Warm Milk

Final Fantasy 7. Loz/Yazoo. NC-17. ~250 words. Phonesex.

Loz feels too lonely to sleep.

Warm Milk

“Keep talking to me,” Loz says. “I miss you.”

Yazoo cradles the phone with his shoulder. He cleans his gun carefully, lovingly. “You’re only a few miles away,” he says. Logic doesn’t reassure Loz. Truthfully, it doesn’t reassure Yazoo, either. The three of them are scattered, adrift, waiting for something that threatens like a coming storm.

There’s a sound, whisper-faint, zipper teeth peeling apart. And Loz’s breathing changes. Deepens and roughens like when he rubs up against one of them with a needy look in his eye.

“Yes, do that,” Yazoo says. “That will calm you down and help you sleep.”

“Do it with me,” Loz says, begs.

“I am,” Yazoo replies. He drops his voice lower, gives his brother a deep, echoing moan. “But imagine for me that my hands are on you. I’m touching your stomach and moving down.”

Yazoo puts his gun back together, pieces sliding together and clicking in place. “My mouth is on your neck, my fingers around your cock-”

Loz’s breath stumbles, and he cries out, as quick to spend himself as usual.

“Thanks, Yazoo,” he says, when he catches his breath. “Did you come, too?”

Yazoo makes a small sound that could be interpreted as agreement. “We’ll be together again in a few days,” he says, and as he lifts his gun to check the sight–perfect–he bids Loz a good night.

*

End

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *