(no subject)
untitled
Jamie/Geoff
PG-13
For Jamie's 30th birthday, Geoffrey buys him a mobile phone. It's a fancy contraption, one that flips open and closed. It has a clear color screen and a camera and does all sorts of fascinating things.
Geoffrey's own mobile is similar, but an older model. He's had it for almost three months and only just the other day discovered how to email a video clip to his mate in Brighton. It confuses him and frustrates him, the little mobile phone, chirping and trilling during client meetings or in the middle of mass. He chalks it up to technology, something no one on earth could ever possibly fully comprehend.
Except that Jamie sits down with the booklet that accompanies his and reads through it, and within six hours has downloaded ringtones programmed to identify Geoffrey and Mrs. Wainthropp and his mum and Cassie, the seventeen year old art student that he has taken to drawing with late evenings at the lake. He learns how to schedule in dates that he needs to not forget and voice recognition so that it rings people when he says their name into the speaker and how to set the alarm clock to a sound that doesn't hurt his ears.
He learns how to send text messages, too, and delights in sending a dozen an hour. Mostly just to Geoffrey, since his mum doesn't quite grasp the concept of checking an inbox. It wasn't ever as though he and Geoffrey were out of contact, but this adds a new intimacy to their daily routines. They can each go about their lives for that eight hours, being productive individuals of society, but each with the other in their pocket, only the touch of a few buttons away.
Just as he's walking into his little office (stone walls, and stuffed to the brim with things: case files in folders and pictures in frames and books he means to read, when he has the time), his phone begins to vibrate. I put cinnamon and sugar on my toast.
Conversation ensues about breakfast toast: honey versus cinnamon and sugar, or peanut butter (not for breakfast, Jamie says) and banana.
An hour later, as he's on the phone - the landline - tapping his foot in time with a familiar jazzy on-hold message: want to kiss the back of your knee.
Geoffrey feels his cheeks flush. It's not particularly suggestive of a comment, not really; a knee isn't a very taboo thing at all. But when he shuts his eyes and thinks of Jamie's sweet little mouth brushing back and forth, the skin on the back of his knee tingles and his breath catches a little.
The woman at the agency Geoffrey's been on hold with answers. It's half eleven before he has time to text Jamie back. think id like that luv
Jamie answers almost instantly.
and under your ear, where you like it when I bite.
Geoffrey's face heats again and his mouth curls into a grin. Jamie's in a mood, all right. It's no game he's playing at. Not really, anyway. He's teasing, teasing in a way he wouldn't have ever thought to do years ago (before Geoffrey taught him the art and intricacies of foreplay), but these aren't idle promises. These are words he will make good on when the work day is over, as sure as the sun will set.
They cultivate a back and forth that has Geoffrey hard in his trousers by lunchtime. He tries, really tries, to get his work done. There's a check forgery ring going on, and he means to solve it before the local police, but he's good for nothing with the knowledge that Jamie's at their flat this very minute, just waiting and biding his time until Geoffrey joins him.
The text messages continue throughout the day. Half past two, he starts with the pictures. Not of himself; that's too crass for Jamie. He takes pictures of what he's been drawing, and it's as effective a visual as anything else. Two bodies entwined, flushed and oblivious to the rest of the world, writhing in dark blue sheets. It is obvious who the men are. Geoffrey's hands shake a bit as he sends back a message, biting back the urge to curse Jamie (knowing it would only confuse him, no matter how much of a compliment anyone else would take the frustration) and instead sending his praise.
At 4:25, Jamie rings him. They have a short conversation. Geoffrey will pick up dinner on the way home. "I don't want to waste time cooking," Jamie says, and Geoffrey's arousal skyrockets again. He isn't a teenager anymore, but his prick seems to have given up the idea of self-control as a lark.
The mobile phone may not be the best birthday present Geoffrey's even given Jamie (the trip to the states would probably win that; Disneyland especially, seeing Jamie on the Pirates of the Caribbean ride) but it's not one he'll be regretting any time soon.
