“Shit,” he groans, and pushes himself upright. Scott flops into the warm spot he leaves vacant, his hair limp and his mouth open, still mostly asleep.

Carter springs up like he’s been bitten, stumbling over his own discarded boots, and rubs at his eyes, staring down at Scott like he can’t quite believe he’s really there. “Holy shit.”

Without Carter keeping him warm, Scott starts to shiver, and he sits up, holding his head and blinking blearily at Carter. “Um. Hey,” he says, smacking his tongue in his mouth like he tastes something bad.

Bits and pieces of last night come back to Carter in flashes. Moments. Scott falling against Carter’s shoulder. Scott sprawling naked on the lounge chair. Scott kissing Carter’s cock, Jesus.

“Last night...” he starts, then has to wet his lips before they crack open and bleed. He doesn’t want to ask, and when he looks down at Scott, he finds he doesn’t need to. The evidence is all over him, in the pink marks on Scott’s thighs and the flaking come dried on his stomach. “Shit, Scott...”

“What time is it?” Scott asks blearily. Carter doesn’t know, but it looks pretty early. He shrugs. Scott shivers again, wrapping his arms around himself, and Carter’s heart clenches.

“We should get inside. You’re freezing.”

Scott moves wordlessly, reaching for his clothes where they’re laying in a heap on the wet grass, but Carter snatches them out of Scott’s hands when he tries to pull them on.

“No, Scott, don’t. Come on. I have a dryer. And a shower.”

“I need to go,” Scott mumbles.

“I’m not letting you put this shit back on. You’ll freeze to death. Come on. Inside. Let’s go.”

Carter leads Scott inside, using his damp clothes as bait. He pushes Scott toward the nearest bathroom - he has to be getting itchy by now - and tosses everything into the dryer, pulling a clean towel off the shelf for Scott and a pair of jeans for himself. He zips them up and stands uncomfortably outside the bathroom door, not even sure he wants to knock, and it’s weird. More and more of last night is coming back to him as he becomes more awake, the easy closeness of it, the trust in Scott’s eyes as Carter had pushed into him for the first time. Everything looks different now, in the light of the morning, even those memories. Something is nagging at the back of his mind, something important, but he can’t quite put a finger on it. Not yet. His head is pounding and he can’t think straight.

He knocks quietly, and then, before Scott can answer, pushes the door open just wide enough to slide the towel through. “I, uh...this is for you. While your clothes dry,” he calls through the gap.

He feels Scott take the towel, and waits for a response, but none comes. Carter listens to the toilet flush and the sink run, and then Scott opens the door all the way, standing silhouetted by the yellow light with the towel wrapped around his chest and hanging to his knees, arms crossed to hold it up. Carter almost reaches for him, wants to slide his hand over the sharp point of a bony shoulder, but everything about Scott’s stance is telling him to back off.

“I’ll make some coffee,” Carter says. He turns around, trusting Scott to follow. The kitchen is through the living room, and Carter pauses on the way, flipping a switch to create bright flames in the mostly-unused fireplace. “Here. Sit. Warm up.”

Scott looks like he’s going to argue, and Carter has to force himself not to roll his eyes. This isn’t some hookup, some random rebound sex with a nameless guy he’ll never see again. Scott deserves better than that. “Look, you’re stuck here until your clothes dry, anyway. Might as well be comfortable, right?” he says.

Scott nods dully and just stands there in front of the fire. Carter waits for him to sit down, but he doesn’t. Carter finally takes him by the arm and leads him to chair closest to the fireplace. Scott stands in front of it for a long moment, then, at Carter’s raised eyebrow, lowers himself down. Carter watches him carefully, noting both Scott’s reluctance and the very slow, deliberate way he moves.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Fine,” Scott replies under his breath. He shifts his weight and leans against the armrest, and that’s when it hits Carter.

“You’re hurt,” he realizes. “I hurt you.”

“No!” Scott says, more forcefully than anything Carter’s heard from him yet. “You didn’t hurt me, I wanted it!”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Carter asks. “It’s not supposed to hurt, Scott - I don’t care what anyone says. It doesn’t have to.”

