Chapter Four

 

 

 

Scott’s frozen in place, his hands tightening in Carter’s hair, and then Carter’s fingers crawl up to his throat, and it’s so familiar that Scott just sighs and relaxes into the touch. Carter presses his thumb to Scott’s jaw, angling him exactly right and urging Scott to open his mouth for Carter’s tongue.

It’s different than when it was for show, desperate and heated and better now, and Scott sits up straighter, pushing back against Carter’s lips hard enough to bruise. He wants this, has wanted it, for so long now he can’t even remember when he didn’t. He knows he won’t be able to say it, even now, rum-drunk in the twilight, and every single thought goes out of his head except one: show him.

Scott lets his fingers relax and slide through Carter’s hair, bringing them down to cup the back of his neck. Carter pulls back a few inches, just enough to put some space between their bodies, and somehow twists his hips so that Scott is beneath him and Carter’s arms are braced on either side of Scott’s head. Carter’s body is flush against his, all the way down, and Scott can feel everything, his chest rising and falling as he breathes, the way their legs tangle together, and, oh god, how hard Carter is, grinding down against him in a smooth, sinuous rhythm, driving everything higher, harder.

“Oh...” Scott doesn’t realize he’s moaning until Carter breaks the kiss and stares down at him, eyes glittering in the darkness.

“Thought about this, god, so many times, Scott, and I never...”

“What, never what?” Scott asks, panting. He doesn’t even know how he’s still managing to talk - it feels like he’s burning, like his skin is lighting up everywhere Carter’s touching him.

“Never thought you’d let me,” Carter growls. “Fuck, Scott, I wanna suck you off, I wanna see your fucking cock.”

“Yeah, yes, please, yeah.” No way in hell is Scott turning that down. He grabs for Carter’s hair again, then his thick biceps, but Carter easily evades his grasp and shuffles down on the lounge chair until he’s perched at the very end, between Scott’s legs. The shadows that cling to Carter’s face make his smile look sharp and ghoulish, and Scott bites his lip hard to keep from moaning again. Carter’s not even touching him yet.

Carter stretches over him like a cat, all jutting shoulder blades and predatory eyes, and Scott finally has to stop watching. He already feels like he’s about to come. Carter lays his palm over Scott’s dick, cupping him through his pants and pressing his thumb right along the head, and Scott didn’t think his pants were that tight, that Carter would know exactly how to touch him, but maybe Carter has some kind of sixth sense. A dick sense. He can’t stop himself from laughing out loud, and Carter cuts his eyes up to give him a questioning look.

“Drunk. Happy. Drunk,” Scott says, and thrusts his hips up toward Carter’s hands. “C’mon, Carter, please, I can’t...I want...”

“What do you want, baby?” Carter asks, still staring hotly up at Scott’s face, still stroking him through his pants, slow and deliberate.

“You’re gonna make me come if you...” Scott gasps. “Please, I want... Just...”

“Fuck, yeah, come on,” Carter murmurs breathlessly. “Let me see you, baby. I want to see your face.”

Carter nudges Scott’s knees a little wider, pushing them up so his feet are firmly planted on the cushion, and slides one hand beneath Scott’s thigh. He doesn’t lift Scott up, but Scott can feel the intent there. He thrusts his hips up in anticipation, and Carter shifts his knees under Scott’s thighs to prop him up. His hand dips down and cups Scott’s balls firmly, his touch almost too hard, too rough, but it makes bright spots of light flash behind Scott’s eyelids. He tosses his head to the side and stares at the bright windows of the house, and that burns his eyes too. He finally just squeezes them shut and grabs the edge of the cushion with both fists. He doesn’t dare breathe. It feels like the moment’s on a knife-edge, fragile, and Scott desperately doesn’t want to shatter it.

“Stop, baby, stop holding back. I wanna see you come,” Carter purrs, his voice floating down through the thick haze of pleasure clouding Scott’s head, the harsh sound of his own gasping breath. “Come for me, Scott. Let me see you.”

Scott throws his head back, a loud moan catching hard in his throat, and obeys, coming hot and wet and messy in his jeans, and Carter keeps pushing and guiding and holding him until the tension bleeds from Scott’s limbs and he falls flat to the chair, his thighs draped over Carter’s lap and one arm hanging off the side of the cushion.

