Page 7

7

Carter’s always moving. I roll over to tell him to calm it down at some god-awful time in the morning, but as soon as I see him, everything changes. My lips are on his, and my hands find his shoulders, his chest, his abs, his dick.

I can’t get enough.

Then he’s pushing me onto my back, and when he swallows me, I curse.

I’ve never been in someone’s mouth before—didn’t know how slick and warm—no idea how perfect it is. He pulls back so that his tongue dances at my tip, and just the act , the intention, makes something deep inside me ache to fuck his mouth.

He seems to get that, his hand sliding underneath me to grip my ass, my eyes rolling as I fuck into his mouth and?—

I can’t hold on.

I try to tell him, but words don’t come out. They’re stuck too deep in my throat, strangled by the first wave of my release that he swallows, his lips curving like he enjoys it, until I’m softening in his mouth. Long past where I thought he’d stop. And when he finally does, he tips his forehead against my thigh for a lingering few seconds. And he kisses me.

He kisses my thigh.

Jesus, Carter. Why does that make me feel so fucking special? How does he fill that gaping hole in my head?

We try sixty-nining an hour later, and I think Carter’s better at the dick stuff than I am because I keep cumming really fast. I’m learning quickly, but it’s impossible not to cum with the way his lips look around my shaft, our eyes finding each other.

Afterward, he snuggles his arm over my chest, half-spread over me, the soft bulk of his package pressed against my hip.

I stare at the ceiling, listening to him breathe. For the first time in six months, I see the pattern. See all the things that brought me here. How everything folded together. This trip. The one bed. The whale. Carter taking care of me after my surgeries. Meeting him freshman year.

Even my knee. If Brody Hazlemacher hadn’t slammed into me, I’d be prepping for the draft right now. I wouldn’t be here, in this bed, with Carter. The thought of that hurts.

I’ve never believed the universe had any sort of plan—definitely not a dick sucking plan—but now something locks into place. Like it fits perfectly. I feel kinda perfect.

At least in Carter’s eyes.

Carter even sleeps big. Stealing way more than his half of the bed, arms and legs everywhere, not quite snoring, but almost.

And he’s a furnace. I wake clammy-warm, my hair tangled as I swipe a hand through it. I slide my bare ass towards the side of the bed and force myself to sit.

I ache in places I’ve never ached before. My mouth, my dick, my balls, my armpits.

My knee is stiff too. Carter was probably right about the shower, even though I'd never admit it. I grit my molars as I straighten my leg. It hurts, but it’s livable. The Cluan humidity and warmth help a lot more than the snow-packed Colorado winter.

I get up and take a piss, then put my contacts in before snagging our discarded shorts from the shower floor, wringing them out, and hanging them on the towel rack, and shit… I stare at those bananas.

What now?

I’d spent all this time worrying about Carter’s reaction. Thinking he was going to do the same thing as Jason.

And I was flat-out wrong.

I step into the room and drink in Carter.

His leg’s thrown over my empty place now, his chest rising and falling, dick nestled quietly on his thigh. The blond hair looks soft on his shins, the faint stubble across his square jaw rougher, a cowlick sticking out on the right side of his head. He always smooths it down absentmindedly.

Do I owe him an apology for assuming he’d turn away from me with the truth? I dunno.

I head towards my suitcase and pull out a clean pair of shorts, tug them on, and root around for a tank top. The questions resume in my head. What now?

Should I play it off like no big deal?

That’s probably the safest route.

But I don’t want to.

I slide my feet into Carter’s flip-flops and then reach for the room keycard and my wallet. One last look at him—solidly sleeping—before I slip out.

Downstairs there’s a food truck, and I wait in line, rubbing at my neck.

What happens when he looks at me in the daylight? Will it still be in that same way?

Will he regret the things he said? The words he called me.

Perfect. Good. Sexy. Pretty . My name falling off his lips as he moaned into his release.

I need to stop thinking about it.

And be prepared for whatever happens. Maybe he’ll go back to laughing and slapping me on the shoulder and calling me “bro.”

Maybe it’ll be easy for him.

I swallow whatever emotion is thick in my throat as I order a coffee with almond milk for myself and a Chai Tea for Carter. Then a carrot muffin because that sounds fucking fantastic for no reason at all, and I debate the options for him, finally settling on a churro.

I stop by the villa store, balancing the food and drinks and thinking I should have done that first. But, whatever—Carter had mentioned maybe doing a few other things last night. Things that would require supplies—like lube. And condoms. I remember both being at the villa shop before, but when I get there, I discover spring break apparently means a raid on lube and condoms.

Jesus, leave some for everyone, assholes.

Regardless, I’m a nervous wreck by the time I get to the room. I feel like I’ve been away from Carter for too long, and it’s weird how some of those darker thoughts are already slipping into my head. I’m limping and balancing everything in one hand as I shove the keycard into the door. I slip in and immediately wrinkle my nose.

It smells like ass, so I flip the deadbolt and rest the door on it, leaving it cracked open for the fresh air, before rebalancing the tray and kicking Carter’s flip-flops off, all while trying not to drop shit.

“Morning.”

My heart jumps into my throat. Carter’s voice fills the room behind me—loud and full as ever. And fuck if it doesn’t send goosebumps smattering across my shoulders.

“Perfect, Theo. So good. I could spend the rest of my life in your mouth.”

I trap a groan in my throat and turn around. “Morning.”

Christ, fuck me.

He’s still on the bed, lifted onto his elbows, legs apart and one knee bent, balls resting between his thighs, abs flexed with how he’s half propped.

I hold the drink caddy and stand there, pretty much blatantly staring.

“Um… thirsty?” I ask.

He smiles—a full one that shows his dimple. “What’d you get me?”

He slides towards the side of the bed and then stands. My mouth dries. He stretches, his dick half tented, stomach and thighs and pecs all flexing.

I turn, trying not to notice out of the corner of my eye as he cups his balls, kinda wiggling them, then with his other hand, itches his chest.

I head for the sliding door. “We can eat on the patio.”

He mentioned doing that our first night here.

“Hell, yeah!” He crosses to his suitcase, then kneels to flip open the top. He rifles through, a faint birthmark that I hadn’t noticed before, like a mushroom, on his left ass cheek. It makes me smile.

I slide open the door to the happy titter of morning birds. Kiskadees and Orioles.

“What’d you get me?” Carter steps out in running shorts—tight on the thighs, but poofy around his dick—the shiny black fabric making his package look massive.

I set everything on the table, then hand him his bag.

He peeks inside. “Churro? Fucking sweet!”

He pulls it out, looking like a turtle just blessed with a strawberry, and a knot forms in the middle of my chest. He drops into one of the chaise lounges and takes a huge bite, grinning as he chews.

The churro’s about nine inches long, an inch in diameter, sticking straight out of his hand in a way that makes me… well…

I sit in the other seat and take a swig of coffee with almond milk.

“This is so goooood .” He swallows a first bite, then rips off another, his tongue darting out to lick at the corner of his mouth. “Hits the spot. All big and crispy on the outside, tender on the inside. You wanna try?”

“Nah.”

He tips it toward me. “I could give you a taste.”

“No, I’m okay.”

He waggles it before taking another bite.

Jesus, he’s not giving me any space to think here.

“Glad you like it,” I say. “I know you love cinnamon.”

“Totally.” He chews thoughtfully. “You rarely do stuff like this for me.” There’s no judgment in his tone, only a kind of curiosity, but it makes me stop and think. He’s always doing things for me. And like the cocky asshole I used to be, I took it all.

“I guess…” Do I go with honesty here? It feels wrong to lie. “Maybe partly I used to be a cocky dick. And maybe partly I was worried how you’d take it.”

He pushes his bite into his cheek. “You're not a cocky dick.”

“I could’ve been a better friend,” I say quietly.

Carter’s chewing slows. The sunlight cuts across the table and highlights his hair, the amber in his eyes. They aren’t dark right now, just the usual light-colored Carter eyes.

“You’re the best kind of friend,” he says.

I open my mouth, searching for the words. Fear rises, thick and swampy.

That lost feeling—that hole—is suddenly hovering right there.

I don’t know how to start the conversation about last night. About friendship. About what we are. About our lives and the universe folding together into some perfect plan.

Carter sets what’s left of his churro on the table. “We should talk.”

Okay, that was an easy way to start it. “Yeah, we should.”

“I can start. I, uh…” He blinks, frowns slightly, then presses his lips.

Shit, what does that mean?

He looks uncomfortable, like he’s chewing on words he doesn’t want to say.

The breeze tugs at the tips of his hair. We’re both sweaty and crusty from last night. Hair mussed and lines under our eyes from the lack of sleep. He has faint impressions from his pillow stamped across his cheek, a bite mark on his chest from… oh, yeah. I remember that now.

Jesus, what if he dismisses all of this?

Thanks for the head, bro! Why don’t we pretend it never happened? What happens in Clua stays in Clua! You’re a good friend!

My chest aches.

“Carter, I?—?”

Before I even fully understand what’s happening, he’s moving toward me. He catches the back of my neck, and his lips glue to mine. Like full on consume .

He drags me closer, the chase lounge creaking. His tongue slips against mine, his hand squeezing the nape of my neck, and then he’s crawling on top of me, straddling me, our mouths not stopping, our hearts pounding.

