Work Text:
The tiny numbers on the left hand corner of her phone read half past 1 A.M. but she was wide awake, too wired from the day's events. It was, yet again, another taxing day at The Bear, the loud voices of Carmy and Richie shouting back and forth at each other still echoing loudly in her head. He demanded obeisance from everyone else and no one demanded it from him. An inkling of an idea sprouted in her mind, as she stared at the former unblinkingly before emotionlessly bidding him good night. Carmy was everything and nothing at all to her– a friend, a partner, a collaborator, an inspiration, a flake, a disappointment, a tyrant, a needy little love sponge. She opened the Messages app on her phone, determined to find out who exactly she would encounter tonight.
Reckless, risky and headstrong. She had learned nothing from the failure of Sheridan Road.
S: You up?
C: Yeah
Sydney exhaled, equal parts relieved and scared. She shouldn’t have been surprised by his answer, if the dark circles under his eyes most days were to be believed.
S: You probably shouldn’t be…
C: You’re one to talk syd
S: I need to ask you something.
She watched as dark gray text bubbles appeared and disappeared again. Sydney could almost see the minuscule look of annoyance on his face at the question within a question. Whether she likes it or not, she had cataloged every expression on Carmen’s face.
C: shoot
This was it. She typed and sent it before she lost her nerve.
S: Are you a good boy?
Sydney held her breath as the read receipts registered nearly immediately and the dark gray text bubbles of death appeared then went again. God, she didn’t even want to think about updating her resume to include the crazy little establishment in River North if the fallout from this went nuclear. A minute passed and still no reply from him. Sydney pursed her lips and moved to phase two, checking if her Airpods were connected before clicking on the camera icon on the upper right screen next to his contact and hit Audio.
Two rings later, he picked up. “Syd,” was all Carmy said, in his soft way of speaking when he was all good and mollified.
“Hmm,” she acknowledged him, unsure of how to respond.
He was silent on the other end, with only his shallow breaths to be heard. Fine, she would have to take the reins here, nothing new.
“Will you answer my question?”
“I– I don’t know what you mean, Sydney.”
“Don’t call me that. It’s chef or yes chef for the rest of this call, understand?” She steeled her voice and sat up in bed, looking down at her phone expectantly as if it were his piercing eyes staring back at her.
More silence, his breathing hitched momentarily before evening out. “Yes, chef.”
Hook, line and sinker. She had him.
“What are you wearing, Carmen?”
Sydney heard a brief indiscriminate rustling on the other end of the call. “Basketball shorts, chef.”
Fuck, he was shirtless in bed. She would be lying if she said hadn’t been paying close attention to the few times his damn tight white t-shirts had ridden up when he had to lift up something heavy during the gut. Sydney could close her eyes and picture his huge biceps, happy trail and inexplicable v-cut that played peek-a-boo with her a few months ago. It was the perfect material to get off to when the long days were finally over and every part of her sans her mind had left the restaurant.
“What color are they?” She couldn’t help herself, she needed a complete visual. She’ll worry about him thinking her a fien later.
“They’re black, chef,” he clarified, in that no-nonsense tone of his. It sounded like he was a lowly sous chef curtly answering to his executive chef. Good, now he’ll know how she felt.
“Good, that’s good. I’ll ask you this one more time, Carmen, are you a good boy?”
“Yes, chef, I am.”
She tsked. “I don’t think so, not with the way you have been behaving lately. Why have you been such a pain in my ass, Carmen?”
“I don’t know why, chef.”
“I think you know why, Carmen. I need to hear you say out loud why you think so.”
More rustling in the background and Carmy’s voice imperceptibly hitches again. “I’ll do anything for you, chef. If you want a star so bad, then we’ll get a fucking star. If that means being a pain in your ass to get whatever you want, then so be it.”
“Do you want to know what I want right now?”
“Yes, chef.”
“I want to know if you’re touching yourself.”
He groaned, such immodest music to her ears. “I am, chef.”
Sydney glanced down at her phone tantalizingly, almost expecting to see him doing so. Her mind raced with all the possibilities of where to take this conversation next. She could hang up now and quite literally leave him hanging and never mention this unexpected turn in conversation again to preserve the thing they call their friendship or keep venturing deeper into this mess they’ve found themselves in.
“I don’t remember giving you permission to touch yourself.”