“That’s good,” Carter murmurs. He pets Scott’s thighs. “That’s good, Scott.”

Scott’s tongue feels thick and clumsy in his mouth. He swallows and tries to form a sentence, but it doesn’t quite work. “That... I didn’t... What about...”

Carter looms up over Scott and leans down to murmur in his ear. “Don’t worry, baby, I’m still gonna get my mouth on your pretty little cock. Didn’t want it to be over too fast.”

And Scott thinks he should probably be offended by “little,” but he can’t quite muster the energy, blissed-out and floating and reaching clumsily for Carter’s face, pulling him down into a kiss.

Carter concedes for a moment, thrusting his tongue into Scott’s mouth and stealing his breath away, but then he sits up and starts working at Scott’s fly, dragging the zipper apart and yanking the clingy denim down Scott’s thighs. Scott lets himself sprawl, boneless as Carter struggles to get the jeans pulled down to his ankles.

“Fucking shoes,” Carter mutters. Scott looks down at the pants all scrunched up over his boots and starts laughing. Carter throws him a look. “Fuck you too,” he says.

“Yes please,” Scott replies, not thinking. In the next instant, his eyes go wide and he has to resist the urge to cover his mouth with both hands, because all of a sudden it’s not a joke any more, not a fantasy. That is Carter staring down at him like a tiger with a slab of meat. That, right there, is definitely Carter’s cock, hard and straining against his zipper. Scott blushes hot and licks his lips.

“Would you let me?” Carter asks, quiet and dead serious.

Scott licks his lips again, breathes, and nods, unable to force the words out of his mouth. Carter yanks on his legs, not playing or drawing it out anymore, pulling his shoes and pants off and dropping them to the ground, and Scott slides a few inches down the lounge chair. Towards Carter, who climbs right off the chair and pulls Scott toward him again, so his legs are hanging off the end.

“You gotta say it, baby.” He sinks to his knees on the ground and arranges Scott’s legs around him, with one hooked over his shoulder. “Take off your shirt.”

The night air is cool on all Scott’s newly-exposed skin, and he feels very aware of parts he usually doesn’t give much thought to. The backs of his knees. The creases of his thighs. His ass, fuck, his ass, and Carter’s face right there, looking up at him over the whole stretched-out line of his body. Carter doesn’t move, and Scott shakes his head, trying to clear the post-orgasmic haze and the nerves, and reaches up to strip his shirt off over his head in one quick motion.

Carter palms Scott’s soft, wet cock and raises an eyebrow. “Think about it.”

“About what?” Scott asks dazedly.

“You know what.”

And Scott does. He thinks about Carter unzipping his pants, crawling over him and pushing Scott’s legs up to his chest, sliding his wet dick down along the crease of Scott’s ass, the stretch and pressure and pain, maybe, of Carter pushing in. His cock is definitely bigger than one or two of Scott’s fingers, and he’s never really considered how big Carter is before now, except maybe in a vague, theoretical porn-like way when he’s just about to bring himself off, one hand on his cock and fingers in his ass and brain remembering Carter’s heat, Carter grabbing his hair and kissing him and towering over him, big in every way.

Carter drags his fingers through the mess of come left on Scott’s stomach, slicking them until they’re shining. Then he slides his hand down and rubs over Scott’s asshole with two fingers, then his thumb, all gentle and careful even though he’s looking at Scott like he wants to devour him whole. Carter’s tongue pokes out between his lips, wetting them, and his gaze drops to Scott’s ass like he just can’t help it. Heat rushes through Scott’s body in quick contrast to the cool night air. He tells himself not to be embarrassed about Carter looking at his ass. This is what he wanted. Wants.

“Have you done this before?” Carter asks. He pushes one finger in, just the very tip, then takes it away. Scott exhales sharply through his nose. “Scott, answer me,” he commands, then spits on his fingers and brings them back to Scott’s ass. He pushes in one finger again, twists it, then takes it back. “Have you fingered yourself before? Have you played with your ass? Does it get you off?”

Scott squirms and spreads his legs further, Carter’s teasing pushing him way past the edge of embarrassment and right into desperate need. He’s just come and it doesn’t even seem to matter, and now Carter isn’t even touching him, the bastard, just waiting again. Fuck.

He groans and shuts his eyes. “Yes, I did, I have, I just - I like it. Please, I want-”

When Carter doesn’t say anything, doesn’t touch him again, Scott opens his eyes to see Carter grinning at him, his lips stretched wide and his teeth glinting white in the half-light. He looks like a predator, about to pounce on his prey. Scott shudders, and Carter keeps him pinned under his gaze as he leans down and takes Scott’s cock into his mouth.

It’s too soon, way too soon - Scott’s not even hard - and he can’t hold back a cry, oversensitive almost to the point of pain, even though Carter’s mouth is hot and wet and good. His body can’t figure out what it wants, simultaneously trying to thrust up into Carter’s mouth and pull away, and Carter’s hands come to rest on his hips, holding him down for it. Every touch gets translated to pain, even though he knows Carter’s lips are soft and his fingers are gentle. Carter just keeps licking, keeps up with that gentle pressure, and everything blurs together in Scott’s head, until too much becomes not enough, and fuck, apparently it isn’t too soon for him to start getting hard again.

With one hand splayed around Scott’s cock, holding him steady while Carter slowly bobs his head, Carter drags the other down from Scott’s hip, scratching lightly with his fingernails across Scott’s thigh and down to his ass. Scott clues into what’s coming just a moment before it happens, but he still jerks with surprise when Carter pushes a finger all the way into him and angles it, somehow, stroking him from the inside out - and holy fucking fuck, it’s never felt like that before.

Scott bites his lip hard and writhes on the chair, torn between grinding down on Carter’s finger and pushing up into his mouth, and a high moan escapes him, wrenched from his throat. “Ohhh, fuck. Carter. Carter.” He feels like he’s about to come again, already, too soon. He wonders if he can, what it will feel like if he does. If Carter will let him rest, then, or if he’ll just keep going, licking and sucking and looking at him with those eyes for as long as it takes to pull everything Scott’s got out of him.

“Scott.”

Jesus, how can Carter sound so calm? “Motherfucker, what?” Scott groans, and he would be ready to strangle Carter right now if he didn’t think it would interfere with the most intense blowjob he’s ever had.

“You can come now or you can come on my cock. Your choice.”

“Fucking what the fuck? I want to-”

“You have to choose, Scott,” Carter cuts in with a smug, evil grin.

Scott pounds a fist on the cushion weakly. “I can’t, don’t make me choose, I can’t, I need...”

Carter opens his mouth and turns to the side, scrapes his teeth along the inside of Scott’s thigh, leaving faint red marks. He kisses them, soothing, then flashes Scott a grin. “I know you need it, baby. But tell me, do you want me to fuck you?”

“Yes,” Scott replies immediately.

“Do you want to come while I’m fucking you? I can do it, Scott. I can get you there, all stretched out and open around my dick, so fucking full and needy. Or...do you want to come now? Want me to take my time with you, opening you up and fucking you so long and slow you can’t even remember what came before? You have to tell me...” Carter trails off and presses his face in against Scott’s skin, and Scott’s about to answer when all of a sudden Carter’s pulling him apart and licking, one long hard swipe of his tongue right over Scott’s asshole, and he’s going to come right the fuck now if Carter does that one more time.

“Oh, fuck, stop,” Scott cries. “No, I want you to fuck me, please, I want to wait. I need you in me, Carter, please. I can’t wait, I need you.”

Carter pushes Scott’s legs off his shoulders and Scott slides a bit further off the chair as Carter drops him, sprawled halfway on the ground now and so high on the rush in his blood he can’t even bring himself to move. He watches Carter strip, his eyes following every new sliver of exposed skin until Carter’s shirt is all the way unbuttoned and hanging off one arm, and his jeans are pooled around his ankles. Carter steps out of them, kicks all his clothes into a pile, and reaches down for Scott, grasping his arms firmly and pulling him back up onto the chair, tossing him towards the other end so he can stretch out all the way.

