Pairing: Sam Evans/Will Schuester
Spoilers: Mild for BIOTA
Summary: Sam Evans is a teenage boy with a painfully throbbing crush on Will Schuester. And now? Well, now he also has his phone number.
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue. (Read full disclaimer here.)
Notes: Well, clearly it had to happen. Title by Beyonce and Gaga.
Will blinks against the darkness, shifting in his bed as he hears his cellphone vibrate, and he doesn't know the time, but he knows it's fucking late.
He's disoriented for a moment as he lays flat on his stomach, pawing over his night stand to grab at his cell. People don't call him, not unless it's business. And at two in the morning, he's sure this isn't business. That means it's an emergency, he thinks in the back of his mind, and his chest tightens in a panic as he looks at the screen, squinting against the blue light as he doesn't recognize the number.
"Schu'ser," He slurs out the word, feeling trapped and tangled in his dark red bedsheets.
And there's breathing and not much else, and Will leans up on his elbow, reaching over to his nightstand in search of the glasses he wears just out of habit. "H'lo?" He tries again, feeling confused and a little worried as he squints through all the darkness.
"Mister Schue," the caller finally addresses, and Will's equal parts relieved (thank god, it's someone he knows) and disappointed (this means he can't hang up on them).
"Yeah," he confirms, "Who's this?" He asks, though in the back of his mind, he's got some suspicions. No one calls him Mister Schue unless they're one of his Glee kids. And he thinks it sounds like Finn, but he really can't be certain.
"Mmm," the caller moans, and it's not the kind of sound that's exactly easy to pin an emotion on. "Sam," he answers finally, and Will bites his lip as he realizes what this is.
Sam was drunk (which would explain the heavy breathing), and he needed a ride, which Will had previously promised. And he'd meant his words, he did, and no, he didn't regret saying them. But getting out of bed at two in the morning on a Saturday was pretty harsh. He hoped the kids wouldn't make a habit out of this.
"Okay, Sam, where are you?" Will asks finally, trying to sound calm, composed, like the professional he was supposed to be.
"In my bed," Sam answers back a little darkly, like maybe it's some kind of joke that Will's missing out on.
Will shakes his head as he realizes it's way too fucking late (or early) for this, his head isn't clear enough for games and riddles. "Why are you calling?" He asks as clearly as possible, doesn't exactly feel like spending his whole night on the phone with Sam Evans.
Sam's breath hitches for a moment, and Will's sure that it's a hiccup. "I need you to help me," he answers back with an audible swallow, and Will's hanging his head before turning, kicking off his blankets.
"With what, Sam?" Will asks in a vein of annoyance, trying to make the question as clear as is humanly possible.
"Come on, Mister Schue," Sam gasps out, voice a little breathy, and Will's swallowing hard as his confusion levels rise. "You're so fuckin' hot."
Will's veins run uncomfortably warm before chilling into ice, and he's floundering for words as he realizes this is not a ride home call. It's just a call for... a ride, and Will wishes he'd read some kind of pamphlet about this.
"Sam, I'm going to hang up the phone now," he warns, in case the kid really did call for some sort of help, and is just... really having an awkward time with asking for it.
"Mmm, no... no, don't," Sam begs, and Will's heart is beating harder now that he realizes why Sam's breathing's so motherfucking shaky.
"Sam, this is inappropriate," he snaps, knowing it's an understatement. "I'm going to wait for three seconds, and then I'm disconnecting, alright?" He warns again, giving the boy some time in case he actually needs it. "Three..."
"Come on, Mister Schue," Sam pants again, "No one's gonna know."
"Two." Will squeezes his eyes shut as he lays perfectly still on the bed, biting his lip as he prays for the kid to smarten up and put some ice on it.
"Tell me you're not hard as fuck right now, Schuester," Sam growls out, and Will flounders as he knows he can't answer; he's aching in his pants, but be damned if anyone but the devil will ever know that. "Tell me you don't wanna shove it down my throat."
And that's a little overboard, crossing a border that Will wasn't sure how to name, and his skin is flushed deeply now as he's trying not to moan. He can't help it that he's human, despite his better judgment.
"One," He finishes counting, swallowing hard as he listens to Sam; breathing heavy and erratic, like he's having the best he's ever gotten.
He listens for a moment, unable to pull the phone away, not while Sam's moaning all soft and desperate, and Will's hips are jerking slightly off the bed.
"You didn't hang up," Sam's lilting, words wrapped around a moan, and Will's thighs are burning now as he's picturing Sam in bed, hair tousled and tangled, face flushed as he plays with his dick, listening to Will's voice, and only getting harder. And Will's disappointed in himself, really, but can't take the time needed to really dwell on that fact; the brush of his fingers over the front of his boxers is too delicious to think past.
"No," Will answers back, swallowing deeply as he turns his head, trying to hide his guilty blush from the mirror across the room. "No I didn't."
And Sam doesn't answer for a moment, as if he's processing this fact, and Will's heart is pounding as rubs himself through the fabric of his boxers.
"I've been thinkin' about you, Schuester," Sam admits on a growl, and Will presses down harder on the fabric, before moving to slide his hand in under it.
He's tentative and conflicted, moving in a way that's kind of stilted and robotic. But it's been months since he's done anything like this, and Sam's voice is just so close in his ear. "What have you been thinking about?" He asks with a wince, and he knows his life is over.
"Your hands," Sam answers without missing a beat, as if he's had the words on the tip of his tongue. "Your fingers," he adds, words rough and low and Will's so fucking horny.
