// 262 974.383 //

//

"Eighteen seconds." Chris stuffs a handful of popcorn in his mouth and nods emphatically. "No, man-- I swear. Eighteen seconds. I barely even finished telling him what I was wearing before he was groaning in my earpiece."

"Wow." JC shakes his head. "You timed him?"

Chris frowns. "You're totally missing the point here, dude, but yeah-- I timed him. I time everybody. It's how I keep from going insane."

A sudden bray of laughter from the other side of the thin cubicle wall, followed by a blur of close-cropped head, and two of the most intense eyes JC's ever seen in a face he remembers as part of the whirlwind workplace tour he was given just a few hours ago. "Hate to tell you, but it hasn't worked, crazyman." Long fingers reach over to tug the cord of Chris' headset. "You're a certified A-grade loopy. Face facts." Those eyes focus on JC. "Hey. I'm Justin. I think I was on a call when you were gettin' the guided."

Chris grabs Justin's fingers and kisses them with a flourish. "Yeah, hi. Love your work, prettyboy. So, tell us, J-- what's your claim to fame? I'm sure JC would love to know." He winks at JC. "Right?"

JC shrugs, can't help the smile he feels curving across his lips. "Sure."

"Well," Justin says, in a conspiratorially low whisper, leaning right over the cubicle wall until JC's sure it's going to give way, "I was once responsible for Joey coming in his pants. Joey." He looks ridiculously proud, grinning big and bold, and JC can't bring himself to admit that he has no clue who Joey is. At all.

"Wow," he says, hoping it sounds surer than he feels. "That's, uh. Wow."

Chris flicks a piece of popcorn at Justin. "He doesn't know who Joey is, babyboy. You ever heard of picking the right material for your audience?"

"Yeah, yeah." Justin's still smiling, seemingly undeterred by such details, and JC almost feels he should be the one apologising for not having done his research. He had no idea working as a phone sex operator would be so, well, complicated.

***

He meets Joey a week later.

"This," Chris announces to JC, "is the gayest straight man you'll ever meet. And Joey, this is JC."

"Um," JC says, and holds out his hand. Joey's handshake is-- well. Chris was right.

"Don't get me wrong," Joey says later, flipping his headset back and forth like a pendulum, "I like dick."

"You do?" JC's just finished a call, and is chugging water from the cooler. The guy had taken close to forever, and wanted him to scream obscenities at full-pitch. JC's sure he's still blushing a little, because, really.

Joey nods, clicking his mic back into place when his line buzzes with an incoming call. "Uh-huh. Just not up my ass." He flashes a smile at JC, then punches the answer button, his voice slipping down into a throaty purr. "Hey, this is Joe, and I love to be fucked-- what's your name, darlin'?"

***

"No, pink. Pink trousers. Yeah." JC gazes at the monitor in front of him, numbers and a flashing cursor at the tail-end of a single name. John. It's the fifth time John has called today, maybe the thousandth time in two months, and he hasn't been the same guy twice.

John's asking about his shoes now, and JC glances at his feet, clad only in flip-flops. Somehow he doesn't think that this particular John is a flip-flop kinda guy, however. "Doc Martens," he purrs, and the resulting low moan is a huge tick in the box for going with his gut instinct.

Chris slides himself into the cramped space of JC's cubicle on his wheely chair, and mouths, how long?

JC shrugs. One the other end of the line, John's panting a little now, and there's the unmistakable sound of skin on skin action, so-- hmm. He wrinkles his nose, then holds up three fingers. Yeah, three minutes should cover it. From go to blow, he's heard Justin call it. Chris grins and does something obscene with his tongue before scooting himself back out into the narrow corridor, and JC has to stab himself in the palm with a pen to stop from laughing and damaging poor panting John's psyche for all eternity.

Goddamn Chris and his obsession with timing people.

***

"Have you ever timed yourself?" Justin hands JC a beer, cool glass against his palm, but the question is for Chris. "Or would that be too humiliating?"

Chris narrows his eyes, and taps the bottle against his teeth. "What is this humiliation you speak of? I don't believe I'm familiar with that term." He takes a swallow of beer. "Next question?"

"No, I'm serious." Justin stretches out on the couch, bottle dangling between his fingers, making tiny circles in the air. His apartment is just like him-- bold, bright, in-your-face. JC likes it, likes him. He likes Chris too, the sharp, dark humour lurking just underneath the crazy exterior. It's been three months so far, and just maybe this job he didn't even really mean to apply for might turn out to be the best move he ever made.