Scott lands with a muffled whump on the soft cushion and stares up at Carter, breathless and hard and now blushing at how easily Carter can move him around. His eyes slip down Carter’s bare, freckled chest to the waistband of his briefs, and he’s almost scared to look further. He can already see Carter’s cock outlined through the dark material, and Carter notices him watching, reaches down to palm himself through the cotton, pulling it tight.

“That’s right, that’s what you fucking need, isn’t it, baby? Come on, show me how much you want it - get up here and take it out for me.”

Scott moves without thinking, rolling up onto his knees and nearly doing a faceplant right off the edge in his rush to crawl to the end of the chair. He sits there, with his feet tangled under him, and stares up at Carter’s face. Carter’s watching him, and he looks dark. Dark everywhere. Dark hair framing his face, dark eyes narrowed at Scott. Dark smile. Confident. Confident that Scott will do what he asks. For a quick second, the image of Carter as he’d been just a span of minutes ago flashes through Scott’s head, Carter slumped and crying, and a surge of warm pride goes through him. He did that, brought Carter back to himself, if only just for tonight, and he’s smiling when he reaches up and hooks his fingers in Carter’s briefs, pulls them down over his hips.

Carter’s cock spills out in Scott’s hands and he’s shocked, for a long moment, at how different Carter is to himself. How big. He’s hard, and so, so blood-hot, and wet where his precome has smeared down past the head. Scott tentatively wraps his fist around Carter, a little scared now, but his senses are overwhelming him, the sight and the feel and the smell of Carter, and lust punches him in the gut. He leans forward before even thinking it through and sucks a kiss to the head, letting Carter’s taste wet his lips. He needs to know.

At that, Carter groans, long and loud and low, reaching down to grab Scott’s hair and pull, wrenching him back. The spike of pain runs down his spine and right into his cock, driving his need higher, and he can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything but wait for Carter to put Scott wherever he wants him to go.

Carter doesn’t make him wait. He pulls harder, and Scott lets him, lets himself fall back onto the cushions again as Carter follows him down. Carter stretches out on top of Scott, pressing against him, so much skin sliding against skin. Scott arches his back, exposing his throat for Carter to kiss, and Carter does, but he follows it with his teeth, and that’s almost better, because it distracts Scott from the feel of Carter’s cock grinding into his thigh. Carter shoves a hand beneath Scott - beneath the cushion of the chair, and pulls out a little travel bottle of lube and a folded strip of foil-wrapped condoms.

Scott closes his eyes and waits, forces himself to keep breathing. He’s tempted to watch Carter get himself ready, because now that’s he’s seen it, tasted it, Carter’s cock is sort of fascinating, big and dark and hard and so very not Scott’s. But it’s too much, too fast, and instead he focuses on the sound of tearing foil, the clicking cap of the lube bottle, the obscene sound of Carter stroking himself wet.

After a moment, Carter’s hands come back to Scott, spreading his legs and leaving slick traces of lube on his skin. Scott curls his body up at Carter’s urging, wraps his legs around Carter’s torso, and reaches for the sides of the chair with both hands, needing something to hold onto. Carter’s too far above him to kiss, now, so Scott licks his lips and stares up at him instead, at the intense concentration on Carter’s face. Carter’s tongue darts out, a flash of pink against his lips, and he looks down between them. Scott doesn’t follow Carter’s gaze. He can’t make himself look, as much as he desperately wants to see Carter’s cock pushing into him.

Suddenly, Scott feels Carter against his ass, blunt and thick and way too much. Scott gasps, absolutely certain that it’s not going to work, Carter’s not going to fit, but Carter grabs Scott’s hip with one hand and pushes past that resistance, slow and steady.

Then Carter looks at him again, and the intense confidence melts into something both softer and more primal, and Scott can’t, has to shut his eyes against the nameless, overwhelming feeling building in his chest.

But Carter’s right there, his voice soft and insistent. “No, baby, look at me. Let me see you. Come on...”

He reaches up and pets Scott’s forehead gently until he opens his eyes again, letting Carter’s gaze burn into him as he holds his breath, waiting, waiting. Carter smiles and braces himself on his knees and thrusts, and oh fuck, it hurts. Scott wants to cry out, almost can’t hold it back, almost tells Carter to stop, that it’s too much, that he can’t take it after all.