“Sorry, chef.”
“Well, don’t stop now. That’s your thing, right Carmen? You’ll start doing something important and you’ll only let me know about it afterwards… Where’s your hand right now?”
“On my dick, over my shorts, chef.”
Sydney licked her lips at the mouth watering visual he provided. She could imagine the hard jut of it and his huge hand gripping and squeezing it.
“Well, that’s unlike you. Never been one to stop yourself from indulging before,” Sydney commented pointedly. “Take off your shorts and wrap your hand around your dick.”
He didn’t respond after a beat and Sydney heard him falter. Carmy stuttered, and not wanting him to ruin the moment, she helped him along.
“Do you need some help from my end? Some encouragement from your chef to know that you’re not alone in this?”
Carmy exhaled sharply against her eardrums. “God, yes chef. Please.”
Without a second thought, Sydney slipped her hand into her shorts and underwear, only half-way embarrassed to find it sopping wet from her arousal. She closed her eyes and listened to the obscene sounds of him jerking off, gathering her arousal from her opening and slowly started to circle her clit. She didn’t expect him to continue talking.
“Are you wet right now, chef?”
Fuck . Fucking fuck, even if they never spoke of this again, she was going to kill him. “Yes, Carmen.”
“Are you thinking of me right now, chef?”
Nope. She was definitely not thinking about his voice, his hands, his arms, his tattoos, his soul-piercing eyes, his passion, his sometimes-soft, sometimes-demanding voice that made her want to lose all self-respect and get down on her knees for him in front of all their co-workers. “Who else would I be thinking about, Carmen?”
The downright filthy moan he let out went straight to her pussy, her fingers speeding up its circling and applying more pressure on her swollen clit. Sydney desperately wanted penetration and longed for the vibe she kept so close, yet so far away in her bedside table, though she knew she wouldn’t be able to live the embarrassment down if he heard the unmistakable sound of it going. Her thin fingers would just have to suffice, when all she really wanted was his thicker, tattooed digits instead.
She let out a small whimper and heard his whine on the other end of the call, answering hers in essence.
“ Fuck , chef, if I were there right now I would—”
“You would what? Tell me to go faster? Tell me I’m not doing it right? Since you’re the one who’s always right?”
“We both know that if you can’t follow, then I’ll lead. I’d have three fingers inside you, my mouth on your tits and you’d be coming within seconds.”
Holy shit, could he paint a picture. Sydney sped up and felt her legs twitch and jerk, hips pumping up to meet his nonexistent hips. This was better than anything she could’ve imagined or fantasized about. She hated him so much for it.
“You’re so fucking cocky,” Sydney groaned, her unoccupied hand leaving its grip in her bedsheets to flick her nipple over her tank top. “Say it.”
“Yes, chef, I’m so fucking cocky.”
“Say you’ll be a good boy at work tomorrow.” He would be so good, so toned down and placated. He would stare at her with those bottomless pools he calls eyes and listen to her every word and suggestion. And perhaps, if he deserved a treat for being a good boy, she would lead him to the office, lock the door and jerk him off for all of their co-workers and his closest relatives to hear.
“I’ll– fuck — be a good boy at work tomorrow, chef. But…” He trailed off, despite replying through gritted teeth.
Syd gasped, at his continuation or her building orgasm she wasn’t sure. “But, what, Carmen?”
“Will you be a good girl at work tomorrow? You’re always such a good girl for me, Sydney .”
The disobedient usage of her full name on his tongue was the tip of the iceberg. She came with a keening cry, legs spasming, toes curling and wetness coming out in a gush on her fingers. Sydney heard his obscene, drawn-out moan on the other side of the call and knew that he had come too. She was so down bad, she imagined being there with him, seeing where his come landed on his body and licking it off to taste it, and to make him taste herself from her hand, too.
Their heavy breathing was the only thing heard on either sides of the call for a while. Sydney felt her heart rate slow down, and her eyes began to droop heavily. She almost forgot he was still connected until she heard indiscriminate rustling coming from her one Airpods still in.
“Good night, Carmy. Thank you for your time. I hope you adopt an adjusted attitude for work tomorrow as we discussed,” She said, all business-like, hesitating before ending the call before he could reply.
Fuck. She was definitely, incredibly, one hundred percent, absolutely fucked.