Scott shrugs and looks away, back at the flickering flames behind the glass, and something clicks in Carter’s head - something he should have thought about, should have realized before any of this happened at all. It’s not like he’s ever asked Scott too specifically about his sex life - never thought it would matter, much - but still, he should have known.

“Scott,” Carter says slowly. “You haven’t done that before, have you?”

“Done what?”

“Don’t play stupid. You haven’t been fucked by a guy before.”

“It was fine,” Scott says, still not meeting Carter’s eyes. “I...I’m glad it was you. Really, I...wouldn’t have wanted anyone else.”

“You’re glad it was me,” Carter repeats flatly. “Are you fucking serious, Scott? You don’t think that’s the kind of thing I needed to know? Beforehand?”

“Would it have stopped you?”

“It-” Carter has to stop and actually think about that for a second. Would it have stopped him, to know Scott was a virgin? Would he have cared? Most of what he remembers is hot jealousy, a dozen faces blurring together, pretty, petite girls hanging on Scott and eventually leaving him. He remembers wanting to erase the memory of every single one of them, fuck Scott senseless, until he couldn’t remember anything but Carter’s name. He remembers it feeling like...like he’d won.

“Would it, Carter? Would you have fucked me if you knew?”

“Yeah,” Carter breathes. “Yeah, I would’ve.”

“So it doesn’t matter.”

“But it does, Scott!” Carter cries. “It matters. You can’t keep that shit secret.”

Scott shrugs. “I trusted you.”

“You had no right.”

“No right to trust you?” Scott gives him an incredulous look. “I know you, Carter.”

“No, not-” He sighs. “No right to lay that responsibility on me. I didn’t want it.”

“You just said you did,” Scott replies quietly.

“Not last night. I was drunk. You were drunk. It wasn’t... how it should be. That’s not how I do things. It wasn’t real.”

Scott snorts. “Feels pretty fucking real to me. And you know what? You kissed me. So don’t try to pretend like this was all my fault. Asshole.”

“Fuck,” Carter breathes. “I can’t even deal with this right now.” He has to take himself out of the room before he says something else he shouldn’t. He heads for the kitchen and goes directly for the cabinet above the sink and its assortment of prescription bottles. Something for his head, and for the twisting in his stomach, and definitely, definitely something for the unnerving jittery feeling under his skin every time another image from last night pops into his brain. He closes his eyes as he swallows and says a silent thanks to Matt. The guy might be a pain in his ass, but he’s never denied Carter anything he’s asked for, and he doesn’t ask questions. Good fucking manager, when it comes down to it.

He should have known, he thinks, watching the coffee start to drip into the pot and waiting for the artificial calm to kick in. He’s been with virgins before - hell, it hasn’t been so very long since he was one, and the memory’s still as clear as if it had happened yesterday. The half-empty bottle of rum is still sitting out on the counter, and Carter glares at it. Maybe he can’t blame it all on the rum, but it’s at least partially responsible. Fucking Alex. This is really all his fault. Obviously.

He leans over so he can see into the living room and bites his lip. A memory sparks in his head: the two of them on a beach sometime last summer, Scott hiding under about three towels until nothing but his face was showing. He’s still hiding himself now, he just has fewer towels to do it.

Carter rubs his forehead and listens to the gurgling of the coffeemaker. The drugs and the smell of fresh coffee are already helping, but this headach—hangover— is going to be persistent, he can tell. Scott must be feeling the same. Worse, even. Shit, he must be feeling awful, after everything Carter did to him last night. There’s only about half a cup’s worth of coffee in the carafe so far, but Carter’s patience is thin this morning, and he grabs the pot and pours. He can get a cup for himself later. After an apology.

Scott’s exactly where Carter left him, still in the same position and everything. He looks up when Carter walks in, but he carefully avoids meeting Carter’s gaze, which makes Carter feel like total shit. Carter offers the coffee and Scott takes it, but he doesn’t drink.

