[Fic] Double Jeopardy (2/2)
Title: Double Jeopardy (2/2)
Pairing: Pete/Carl
Genre: Humour
Rating: S
Summary: Carl, for reasons best known to himself, will only allow himself to have sex with Peter when he gets a sign from the universe, or certain and often unfathomable conditions are met. Peter tries endlessly to persuade him to break his own rules, for both their sakes.
He wants to wake Carl up on his birthday in the nicest way he can think of, but the last time he tried that it obviously wasn't the right phase of the moon, and he just got a knee in the ribs for his trouble, so he doesn't dare try it again. So, as usual, Peter waits for Carl to wake up, before immediately slipping under the covers to give him his first present. Carl is very receptive, obviously agreeing with Peter that his birthday is absolutely an appropriate occasion to break his own rules. In fact, the way he pushes himself into Peter’s willing mouth, and the pleasured sounds he makes, makes Peter rather suspect Carl had been expecting this all along, and that he might even feel like this is exactly how he deserves to be treated on his birthday. Peter indulges him thoroughly, letting Carl direct him in whatever way he likes, and Carl definitely makes the most of it, taking his time and making it last. Peter doesn’t mind, even if his jaw does go numb, because it shows just how much Carl enjoys Peter’s mouth and what he does with it. When Carl comes this time, Peter thinks it seems particularly deeply felt, and when he crawls back up to lie next to Carl, he nuzzles up to Peter approvingly, pleased and sated, then falls back asleep for an hour and a half while Peter tries to lie as still as he can so as not to make him move away.
When Carl wakes up again, Peter presents him with his second gift - the only one he's actually spent money on, in the form of a full size bottle of Jamesons, which Carl seems almost as pleased with as the orgasm Peter has already given him, he notes wryly. At least it might get Peter in his good books and make Carl less strict and stingy in his affection, he thinks - especially when he starts drinking it, which of course he immediately does, even though it's just after midday. To be fair he has the first swig mixed into his tea, which counts as breakfast and/or lunch for them anyway.
By the end of the day, Carl has drunk enough of the bottle that he's happily kissing Peter entirely of his own initiation, with nary a mention of astrology or the days of the week - the birthday excuse must be enough justification for him, and Peter eagerly and enthusiastically clings to it, and to Carl as things begin to heat up between them. Carl is giggly and playful, bossily wrestling Peter out of his clothes and carelessly stripping off his own, and Peter feels dizzy with a lot more than the whisky he's drunk.
"Carl," he blurts out, weakened by lust at the expanse of warm golden flesh presented to him in full, and Carl's lithe body now pressed up against him in bed. This is the moment, he thinks, the right time to make his move, when Carl is happily drunk and clearly very intent on having some naked fun with Peter. What better time to ride the momentum?
"Carl," he says again, between hot, intoxicating kisses. "D'you want to - y'know - fuck? I mean, properly," he stumbles, his articulacy defeated in the face of the sheer enormity of how much he wants Carl, and the momentousness of what he's suggesting. "I really want you to fuck me," he says, more emphatically so Carl can't misunderstand, feeling his face get hot and his heart beat even harder.
To Peter's shock and delight, Carl doesn't hesitate for even a second. "Yeah, let's do it, yeah!" he says, laughing gleefully and kissing Peter with even more breathtaking enthusiasm.
Peter is completely taken aback - he'd been so prepared to have to persuade and cajole Carl that he can't possibly believe it could be so easy. But even just hearing Carl agree so readily sends a jolt of heat shooting right through him. He certainly isn't going to let the moment slip through his fingers, or give Carl any chance to change his mind.
Not daring to say a word in case he derails this precious momentum, Peter rolls onto his back, pulling Carl on top of him and spreading his legs so Carl can settle between them. He immediately and instinctively feels like he wants to wrap his legs around Carl’s waist, so he does, feeling a deep thrill at the weight of Carl's body on his own, and his cock right against him, so close and so tantalising. In optimistic anticipation of this eventuality, Peter has acquired some KY that he's had concealed under the mattress for a short while now, and when he fishes it out for Carl to see, the smouldering smirk Carl gives him nearly causes him to spontaneously combust, from both mortification and arousal, but probably mostly arousal, if he's honest.
Peter can't believe Carl has agreed to this, and the fact that he's so into it makes Peter so hard he can't think about anything else except how furiously he wants him, like he's never wanted anything else in his life. Carl seems to be finding it all to be a tremendously exciting adventure, giving Peter deep, breathtaking kisses that never end, just winding him up and up until he's panting, throbbing, desperate for Carl to fuck him.
Unable to contain himself any longer, Peter takes it upon himself to reach between them and stroke the lube over Carl's cock, wanting to touch him, to feel him, and the way Carl moans when Peter rubs him just makes Peter feel even more overcome with desire. He wonders if he should feel nervous about this, about doing something so new and so unknown to him - but he can't find any room for nerves, he's just so ready for it, he's aching so much to make this ultimate connection with Carl, after wanting it for so long, and after all the things they've done together so far. This just feels like a natural progression, and one Peter feels more than prepared for, he's thought about it so often. He only briefly thinks that he should've obtained some poppers as well for this, because he's heard they make things easier, and even if they didn't, well, he would've had poppers. But he doesn't really care too much, not with Carl between his legs and ready and oh, starting to push inside him.
Carl does it nice and slowly, with surprising care - he's obviously thinking about Peter and his comfort and pleasure, even after all the whisky he’s consumed, and Peter is moved by that almost as much as he is by the ultimate intimacy of this moment. Carl moans as he gets deeper inside him, and it makes Peter shiver with the satisfaction of knowing Carl likes how it feels, that Peter was right to suggest it.