We’re kissing in the brilliant light of the morning. Not hidden in the dark, not smothered by shower steam, but right here with palm fronds hanging all around us, birds chirping, the sun warm.

That doesn’t mean anything . It doesn’t mean that he actually?—

His hand slides down and finds my dick, and something wells in my throat. Not a groan or a moan, but some kind of aching sound that spills into his mouth.

I groan. “We’re supposed to be talking.”

He bends to kiss the side of my jaw. He doesn’t stop massaging me. “You started it, bro.”

My hips kick. “No, I didn’t.”

“You bought me a churro.”

“Good point.”

He climbs off me, then yanks down on my shorts, and I spring out eagerly. He’s on his knees in a flash, his tongue dancing across my tip, and I hiss in relief, vaguely glad for the fat palm leaves keeping our area private.

He exhales warmly across my shaft, his hands just above my knees as he leans closer, his thumbs stroking the inside of my thighs.

“You have a body to die for. Every inch.” He twists to kiss above my knee. “ Everything .”

My knee .

He just kissed my knee. A different kind of heat wells up behind my eyes, one I’m not sure I’ve ever felt before.

He parts my legs wider. “And it’s not even just your body and face. It’s what’s inside. It’s you .”

I whimper as he pushes my legs up, my thighs tensing, my cock twitching for his mouth. But he moves lower, his lips warm on my sack. I breathe shakily, my head tilted awkwardly as he sucks gently.

“Oh, fuck .” My head rolls, my eyes keep closing. I can’t tell where he’s sucking—it’s everywhere .

He groans and pushes my legs up more. I’m making noises I've never heard. I don’t even know what the fuck is happening down there, but I think he just brushed his tongue across my hole.

I’m shaking. I’m mewling. I want?—

“ Holy fuck .” The words echo, loud and sudden, and I can’t place it. Can’t sort out where it came from.

Was that me?

Carter?

I blink past Carter’s head.

Dorian?

Jesus, Dorian’s standing right there, paralyzed. His eyes are enormous.

Carter’s head whips back, and he rams into the table. The cups spill, a carrot muffin bouncing on the stone pavers, but no one moves to fix it.

Carter wipes his hand across his mouth. My legs are still raised and spread, my ass and balls and everything exposed.

Jesus fucking Christ. I clamp my feet to the ground, then struggle to get out of the chaise lounge before grabbing my shorts and yanking them up. With shaking hands, I tuck my boner under the elastic waistband.

Dorian is still standing there, working his mouth like he’s chewing on a fistful of gum.

He saw us.

He fucking saw us.

And there is no getting around what we were doing. There’s no pretending—I was spread-eagle with Carter’s tongue in my ass.

Dorian shakes his head. “The door was propped.”

Oh, shit. Me . I did that.

I can’t believe I forgot the fucking door.

Dorian clears his throat. “Well, um, Rory and I wanted to do this cliff bungee jump thing?” He looks everywhere except at us. “Do you guys want to go when you're… done?”

“Oh, heck yeah!” Carter grabs the cups, uprighting them. “Theo? Think you could with your knee?”

“Uh… sure?” What the fuck is happening right now?

“Cool, alright. Well…?” Dorian takes a step backward, turns, then hoofs it through the sliding door in record time.

“Fuck,” I whisper as soon as he’s gone. I feel nauseous. “He saw. What did he think ?”

Carter glances towards the dark room. “Dunno. I’ll go find out.”

And then he’s gone, bounding off after Dorian.

I rub at my neck, swallow my fear, then follow. I’m two steps away from the door when Carter crashes back in.

I blink at him. “What happened?”

He nods once. “He’s good.”

“He’s good?”

“Yep.”

“You were gone for two seconds.”

He shrugs. “Which was long enough for him to say he’s good.”

“Uh…” I mean, he’s not technically wrong. “What did you say?”

“I asked him if we’re cool. And he said, ‘Yeah, good.’ Then I came back.”

“I…?” I lick my lips.

My face is hot, the room sweltering even with the morning breeze. For so long, I’ve been petrified of this happening.

“Hey.” Carter’s big voice is close to my ear. “It’s gonna be okay.” He wraps his arms around me. He’s so warm, but it's different from the warmth of the sun. It’s Carter’s warmth, his muscles firm against mine, his biceps flexing as he hugs me hard. “Give me a fact.”

I close my eyes, and I let myself sink into his hug. “An octopus has three hearts.”

And I wonder if, when it’s with another octopus that it really cares about, all three of those hearts beat in unison.

“I think,” he whispers. “I’m okay with just having one big one.” He kisses my temple, and I'm pretty sure these little kisses he keeps giving me are going to live in my mind forever. “And I promise, it’s gonna be okay.”