Chapter Two

 

 

 

“Can I get you some water?” he asks cautiously. “You want a glass of wine? Maybe-”

“I don’t need to be waited on,” Carter snaps. Scott cringes, drawing back from Carter a little. He thought he was making Carter feel better, he thought he was helping, but he’s just getting in the way and making everything worse. He nods and looks around the room, casting about for something to distract him, to make him look busy, like he’s not just waiting for Carter’s next words.

But Carter’s next words are kind, and he takes Scott’s face in his hands, cupping his cheeks gently as he pulls Scott back, forces their eyes to meet. “It’s okay, baby,” he says softly. “I just meant you don’t have to do things for me. I can get myself a drink. Do you want something?”

“I want to help you,” Scott says under his breath. “I thought I could help...”

Carter studies him for a long moment, his eyes searching and unreadable. Scott doesn’t know what Carter sees in him, but it makes Carter drop his hands and sigh. “Okay. Yeah, I’d like a glass of water, and I’d like you to sit with me and watch a movie. Can you do that for me?”

“Yeah, of course,” Scott replies quickly, relieved to have a task. He fixes Carter a glass and carries it into the living room, where he finds Carter sprawled on the sofa, waiting with open arms. Scott gives him the drink and snuggles up with Carter at his back, stroking his hair, kissing the side of his neck, and lets himself stop thinking for a while.

Worn out from his day of interviews, Carter falls asleep quickly when they go to bed, but Scott isn’t tired. He sits cross-legged on the bed and watches Carter’s chest rise and fall as he breathes deeply, watches his eyelids flutter as he dreams. He reaches out and brushes a lock of hair off Carter’s forehead.

“I know you don’t need me,” he whispers, “but it feels good to pretend for a while.” Carter doesn’t respond, and Scott’s thankful. He doesn’t like lying to Carter, or hiding from him, but he’s glad Carter couldn’t hear how much Scott needs him. He doesn’t want to freak Carter out or scare him away. Carter doesn’t need to hear what’s going on in his head.

Scott wants to try another date, now that he knows what it’s like. He wants to be better for Carter, out in public, and he wants to test himself, push himself until he’s completely comfortable with it. So they go out, and it’s to a club this time, a place Carter loves from his past, somewhere that doesn’t get a lot of rockstar clientele. There are just people, guys like Carter and Scott used to be, and Scott indulges Carter’s fantasy, pretending not to be famous.

They lean on the bar and drink until a song comes on that Carter can’t resist, and he pulls Scott onto the dance floor with him without a word, his eyes telling Scott everything he needs to know. The idea of dancing at all is foreign to Scott, and doing it here, in the middle of the crowd, with Carter...he can feel the panic starting to rise the second they leave the safety of the bar. But Carter turns around and grabs him by the hips and pulls him in, yanks his hair back so Scott’s staring right into his eyes, and Scott gasps when he feels Carter grinding against him, slow and hard. This isn’t like dancing. This is like fucking, and just like that, all Scott can see and feel and think about is Carter. Nothing else exists. Nothing else matters.

When the next song starts, Carter spins Scott around and presses against him, front to back, grinding his cock against Scott’s ass and wrapping his arms around Scott’s chest. He leans down to speak into Scott’s ear, loud like a stage whisper to be heard over the music.

“You see that guy over there?” Scott looks, and catches the eye of a man in tight jeans and a mostly-unbuttoned shirt watching him from across the room. He nods, and Carter continues. “He wants to fuck you.”

For a few seconds, Scott’s not sure why Carter’s pointing it out. He wonders if Carter wants to invite the guy over, if he wants the guy for himself, but then Carter growls in his ear and it’s clear that Carter doesn’t want the man anywhere close to them.

“He can watch you all he wants, but he’ll never touch you,” Carter tells him. “He thinks he’s being subtle. He thinks you’re up for grabs. Free to anyone who wants you, like a piece of fucking meat. But you’re not free, are you, baby? You’re not for them. You’re for me, just for me.”

The words beat through his brain like the music pounds through his body, and Scott moans low and presses back against Carter. He wishes he could reply, agree, tell Carter everything his words make Scott think, but Carter holds him firm and keeps talking, a constant stream of words and orders and ideas that all come down to mine, mine, mine.

“Tell me you’re mine, baby,” Carter says, but he doesn’t give Scott a chance to answer. “Tell me you belong to me, you won’t let anyone touch you. I won’t let anyone touch you, Scott. No one else gets you, ever again.”