It’s a novel sensation, having Carl moving inside him, but Peter is never one to shy away from new experiences. It feels right, it feels complete, and the longer it goes on, the better it feels. Peter has done his research (standing in WH Smiths reading Attitude magazine this time) and he knows there’s a place inside that will feel incredible if Carl rubs against it. He can feel where it is, where he needs Carl to be, so he moves with him, angling his hips up until they find it, and he cries out at the shock of pleasure, the brand new feeling that he just wants more of. He clutches at Carl, his fingers digging in without him even realising it, it just feels too good, even better than he imagined, and he can’t control himself, greedily demanding more, as much as he can get. He tries to remember that this is nominally supposed to be for Carl, though Peter knows that was always a bit of an excuse - but anyway, Carl definitely seems to be enjoying himself just as much as Peter is, and it just stokes Peter’s fire even more to hear Carl moan as he fucks him, pushing in deeper and more desperately every time. Peter feels like he could almost come just from this, just from having Carl inside him like this, everything is so overwhelming, the intensity of sensation and emotion flooding through him. He reaches down between their bodies to take himself in his hand, groaning at the perfect completion of it, the last piece of it all falling into place. He knows now how to tell when Carl is getting close, and he is, and it excites him, that Carl is fucking him so enthusiastically, is going to come inside him. Peter strokes himself faster, feeling like he can’t contain himself, he’s full up to the very top, nothing he’s ever done, nothing he’s ever had done to him, has felt like this, so good and so special.
"Oh, fuck, Peter," Carl pants, right next to his ear, and Peter's whole body shudders with the intensity of the heat it sends through him, head to toe. Carl thrusts more erratically into him, deeper and harder, and then Peter feels him coming, shaking uncontrollably against Peter's own trembling body.
Peter rubs himself desperately, so so close, wringing the last pulses of pleasure out of Carl, still inside him, and suddenly that's it, he's there, jerking under Carl's body as he spills between them, moaning Carl's name and pulling him into an irresistible, jubilant kiss.
Peter lets his legs slip from around Carl's waist, but apart from that it's a while before either of them move even a centimetre. Peter doesn't want Carl to shift from where he's lying, a comforting weight across Peter's body, but eventually Carl extricates himself, and lies down next to him on the mattress. It takes Peter a few moments to coordinate himself enough to move - his body feels wobbly, like he's got no strength left after those exertions. It's a very nice feeling, and Peter can't help smiling as he eventually manages to turn onto his side to look at Carl, his heart warm and full. Carl's cheeks are flushed and his hair is tangled and his lips are so full and pretty that Peter can't wait to kiss them again.
"I am not letting you get away with never doing that to me again," Peter murmurs, reaching out with a clumsy hand and letting it rest on Carl's chest.
Carl stares at the ceiling dazedly for a few seconds, but then he turns his head to look at Peter too, like he's also completely spent, and grins sleepily back at him.
"Don't get too used to it," he mumbles, even as he's shifting closer to Peter, getting comfortable cuddled up to him.
"I know, I know," says Peter dryly. "Once for the week, max, right?"
"I'm glad you understand," Carl murmurs, his eyes closing and his head against Peter's on the pillow.
Oh, Peter is definitely starting to understand now. It’s funny how Carl can be so adamant about his rules, but whenever he wants to shag Peter there's always a very convenient way to supplement them, for one night only (plus, always, double jeopardy). It's like the United States Constitution, Peter thinks, full of amendments.
But, whatever helps Carl sleep (or do other, non-sleeping things with Peter) at night, he supposes. If it gets Carl where Peter wants him to be, he's more than willing to humour him.
Even when, a couple of weeks later, he tells Peter that it's alright if they fuck tonight, because it's the summer Solstice, and those traditional Pagan rituals are all about fertility and getting naked, right? Or a few weeks after that, when he announces that there's a total lunar eclipse - the first in three years! - so that definitely counts as an unusual enough occasion to justify breaking Carl's self-imposed rules. Or when August comes around, that the ninth is known as "hug day" in Japan, so it must be alright to have a little cuddle, in bed, with no clothes on, and if anything extra happens then that's included in the general concept. Sure, Peter can buy that - if it means Carl fucks him, twice as in accordance with double jeopardy rules, he'll believe anything Carl tells him.
One day Peter even comes across a stolen library copy of Old Moore's Almanac concealed under a pile of dirty clothes by Carl's side of the mattress, and Peter knows with instant clarity that Carl must have been consulting it to come up with some of the obscure and frankly quite nutty seasonal events that he’s been using to justify why it’s OK to shag Peter on certain dates, but not others. Peter isn’t sure whether to be more amused, frustrated or outraged that Carl feels the need to tie himself in such knots to be with Peter, but after some internal wrangling he decides not to confront him about it. After all, it’s probably better that Carl has all the justifications he feels he needs - not to mention, it might come in handy for Peter himself in future, if he wants to make some suggestions that Carl can't possibly argue with. If they're justifications from the exact same source that Carl himself has been using, how can he possibly refuse? Peter rather relishes the chance to play him at his own game.
So, one cosy Wednesday evening when Peter is feeling confident, daring and more than a little saucy, he sidles closer to Carl as they sit together on the sofa, and puts an arm round him, in a way that's not usual, but Carl is bound to interpret correctly.
Peter leans in closer, almost close enough to kiss, but he tilts his head so he can murmur in Carl's ear first, "You know… there's a meteor shower tonight. The only time to see the Perseids all year." Feeling certain Carl will catch his drift, Peter sits back a little, smiling a little smugly, very ready for that kiss now.
To his surprise, Carl doesn't fall into his arms in acquiescence.
"That sounds good," says Carl instead. "I'd like to see that."
Peter's eyes widen in burgeoning panic. "I- I don't know if we'll be able to from here," he fumbles. "Too many buildings around."
"We should go up somewhere high then," enthuses Carl. "There's loads of places we can get to the top of."
"But - there's too much light pollution," tries Peter desperately. Carl looks way too excited about these fucking meteors now, he looks ready to put his jacket on and go outside, not take off his clothes and get into bed, like Peter had hoped.