"I'm serious, too." Chris nudges JC with his foot. "Tell 'em, C. Sex is overrated, right?"

"Sex is overrated," JC repeats, peeling the label off his bottle. "Though, you wouldn't think so, the number of calls we get each day."

"Yeah, but," Justin sits up again, serious, intent, "what we're doing isn't really sex, is it? It's just the idea of sex."

Chris groans, and stands up. "This is my cue to call for pizza. You ladies can get into the age-old what is sex debate, and I'll try and remember to order which toppings each of you likes best." He glances at Justin, grinning. "Or in your case, what you hate the most passionately."

Justin waggles his fingers delicately and blows a kiss to his back as Chris leaves the room, phone in one hand, beer in the other. "Chris has got issues," he confides to JC in a low whisper, once the door closes.

"With pizza?"

"With sex." Justin lets his now-empty bottle drop from his fingers to the floor, where it lands with a soft thud. "There was this guy."

"Ah." JC nods, not needing to hear any more to know. "Yeah. There always is."

***

When Lance starts, JC's the one to show him around. It's kinda nice not to be the new guy anymore, and to realise that he knows enough about this place to pass on little words of advice. Like never interrupting anyone when they're on a call with Howie, a regular with a penchant toward yelling out random music questions while he jerks off.

"He gets really upset if you answer them wrong," JC explains, when Lance gives him a sideways look. "Really, really upset."

"Okay," Lance says slowly. "A music journalist, y'think?"

"Oh, no." JC shakes his head. "Ex-boy-bander. It's really kinda tragic."

There's more, of course, and JC watches as Lance takes careful notes. Don't ever laugh, no matter how ridiculous the request. Don't ever refer to the caller by the wrong name. No underage roleplaying. Don't ever let them hear you yawning. Always let the caller think he's in charge. Don't steal Justin's candy. Look out for Chris' sneak wheely chair attacks. It's always your turn to buy the beer.

"Got it all?" JC asks, when they've finished the five-minute tour of desks and cubicles. "I know it's a lot to take in all at once-"

"Nah, it's cool." Lance pockets his notebook and pen. "Got it all. Can I get started?"

JC grins. "Enthusiasm. Cool. Okay. You can have the cubicle next to Joey. Right over here." He leads the way, and Lance follows on his heels. It appears that Joey's on the phone, talking animatedly, and it gets even more obvious the closer they get.

"Yeah," Joey's panting, "yeah, baby. Just like that. Oh, yeaaaaaaah." A low groan, and he spins around on his chair, eyes rolling back in his head, tongue caught between his teeth. "Mhhhmmm, yeah. Oh, yeah."

"Um," Lance says, grabbing JC's sleeve as they stop in the entrance to the cubicle. "Does he always get so into it?"

JC nods. "Even more, usually."

"More?" Lance pales a little. "So, this is-- um. What is this, then?"

"This," says JC, having to shout a little now to be heard over the sound of Joey roaring his way through a dramatically faked climax, "this is merely Joey talking to Justin on his coffeebreak."

***

"Beers at my place tonight?" Chris is hanging over JC's cubicle wall, dangling his headset on the tip of one finger. "Justin's got a date, so he won't be there. Joey will be, though-- and - hold on." He stands up, cups his hands round his mouth and yells across the room. "Bass-- you on for tonight?"

JC can see an answering waggle of fingertips over the top of Lance's wall, followed by a thumbs-up.

"And Bass, too," Chris adds. "He's buying."

"Does he know that?"

Chris shrugs. "So it'll be a surprise for him. Everyone likes surprises."

JC's line buzzes, and he grins at Chris as he punches the answer button. "Hey, this is JC. How you doing, honey?" Even you? he mouths at Chris.

Even me, Chris mouths back, and slips away out of sight.

***

"Weirdest request." JC leans back against Chris' legs and takes a drink from his beer. "With details, please."

"Huh." Joey looks thoughtful. "Weirdest, you say?"

"Mhhmm." JC nods emphatically, and woah, with the room tilting ever-so-slightly. Lance's beer is the shit. The shiznit. The...good stuff. Yes.

"Ooh," Chris says, from somewhere behind him, "Joey. Joe, Joey. Joe. Joey. That thing with the guy that time. Joey. The thing. With the guy. Y'know? That was weird."

