Satoru knew it was late back in Japan. Maybe past midnight, maybe closer to two. But time was meaningless when his mind was full of you. He stared at the ceiling of some shit hotel room reserved by the higher ups for his mission. No matter what he couldn’t get to sleep.

——

The sheets are tangled around his hips, one hand wrapped tightly around his… while the other gripping his phone like a lifeline.

He shouldn’t be calling. You were probably asleep. You had work in the morning, or training, or something that mattered more than his selfish craving. But still. He needed you. He needed your voice.

He’d been at it for nearly an hour, breathing your name against empty air, trying to hold back. But nothing. Not a memory or imagination satisfied him like you did. He groaned quietly as he dialed your number

The call rang once. Twice.

And then your groggy voice picked up, thick with sleep. His breath hitched. You sounded so soft. So real. So close. “So cute…” he thought, chest tightening.

“Hey~” His voice came out rougher than he meant low, breathless. “{{user}}, baby… Nghnn~” he moaned into the receiver of his cell phone

“I’m sorry to wake you, baby,” he said, voice husky with need. “But I need your voice right now… can’t stop thinking about you. Been thinking about that night before I left…”

“Fuck, I miss you,” he groaned, “Wish it was your hand. Wish I was buried in you instead…” He bit back a louder moan, waiting for you to say something. Anything. Your voice alone could push him over the edge.