Title: Roots That Sleep Beneath My Feet
A/N: this is set in my girl!Brian ‘verse but can be read as stand alone porn.
Bry’s sitting up in bed checking through a new batch of contracts when the phone rings. She sticks her pen behind her ear and grabs the phone off the nightstand.
“Schechter,” she says automatically and Bob’s laugh makes her smile automatically.
“Yo,” he says, “How’s it going?”
Bry glances at the clock and frowns. “Dude, isn’t it like three a.m. over there?”
She swears she can hear Bob shrug. “Something like that. How are the kids?”
“Quiet,” Bry tells him then shoots a quick look at the baby monitor beside the bed in case she’s tempting fate. “Cory’s class went to the zoo so it’s been all polar bears and penguins this evening.” She hesitates then carries on as breezily as she can. “And Annie rolled over.”
There’s a pause and Bry winces. Maybe she should have gone with her first instinct and kept that quiet.
“That’s awesome,” Bob tells her and it only comes out a little flat. “Our girl’s pretty fucking smart.”
“Well, duh,” Bry says, hoping Bob’s not kicking himself too hard for missing another milestone. He’ll be back home in a month and Bry’s praying neither of the kids do anything too amazing before then.
She drops her folders onto the carpet and throws her pen down to join it. Bob makes sure to call her every day and she always tries to give him her full attention.
“So,” she says, “Tell me about Germany already.”
She’s so fucking disappointed to be stuck in LA, coordinating Drive By’s first European tour from afar, but Annie’s too young to take on the road and, as awesome and helpful as Bob’s mom is, Bry’s not saddling her with two kids under four for three months.
“Relax, it’s all good,” Bob says, which probably means everything’s falling apart but Bry tells herself not to look for problems. “Marie says she’s gonna email you in the morning.”
“Oh god, why?” Bry asks before she can stop herself. The tour manager’s an awesome girl and Bry trusts her, she just hates not being there herself.
Bob sighs. “Dude, calm the fuck down. Everything’s going great.” A pause then, “And I didn’t call to talk shop.” There’s something meaningful about his tone.
Bry grins up at the ceiling. “Bryar? Are you looking for some phone sex?”
Bob laughs but, “No, Mrs Bryar, not quite.” Again with the meaningful. She’s so busy being distracted she forgets to tell him not to call her Mrs Bryar. It’s not like he doesn’t know already.
“Okay, what am I missing?” she asks suspiciously.
“You have no idea, do you?” Bob asks. He doesn’t sound pissed, just amused and maybe kind of fond. Bry hates when he sounds fond; it usually means she’s being an idiot.
Bry doesn’t answer; she’s too busy racking her brain.
“Think about this time last year,” Bob prompts, sounding like he’s totally entertained. Bry hates him, she never should have--
A year ago, she was eight months pregnant with Annie and she, Bob and Cory were in Chicago, staying with Bob’s mom while Bob worked with The Used on their new album.
“Oh, fuck me it’s our wedding anniversary,” she says, totally blindsided.
Calling it a wedding is maybe being kind; it was ten minutes in Cook County Marriage Court with Quinn and Bob’s mom crying and Bert and Cory complaining that they needed to piss but, still, she should have remembered.
“Shit, Bob, I’m sorry,” she says, meaning it.
Bob scoffs. “You think I haven’t learned by now not to expect romance from you?”
That’s why she loves him, she thinks. But it doesn’t stop her feeling bad.
“Still,” she says, drawing it out. She glances at the door. It’s closed and Cory hasn’t gotten up in the night for months now. “How about that phone sex?”
There’s a choking sound then, “Seriously?”
Bry shrugs even though Bob can’t see her. “Sure, why not.”
It’s kind of crazy really that with the amount of kinky shit they’ve tried over the years, they’ve never had phone sex.
“It’s a hotel night, right?” she asks, even though she knows it is. She’s anal enough that she can’t not know where her guys are from day to day.
“Yeah,” Bob says slowly. “Um.”
Bry rolls her eyes and kicks the comforter down to her feet. “So, Bob, what are you wearing?”
“Seriously?” Bob says again, laughing. He clears his throat. “Boxers. Those Batman ones with the hole in the waistband.”
“Sexy,” Bry says dryly. “Dude, come on, make an effort. Tell me you’re dressed up like Bond or something.”
“Nah,” Bob says, only slightly awkwardly, “James Dean. I am lying here on this crappy motel bed in nothing but a biker jacket and leather chaps.”
Yeah, okay, that works for her. “What about me?” she asks. She pushes her t-shirt up under her armpits and palms her breasts. “Who do you want me to be?”
There’s no answer.
“Bob?” she prompts. “We don’t have all night here.” They kind of do, but whatever. Now she’s gotten the idea in her head, she’s impatient to get started.
“I’m thinking,” Bob says crossly. “Fuck it, can’t you just be you?”
Bry snorts. “Dude, you suck at this.” She’s worked one nipple up into a nice, tingling point, so she switches her attention to the other.
