The Hidden God of Open Doors

5

Tinny music blares shockingly loud in Rune’s hushed bedroom. He fumbles with the phone—is it broken? Did he click a cat video on accident? His hand slips, and the music stops. Call declined .

So, not broken. That was a phone call, and Rune just refused it.

“No,” Rune whispers. “No, no—ah!”

The music blares again. This time Rune keeps his wits enough to read the words on the screen. Call from Raider . Holding his breath in concentration, Rune accepts the call. The music stops.

Rune puts the phone to his ear. He should probably say something, but his throat is too tight, his heart too unsteady. He doesn’t know what to say.

Then a smooth voice wraps around him like a warm sweater. “You there, cutie?”

Rune sits on the edge of his bed, hugging himself through his baggy sweatshirt. He’s pulled his sweatpants back up, too, but feels somehow even more exposed than he did taking that photo.

The photo is nothing special. If anything, it’s even worse than Rune’s other photos—he had to twist so awkwardly in front of the mirror. Rune has sent lots of photos to Raider over the past few weeks. Breakfasts and books and his favorite fluffy socks, and so many photos of his face, his hands, even his feet, whenever Raider asks for one.

Raider seems so delighted by every small piece Rune can surrender of himself. Every photo and word and little smiling emoji. Rune thrives on the praise. Raider makes him forget how terrible he must be, to be locked away like this.

“I’m here,” Rune answers. He’s always here, so that’s not important. What’s important is this: “You’re talking to me.”

Weeks of texting, and they haven’t spoken out loud until now. Rune knows it’s been weeks because he’s kept track of time like never before. He figured out how to set his phone to match the time zone listed in Raider’s H2H profile. Then he changed all the other appliances to match. Rune has no idea what color the sky is above his prison, but he knows today is February 7, and it’s 11 p.m. for Raider now. Most nights, that would mean one to three more hours before Raider fell asleep.

Rune has no idea what the hour means when Raider is on the other end of this phone call. When Raider’s soft breath whispers against Rune’s ear.

“Is calling you okay?” Raider asks. “Gonna be honest, I really want it to be okay.”

“It’s okay,” Rune says quickly. But that’s insufficient. “I want to hear your voice, more than I can describe.”

Raider’s voice grows even warmer. “That’s good, cutie. Where are you right now? Are you alone?”

Rune’s always alone—but for once, that doesn’t seem like a bad thing. “I’m alone. I’m sitting on my bed.”

“Yeah? So am I.” There’s a faint noise, a mattress settling. “I’m sitting in bed thinking about that photo you just sent.”

Rune’s breath hitches. “What about it?”

That warmth in Raider’s voice must be a smile. “My hopes weren’t high enough. You’ve got the prettiest ass I’ve ever seen.”

Rune has never given much thought to his ass until now. He sometimes touches himself, of course—he’s been alone in his chamber for possibly centuries, and he has to keep himself occupied somehow. But this is the first time Rune has cared whether or not his ass was pretty.

“How many have you seen?” Rune asks, curiously. Does he excel in a field of hundreds, or just a few?

“Why?” Raider asks, suddenly sly. “Are you jealous?”

Oh. Rune wasn’t jealous until Raider asked.

Maybe Rune is jealous, if jealousy is the sensation of roots digging between his ribs. The thin, painful blades of yearning. Raider has traveled the world. He’s seen so many sights and met so many people. Rune doesn’t resent Raider’s freedom, but gods, he wishes he could see the sky again.

Quietly, Rune presses his hand above his lip. He muffles his own stinging breath. The sob doesn’t leave his throat.

Thankfully, Raider takes his silence for bashfulness. “You know I’m not just here for your ass, right? I like talking to you. I’ve never liked talking to someone this much.”

Raider isn’t here at all. But right now, Rune can almost feel the warm breath against his neck. The sweet, heavy arm around his waist. The imagined sensation pulls Rune from his despair with terrifying ease.

“I haven’t either,” Rune says quietly, then shakes himself from his wistful melancholy. “It’s okay if you’re just here for my ass. At least, it’s okay now that you’ve confirmed it’s a good one.”

“It’s perfect,” Raider purrs over the phone. “I was going to spend all night jerking off to it. But I’d rather jerk you off instead.”

The chamber brightens and darkens at once, Rune’s vision narrowing. His sweatshirt is too warm, too itchy. He desperately wants what Raider offers. “I don’t think my phone has that function.”

Raider’s laugh is sinful. “You’d think Heart2Heart would add a remote handjob function. But I was thinking old-school phone sex. I’ll tell you how to touch yourself. You’ll give me all sorts of pretty gasps and moans. How does that sound?”