“I’m sorry,” Carter says. “Last night... shouldn’t have happened. Not the way it did. I never wanted to hurt you, Scott. I’m just so glad that you’re... here. I’m glad you’re my friend. You’re a really good friend, and I’m sorry I fucked it up.”

Scott bites his lip and drags his gaze up toward Carter’s face, still not quite meeting his eyes. “So...it really was just the alcohol, I guess?”

“A big part of it, yeah,” Carter says, thinking about everything he would have done differently, better, if he’d been even a little bit more sober.

But Scott looks crushed. “Oh...” he says quietly. “I thought...”

Carter leans in close, rushing to comfort him somehow. “Scott, I’m sorry. I just... really think this was a mistake. You should’ve told me. I could’ve made it better for you.”

“It’s fine,” Scott replies, and when he looks up this time, he does look better. “I’m glad I could help, last night. And I’m glad my... first time. I’m glad it was you.”

“Are you really okay?”

“I’m fine. I definitely remember coming at least twice... can’t have been that bad, right?” Scott flashes a smile, and Carter decides to believe him. After all they’ve been through together, after last night... Scott wouldn’t lie to him. Not about something this important.

He smiles back, just a little, and blushes. “I hope not. I tend to get a little...Aries...when I’m having sex. Especially when I’m drunk. You know, bossy.”

Scott looks up at him through his lashes. “You, bossy? Never.”

It startles a hoarse laugh out of Carter, and for the first time, he thinks maybe this isn’t a complete disaster after all. “Well, I don’t remember you complaining!”

Scott looks down at his lap, his smile fading fast. “Yeah.”

“Scott?”

“It’s just that I’m good at, like, you know, dealing with things.”

“Dealing with things? Is sex usually something you just put up with? ‘Cause if that’s the case, baby, I think you’re doing it wrong.” The pet name slips out unintentionally, and Carter winces at the look on Scott’s face when he says it. Fuck. He buries his face in his hands, wondering how he could possibly dig himself a deeper hole. Surely he’ll find a way, if he just keeps talking.

“It’s not something I just put up with,” Scott says in a low voice. “Last night, that was what I needed, too. Don’t take that away from me.”

“Scott...” Maybe Carter’s still just hung over, but he’s really not understanding Scott this morning, even less than usual. And this - he feels like he really wants to understand this. “Why are you acting like this? I don’t - I don’t understand you.”

“Acting like what?” Scott snaps. “How am I acting? How am I the one that’s being weird, when you’re all...” Scott waves his hand in a complicated gesture. “Eh.”

“What the hell does that even mean?”

“Do you always give your fucks the third degree in the morning? Because I’d like to skip that part, if it’s okay with you.”

“I’m not trying to - ”

“Also the part where you said you didn’t even want to fuck me. Could’ve done without that. I’m just sayin’.”

“Fucking hell, Scott Joe. What is the matter with you? I’m not trying to be weird about-”

“Well, neither am I!”

Carter pauses. “Jesus fucking Christ, Scott. You’re like my best friend, and now... Everything is fucked up, and I hate that. I didn’t want that to happen.”

“It’s not my fault,” Scott says quietly.

“Well it’s not my fault, either.”

“You just...you make it so hard, Carter. All those years of your flirting - how was I supposed to react? All that time... did you ever think about what that was doing to me?”

Carter stares, and Scott stares back, and for a second Carter really doesn’t know what’s supposed to happen next. He kind of feels like he wants to punch Scott in the face, and another part of him wants to drag Scott upstairs to his bed and not let him out for at least a week. Scott’s right about one thing: five years is a long time for foreplay with no release.

“I should go,” Scott says after a moment. He gives Carter the coffee, untouched, and slowly gets to his feet.

“Your clothes-”

Carter’s interrupted by the buzz of his dryer, and Scott looks unfathomably relieved. Carter lets him go get his clothes alone.

Scott comes back, disheveled but dressed, and asks, “Have you seen my cell? I need to call Layla...”

