Antonio: I miss you, amor. Can't wait to see you 💖
The innocent text flashed briefly in the softly lit room. Said owner of the phone, Lorenzo, was currently sprawled across their shared bed, buzzed off a few glasses of wine. He pursed his lips into a pout, using a slender finger to push a strand of auburn hair behind an ear. Eyes glazed, he absentmindedly played with the gold ring on his finger.
Time passes, yet it has been far too long. They have only spent a week apart, yet it didn't stop the Italian's (self-described 'nonexistent') heart from aching. He knew that his idiot will be back around sunrise. Lorenzo will meet him in the airport then, relishing in his too-tight embrace and intertwining their fingers together in an effort to keep him close.
By tomorrow evening, the sunset will shine softly through their apartment in Naples. The bastard promised a date tomorrow; a night between the two of them to spend together with no politics or paperwork involved. And because everything will be perfect, gold will tint their flirty banter, wandering hands, and lazy kisses. And finally by nighttime, Lorenzo will finally have something solid to hold onto again.
A daydream-conjured Antonio took this moment to press his face into the inside of the Italian's neck, where his soft full lips curled into a naughty grin. A large calloused hand pressed into his lover's hips. Another weaved itself into his auburn hair, peppering lingering kisses along Lorenzo's reddening neck and jaw.
"And then I'll make sweet love to you." The not-real Antonio finished.
...
"….Dios mio. What the fuck am I doing..?" the younger man flushed; a statement made to only himself.
Squirming, Lorenzo flipped over and stuffed his face into the pillow, groaning lowly to himself.
"I really am losing it, holy fuck." he groaned to nobody but himself.
He could almost feel the warm dip in the bed, as his 'lover' rolled against him in an effort to be closer.
"Tell me how much you missed me." the Spanish mirage teased, emeralds twinkling in the warm bedroom light.
"Shut it, asshole." Maybe if he pretended that the man never crossed his mind, he could just drift off to sleep and greet his husband (in the flesh) like a normal spouse tomorrow morning. There is no use in trying to entertain a fever dream.
…But it wasn't fair. It was never fair… the things the Spaniard did to him even when he's gone.
"But 'Renzo, I love you." the ghost whispered. Deft fingers ghosted up the small of his back. "I want you."
Common sense told the young man to ignore that last statement. But his heart and body had another opinion on the matter.
...Okay, so it might have also been more than a week since he last touched himself but… he could wait another night. He will not give himself up to a wet dream of his lover. He could never live it down.
"Lorenzo, mi amor…"
Bringing a long unused hand through his hair, Lorenzo couldn't stop the embarrassment creeping onto his cheeks. Disappointed, he couldn't bring himself to look across at the mirage, who watched on in slight worry. Fake-Antonio tilted his chin up. Their eyes met and Lorenzo looked away; the lush greens and emeralds in his lover's eyes a bit too vibrant, realistic for him to believe as a mirage.
Even in his daydreams, this bastard still had to be perfect.
Maybe that's why it's hard to come to terms with reality. Especially when the reality was that his right hand may have breached the elastic of his waistband and that he may want him too.
Gritting through a shiver, his toes curled in self-induced anticipation, as the illusion of Antonio changed. Gone was his shirt, as well his previously gentle concern. He is cocky as an imaginary weight straddled his hips. Lorenzo looked up at him, letting his eyes fall on taut muscles, tan skin, and southward to where a tent in the both of their pants began to pitch itself. And like with anything having to do with his husband, this absolutely destroyed every remaining shred of Lorenzo's resolve.
"You are so fucking annoying, I swear..." Lorenzo sucked in a breath, peeking through the gaps between his fingers.
"Only for you~ " said mirage grinned in agreement, lips feather-light along his collarbone, whispering sweet accented nothings into his ear. The rough scrape of his jawline made the Italian shutter and squirm. It's was almost pitiful how easily the Spaniard could arouse him. Even more so that he wasn't actually fucking her-.
