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Chapter Four

9 April 2006

Pete doesn't know why there hasn't been this sort of intimate exploration with girls he's shagged before….thought that was more their thing than blokes', usually….is amazed at the way Carl's mouth weaves all over his shoulders and neck, sucking and biting everywhere that it can, licking from under him criss-cross along his fore-arm, parting with an impossibly soft little kiss to his wrist.

Pete wonders if just by touching, breathing Carl, adhering to these unspoken, silent rules,
he has somehow become like him, embodied some of Carl's qualities….has become too-sensitive, all of a sudden, to every little hissed breath on him,
every slight tease of soft hair against his skin, actually nearly cries out, when the guitar-rough tips of Carl's fingers find their way round the backs of his thighs, stroking with such crushing tenderness, that he deliriously pulls Carl's head up from it's bowed position at his waist, pulls it up so that he can taste him,
instead of it being too much of the other way around, doesn't want Carl doing all that, face seemingly too far away from his, when all Pete wants is for them to stay inside of this moment; this no-words adventure, and silent song that he's just built on all the dreams he's ever had about love……and forever, victories, legends, the stage, seductive white powder and amphetamine smiles, dreams of death in the woods, tangled bed-linen….first kisses..

Because he thinks it all must be linked, that its all wrapped up in Carl in some way, tonight; this worldly boy, sad, but just for now, so carefree and lost in pleasure, rather than lost in all the demons that seem to linger behind his gaze.

And he thinks it'll always be there, this silent, song-type world, this epic-poem, where they will always exist as they do right now, pulled so tight together, faces pressed closer still, where he can't tell who's legs belong to who, who's hips feel sharper as they ache against the other, who's horrifically tangled, soft hair is in his eyes…

Must be Carl's actually, now he comes to think of it, because it's gone from his vision, as is the mouth he was kissing, to duck down under him, where he's pulled up, a little above Carl…wonders momentarily what Carl's up to. Then he sees he's just moving his head downwards and off the pillow, wriggling himself further underneath Pete, to grab hold of his battered jeans beside them, perplexing Pete a great deal.

Is he dressing, putting clothes back on and leaving Pete here?

Sees the condom in Carl's hand though, as he shoves the jeans away and wants to kiss Carl and tell him he's wonderful. Even though he should really just give him a smack for having a bloody condom the whole time and just not telling him about it earlier when they were arguing…

And moving back on top of him, he tugs Carl's bottom lip in between his teeth for him to taste, ignores the hand (obviously trying to distract him) attempting to work its way between them (failing) to grasp at Pete's hardness. Just sucks harder on Carl's bitten, sucked-soft lower lip and Carl's eyes melt shut at that, lashes submissively cast down in a way that does very bad things for Pete's (pretty fucking tight) control over his hands.

And all things considered, he's pretty in love with kissing Carl and getting him to react,
so much to little touches, but at the end of the day, he'd still quite *like* to come. So he lifts up a little, makes Carl's hands travels a bit easier, and bites back a violent moan as Carl's hand closes around him, tugging him in closer.

Both so hard against each other, Pete wonders hazily if they're going to come before he can figure out what it is that Carl wants, how he wants it, and whatever it is, whether it's realistic that they'll last long enough to make it worth doing…
The thought suddenly makes his mind snap briefly into reality, (never his strong-point, that)
enough to brush Carl's hand away from around his cock, and when Carl looks a little questioningly up at him, he (true to form) tells Pete everything he needs to know in a meeting of eyes,
watches Pete watch him, shivering below, from this slight loss of contact, watches him shiver and shift a little awkward on the bed under Pete, as (blatant in it's demand, but soft as ever) he drags a hand over Pete's arse. Shivering now, as much as Carl, from the cold pressure that seems to be pressing in on them from all sides, he looks Carl over.

And, embarrassingly enough, it's nearly enough to send Pete over the edge again, as that gentle hand is pressed to his lower back, a tiny, submissive order, and Pete's treacherous tongue roughly stutters out "fuck, Carl…."
But Carl doesn't really seem to care very much…just those two words…maybe in just that combination, doesn't seem to have done all that much harm…

And Pete leans over Carl, opens the little packet, rolls the condom on as hastily as he can without worrying he's torn it or something, shifts them both so that they're hips are re-aligned, and watches for Carl's reaction when he presses a finger inside.
He really can't tell if this is Carl's first time, doesn't care to break their sacred silence with something Carl might hate him for anyway, laugh at, or deem insignificant. And he isn't the type of kid to actually boast about that stuff anyway.

All he knows, is that Carl hasn't got many qualms about this (if he hasn't done it before) from the way that he's twisting under him, trying to push back harder than Pete really is at the moment, with the other finger he just added, drawing them in and out of Carl,
can only sit above, in awe, as Carl's eyes flutter, mesmerizing……and lips part to make little mewls of sound, disjointed and coming from low in his throat.