"What about my fingers, Sam?" He asks shamelessly, knowing he's already gone too far to turn back; might as well make the most of it. "Tell me," he insists, playing with the head of his wet and ready dick, slicking it up before wrapping a hand around it.
"I want them in me," Sam moans, and Will swallows hard as he lets himself picture it. "I wanna feel you stretch me open."
Will's bucking up at the words, holding the phone tight to his ear as he closes his eyes, stroking his cock with a tight and slicked up fist, as he pictures Sam Evans bent over his desk. "Tell me... how many fingers you want," Will gasps out, licking his lips as he tries to swallow down the guilt in his chest. But he knows, in his heart... that he needs this too badly for it to stop now.
"Three, Schue, please," Sam's begging, and Will is damn glad there's half a town's distance between them right now. "Please, I gotta..."
"Is that what you're doing right now, Sam?" Will tries to ask coherently, biting his lip hard as he runs a thumb over the head of his cock. "Are you playing with your asshole?"
Sam's crying out now, and Will feels like a tool for not realizing them as sex sounds immediately. How out of fucking touch was he that he couldn't even recognize the sound of a sinfully sexy boy jacking it for him, only him, oh fuck, oh fuck.
"Yeah, fuck yeah... It's... ah, I think about you when I do this," Sam admits around a mouthful of extra vowels that don't really belong there. "In the morning, I..." He trails off with a moan, and Will's stroking himself harder now, spreading his legs, and picturing Sam between them.
"Before school?" Will asks, and he hates the way his voice is so high and needy.
"Oh god, yeah... I gotta... before school, every day," Sam confirms, and Will's almost certain he can hear Sam's bedsprings shaking. "'Cause if... i-if I don't, I get hard as fuck during Glee and Spanish," he sobs out, and Will's trying to breathe as he swallows this fact.
"Fuck, Sam," Will curses, lost to his lust, too hot to feel guilty. "You think about me in class?" He asks desperately; not willing to spend too much time thinking about how he just needs to know that someone is looking at him, noticing that he's there.
"Man, you got no idea, you... fuck, I can't get off to anyone but you."
Will's abs are tensing in erratic spasms, and he's biting his lip, making his words come out muffled. "So don't," Will tosses back without thinking. "You have my fucking number Sam," he grinds out the words, and has no clue what he's offering.
"Fuck," Sam's moaning, repeating the single word, and Will can't help the pent up frustration that spills as his balls get tighter.
"That what you want, Sam, huh? You want me to fuck you?" He asks with a sharp intake of breath, filling his lungs as his cock twitches in his hand. "Tell me, tell me. Tell me you want me to ride your ass, please, Sam," and he's begging, he knows, but he can't be bothered to care; needs to hear the words like he needs to let out this breath.
"Yeah, fuck, please... hng, please..." Sam's voice is shaking, and Will knows that he's close. "Please."
"Harder, Sam," Will growls roughly into the phone, "Come on, ride me," he adds, delirious now under the pressure that he's feeling.
"Will, fuck... feels s-so fucking good," Sam pants into the phone, and Will's dick gets harder at the sound of his first name.
"Come for me, Sam," He commands without shame; there's no room for guilt when you're this fucking horny. "Come on, make a mess for me, baby, do it," he's rambling, can't stop the flow of words, until his hips buck up and he's spilling over his hand, hot, sticky spurts of a weeks worth of come, and he can't stop stroking, not while Sam's still going.
"Holy fuck, that's h-hot," Sam gasps before moaning, following it up with a tortured sort of cry, and Will's picturing his body bucking up off the bed, and jesus fucking christ; Will would do anything to lick his abs clean.
He breathes hard against the phone for a moment, slumped boneless and sated over his now-dirty mattress, and he winces as he realizes that Sam probably just came in a bed his parents bought him.
"Will," Sam's voice is broken and shaky, cutting the silence after what feels like ten whole minutes.
"Uh," Will tries to answer, feeling numb and blissful and sleepy.
"I... I'm sorry," he apologizes unexpectedly, and Will remembers then that he's facing down a dilemma.
"S'okay," he counters finally, nodding to himself, as if to prove his point. "No one's dead," he adds lamely; it had been a sound argument in his head.
"Uh... I might be if I have to use a whole jug of laundry soap on these sheets, though," Sam offers back awkwardly, punctuating it with a laugh that cuts itself off short.
"Oh god," Will's laughing, throwing one sore, sticky hand over his face. "Bring 'em here, I'll wash 'em eight times," he jokes, wondering what the fuck he's even doing.
"Um..." Sam's floundering for words, Will can hear him aborting a thousand different sentences. "Will?" He asks, and nothing ever follows.
But Will knows there's a question there, and he knows what's being asked of him. But he can't think past Sam's breathing, and his own heart beating in his ears.
"You have... to call me Schue at school, you know," he warns instead, knowing it's the closest thing he's able to offer. "But, uh... anywhere else..." He trails off, hoping that Sam gets it, hoping that he knows.
Sam lets out a huff, and it vaguely sounds happy, but then again, everything sounds wonderful after an orgasm like that.
"Goodnight, Will," Sam offers, and Will can hear a smile in his voice, and somehow, it's even hotter than the breathy little moans from before.
"G'night, Sam," he drawls back lazily, feeling his heart hammer in the center of his chest, until it's all he can hear, a steady beat under his dial tone.
He slides his cell shut, before staring at the screen, and he hopes the kid'll be smart enough not to use his full name when he programs his number into his phone.