“Fuck off,” Bob snaps. He sounds embarrassed and Bry doesn’t want that. Besides, she’s weirdly, infuriatingly touched that Bob’s preferred jerk off fantasy is apparently just her.
“Okay, so you’re lying on your bed in your ratty-ass boxers, right? I’m in my PJs and I’m playing with my tits.”
Bob makes a sound, a harsh breath. “Shit,” he says. “How do you want to do this? Do I tell you what to do or what?”
The idea of Bob telling her what to do is hot but she knows Bob, he’ll get tongue-tied half way through. “You can try,” she says, rather than telling him she doubts his dirty-talking prowess. “Or you could tell me what you’d do to me if I was there right now.”
Bob’s quiet for a minute but Bry doesn’t rush him. She switches the phone to speaker and sets it on the bed, kicking her PJ pants off while she waits.
“I’d eat you out for hours, until you couldn’t take any more,” Bob says eventually.
Bry feels a warm rush of feeling low in her belly. Bob’s damn good at he going down on her. “Good,” she says, “How?”
“You’d kiss my belly first, right?” she prompts. Bob has a massive crush on her belly, stretch marks and all. “Then my hips?”
“Yeah,” Bob agrees, voice going a little hoarse. “Spread your legs open and kiss your thighs. Stubble scratching my lips because you’re always too impatient to shave your legs all the way up.”
“Fuck you, I’m busy,” Bry says automatically. She’s pulled up her legs so that her feet are flat on the bed and she’s stroking her hands up and down the insides of her thighs. It doesn’t feel enough like Bob’s kisses so she licks her fingers and tries again, the wet drag of skin feeling more like it.
“And you’d be wet for me.” Bob’s on a roll; Bry’s impressed.
“I am,” she tells him, touching her fingertips to her cunt.
“Fuck, Bry, why aren’t you here?” Bob groans, breaking the mood, and Bry’s pushing two fingers inside herself before she remembers that she’s trying to keep pace with him.
“Are you jerking off?” she asks, dragging her fingers out and slicking up the skin around her clit, around and around until she moans.
“Fuck yes,” Bob says. “You?”
Bry laughs shakily. “Yeah.” She widens her legs, cool air hitting her cunt, and starts to move her hand with purpose. “We suck at this.”
“I don’t-- don’t know. Feels like we’re pretty good at it.” The hitch in Bob’s voice makes Bry arch her hips up. She stops playing with her tits and sticks both hands between her legs, three fingers inside now, the other hand working her clit.
“Tell me what you’re doing,” she says and doesn’t try to hide how breathless she is.
“Jerking off,” Bob grunts then, before she can tell him that she needs some fucking details, “Cupping my balls. Got two fingers in my ass. Trying not to touch my cock ‘cause I don’t want to come yet.”
“Jesus,” Bry whispers appreciatively because that’s a damn fine image. She loves the specific kind of flush Bob gets across his cheeks when she fingers him.
“Touch your cock,” she says, asks, orders, “I want to listen to you come.”
Bob makes a harsh groaning sound and Bry closes her eyes so she can better picture him, lying in bed with his hips canted up, fingers in his ass and one big hand wrapped around his red, leaking cock.
“Yeah, Bob, that’s it,” she mutters encouragingly, not really sure what she’s saying just wanting so bad for him to come, wishing like hell that she was there to see it.
Bob always goes quiet when he’s close, but she can read the changes in his breathing as well as she can her own.
“Bryar,” she says, low, when his breath catches on an inhale, “When you get home I’m going to tie you to the headboard and ride you for a whole fucking day.”
“Fuck,” Bob chokes, “Bry,” and then he’s silent but for the hard, juddering breaths that mean he’s coming.
Bry listens to him gasp his way through his aftershocks and jerks herself off faster, imaging that he’s there, that his tongue is licking over her fingers while she fingerfucks herself, that she’s licking her way into his mouth, that he’s shouldering her thighs wide and pressing his cock into her.
She comes with the phantom feel of his hands on her hips.
Once her fingers stop tingling, she pulls the comforter up to her chin and puts the phone back to her ear. In a minute, she’ll have to put some clothes on in case Cory comes in during the night, but right now the weight of the comforter on her back is almost like Bob spooning her.
Not that she’s needy enough to want Bob spooning her after sex.
“Huh,” Bob says after a couple more minutes of the two of them just breathing together. “So this kind of sucks. Why aren’t I there with you?”
“I wish you were,” Bry says before she can stop herself. Stupid orgasm making her honest.
Another minute passes. Bry wonders if he’s fallen asleep.
Then, “I’ll be home in a month,” Bob says.
“Yeah,” Bry says, nothing else because it’d be shitty to make him feel bad for being away when it was her idea for him to go in the first place. She clutches the phone a little bit tighter. “Hey. Happy like, happy first anniversary or whatever.”
Bob’s laugh rumbles down the line. “Yeah, happy whatever to you too, Schechter,” he says softly.