“A menace. Just… impossible.”
“Impossible to do what with?”
“I’m trying to be a good guy, here, and you won’t let me.”
“What’s so bad about giving me what we both want?” Carver said, continuing to stroke him. Scott’s lips parted, and he shifted against the couch, thrusting minutely against Carver’s hand. “Don’t pretend you haven’t been thinking about it.”
“Thinking isn’t doing,” Scott said, then exhaled like he’d been holding a breath.
Carver, frustrated, stopped his work and sat back on the couch with his hands in the air. “Fine,” he said. “Let’s just go to bed. Let’s be good.”
Scott stared at him for a moment, gone behind the eyes, then dove on him and slammed him backward into the couch. He grabbed Carver by the top of his throat, his fingertips gripping the base of his jaw, and started kissing him sloppily. Carver moaned in delight and wiggled under him so he could get enough purchase to grind his dick against Scott’s torso. He was in bliss. He loved Scott’s strong and calloused hands on him. He remembered with a stab of fear that his parents were asleep in the house two hundred feet away, but whatever, fuck them, they deserved this and much worse.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Scott undid Carver’s fly fast and then struggled to pull off his jeans, tight as they were. Carver arched up into him to help, lifting himself up off the couch. He chased Scott’s mouth in search of more of the wet heat of his tongue and stinging scrape of his beard. As he tasted Scott’s saliva, he realized there was no lube out here and they would have to use spit in its place. The thought brought him filthy satisfaction.
Once Scott got Carver’s jeans and briefs peeled off him he immediately ducked his head to suck the tip of his dick. Carver exhaled, throbbing in delight as Scott’s beard scraped his inner thighs. He was surprised to find out he was even harder than Scott and already weeping precum.
Scott reached down to stroke him with wonderful rough tugs, wetting his palm, which he then began to spit into. Carver was so thoroughly overwhelmed by anticipation that his eyes watered with hot, stinging tears as if he’d yawned. He rolled over and spread his legs, raising his ass to press himself against Scott’s thighs, more or less in the leapfrog position. He was afraid to look him in the eye right now, afraid of what they might see in each other. Scott yanked Carver’s shirt up and off him then began pulling his own clothes off, flinging them to the floor. Carver shut his eyes tight and pressed his face into the sofa,shivering. He could feel a hot flush spreading in his cheeks and chest.
Hands gripped Carver’s thighs, and thumbs dug into his flesh. Scott spat again into his hand and started to work slick fingers inside Carver, who drew breath between his teeth at the stretch and burn. It was incredible that this was Scott behind him and Scott’s fingers inside him again, half a lifetime later. Carver was bobbing in a sea of sense memory now; he recalled the exact shape of Scott’s dick and how it had felt in him. He exhaled, and felt vast stores of tension in his body leaving his muscles. He knew how to relax to take a dick, but this was something else, this was not just in the body but in the mind too. He trusted Scott. He felt great ebbs of warm trust come over him as Scott worked him open with two, then three fingers.
They were moving very fast, but it wasn’t fast enough for Carver. He wanted Scott inside him, raw and with enough vigor to close the gap of nearly twenty years. He was quivering with need, sweating and continuing to leak precum. He vaguely recalled that they were in the poolhouse, but they could have been on the surface of the moon for all he cared. There was only one thing he cared about. He expressed this in a low, scratchy voice while nudging his ass against the thrilling rigidity of Scott’s erection.
Scott didn’t respond verbally but instead obeyed as if snake-charmed, hanging onto Carver’s hips as he slid into him. Carver exhaled hard against the couch, clenching the fist of the arm his forehead rested on, but the discomfort was incredibly brief. Even without real lube he was fine, his body opened up for Scott like it remembered him. In response to this sudden fullness Carver felt blissful, throbbing relief. Scott fucked him gently at first, moving their hips together like the motion of waves, then reached down to stroke his dick.
“Don’t,” Carver said, sounding drunk, and reached clumsily underneath his stomach to knock Scott’s hand away. “I want… no hands.” In a certain type of porn he really liked, this was called a sissygasm. He could feel inside himself that he was well on his way to one.
Scott left his dick alone and grabbed him by the hips again, pulling Carver in closer and sliding in deeper. The shift in position shoved Scott right up into his throbbing prostate, and Carver bit himself on the forearm to muffle a loud moan. The sound seemed to excite Scott, who started to fuck him with eager greed, letting out grunts and groans of his own. Carver felt purely animal. Nobody alive needed anything from him except to use him as a cum receptacle, which was all he wanted to be. On some thrusts he could feel a slight burn, and he liked that feeling. Tomorrow he would ache inside and walk around with a delicious reminder that he’d been a whore.
