Taras shuddered.

A soft grunt escaped his lips.

"I'd fuck you. If I were there, I would."

He let his hand go to his crotch, rubbing his constricted flesh urgently through the wool. His breath came in short, rhythmic hisses.

"I'd give it to you good, right there in Isaev's bed."

Taras twisted on the bed, back arching.

The phone felt hot against his ear, like breath.

"Fuck," he whispered. "I'm hard, Barshai. What am I supposed to do about that?"