"Well… um… kinda. You're sorta hard to read when it comes to freaky stuff."
"Oh."
"N-Not like that's a bad thing, but—"
"I get what you mean, Jonesy. I'm not exactly the most open person in that regard… but, lately, I've been thinking things over."
"Yeah?"
"I wanna do more with you. I wanna try different things with you."
"Wait a second. Does this mean…?"
She smiled. "Uh huh."
As their phone calls increased in scandalousness, so did their physical encounters. They almost had sex several times, but she stopped it before it could start. Yes, they did other things. She let him pleasure her with his digits and his tongue. She returned the favor with her hands and lips. They writhed against each other with minimal clothing on a regular. Sex remained the last partition between them.
She wanted him, but she also wanted the situation to be right. She didn't seek rose petals across the floor, candles lit around the room, and music floating through the air. She needed to finally look into birth control. She wanted to minimize the risk of parents intruding and (his) siblings snooping, as well as avoid the aches and pains of fucking with him for the first time in his twin bed. A room with a comfy bed and no distractions remained the ideal.
"Last night, all I could think of was riding you in a hotel room," she confessed. "And that's when it hit me: that's where I want our first time to be."
"Cowgirl or reverse cowgirl?" he asked in a strained voice.
"Both. And riding your face."
"Fuck," he groaned.
"Lately that's all I wanna do." She sought to rile him up further. She loved when he melted into a state of horny delirium over her. However, just because she desired to tantalize him didn't render her words false. "All I wanna do is just fuck you. My mind just— It just wanders with thoughts of us. Up against the wall, on my back, from behind, on top of you… I really want you behind me."
He moaned on the other line. "Fuck, Nikki."
"Do you dream about me like this?"
"Oh, yeah."
"Tell me."
"Damn, I wanna blow your back out in doggystyle. But, mmm, I really wanna do that thing where your legs are on my shoulders. I want you crying my name because I'm beating that pussy up better than you ever thought I could. You're just so wet and you just feel so fucking right."
She smirked. "I am."
He made a questioning noise.
"Wet, Jonesy."
"Ohh." His voice blended understanding and satisfaction.
She let out a breathy laugh. "Yeah."
"Shit… You don't know how sexy you are, babe."
As he groaned and yearned over the line, she developed an idea of her sex appeal. Nevertheless, she wanted him to enlighten her. Perhaps all of this lewd chatter would take her to the peak. "How sexy am I? What do I do to you? What about me gets you off?"
"Everything." Another husky noise emanated from his throat. "But, honestly—I love the way you—ooh—you're so blunt. Mmm, the way you give me orders and do shit without shame makes me wanna risk it all."
"Oh?" she asked, a mix of aware and aroused.
"Mmhmm… and, also, you've got perfect titties."
She fought the urge to cackle. Of course when Jonesy waxed poetic, he also flung filth.
"And I want you licking and sucking all over them," she confessed, just as capable of engaging in smut. She lived to banter with him in any form. Whether a heated conversation, a humorous exchange, or an indecent talk, she lived to feel alive with him through the power of words. "You've got such a talented mouth."
"I do?"
"Uh huh. Sometimes I think about the way you eat me out for days." She throbbed at the mention of it. His tongue operated with such finesse. He tied her own tongue in knots and burned her body upon contact. "And that thing you do with your fingers… Leaves me. Fucking. Speechless."
She heard him take deep breaths as she spilled her innermost carnal musings to him. His heavy breathing and husky voice in the midst of intimacy made goosebumps crawl along her skin. Being on the phone changed nothing between them.
"You're the only one I wanna feel, Casanova." As she encircled paradise and coaxed honey from her thighs, she wished her fingertips were his. "So much I wanna do with you. Just you." Her wildest desires poured from her lips. "Spank me. Choke me. Cuff me. Love me. Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck."
Her obscene fantasies swept her away. Her legs trembled and hips convulsed as she thrashed on her bed, suppressing her moans before they shot up in volume.
His throaty sounds of ecstacy filled the line. Her words had led them both into raunchy bliss. Her words had given them temporary relief. (Based on this conversation, she knew the next time they saw each other, their chemistry would be deranged and powerful.)
"You better be careful the next time I see you," he warned through panted breath, "'cause I might just fuck you on-sight."
She let out an airy laugh. "Not without foreplay, you're not."
"Touché." She heard the grin on his face.
"Oh, baby, you're the one," he gushed. "Fine, freaky, and my best friend? I really hit the jackpot with you."
Given Jonesy's way with words, she interpreted that as a love poem. "I got lucky when I got you, too." She rolled over in her bed, glancing at the time on her nightstand.
2:15am.
"This was fun, loverboy, but it's pretty late."
"Yeah, after the mess I just made, I'm ready for bed."
She chuckled. "Go clean yourself up and rest easy."
"I will. Love you."
Of course, those two words ignited her heart. So simple yet so palpable. "Love you too, Jonesy. Night."
"Night… Wait, before you go—you down for another round tomorrow night?"
"Of course. I'll be counting down the minutes."