"Worth a try though innit?" says Carl, getting up.
Peter is honestly not sure if Carl is suddenly just really into observing this astronomical phenomenon, or he's sussed what Peter is trying to do, and is playing him like a fiddle. But Peter knows he's lost, at least for now. Maybe if they go and stare at the sky for half an hour it might get Carl in the mood.
So he dutifully follows Carl out into the street, though he manages to persuade him that actually, he was wrong about the buildings and the light pollution and just lying on the little patch of grass on the corner of their road will do fine after all. They don't see a single bloody meteor, of course, and all Peter can think about is Carl's warm, beautiful body lying there right next to him, tantalising but woefully off limits in all but Peter's fantasies. There's nothing to see in the sky, so Peter just lets his imagination run away with him, giving free rein to all the naughty things he had in mind to do with Carl when he made this ill-fated suggestion. By the time Carl decides he's had enough of lying on the grass staring at the uncooperative sky, in Peter's fantasy he's let Carl turn him onto his stomach and fuck him, hard, in the middle of this romantic North London night, with no detail left unexplored.
Peter doesn't care that he has to walk back to their flat with an extremely obvious erection, because for a start there's no one around to see him, except Carl, and it might even make him take pity on him once they get inside.
Peter gives it a hopeful go, anyway. As soon as they're back in their room he moves in to give Carl the kiss he's been wanting to for what feels like an age, but his heart plummets when Carl again resists.
"What's up with you?" Carl asks, looking genuinely confused.
"...The meteor shower," Peter tries to explain hesitantly. "I thought it might be a good enough reason. For a shag." That's all he can think of to say, because it's all he can think about at all right now. Carl must understand, or he's going to throttle him.
Carl gives him a look that goes beyond baffled and suggests that he's starting to doubt Peter's sanity. "That's ridiculous," he says, with no malice, but in the same way he might respond if Peter said he was going to suddenly straighten up and become a Buddhist monk. As if Peter has really said something absolutely ludicrous, and nothing at all like the completely sensible reasoning Carl comes up with on a weekly basis. He turns away from Peter dismissively, and starts getting ready for bed.
Peter feels like getting out the hidden Almanac and chucking it at Carl's head. "Carl!" he whines in exasperation, knowing he's going to be left nursing an insistent erection all night, lying in bed next to the mischievous and unrepentant young man who inspired it. "You can't blame me for trying. Honestly, it's like trying to get a shag off the bloody Zodiac Killer," he grumbles, pulling off his own clothes in annoyance.
As he gets into bed, Peter is positive he hears a very faint snigger from Carl's side. It really wouldn't surprise him. Knowing Carl, he's probably quite amused at the comparison.
It doesn't seem like Carl spends much time reflecting on Peter's attempt to join him at his own game, though, because the very next night he remarks, "I saw a black cat earlier. Just outside the house, walked across the pavement in front of me."
"Oh, cute," says Peter neutrally, though he knows exactly where this is going. He wonders if he dares play dumb like Carl did last night, but ultimately he knows how weak he is to Carl's charms. He can't bring himself to pass up any opportunity he gets to get into Carl's pants, no matter how much he might want to laugh at his justifications.
"Well, they're supposed to be good luck aren't they," says Carl, edging closer.
Peter has never been entirely clear about whether black cats are meant to be lucky or unlucky, but he doubts that matters to Carl. Nor to him, if this is Carl's latest ploy.
"So, you thought you'd get lucky too, did ya?" he says with a grin, adopting his worst Brooklyn accent.
Carl chuckles, moving more boldly into Peter's space and meeting his gaze with a familiar look that makes Peter's heart race, like it always does. He doesn't bother saying anything, just leans in and kisses a very willing Peter passionately on the mouth, and almost before Peter knows what’s happening, he’s flat on his back, naked, on the mattress, with his legs round Carl’s waist. Finally.
The next day - after they've double jeopardied, of course - Peter casually leaves the house, walks down to Sainsbury's, and buys several assorted tins of cat food, and a box of cat biscuits, for variety. As soon as he gets home, he carefully and surreptitiously leaves the contents of one can, and a handful of kibble, to the side of the front door of their building, and waits.
Sure enough, it works like a charm. Not only does Peter get to pet a friendly and grateful local feline when she's quickly attracted by his offering, but she lingers outside long enough that Carl inevitably must see her again too. Peter knows his plan has worked when Carl strides into their room with an unmistakable glint in his eye, and he starts gleefully shedding his clothes before Carl has even finished saying, "I saw that cat again just now."
But, alas, Peter's luck can't last. It's only the next evening when Carl catches him red-handed, tipping Whiskas onto the ground furtively under cover of darkness.
Carl actually looks extremely crestfallen. "That's not how it works!" he exclaims, exasperated. "You can't set it up like that, it has to occur naturally. Now we can't use that one anymore," he sighs, looking genuinely glum.
Peter feels pretty disappointed himself, not to mention frustrated - he's lost an opportunity to get off with Carl, at least until Carl can come up with his next exemption to the rules. He also wishes he'd bought tuna instead of brand name cat food, because at least he could eat the leftover cans himself now. But it occurs to him that Carl actually does seem pretty sad to be deprived of a chance to have sex with Peter, even if it is completely needlessly and only of his own making. He feels oddly encouraged by this, his hopes bolstered that maybe one day - maybe even soon - Carl will exhaust all his funny rules and excuses, and just accept that he enjoys shagging Peter just as much as Peter does, and he can stop kidding himself that it's just some side thing he can drop any time he wants.
The lengths Carl will increasingly go to to wring some kind of justification for being intimately naked with Peter just convinces him further that Carl's feelings about it are just as strong as Peter's, no matter how much he might try to fool himself. Though he learns the hard way that if he actually does let his thinly disguised amusement at Carl's increasingly tenuous excuses to have sex with him show, it doesn't end well for either of them. One night, Carl slips into bed behind him and cuddles up, murmuring something about the migration patterns of the Eurasian swift, and it's such a ridiculous excuse that Peter just can't stop himself laughing.