Jamie/Geoff
PG-13
For Jamie's 30th birthday, Geoffrey buys him a mobile phone. It's a fancy contraption, one that flips open and closed. It has a clear color screen and a camera and does all sorts of fascinating things.
Geoffrey's own mobile is similar, but an older model. He's had it for almost three months and only just the other day discovered how to email a video clip to his mate in Brighton. It confuses him and frustrates him, the little mobile phone, chirping and trilling during client meetings or in the middle of mass. He chalks it up to technology, something no one on earth could ever possibly fully comprehend.
Except that Jamie sits down with the booklet that accompanies his and reads through it, and within six hours has downloaded ringtones programmed to identify Geoffrey and Mrs. Wainthropp and his mum and Cassie, the seventeen year old art student that he has taken to drawing with late evenings at the lake. He learns how to schedule in dates that he needs to not forget and voice recognition so that it rings people when he says their name into the speaker and how to set the alarm clock to a sound that doesn't hurt his ears.
He learns how to send text messages, too, and delights in sending a dozen an hour. Mostly just to Geoffrey, since his mum doesn't quite grasp the concept of checking an inbox. It wasn't ever as though he and Geoffrey were out of contact, but this adds a new intimacy to their daily routines. They can each go about their lives for that eight hours, being productive individuals of society, but each with the other in their pocket, only the touch of a few buttons away.
Just as he's walking into his little office (stone walls, and stuffed to the brim with things: case files in folders and pictures in frames and books he means to read, when he has the time), his phone begins to vibrate. I put cinnamon and sugar on my toast.
Conversation ensues about breakfast toast: honey versus cinnamon and sugar, or peanut butter (not for breakfast, Jamie says) and banana.
An hour later, as he's on the phone - the landline - tapping his foot in time with a familiar jazzy on-hold message: want to kiss the back of your knee.
Geoffrey feels his cheeks flush. It's not particularly suggestive of a comment, not really; a knee isn't a very taboo thing at all. But when he shuts his eyes and thinks of Jamie's sweet little mouth brushing back and forth, the skin on the back of his knee tingles and his breath catches a little.
The woman at the agency Geoffrey's been on hold with answers. It's half eleven before he has time to text Jamie back. think id like that luv
Jamie answers almost instantly.
and under your ear, where you like it when I bite.
Geoffrey's face heats again and his mouth curls into a grin. Jamie's in a mood, all right. It's no game he's playing at. Not really, anyway. He's teasing, teasing in a way he wouldn't have ever thought to do years ago (before Geoffrey taught him the art and intricacies of foreplay), but these aren't idle promises. These are words he will make good on when the work day is over, as sure as the sun will set.
They cultivate a back and forth that has Geoffrey hard in his trousers by lunchtime. He tries, really tries, to get his work done. There's a check forgery ring going on, and he means to solve it before the local police, but he's good for nothing with the knowledge that Jamie's at their flat this very minute, just waiting and biding his time until Geoffrey joins him.
The text messages continue throughout the day. Half past two, he starts with the pictures. Not of himself; that's too crass for Jamie. He takes pictures of what he's been drawing, and it's as effective a visual as anything else. Two bodies entwined, flushed and oblivious to the rest of the world, writhing in dark blue sheets. It is obvious who the men are. Geoffrey's hands shake a bit as he sends back a message, biting back the urge to curse Jamie (knowing it would only confuse him, no matter how much of a compliment anyone else would take the frustration) and instead sending his praise.
At 4:25, Jamie rings him. They have a short conversation. Geoffrey will pick up dinner on the way home. "I don't want to waste time cooking," Jamie says, and Geoffrey's arousal skyrockets again. He isn't a teenager anymore, but his prick seems to have given up the idea of self-control as a lark.
The mobile phone may not be the best birthday present Geoffrey's even given Jamie (the trip to the states would probably win that; Disneyland especially, seeing Jamie on the Pirates of the Caribbean ride) but it's not one he'll be regretting any time soon.