Only then does Carter remember picking Scott up last night, interrupting Scott’s evening with his girlfriend. His girlfriend. Motherfuck.

“Shit, Scott. I’m sorry. Don’t call her. I can drive you, or...you can borrow one of my cars. Just say...”

“I know how to lie to her, Carter,” Scott whispers.

Carter’s mouth freezes mid-word, and his stomach rolls sickly, even though he knew, he knew Scott had done this before. It’s different to watch it happen. To be a part of it, fuck. Carter’s never been the “other woman”, and he always swore to himself he never would be. He closes his mouth and swallows, stealing a glance at Scott and wondering what about him makes it so easy to just...forget everyone else.

“We got drunk and I slept over,” Scott says. “She’ll understand.”

“Take my car,” Carter murmurs. “The keys are-”

“The hook by the door, I know. Same as always.”

Scott leaves without another word. Carter listens to him go out the front door, listens to the car start and back down the driveway. Listens to the deafening silence that comes after. The fire isn’t keeping him warm, and he suddenly can’t bear to drink the coffee Scott hadn’t even touched.

He goes back to the kitchen to pour it down the sink, and notices his cell blinking manically on the counter. Sighing, he picks it up and glances at the screen. And really, what could possibly have happened in one night to justify fifteen texts and seven missed calls? Sometimes - well, a lot of the time - he really misses Lane.

He sits down at the kitchen table and settles in to listen to Matt’s voice drone on and on about whatever Carter’s supposed to be doing today, completely unable to focus. He wonders how long it’ll be before he can get Scott out of his head, naked and pleasure-drunk and pliant under his touch. If he ever will. He had one chance with Scott, and he ruined it.

Worn out, he runs his hands through his hair, and winces when he finds a few strands stiff and glued together with what has to be either lube or come - he can’t even tell. He can’t get into the shower fast enough.

He turns the water as hot as he can stand it and just leans into the spray for a long time, letting the heat get deep into his muscles, finally chasing away the morning’s chill. He can still feel the phantom warmth from Scott lying against his side like a portable heater, the scratchy-softness of his cheek under Carter’s lips. He has to admit - it had felt good to wake up like that again, with someone so close. Alex was never much of a cuddler.

Carter finds himself thinking about the night before, about all the ways Scott is different from Alex. There are a lot, but there are similarities too. They’re about the same size, and they feel the same with their legs wrapped around Carter. But Scott... Scott had an instinct that Alex never showed; it was like he knew exactly what Carter wanted, and he did it without question. Carter remembers the moment Scott crawled towards him, naked but shameless, and kissed Carter’s cock. Alex had never done that, never done anything even close to that intimate. And honestly, if someone had asked Carter yesterday if he thought Scott would ever do something like that, he would have laughed. But Scott’s not shy in bed like Carter had imagined he would be, the times he’d thought about it, not exactly. He’s something more than that, something...exciting.

Carter’s hand drifts down to his cock, and he pictures Scott under him, on his knees. Staring up with those gorgeous eyes and eyeliner smeared halfway down his face. That didn’t happen until later, last night, but Carter liked that look on Scott. He liked the messiness of it. And if he’s really honest with himself, he liked the tears. He remembers those tears so clearly. He remembers touching them, tasting them, licking the salt off Scott’s cheek. He did that.

He lets himself relive it, stroking himself harder as he imagines what it would have been like if he’d pulled Scott down further onto his cock instead of pushing him back to fuck him, what it would feel like to come inside the warm, velvety clutch of his throat. If Scott would choke on it. If he would spit and curse and wipe roughly at the tears in his eyes, not wanting to let Carter see. Jesus fuck, Carter wants to see.

His fingers grasp at the slick tile of the shower wall as he comes, sweet relief, and his moan of pleasure is already turning into one of frustration almost before it’s over. He has three months before he goes on tour with Scott again, and now... now he’s not just fantasizing. Now he knows. He thinks about the easy, comfortable friendship that he’s not sure they’ll ever be able to find again, and wishes, for what he’s sure won’t be the last time, that he could give that knowledge back.