"Come on Carl, that's just getting silly," he says, hoping maybe it will snap Carl out of it and they can just have a laugh about it together, but it's too late. Carl immediately pulls away from him and turns over huffily onto his other side, facing away from Peter.
"Well if you're going to be like that about it," Carl mutters. "Fine. We won't do it then."
"Aww, no, Carl, now you're being even sillier," Peter protests. He turns over so he can snuggle up to Carl placatingly, putting a tentative hand on his side. "There's no need to cut off your nose to spite your face. Look, I'll make it up to you," he says as sweetly as he can, trying to move under the duvet, but Carl just wraps it tighter around himself and denies Peter access, keeping his eyes firmly closed until Peter gives up with a sigh, and eventually goes to sleep.
Carl sulks for two whole days afterwards, though after that, according to Carl (and, presumably, his almanac) Mercury turns retrograde again, which gives him the green light to bend Peter over the sofa and fuck him with the energy of someone who's spent two days regretting his decision not to do exactly that when he wanted to two days ago. But Carl obviously has too much pride that still gets in his way, he can't let it go and just have sex with Peter without there being some celestial excuse for it, because then they might as well be in a relationship or something. And red-blooded playboy bachelor Carl wouldn't want to be tied down to one of those, would he?
As if they're not in a relationship already, thinks Peter with wry amusement. As if they haven't been since even before they were living together. Peter knows it, and he honestly suspects Carl knows it too, he just wants to have all his cakes and eat them too.
Maybe he thinks he’s been having too much Peter-cake lately though, because for the first time in a while, Carl suggests they go out, not just to the pub for as many drinks as they can swipe, but to an actual club, which implies that he wants to pull someone who isn’t Peter, for a change. There mustn’t be anything in the Almanac for tonight, Peter thinks dryly, and no notable animal behaviours or exotic far-flung festivals to make it acceptable in Carl’s mind for him to touch Peter’s dick. Peter doesn’t really care about going clubbing at the best of times, he’s more in his element in smaller, less noisy spaces where he can rely on his wit to charm people. But he reasons that if he goes along, at least he can keep an eye on Carl. And he’ll have no shame at all about throwing a spanner in the works if Carl starts getting too involved with some unsuitable bird. Or anyone at all, if he feels like it.
Carl, of course, can immediately attract the notice of anyone he wants without having to say a word, based solely on his considerable physical attributes. But he must be feeling benevolent, because at least tonight he brings Peter along when he finds a girl to chat up. Maybe he thinks Peter needs something to distract and occupy him, rather than constantly mooning over Carl - and, moreover, tempting him to break his own oh so strict rules. In any case, Carl encourages him to talk to his chosen girl's friend, while Carl himself gets to work.
The friend is alright at least, Peter thinks. Her name is Mel and she has purple hair and a number of tattoos. It turns out she’s from Liverpool, so he spends some minutes reminiscing pleasantly about places he’s fond of up there. They go out to the smoking area so they can make themselves heard, and they share her cigarettes and talk about music. Peter tries - not very successfully - to not think about Carl, but that becomes even more difficult when he and his girl come outside as well. As they pass by, Carl meets his eyes in a loaded gaze, and Peter’s stomach turns over uneasily. He tries not to look, but it’s with a grim inevitability that, after a few minutes of obvious flirting and giggling and getting closer and closer, Carl and his bird start snogging. Peter forces himself to look away then, because he knows his distaste must show on his face, and it’s not really very polite to the girl he’s with.
He looks back at her with a bit of a sheepish smile, which she returns, obviously feeling equally awkward.
“What do you reckon?” he asks. “You wanna?”
She shrugs. “Might as well. As long as you do.”
“Yeah why not,” he offers, and they chuckle together, both knowing they’re obviously just doing this for show, but isn’t that as good a reason as any? In any case, Peter thinks as his mouth meets Mel’s, he’s pretty sure that’s what Carl is doing. There’s a bitter, cynical little knot in his stomach when he thinks about Carl kissing some random girl just a few metres away, obviously to make some obscure point that fits with his stupid made up rules. He’s clearly trying to prove he isn’t too attached to Peter, that whatever they have together isn’t that serious and he still wants to get off with other people - girls - sometimes, because he can, and Peter is just for the times when he hasn’t got the opportunity. Or whatever. Peter is jealous, of course he is, but at least he can channel that right now by kissing his own girl. Try and at least give Carl a taste of his own medicine, or at least not give Carl a reason to pity him or laugh at him later.
Peter tries to focus on what he’s doing, rather than letting his thoughts keep drifting back to Carl, but it all feels a bit pointless - he doesn’t especially want to shag this girl, and he knows she’s not that bothered about shagging him either, but he supposes he will if he has to. Like if Carl decides he wants to shag his girl, especially if he wants to do it at their place. Peter does not want to be around for that. He’s really only putting in a workmanlike performance here, but stopping now would feel even more awkward, so he just keeps at it, starting to hope for a fire alarm, or even a bolshy ex-boyfriend to show up and want a fight, just to give him an excuse to get out of this situation.
But in the end, he doesn’t need one. After some time - he doesn’t know exactly how long, but long enough - he feels a firm hand land on his shoulder. His eyes fly open, thinking maybe the pugnacious ex he’d imagined has turned up after all - but, to his surprise, it’s just Carl.