Oh, gods. When he can breathe again, Rune answers, “Yes. That sounds. Yes.”

“Good boy,” Raider says, which never fails to drive Rune mad, even though Rune is surely far older than Raider. “Are you still wearing that sweatshirt from the photo?”

“Yes.” Rune swallows. “I put my sweatpants back on too.”

“Okay, take the sweatshirt off, but leave the sweatpants on.” Raider shifts across the line. “Then get comfortable.”

Rune has to set the phone down to take his sweatshirt off. Grabbing it again is such a relief—but he hesitates before putting it back to his ear.

Raider likes photos of him, and Rune likes how Raider responds to photos of him. So Rune settles back against his soft white pillows and tentatively switches apps. The call stays on as Rune snaps a quick photo—this one is much easier than the ass shot. He just holds the phone at arm’s length above him, catching everything down to the waistband of his tented sweatpants. He sends it, then puts the phone back to his ear in time to hear the ding on the other end.

“You there?” Raider’s voice sounds slightly different. A little more distant.

“Check your messages,” Rune says.

There’s a pause. Then low, delicious swearing. “You’re getting too damn good at this,” Raider accuses, but he doesn’t sound mad at all. “Fuck. Okay, put me on speaker.”

Rune hesitates. He could figure out how to do that, probably. But he doesn’t want to. “I feel closer to you like this, holding you to my ear.”

“Fuck,” Raider says again. There’s a pause, then his voice changes back. The tinny distance is gone. “I’m holding you, too, okay? Now, touch your stomach, right below your belly button.”

Every touch is novel. Astounding. Rune has masturbated plenty before. It’s as good a way as any to pass the time. More interesting than staring at the wall. Less interesting than the season finale of Vampire Housewives.

This is nothing like masturbation. Sure, the actions are the same. Raider talks Rune through tugging his nipples. Caressing his throat. Sucking his fingers—they do that for a long time, because whenever Rune makes a particularly wet noise, Raider groans and loses his concentration.

Then stroking Rune’s nipples again, this time his fingers wet with his own spit and his every nerve singing with Raider’s rough voice.

“You’re so hard for me, aren’t you?” Raider says. “Touch your gorgeous dick through your sweatpants. Just your fingertips.”

Rune gasps and arches into his own touch. Fuck. This has never felt so good. “Are you touching yourself too?” Rune manages to ask, because it’s suddenly very important. Rune can’t be the only one experiencing this. He needs Raider to feel even half as good as he does.

“I’m doing exactly what you’re doing,” Raider says, his voice unsteady. “Trying not to come with every sound out of your pretty little mouth. Gods, yes. Just like that.”

Rune whimpers and writhes against his sheets.

Raider groans. “Fuck. I’m close. Stroke yourself through your pants. Slowly, gorgeous.”

That’s all Rune can take. He doesn’t even manage to reach beneath his waistband, and his own palm is an afterthought in the blaze of Raider’s voice. Desperation shatters through him, and Rune comes with a strangled cry.

Raider echoes him with a groan. “Fuck, Rune, did you just come?”

“Yeah,” Rune breathes.

“Fuck, that’s so hot. I need another minute—talk to me?”

Rune falls back against the bed, every inch of skin too sensitive. His cock softens slowly. “I don’t know what to say, but I’ll try. You made me feel so good.” Once again, Rune’s words are rusty. Inadequate. “I wish I could make you feel that good too.”

“You’re doing a damn good job.” Raider’s voice is tight and rough and so present around Rune. “You sound so fucking sweet.”

The praise is so warm and overwhelming, the edges of Rune’s vision shimmer. “I like when you say things like that,” Rune confesses softly. “I want to be good.”

Raider answers with a quiet sound. A beat of silence. Then a gasp. The mattress creaks.

“Did you come?” Rune’s own pulse pounds harder, his cock stirring at the thought. Next time he’ll ask Raider for pictures. He’s so greedy for more.

Greedy enough to hope for a next time.

“Yeah, I came.” Raider sounds content. Maybe even smug. “I could listen to your voice all night, sweet thing. You sound even better than I thought you would, and my expectations were pretty fucking high.”

Rune curls up, clutching the phone to his ear, as Raider rattles off more praise. Each sweet word sinks into Rune’s soul, touching him on a deeper, more primal level than anything else they’ve done tonight.

Until Raider pauses for breath. “Hey, Rune?”

“Yes?”

“I want to do this again,” Raider says, which makes Rune’s heart soar. “Can I see you in person?”

Rune freezes, then shatters. You can’t, he tries to say, but his throat chokes on it. I can’t.

He hangs up.