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The first time Bojan hears it, he thinks he’s having one of his way too realistic dreams. He keeps quiet as a mouse, afraid the lightest breath might give his filthy dreams away. He closes his eyes as hard as he can and tries to feel the textures around him, to get his body to wake up.
It doesn’t work.
He drifts off into a more sane, far less intense dream, but he still tries to recall the original one when he wakes up and goes to take a quick shower.
It sounded so real , and he’s not proud of recalling it word by word as he sweats under the cold water, the original purpose of the shower forgotten.
*
The second time, he realises he’s not dreaming. Everything looks too corporeal, and as much as he doesn’t want to move, he knows he could if he wanted to. His fingers itch, his eyes are wide open, trying to picture the movements leading to the noises he’s hearing.
Kris is trying to keep quiet, but the rustling of his bunk, the soft sounds of excess clothing being moved out of the way, the way his breath hitches and stutters every once in a while as he’s speaking give him away.
He’s trying to keep quiet, and now Bojan is, too, and he knows he shouldn’t be. He shouldn’t be eavesdropping in the first place, even if Kris is doing what he’s doing surrounded by 15 people. He could argue it’s his damn fault for not just sexting Damon instead of apparently having a video call at 2am, but still, he knows anyone else still awake would have their earphones in in no time, begging for their misery to be over soon.
Not Bojan.
He chooses to perk his ears and lay there as quietly as possible, telling himself it’s a natural thing to do in a long-distance relationship, of course it is, and him being privy to it all is just… unfortunate on Kris’ part, as he tries to convince himself the whole situation isn’t doing anything weird to his head at all.
Nor to his crotch, now feeling dangerously hot, his dick straining against his boxers with every new sentence Kris breathes out against the silent moans.
He listens in and closes his eyes and grinds his teeth when he can tell Kris comes, the moans and breaths dying down.
He grips the sheets, sticks his head into the pillow, and breathes deeper than he ever had, feeling his erection dying down, wondering what the hell had possessed him to listen in in the first place, and why it would make him feel the way it had.
In the morning, he tries his best to act nonchalant, like he had a good night’s sleep, not like he’d been tossing and turning until dawn. He sees a spring in Kris’ step and it sends a painful pang to his heart.
Why, he can’t tell.
Or maybe he doesn’t want to be able to.
*
The third time he hears it, he tries not to. Tries to block out the sounds, to process them as something funny to poke at Kris over breakfast, knowing he shouldn’t, but having no idea what else to do.
It doesn’t occur to him to go for the earphones, to stop listening, to stop sweating and shaking with each word spoken.
And he tries to keep his hands steady, despite feeling them twitching; he tries to breathe through the erection growing more painful underneath the sheets as he keeps listening.
He isn’t sure when his hand reaches down, slowly, carefully, so as not to make any sound; he keeps his breaths steady, or at least he attempts to, as he lets it roam beneath the waistband of his boxers, biting his lower lip at the first ghost of a touch.
With every sentence he hears, he loses his composure just a little bit more, until his hand is pumping his cock in a steady rhythm, until he’s biting his other hand, knowing this is wrong, so wrong, but being unable to stop it, stop himself.
He can only hear Kris’ quiet, whispered words and promises; he doesn’t hear what Damon says back, and it makes it so easy to imagine he’s the one on the other side, he’s the one getting praised and undressed and touched so slowly it’s driving him insane.
“Fuck, I want to undress you so slowly, so carefully, until you’re laying there, naked, begging for me to touch you.”
I do, too; rip off my clothes and I’ll beg you to trace my skin and kiss my neck.
“I want to run my hands all over you, to tease you with soft little touches until you go mad.”
I fucking hate you for doing this to me; but I love that you’re able to make me go insane. Touch my nipples, dig your nails into my thighs, promise me everything.
“I can’t wait to have my hand around your throat as I push into you, to have my hand over your mouth because you’re a loud little slut.”
Fuck I’m so close, I know you could make me come untouched… you fill me up so good, touch me so right, I want to scream your name as I come.
“I want to pull your hair, to command you while you’re on your knees, to fuck your pretty little mouth until you cry.”
I will, I’ll do anything to make you feel good, anything to keep you making these sounds, to keep you moaning and losing your breath, and you’ll come down my throat as I gag and you push me deeper onto your cock worrying about nothing but your own pleasure.
“I want you to do everything to me; to eat me out until I’m the one screaming and begging you not to stop.”
I’ll have my hands on your ass, my tongue so deep down your hole you’re fucking crying for me to finish you off; I’ll fuck you not like the delicate princess they think you are, but like the needy slut I know you are, making me listen to this night after night pretending that I don’t want to do the filthiest fucking things to you, to have you do them to me, to use me like a ragdoll until you come all over me, until it’s my turn to throw you around and fuck you so hard you have to bite into your pillow not to scream, to show you just how good I can make you feel, too, to-
His hand is on his mouth and he can feel hot tears meeting his fingers as he comes, violently, pretending he’s on the other end of the line, pretending for just a few minutes he’s the one Kris wants, the one he craves, the one he needs to satisfy him.
Calming his breath after what feels like an eternity, he pulls out the treacherous hand out of his boxers carefully, wiping it down on the sheets as quietly as he can.
He wants to turn around, to hit the side of the bunk with his head until he’s unconscious and forgetting what he just did and more importantly, why he did it.
Instead, he lays there and tries not to let his sobs break through.
“Good night, love. I can’t wait to see you and touch you again.”
Good night, love. I wish I knew I wanted you before you found someone else to want.