“I think I’ve had enough of this. You coming?” he asks, so casually that Peter gapes at his sheer front, as if he isn’t interrupting Peter with his lips attached to a girl’s. Not that Peter - or the girl - really cares about being interrupted, but still, Carl’s cheek is astounding. Peter thinks it’s almost worthy of himself, and he’s secretly both impressed and incredibly relieved. Because if Carl is ready to leave, he must be bored of kissing some random girl, and he’d rather go home, with Peter. And Peter doesn’t really care that he should be outraged at Carl’s audacity, because he can only really be delighted that Carl has made his choice, and he’s chosen Peter.
“Yeah, sure,” he says easily. He gives Mel a cheeky wink, and she smirks at him. “See ya later, darlin’,” he says breezily, like he’s a real jack the lad, loving and leaving, but he knows he’s simply at Carl’s beck and call, and she probably sees it too.
He doesn’t care though, because Carl is his again, and that’s all he’s wanted all night. And to be honest, he's starting to suspect that maybe Carl realised that's what he wanted, too.
"You didn't fancy her that much then?" he asks Carl, as they wait for the night bus home.
"Nah," says Carl with a non-committal shrug.
"Same," says Peter with a laugh, and Carl looks at him approvingly.
"But it's nice to know we could've, if we'd wanted to," Carl says, in a tone Peter recognises very well. He's gearing up towards some delusional reasoning, Peter thinks, and he can't wait to hear what it is this time.
"Oh yeah, still got it," he agrees encouragingly.
"Exactly," says Carl emphatically, and to Peter’s astonishment, he leans in and kisses him, full on the mouth.
It doesn’t last long, but it’s certainly enough for Peter to get a very good idea of Carl’s intentions. Carl hardly ever kisses him outside of their flat, and never like that, with such barely concealed hunger that it makes Peter dizzy. Carl is giving him a clear message, that he’s taking Peter home, and he’s going to have his way with him, and Peter shivers with excitement knowing that he’s going to love every second of it. Carl smirks at him, and Peter squirms, knowing that Carl knows the effect he has on him. He can tell Carl isn’t playing around - he’s given Peter notice, and he fully intends to follow through. ’Just you wait,’ Carl is saying to him, with his raised eyebrows and knowing tilt of his head, and Peter is in no doubt at all what to expect.
Peter is so preoccupied with his imaginings that he doesn’t say a word for the whole journey home. Neither does Carl, though he keeps giving him such smouldering, suggestive looks that Peter’s face gets warm and his toes curl and he can feel himself starting to get hard, even just sitting next to Carl here at the back of the bus. He wishes he could just turn and snog him, like he would with a girl, use this growing tension between them, start getting ready for what’s going to happen when they get home - but he has to admit there’s something exciting about waiting too, letting the anticipation build, fizzing and simmering inside.
The night bus always feels like it takes forever, but it’s never felt quite as long as it does tonight. Peter can barely sit still, he fidgets around and fiddles with his hair, and every time he dares look at Carl his heart skips and his stomach flips and he feels another inappropriate rush of blood to the groin. He shifts, crossing his legs in a self-consciously casual way, but he knows Carl must notice, and he can see that Carl is loving it. And, to be honest, Peter is too. He knows he’ll get his soon enough, and the thought of it is a thrill in itself.
Eventually, they get off the bus and Peter is ready to practically run home. He really hopes Carl doesn’t need to stop and observe the night sky to check if the Pole Star really is visible tonight or whatever, because if there’s any delay to proceedings now, Peter might just have to throw a tantrum. Carl’s been teasing him just by looking at him, just by existing next to him, and Peter is so keyed up he’s ready to burst. But to his relief, as soon as they get into their room, without even switching the lights on, Carl is kissing him so hard his knees go weak and his head swims and he can’t help making a grateful little whimper against Carl’s lips.
Carl scrabbles at Peter’s fly with eager fingers, unfastening his jeans and tugging them down while Peter struggles to get out of his t-shirt fast enough. He stumbles out of his jeans as Carl pulls his own shirt over his head, and he stops to watch, transfixed, when Carl hurries to take off his own trousers and underwear. Carl is already hard, and Peter still hasn’t stopped getting a shock of arousal so intense it shakes him, every time he sees Carl’s cock, hard and gorgeous and all for him. His mouth waters at the sight of it, he trembles with the weight of his desire to touch, to kiss, to lick, to have Carl against him and on top of him and in him, he’s fucking burning hot inside he’s so turned on.
Carl is too, Peter can see it in his eyes, the way they’re fixed on Peter in a way he knows well, so intense and getting closer as Carl approaches again, kisses him again, just as fierce, and when he pushes Peter down onto the mattress, forceful and commanding, Peter has never felt this desperately aroused before he’s even been touched. Carl gets down on top of him and starts kissing his mouth again, presses and rubs against him like he can’t get enough, can’t get it quickly enough, and Peter is completely weak to it, he melts under Carl like butter. It's Carl this time who fumbles for their well-used tube of KY, it's Carl who pulls off Peter's underwear impatiently and wraps a hand round his cock confidently, but it's Peter who has to gasp at him to stop, or it'll all be over before they get to the good bit. He's never known Carl like this before, so focussed, so open and unabashed in his desire for Peter, and it's so exciting that he can barely contain himself, he's so hard Carl must feel him throbbing in his hand.
Carl grins down at him, taking his hand off Peter's cock and squeezing some lube onto it before taking hold of his own, giving it a few urgent strokes while Peter watches, salivating. He loves to see Carl touch himself, but he just can't wait to get him inside, just wants to fuck, he knows from this crazy, unprecedented heat between them that it's going to be the best ever.
"Are you ready?" whispers Carl as he positions himself, and Peter shivers, he's so ready he can hardly speak.
"Yes," he manages, and then all he can do is moan as Carl pushes inside him, all the way, barely pausing before he pulls back and then thrusts in again, fast and deep and so so good that Peter can't keep quiet.