It was Scott who’d taught him how much he loved being cum in. By then they had experience with handjobs, blowjobs, et cetera, but penetration was new for them both. They fucked in missionary, and Carver still remembered the joy shining on Scott’s teenage face, and the back-and-forth swinging of the upside-down cross necklace he wore back then. He loved offering the use of himself to Scott, working his orgasm out of him with the heat and power of the muscles inside his body, and the tenderness this brought out in them. Scott had intertwined their fingers and pressed their hands into the bed, kissed Carver deeply on the mouth then all over his face, stroked his hair. They had murmured to each other like grown-up lovers, high on their momentary freedom and their joint passage through this gate of adulthood, they who had so recently won the right to buy cigarettes.
Now they fucked in doggy and Carver could not see anything shining on Scott’s face, nor did he want to. He didn’t wantto see either feeling or the lack of it. Both had nightmarish implications. The nice thing about being fucked was that he didn’t have to care. He was so devoid of thought that he forgot why he was trying to muffle his noises in the first place, but kept muffling them out of habit, pressing his lips together and pressing the lips against the forearm and drooling on it while waves of ecstasy crested and broke and crested again. He was in a familiar mental space now — this blessed emptiness as a dick rammed in and out of him — and it was better than it had been in eighteen years, because it was Scott, who had popped his cherry.
At this moment Carver couldn’t remember why he’d ever been angry at Scott for doing so. Yes, he’d been without him for a very long time, but here he was again, so it was fine. Scott was bent over him now, giving him long slow thrusts while he kissed the top of Carver’s spine and the back of his neck, making his sweaty skin tingle. Carver forgot to muffle his noises and just moaned, arching up into Scott. He was going to come soon. The contractions of his muscles came closer and closer together, pulling him nearer to the edge of a void. He said things to Scott which were directly from porn, things that turned him on in the abstract but which he’d never felt like saying to another person before: “ruin me, ruin my life” and “this is your pussy.”
Scott responded to this by grabbing him by the hair, pulling it and stroking it, dragging his thumb ring across Carver’s cheekbone when he turned his head. Carver’s eyes squeezed shut and he came with a breathy groan, tensing and trembling under Scott. He dropped into the void and dozed there peacefully while Scott continued to fuck him. When he came back into his head, swaying, he realized he’d ejaculated all over himself and the sofa. He participated more vigorously now, wanting Scott to come too, rolling his hips up into him.
“Come on,” he rasped, blinking to clear his hazy vision. “I want your cum in me.”
Scott let out a soft moan. “Yeah?” he said, his own voice guttural.
“Yes, yes, yes.”
Scott bent over him, wrapping an arm around his waist. Carver’s empty dick pulsed, and he blushed, again feeling relieved that they weren’t facing each other. He could tell Scott was close to coming by how he was breathing, and the way he was grabbing haphazardly at Carver while murmuring to him about how good he felt. Carver felt as if he knew exactly what Scott was feeling right now as he panted and labored his way in and out of him. He could feel orgasm come over Scott, and rubbed up against him like a cat while Scott clutched at him, moaning. The dulcet sounds of Paul Desmond still filled the air.
“God,” Scott said, dropping down over Carver to nuzzle his neck and hair. “Fuck.”
Carver nuzzled him back. They were both covered in sweat. He felt Scott start to pull out, but protested too late and was left with a gaping emptiness inside and cum running down his thighs. Scott made up for it by pulling Carver into his arms, rolling him onto his side so they were face-to-face, and kissing him. Carver kissed him back wildly, biting his lower lip.
Scott’s fingers returned to Carver’s asshole, feeling around as if curious, and then he unexpectedly slid two fingers inside him. Carver’s vision blacked out, and he let out a low moan, overwhelmed by a spiky and shattered sort of pleasure. His prostate was still swollen and oversensitive, easy to stimulate even by accident.
“Sorry,” Scott said, exhaling a laugh.
“Leave them in,” Carver ordered him.
Scott obeyed and started kissing him again, then kissed his neck, rubbing his beard against it. Carver arched into him, sighing. Scott added a third finger, which went in with absurd ease. Carver recalled what the Silver Fox had said and thought,crazily, that he might like to be fisted if Scott provided the fist. And he wanted to go again, face-to-face this time, so they could kiss like they were now. He wanted to go again and again and again until he was deflated like a windsock and Scott didn’t have a drop of cum left in his balls.