He's almost starting to feel useless, really, as though he's doing fuck all to really make Carl feel any good….Carl's violently bringing his hips down on Pete's fingers, all little pants and thrusts…he just doesn't feel like much of a proper participant really, as Carl whines something that sounded like "mhmmurry up"
Feels more than tempted to tease,
to say "what was that, boy?"

But he's pretty good at interpreting body language and all that kind of stuff, usually, and really thinks he should just take Carl's (non-body-language) advice and just get down to it, as you like.
Especially since he seems to have just reached somewhere inside Carl that's just practically made the hand gripping Pete's hip above him, tear his flesh from the bone…
Slips, losing it's purchase there, scrabbles wildly and Pete feels tiny hot pricks of wet, feels a little blood begin to sting its way out of the scratch, as Carl's mouth goes tight and his stomach tenses.

Right then, better stop with that, Pete thinks, drawing his fingers all the way out, and Carl's legs go determinedly round his waist.

And now, the head of his cock is all the way inside, anyway…and as Carl cries out desperately beneath him, (should've guessed really…he should have foreseen that Carl's over-sensitivity to being touched in general, would obviously extend to actually being fucked and probably having a freakishly low pain-threshold) Pete pushing in, thinks it probably isn't the moment to ask whether this is actually Carl's first time with a boy ever, or just his first time being fucked by one, so he keeps his mouth shut.

Wouldn't risk that now anyway, the possibility of them not staying this way, inanimately part of the other…finding ways to talk and pleasure without using flattering comments, or jokes, or anything that could un-hinge the one being objectified…

Thinks if he even did try and ask him about it, he wouldn't get an answer.
Mostly because Carl looks too agonized to speak at the moment, but also, because of Carl's pride, and the fact that they've now got this strange, silent understanding. Which of course, means Carl isn't telling him to stop….just looks defiantly as ever back at him, and obviously fiercely trying to suppress the pain fighting to take over his features…It's the most frighteningly intense moment that Pete can recall…
Doesn't want to hurt Carl any more than he has done, emotionally or otherwise, but Carl's just bloody well begging for it, is still staring insolently back up at him, seems to be saying with his eyes 'Go on, then' and as Pete begins to think this is all a little too fucked-up for his taste, he sees Carl mouth something silently up at him.

No he didn't just imagine it, at all…Carl's mouth did actually just say something…it just wasn't out loud.
He leans down, carefully brings the hand that isn't caressing Carl's waist up to cup his chin, kisses his cheek chastely.

Which feels even more inappropriate when he sees Carl do it again, eyes dark and mouth swollen and harlot-red, and this time, catches the word-shape….

'fuck me'

Oh, right.

Carl looks impassively back, winces restlessly, and whimpers in a way that Pete can't believe turns him on, when Pete starts up a slow rhythm, using the hand that had cradled Carl's chin, to brace above his head.
Its pretty agonizing at first….everything about it is so close, so tense and compressed, so fucking tight, that Pete doubts it'll last any longer than five seconds…
but gradually, he's able to build, doesn't get so much resistance, when Carl begins to push back harder and that is when it all starts to unravel… there's just no way, that he gets beyond about two more thrusts inside him, before he's feeling far too far gone to keep the pace, and they both start to become more and more helpless at controlling the rhythm they were moving together in…

Were both just too hard all along, and all through everything that's happened this evening, Pete's amazed that they didn't simplify everything earlier, and just fuck in the street….would of saved all this other nonsense, anyway……and he can already feel that freezing pressure around him on all sides again, and unbearable tension and heat everywhere else, as Carl clenches around him, comes in the hand that he had (in a last, ditch effort, to distract Carl from some of the pain) wrapped around him….eyes clamped shut, wet, raw mouth going slack, as his hips still from wild, frenetic motions….

And the sight of Carl's body slumped under him, neck thrown back and panting in defeat, is all Pete needs to utterly lose his own battle…..and with a last stab inside, muscles impossibly tight, he sees white bleed over everything behind his eyes, feels pleasure and heat take over from desperation and tension, and he's falling forward into Carl, a sweat-soaked shoulder nearly stoppering his breath,
so spent, that he can barely raise his head and stop it smothering his mouth and nose….and he just lets himself lie, useless, on this strange boy he had been so right, and so wrong about, manages an adoring (but wet) kiss to the shoulder smudged against his nose….

And thinks, dimly, somewhere behind the release in his mind, still shuddering through his muscles,
that it's just like music - that it fucking should hurt, and be just as capable of tearing people apart and giving them something back to help mend, help open their eyes.
Thinks to tell Carl this momentarily, as some pointless sort of consolation (considering it was all over now, anyway)…but instead, just reaches a hand up, to where Carl's eyes have opened, contemplates the grand mess they've made on the bed, and tucks a little, escaped bit of Carl's hair to one side, and kisses him with butterfly-softness on the tip of his nose.
In answer to that, Carl pulls Pete's mouth down to his own and then they're lost again to that adventure-poem-world-place that they seem to have built here, as they regard one another with affection, amazement, and both their mouths silenced from words, pillow talk and other things that feel beyond them now, finally and completely silenced with the other's gentle lips.

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