It’s the look on Carter’s face that stops him. He’s never used the word ‘rapture’ before in anything but a snarky jab at religion, but there’s no better way to describe the look on Carter’s face. He understands it now. He blinks back the tears before they can escape, and he opens his mouth wide and throws his head back and moans, because there’s nothing else he can do.

Carter settles into a rhythm of deep, slow strokes, and Scott can feel everything, every inch of Carter inside him, the grounding sensation of Carter’s hands on him, the flex and release of Carter’s muscles with every thrust. It’s not even close to the way Scott fucks, quick and desperate and always rushing toward the finish - it feels like Carter could do this for hours, all night if he felt like it.

Scott gets lost in the constant sensation, lost in Carter’s thrusts, and he can’t make himself let go of the cushion even though his cock is still so fucking hard, begging for attention, bouncing against his stomach in time with Carter’s rhythm. He clenches his fists tight and closes his eyes, and then he feels Carter’s hand on his cheek, the only bit of stillness in their entire bodies.

Carter’s thumb rubs at the corner of Scott’s eye and it’s wet - those tears seem to have escaped after all - then underneath, probably smearing some of Scott’s eyeliner, and he leans close enough for Scott to feel his breath against his face when he whispers, “Baby, look at me. I need to see that you’re here, with me. Look at me.”

Scott obediently opens his eyes and Carter’s face is blurry above him, so close now but still not close enough. Carter slides his hand down and pushes his thumb to Scott’s lips, shoving it inside Scott’s mouth to stroke his tongue, and Scott closes his lips around Carter and sucks hard. There’s a foreign, unfamiliar taste on Carter’s skin, and Scott realizes belatedly it’s the lube leftover from Carter stroking himself, and with the image of Carter’s cock fresh in Scott’s mind, he comes, his whole body tensing, squeezing around Carter’s cock deep inside him. It feels like Carter is forcing the orgasm out of him, tearing it out of his body with words and fingers and cock, and Scott gives himself up to it, to the pleasure and the alcohol and the night.

He’s only vaguely aware of the rest, of the mess he’s made of himself, come streaking all the way up over his chest. Unconsciousness is hovering around the edges of his vision, blurry blackness he recognizes all too well, but he can’t let himself go just yet, wanting desperately to feel Carter finish, be there with him for that moment, see his face.

Carter’s saying something, but Scott can’t bring himself to decipher the harsh, desperate whispers, focusing instead on the quickening pace of Carter’s hips, the tightening of his fingers. And when Carter finally breaks, Scott knows by his face, by the open ring of his mouth and the tensing of his brow, the gasping, hitching breath he takes as his whole body goes still.

He’s aware of Carter eventually shifting them around, getting rid of the condom, moving his weight off Scott to let him breathe. Scott doesn’t try to rearrange his limbs into a more comfortable position; he’s not sure if he even can. He stays where Carter puts him, and Carter snuggles up beside him, so it’s pretty great overall, even though he can feel his come drying on his stomach, and the lube is still slippery inside him, and his arm hurts from where Carter’s lying on it. His ass is sore in a very distant way that Scott can ignore for now, because Carter’s lips are against his cheek and his arm is around Scott’s waist, and those are much more pleasant things to focus on.

He laughs, not really knowing why, and Carter smiles against his cheek. “What’s funny, baby?”

Scott burrows his head into Carter and says the first thing that comes into his head. “Good fucking rum.”

Carter laughs back and replies, “Yeah. It really was. Thanks, Scott.”

Scott struggles around and frees his trapped arm so he can face Carter. “For what?”

“For tonight,” Carter says, smiling. He kisses Scott’s nose, almost playful, and Scott’s stomach twists. He doesn’t ask what Carter means - the drinks, maybe, or meeting up with him at the bar. Or...the sex. He’s not sure what to think, or how to feel, and he wishes they hadn’t said anything at all. Carter turns onto his back, not looking at Scott anymore, and Scott dazedly watches him drift off to sleep.

He stares at Carter’s profile, the slope of his nose and the slackness of his lips, until everything goes blurry and all the lines are swimming before his eyes. Even after he closes them, it seems like forever before he can relax, before the sleepiness of good orgasms and too much alcohol finally takes him.