JC supposes it makes sense in some way, some how, but right now, it's beyond him. He looks at Joey expectantly for a translation. Joey just nods. "Yes," he says. "That one."

"I love that one." Lance, from somewhere on the floor, though JC can't see him, so it's just a wild guess. And hang on-- Lance can't love that one, because Lance doesn't know that one, because Lance has only just started, so it totally doesn't count. At all. It's all too much for JC to explain though, so he decides to tell them about his weirdest request. With details.

"Justin once asked me to fuck him," he says, and in the stunned silence that follows, even he realises that's not what he was supposed to say at all.

***

"I said no."

More silence, and JC presses his face against the cool, painted surface of Chris' door. "Did you hear me, Chris? I said no." The words slip into the tiny gap between door and frame, and JC wonders if Chris is on the other side, listening. If he is, he's stubbornly quiet, and JC can't even hear him breathing. Maybe he's gone to bed-- it's 3am, and dark and cold, and JC's sobered up enough to know he should go home, too.

But he won't.

"I said no," he says again, willing Chris to hear his words, even though they're barely whispered now. "I said no to him, Chris. I said no."

He slides down onto his haunches and hugs his knees to his chest, and when the door opens, he tips sideways against Chris' legs.

"So I lied," Chris says, throwing him a blanket, pointing to the makeshift bed on the couch, and not meeting his eyes at all. "I don't always like surprises."

***

"Does Chris know he's not supposed to yell at the callers-- or hang up on them?" Justin asks, handing JC a mug of coffee. "Because, uh-"

"He knows." JC stares blankly at his monitor. "I told him. Joey told him, too."

"The thing is," Justin says, grinning, "they seem to like it. He's getting twice as many calls as everyone else. Weird, man."

JC sips his coffee. "Treat 'em mean, keep 'em keen, right? Isn't that how the saying goes?"

"I thought it was never say never. " Lance's voice, and he slips into sight from behind the wall. "And," he adds, "Joey hasn't told Chris anything, except how he's starting to reconsider his whole no-dick-up-the-ass stance. I knew I could break him." He buffs his nails on his shirt.

"Noooo." Justin hooks his foot round Lance's thigh and pulls him closer. "How'd you find that out?"

"Well," Lance murmurs, "I was over by the-"--and JC hears the slight pause in his voice as he gets to his feet. "JC?"

"I gotta, uh, yeah. Five minutes, okay?" JC says distractedly, sliding his headset off, and not looking back.

***

He slips into an empty cubicle, and plugs his headset into the jack. On the wall is a list of extension numbers, and JC runs his finger down it until he finds what he's looking for.

88967. He punches the numbers into the keypad, and waits. Two, three rings, and then there's a click as the line is picked up. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath as he listens to the voice on the other end.

"Hey, it's Chris. Ball's in your court, baby. Tell me what you'd like."

"I'd like," JC says, "to say I'm sorry."

***

"What's this?" JC picks up the envelope on his desk. No name on the front, and nothing on the back, either. Joey shrugs.

"I dunno. Ow." He shifts slightly, gingerly leaning against the doorframe. "Fucking Bass."

JC can't hide his grin. "You reconsidered, remember? It's just like riding a bike."

"Yeah, yeah." Joey grimaces. "A bike with no fucking seat on it."

JC turns the envelope over and over in his fingers. "It gets better, I promise."

Joey grins. "And it's worth it," he murmurs. "But don't tell him I said that."

JC mimes zipping his lips, and watches Joey walk slowly back to his cubicle. He slips his thumb under one sealed corner of the envelope, and carefully tears it open. A single piece of folded paper inside, and when JC unfolds it, there's a number printed in the middle of it.

262 974.383.

A movement at the corner of his eye, and JC looks up to see Chris sitting there, swiveling from side to side on his wheely chair. "Hey," he says, scooting himself closer, then closer still.

"Hey yourself," JC says, holding up the piece of paper. "You know anything about this?"

Chris smiles. "As a matter of fact, I do."

"And?"

"It's six months."

"Six months?" JC looks at the piece of paper again, frowning. 262 974.383. Suddenly, he gets it. "It's in minutes," he says, softly, and Chris nods.

"Yeah." He traces over JC's mouth with a gentle finger. "I'm timing us." With his other hand, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out another piece of paper. "There's this, too. It goes with it, really."

"Okay." JC takes it from him, unfolding it carefully. Three words, written in the center of the page.

And still counting.

//

- for lilysaid.

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