This is his favourite way to do it, on his back with Carl between his thighs, so he can see him and hold onto him, pull him closer against him and deeper into him, rock up against him so he can get that perfect angle. He doesn't remember Carl ever fucking him quite as enthusiastically as he is tonight, and Peter never wants it to end, he just feels so completely and thoroughly taken. He feels so wanted, so claimed by Carl, like Carl just couldn't wait to have him, like he was so overwhelmed with desire for him that there was no hesitating, no thought for matters of conscience or what rules might apply or how he could justify this to them both. He just wanted Peter, plain and simple, and now he's having him.
Peter feels delirious with pleasure, he's so filled up with it that he can barely keep up with Carl's pace. He can feel himself getting close, and he can tell Carl is too, can feel him start to move even more urgently, and erratically, and start to tremble against him, so he slides his hand between them to stroke himself, rough and quick just like Carl is moving inside him. It's only a minute or two more before Carl stiffens and jerks in his arms, thrusting deep into him as he comes with a groan that Peter can tell is as satisfied as he's ever been, and that's it for Peter, he comes too, hot and sticky over his stomach and Carl's, and just as happy.
Peter doesn't want Carl to move. He just wants to lie here with Carl's weight on top of him, so he wraps his arms around him and holds onto him tight. Carl seems content to be held, and Peter is just so satisfied and filled with affection, he never wants this moment to end. But eventually Carl stirs and shifts, and Peter has to reluctantly relinquish him as he rolls off to lie by his side. Carl lights them a cigarette each, and Peter lights a candle, because he wants to be able to see Carl as he gazes at him, fond and loving in the afterglow of that passionate session.
"That was amazing," Peter purrs. He nuzzles Carl's hair indulgently. "Where did that come from?" he teases, though he can hear the genuine wonder in his own voice. If Carl has finally unleashed a hidden side to himself, Peter hopes fervidly that he can see it again soon.
Carl shrugs. "Well, y'know, after I got off with that girl, and you got off with that girl…" He gestures expansively between himself and Peter, leaving Peter with lots of room for interpretation.
Peter isn't stupid, and he knows Carl and his ways very, very well by now. He has a very good idea of what Carl is getting at, especially when he thinks back to their brief conversation at the bus stop earlier. He can't help but laugh - after all, he's not got anything to lose, now he's already been well and truly shagged senseless.
"So… Because we both kissed girls, it was alright for us to be together after that?" he deduces, with incredulity and amusement both obvious in his voice.
"Yes!" Carl says gratefully, as if Peter has done all the hard sums and thrown Carl the answer just in time for the big exam. "We still go with girls when we want to. But we just didn't want to with those ones."
"No girl has ever fucked me like that," Peter points out, with feeling, before he can stop the words coming out, because it's absolutely the truth and it's all he can think right now.
Despite what Carl just said, Peter can see he’s smirking, the smug bastard, and he knows he's proud of what he's wrought on Peter's body and senses. Of course Carl would still have an excuse, even the flimsiest and most threadbare one, for why he was suddenly overcome with an uncontrollable urge to fuck Peter's brains out, but Peter thinks he has a much better one. More like, Carl was happy to feel like a lad, kissing some bird in a club, but as soon as he realised Peter was doing the same - he wasn't going to stand for that! What else would explain the sudden interruption, the instant abandonment of his own pull?
He kisses Carl's temple lovingly. Under the circumstances, he's more than ready to push his luck. "It's alright Carlos," he whispers. "You can just say you got jealous when you saw me kissing someone who wasn't you."
"I did not!" Carl exclaims indignantly, though he doesn't move away from Peter even a centimetre.
Peter just snickers to himself. Carl can protest all he likes, but Peter thinks this is the closest he’s got yet to just being with Peter for his own sake, no excuses, no codicils, no permission slip filled out in triplicate - just doing it because he wanted to, and making up some reasoning later.
And it’s only taken… a few months. Peter is sure that with a little bit more work, Carl will forget about his need to justify every time he wants to shag Peter, and just get on with it. Soon, Peter thinks, it’ll happen.
Though even if and when it does, Peter will still keep expecting double jeopardy. Lying here snuggled up to Carl right now, warm and sated and blissfully happy, he’s looking forward to it already.
Pairing: Pete/Carl
Genre: Humour
Rating: S
Summary: Carl, for reasons best known to himself, will only allow himself to have sex with Peter when he gets a sign from the universe, or certain and often unfathomable conditions are met. Peter tries endlessly to persuade him to break his own rules, for both their sakes.
He wants to wake Carl up on his birthday in the nicest way he can think of, but the last time he tried that it obviously wasn't the right phase of the moon, and he just got a knee in the ribs for his trouble, so he doesn't dare try it again. So, as usual, Peter waits for Carl to wake up, before immediately slipping under the covers to give him his first present. Carl is very receptive, obviously agreeing with Peter that his birthday is absolutely an appropriate occasion to break his own rules. In fact, the way he pushes himself into Peter’s willing mouth, and the pleasured sounds he makes, makes Peter rather suspect Carl had been expecting this all along, and that he might even feel like this is exactly how he deserves to be treated on his birthday. Peter indulges him thoroughly, letting Carl direct him in whatever way he likes, and Carl definitely makes the most of it, taking his time and making it last. Peter doesn’t mind, even if his jaw does go numb, because it shows just how much Carl enjoys Peter’s mouth and what he does with it. When Carl comes this time, Peter thinks it seems particularly deeply felt, and when he crawls back up to lie next to Carl, he nuzzles up to Peter approvingly, pleased and sated, then falls back asleep for an hour and a half while Peter tries to lie as still as he can so as not to make him move away.
When Carl wakes up again, Peter presents him with his second gift - the only one he's actually spent money on, in the form of a full size bottle of Jamesons, which Carl seems almost as pleased with as the orgasm Peter has already given him, he notes wryly. At least it might get Peter in his good books and make Carl less strict and stingy in his affection, he thinks - especially when he starts drinking it, which of course he immediately does, even though it's just after midday. To be fair he has the first swig mixed into his tea, which counts as breakfast and/or lunch for them anyway.