Lorenzo gasped suddenly as the illusion dipped low and started to lick down his body, focusing his time on the places that made his lover tremble and arch up. There goes that ridiculously sexy scrape of his stubble dragging over his waist again, fueling his fever dream to proceed even further.
"Estas distraÃdo. " Not-real Antonio breathed. "Tu eres mio , amor. Only think of me. "
"F-fuck off bastardo. You aren't real…" Lorenzo countered with a closed-eyed shudder.
Lower and lower the illusion traveled, peppering kisses and bites across freckled skin. "Y se que eres perfecto. " The Spaniard purred with a handful of ass. His younger lover couldn't help but to throw an arm over his face; the last attempt to save the last shreds of his dignity. "I could eat you up. "
"I-I dare you to try, fucker."
"So rebellious " the older country chuckled. "I promise I will... "
Hands wandered and a tongue explored, driving Lorenzo absolutely insane. He couldn't help but to cry out softly, squirming in breathless greedy need. He needed it, that something more; his lover's tight wet lips.
"M-mm..." Lorenzo trembled, spreading his legs almost wantonly under the nonexistent weight.
Grinning devilishly, the mirage pushed his legs apart even further. "So naughty. "
At some point, Lorenzo's fingers had creeped beneath the waistband and wrapped tightly around his length, drawing long greedy strokes.
"You're too impatient, my love. "
He trembled as a thumb replaced his own and drew lazy circles over the head. "Tu eres mio. " he repeated. "But don't make me punish you."
Obedience shuts the Italian up. In the end, its always what shuts him up.
The Spaniard slowly sank down on his haunches in-between Lorenzo's legs, tongue heavy along the inside of his thighs. His eyes glowed in the warm lamp light. A devilish mouth betrayed him and nipped lightly along the taut muscle going up the inside of his thighs. Lorenzo twitched in response, pausing his ministrations to gasp softly. He pressed his thighs together lewdly, challenging his lover to continue. The wet dream licked his goddamnedly hungry lips and pushed his legs apart again.
"Keep your legs apart." he demanded.
Slowly, the man wolfishly took the head into his mouth, teasing him with his tongue. Lorenzo, cried out softly, hands shaky as he pumped slowly. Calloused hands spread his legs wider, digging into the soft flesh of his thighs. He released him with a wet pop. "My kitten is being so obedient today. "
Antonio was taunting him; he always does. And the Italian couldn't help but to squeeze his eyes shut and squirm under the onslaught. "A-ah..." he moaned, mouth having fallen open. Saliva trickled out of the corners of his mouth although he was entirely too intoxicated on pleasure to bother noticing. Unsurprisingly, Lorenzo never lasted long when thoughts of his lover became involved. Not with the way his lips curled and sucked, hands groped and-
"W-w-wait, I'm gonna cum" he gasped with pleasure threatening to overtake.
Earning a lazy smirk, the mirage released him with an audible pop; the hungry glint in his eyes predatory and firm.
"Then cum." The fake-Antonio challenged.
It was only a few moments, a few moments more lost in the his high before Lorenzo found himself choking out an orgasm into his fist, riding out the high slacked mouth; a pitiful effort to keep himself from crying out into the quietness of the bedroom. The pipe dream greedily swallowed everything his younger lover gave him. It was only when he pulled back, letting the Italian's limp dick go, that he opened his mouth; tongue dripping white.
"Good boy. " The Spaniard breathed devilishly, swallowing with an audible sigh.
"...Shut up" Lorenzo groaned mindlessly.
Antonio chuckled. Like a dream, the fantasy vanished like the smoke, leaving the Italian sprawled on the bed, legs wide and fucked out. Physically, the Italian was an absolute mess. Another text called out from the nightstand as the Italian wrapped his blankets close and his afterglow closer. He let his eyes fall closed, mind overcome with a delicious warmth and satisfaction.
From his phone, a single text read out.
Tomato Idiot: Sleep well, angel. I'll see you in the morning.