It’s over the top and insane and every fucking thing Scott wants, everything he’s hardly let himself hope for, and when Carter’s hand starts drifting downward, groping at Scott’s cock right in front of all those glittering eyes, he isn’t so much embarrassed as he is proud.

“Keeping you just for me, baby. Don’t want anyone to get their filthy hands on you, not like this, all open for me, all ready for me. You’d let me do it right here, wouldn’t you, show them how hard you come for me, how hard I get you off.”

Scott hadn’t really thought of it until that moment, but he would, he would do just as Carter says, let everyone see him if that’s what Carter wants. He rocks his hips into Carter’s hand in response, showing that he’s willing, if Carter keeps going. His cock swells, and Carter’s voice in his ear and his cock grinding against Scott’s ass bring him right to the edge, faster than he thought possible. Maybe he’s been hard for a while and just hasn’t focused on it. Maybe he’s just really fucking easy for Carter. Scott lets his head fall back against Carter’s shoulder and moans.

Carter turns Scott to face him again and presses his thigh right in between Scott’s legs, perfect firm pressure right where Scott needs it, and he’s rutting up against Carter without hesitating, without even thinking about it. He can feel Carter grinning against the side of his face.

“That’s right, baby, right here, shoot it right here where anyone could see. Show them who you belong to.” Carter’s hands come around to grip his ass, and they give him the leverage to press just a little bit harder, a little bit faster, just enough...and then he’s coming, hard body-wracking pulses that soak his underwear as he buries his face in Carter’s chest, trying to muffle his shouts. Carter holds him tight, and Scott is grateful - Carter’s hands are the only reason he’s still on his feet right now, still able to balance on wobbling legs.

Carter keeps them on the floor, keeps them dancing, and Scott loses track of everything but Carter’s heat, Carter’s body against his own. He’s not sure if Carter comes, if Carter even wanted to, but he seems pleased enough, satisfied and tired by the time they make their way out to the car. Scott sprawls on the seat in a boneless puddle, his mind still whirling from the dance floor, from that orgasm, right in front of everyone. He’s surprised at how easy it was to let go of the worry, the fear that someone saw him, snapped a photo, is telling the world about it right now. Carter’s pleased with him, and Carter doesn’t seem worried about any consequences, and that’s all that matters. Even the gross, cold stickiness in his jeans doesn’t bother him much. Carter will take care of him when they get home. He always does.

They’re halfway home when Carter glances over at him and laughs ruefully and says, “Sorry about that.”

Scott shakes himself out of a doze and blinks at Carter. “Sorry?”

“I got kind of carried away in there. Didn’t mean to. I hope you’re not mad or anything?” Carter says, his voice raising, turning it into a question.

“No...I mean, I didn’t...no, not mad,” Scott stutters. He feels dizzy all of a sudden. Maybe he did have one cocktail too many.

Carter lets out a breath. Then he reaches over and takes Scott’s hand. “Good. I’m glad. Sometimes I get a little...um...jealous. But I’m just being stupid. Just playing. I don’t want you to think that I actually, you know, think that way.”

“You don’t,” Scott murmurs, turning it over in his mind. He thought... But apparently he was wrong. It wasn’t real.

“Heat of the moment, you know? Not, like... I wouldn’t actually lock you up and not let anyone see you,” Carter laughs. “It’s just talk. I mean, if it doesn’t bother you, that’s... that’s good. Sometimes it bothers people, when I talk like that. Even though it’s just a game. It’s just sex. You say stupid things like that when you’re having sex, that’s all it is.”

“Okay,” Scott says slowly. “Well, I’m not mad. You can say whatever you want.” It’s not up to him to dictate what Carter can or can’t do. He kind of thought that was the whole point. Scott shifts and leans against the window, letting the glass cool his skin. He can’t think of anything Carter said or did to show that they were playing a game. Maybe these sex games are more subtle; Scott’s never done this before, with his girlfriends. He’s never known how. He’s never learned.

Carter obviously knows how to do this, and Scott’s fine with not knowing, as long as he has Carter to guide him, let him know when he’s wrong. And the more he thinks about it, he realizes it doesn’t matter if they’re playing a game or not, because his reaction will be the same either way. He’ll give Carter what he wants, anything he wants.

In the end...it’s what he wants, too.