Receiver

"You like that don't you?" Ranka's voice is heavy and breathy, and Kyouya moves his hand across his own member with a maddening quickness, egged on by the smoky voice on the other end. This is thoroughly embarrassing and he is not entirely sure how it came to pass, but regardless he caresses himself and holds onto the voice that comes through his cell phone, pressed up against his ear and sweaty cheek.

"Yes," he whispers, heavy and trying to keep his breath steady. He shifts his weight on the edge of his bed, trying to get more comfortable. The small whimpers coming through the phone make it clear to him that Ranka is touching himself as well. Something in this fact nearly sends him over the edge. "Ranka-san..."

"You love it when I touch you like that..." Ranka's voice, heavy, is infinitely seductive in a way that Kyouya never could have imagined a 40-something transvestite's could be. It is odd and alluring and impossibly sexy. "Oh, Kyouya-kun..."

"Ranka-san..." his hand moves more furiously across his member, and as sweat beads on his forehead, he forgets his initial shame, his initial reservations, and variably bucks against it. Perhaps this is Ranka's hand instead of his own? This fantasy sets him into a fit of passion he is not completely prepared for. His hand flies, egged on by Ranka's delicious voice coming through the cold silver receiver.

"That's right, Kyouya-kun," the older man purrs, his voice breathy from his own arousal. Kyouya shudders. "Say my name."

"Ranka-san," he gasps it out again, forgetting all need for self-preservation as he squirms madly against his own hand, breathing harder by the moment, reaching one hand back to fondle his balls. He is needy and impossibly turned on, and there is really nothing he can do to regain his dignity at the moment. Perhaps the beauty of it all is that dignity does not matter when it comes to Ranka. Kyouya can be himself, as desperate and utterly uncoiffed as he may be, and this makes it all the more delicious.

"You're such a pretty boy," Ranka remarks. "I'm sure you look even prettier touching yourself like that. If only I could be there... I would make you feel a million times better than you could ever have imagined."

Kyouya spends himself over his hand then, fueled by Ranka's words. When it is all over he is left to stare at the mess of semen on the floor beside the bed and blush, much to his own chagrin. Ranka is still working on himself, that much is clear, and when Kyouya hears a rather horrified voice say "Sorry, dad. I didn't know you were... um... I'll go," he feels a rush of sympathy for both members of the Fujioka family. As Ranka hangs up with a sound of horror, he is met by the sound of the dial tone, and slowly snaps his own phone shut. He struggles to catch his breath.

A prompt knock on his bedroom door alerts him to the presence of the real world, as well as Tamaki's voice.

"Are you ready for the beach, Kyouya!?" the blonde shouts through the door.

"Nearly," slowly Kyouya zips up his pants, retrieves his glasses, and he and Ranka return to their separate daily lives, Kyouya's hand still clutching at the phone that binds him together, out of sight in the pocket of his jeans.