By the end of the day, Carl has drunk enough of the bottle that he's happily kissing Peter entirely of his own initiation, with nary a mention of astrology or the days of the week - the birthday excuse must be enough justification for him, and Peter eagerly and enthusiastically clings to it, and to Carl as things begin to heat up between them. Carl is giggly and playful, bossily wrestling Peter out of his clothes and carelessly stripping off his own, and Peter feels dizzy with a lot more than the whisky he's drunk.
"Carl," he blurts out, weakened by lust at the expanse of warm golden flesh presented to him in full, and Carl's lithe body now pressed up against him in bed. This is the moment, he thinks, the right time to make his move, when Carl is happily drunk and clearly very intent on having some naked fun with Peter. What better time to ride the momentum?
"Carl," he says again, between hot, intoxicating kisses. "D'you want to - y'know - fuck? I mean, properly," he stumbles, his articulacy defeated in the face of the sheer enormity of how much he wants Carl, and the momentousness of what he's suggesting. "I really want you to fuck me," he says, more emphatically so Carl can't misunderstand, feeling his face get hot and his heart beat even harder.
To Peter's shock and delight, Carl doesn't hesitate for even a second. "Yeah, let's do it, yeah!" he says, laughing gleefully and kissing Peter with even more breathtaking enthusiasm.
Peter is completely taken aback - he'd been so prepared to have to persuade and cajole Carl that he can't possibly believe it could be so easy. But even just hearing Carl agree so readily sends a jolt of heat shooting right through him. He certainly isn't going to let the moment slip through his fingers, or give Carl any chance to change his mind.
Not daring to say a word in case he derails this precious momentum, Peter rolls onto his back, pulling Carl on top of him and spreading his legs so Carl can settle between them. He immediately and instinctively feels like he wants to wrap his legs around Carl’s waist, so he does, feeling a deep thrill at the weight of Carl's body on his own, and his cock right against him, so close and so tantalising. In optimistic anticipation of this eventuality, Peter has acquired some KY that he's had concealed under the mattress for a short while now, and when he fishes it out for Carl to see, the smouldering smirk Carl gives him nearly causes him to spontaneously combust, from both mortification and arousal, but probably mostly arousal, if he's honest.
Peter can't believe Carl has agreed to this, and the fact that he's so into it makes Peter so hard he can't think about anything else except how furiously he wants him, like he's never wanted anything else in his life. Carl seems to be finding it all to be a tremendously exciting adventure, giving Peter deep, breathtaking kisses that never end, just winding him up and up until he's panting, throbbing, desperate for Carl to fuck him.
Unable to contain himself any longer, Peter takes it upon himself to reach between them and stroke the lube over Carl's cock, wanting to touch him, to feel him, and the way Carl moans when Peter rubs him just makes Peter feel even more overcome with desire. He wonders if he should feel nervous about this, about doing something so new and so unknown to him - but he can't find any room for nerves, he's just so ready for it, he's aching so much to make this ultimate connection with Carl, after wanting it for so long, and after all the things they've done together so far. This just feels like a natural progression, and one Peter feels more than prepared for, he's thought about it so often. He only briefly thinks that he should've obtained some poppers as well for this, because he's heard they make things easier, and even if they didn't, well, he would've had poppers. But he doesn't really care too much, not with Carl between his legs and ready and oh, starting to push inside him.
Carl does it nice and slowly, with surprising care - he's obviously thinking about Peter and his comfort and pleasure, even after all the whisky he’s consumed, and Peter is moved by that almost as much as he is by the ultimate intimacy of this moment. Carl moans as he gets deeper inside him, and it makes Peter shiver with the satisfaction of knowing Carl likes how it feels, that Peter was right to suggest it.
It’s a novel sensation, having Carl moving inside him, but Peter is never one to shy away from new experiences. It feels right, it feels complete, and the longer it goes on, the better it feels. Peter has done his research (standing in WH Smiths reading Attitude magazine this time) and he knows there’s a place inside that will feel incredible if Carl rubs against it. He can feel where it is, where he needs Carl to be, so he moves with him, angling his hips up until they find it, and he cries out at the shock of pleasure, the brand new feeling that he just wants more of. He clutches at Carl, his fingers digging in without him even realising it, it just feels too good, even better than he imagined, and he can’t control himself, greedily demanding more, as much as he can get. He tries to remember that this is nominally supposed to be for Carl, though Peter knows that was always a bit of an excuse - but anyway, Carl definitely seems to be enjoying himself just as much as Peter is, and it just stokes Peter’s fire even more to hear Carl moan as he fucks him, pushing in deeper and more desperately every time. Peter feels like he could almost come just from this, just from having Carl inside him like this, everything is so overwhelming, the intensity of sensation and emotion flooding through him. He reaches down between their bodies to take himself in his hand, groaning at the perfect completion of it, the last piece of it all falling into place. He knows now how to tell when Carl is getting close, and he is, and it excites him, that Carl is fucking him so enthusiastically, is going to come inside him. Peter strokes himself faster, feeling like he can’t contain himself, he’s full up to the very top, nothing he’s ever done, nothing he’s ever had done to him, has felt like this, so good and so special.
"Oh, fuck, Peter," Carl pants, right next to his ear, and Peter's whole body shudders with the intensity of the heat it sends through him, head to toe. Carl thrusts more erratically into him, deeper and harder, and then Peter feels him coming, shaking uncontrollably against Peter's own trembling body.
Peter rubs himself desperately, so so close, wringing the last pulses of pleasure out of Carl, still inside him, and suddenly that's it, he's there, jerking under Carl's body as he spills between them, moaning Carl's name and pulling him into an irresistible, jubilant kiss.
