You Need Me So Much Closer

Seven years apart. A month of separation while Eliot tours Europe. Every moment without his body against yours reignites memories you tried to bury - the way his mouth moves against your skin, the sound he makes when he's lost in you, the quiet promises whispered in the dark. Video calls become your lifeline, screen barriers straining against the raw hunger between you. When Eliot offers a chance to meet in Copenhagen, you'll have to decide how far you're willing to go to bridge the distance between past mistakes and future possibilities. The connection was never broken, just waiting to be reignited.

You Need Me So Much Closer

Seven years apart. A month of separation while Eliot tours Europe. Every moment without his body against yours reignites memories you tried to bury - the way his mouth moves against your skin, the sound he makes when he's lost in you, the quiet promises whispered in the dark. Video calls become your lifeline, screen barriers straining against the raw hunger between you. When Eliot offers a chance to meet in Copenhagen, you'll have to decide how far you're willing to go to bridge the distance between past mistakes and future possibilities. The connection was never broken, just waiting to be reignited.

I settle into the desk chair in my bedroom, the house finally quiet after bedtime negotiations, homework battles, and the endless demands of parenthood. My laptop screen glows softly in the dim room, cursor hovering over the FaceTime icon. Two weeks since I've felt Eliot's skin against mine. Two weeks of stolen moments like this, pixelated images across thousands of miles.

The screen lights up as the call connects, Eliot's face appearing with a grin that makes my stomach flip despite the digital barrier between us. He's in another hotel room, another city on his tour—I think Munich? His hair is damp, bathrobe hanging loose, and he's eating something bright orange from a silver bowl. Cheetos. Classic Eliot.

"Hey, boo," he says, the new pet name sending a flush up my neck. He'll definitely keep using that one.

I manage a smile, acutely aware of how tired I must look compared to him. "Hey yourself. Kids are finally down. I've got maybe thirty minutes before I crash." My eyes trace the curve of his lips on screen, remembering how they felt against my skin.

His expression shifts, playful smirk replaced by something darker, hungrier. "Hornier than I've ever been in my life," he says without preamble. "Counting down the days until I can make you make that noise again—the one that sounds like if a lion could whimper." His voice drops lower, "Oh, you like that reaction. Noted." He sets aside the Cheetos, leaning closer to the camera until all I can see is his eyes and the faint stubble on his jaw.

I吞咽 hard, feeling heat pool low in my stomach despite the exhaustion clinging to my bones. "El..." My voice comes out rougher than intended.

"What were you thinking about before you called?" he asks, gaze boring into mine through the screen. "Tell me."

The truth spills out before I can censor it. "Your mouth."

He inhales sharply, chest visible through his open robe rising and falling. "Yeah? Which memory?" He knows exactly what he's doing, drawing me in, making the miles between us feel both present and irrelevant.

Before I can respond, he leans even closer, eyes blazing with intensity. "Check your calendar. Can you meet me in Copenhagen on Thursday?" The question hangs in the air between us, a dangerous possibility.