Peter lets his legs slip from around Carl's waist, but apart from that it's a while before either of them move even a centimetre. Peter doesn't want Carl to shift from where he's lying, a comforting weight across Peter's body, but eventually Carl extricates himself, and lies down next to him on the mattress. It takes Peter a few moments to coordinate himself enough to move - his body feels wobbly, like he's got no strength left after those exertions. It's a very nice feeling, and Peter can't help smiling as he eventually manages to turn onto his side to look at Carl, his heart warm and full. Carl's cheeks are flushed and his hair is tangled and his lips are so full and pretty that Peter can't wait to kiss them again.
"I am not letting you get away with never doing that to me again," Peter murmurs, reaching out with a clumsy hand and letting it rest on Carl's chest.
Carl stares at the ceiling dazedly for a few seconds, but then he turns his head to look at Peter too, like he's also completely spent, and grins sleepily back at him.
"Don't get too used to it," he mumbles, even as he's shifting closer to Peter, getting comfortable cuddled up to him.
"I know, I know," says Peter dryly. "Once for the week, max, right?"
"I'm glad you understand," Carl murmurs, his eyes closing and his head against Peter's on the pillow.
Oh, Peter is definitely starting to understand now. It’s funny how Carl can be so adamant about his rules, but whenever he wants to shag Peter there's always a very convenient way to supplement them, for one night only (plus, always, double jeopardy). It's like the United States Constitution, Peter thinks, full of amendments.
But, whatever helps Carl sleep (or do other, non-sleeping things with Peter) at night, he supposes. If it gets Carl where Peter wants him to be, he's more than willing to humour him.
Even when, a couple of weeks later, he tells Peter that it's alright if they fuck tonight, because it's the summer Solstice, and those traditional Pagan rituals are all about fertility and getting naked, right? Or a few weeks after that, when he announces that there's a total lunar eclipse - the first in three years! - so that definitely counts as an unusual enough occasion to justify breaking Carl's self-imposed rules. Or when August comes around, that the ninth is known as "hug day" in Japan, so it must be alright to have a little cuddle, in bed, with no clothes on, and if anything extra happens then that's included in the general concept. Sure, Peter can buy that - if it means Carl fucks him, twice as in accordance with double jeopardy rules, he'll believe anything Carl tells him.
One day Peter even comes across a stolen library copy of Old Moore's Almanac concealed under a pile of dirty clothes by Carl's side of the mattress, and Peter knows with instant clarity that Carl must have been consulting it to come up with some of the obscure and frankly quite nutty seasonal events that he’s been using to justify why it’s OK to shag Peter on certain dates, but not others. Peter isn’t sure whether to be more amused, frustrated or outraged that Carl feels the need to tie himself in such knots to be with Peter, but after some internal wrangling he decides not to confront him about it. After all, it’s probably better that Carl has all the justifications he feels he needs - not to mention, it might come in handy for Peter himself in future, if he wants to make some suggestions that Carl can't possibly argue with. If they're justifications from the exact same source that Carl himself has been using, how can he possibly refuse? Peter rather relishes the chance to play him at his own game.
So, one cosy Wednesday evening when Peter is feeling confident, daring and more than a little saucy, he sidles closer to Carl as they sit together on the sofa, and puts an arm round him, in a way that's not usual, but Carl is bound to interpret correctly.
Peter leans in closer, almost close enough to kiss, but he tilts his head so he can murmur in Carl's ear first, "You know… there's a meteor shower tonight. The only time to see the Perseids all year." Feeling certain Carl will catch his drift, Peter sits back a little, smiling a little smugly, very ready for that kiss now.
To his surprise, Carl doesn't fall into his arms in acquiescence.
"That sounds good," says Carl instead. "I'd like to see that."
Peter's eyes widen in burgeoning panic. "I- I don't know if we'll be able to from here," he fumbles. "Too many buildings around."
"We should go up somewhere high then," enthuses Carl. "There's loads of places we can get to the top of."
"But - there's too much light pollution," tries Peter desperately. Carl looks way too excited about these fucking meteors now, he looks ready to put his jacket on and go outside, not take off his clothes and get into bed, like Peter had hoped.
"Worth a try though innit?" says Carl, getting up.
Peter is honestly not sure if Carl is suddenly just really into observing this astronomical phenomenon, or he's sussed what Peter is trying to do, and is playing him like a fiddle. But Peter knows he's lost, at least for now. Maybe if they go and stare at the sky for half an hour it might get Carl in the mood.
So he dutifully follows Carl out into the street, though he manages to persuade him that actually, he was wrong about the buildings and the light pollution and just lying on the little patch of grass on the corner of their road will do fine after all. They don't see a single bloody meteor, of course, and all Peter can think about is Carl's warm, beautiful body lying there right next to him, tantalising but woefully off limits in all but Peter's fantasies. There's nothing to see in the sky, so Peter just lets his imagination run away with him, giving free rein to all the naughty things he had in mind to do with Carl when he made this ill-fated suggestion. By the time Carl decides he's had enough of lying on the grass staring at the uncooperative sky, in Peter's fantasy he's let Carl turn him onto his stomach and fuck him, hard, in the middle of this romantic North London night, with no detail left unexplored.
Peter doesn't care that he has to walk back to their flat with an extremely obvious erection, because for a start there's no one around to see him, except Carl, and it might even make him take pity on him once they get inside.
Peter gives it a hopeful go, anyway. As soon as they're back in their room he moves in to give Carl the kiss he's been wanting to for what feels like an age, but his heart plummets when Carl again resists.
"What's up with you?" Carl asks, looking genuinely confused.
"...The meteor shower," Peter tries to explain hesitantly. "I thought it might be a good enough reason. For a shag." That's all he can think of to say, because it's all he can think about at all right now. Carl must understand, or he's going to throttle him.
Carl gives him a look that goes beyond baffled and suggests that he's starting to doubt Peter's sanity. "That's ridiculous," he says, with no malice, but in the same way he might respond if Peter said he was going to suddenly straighten up and become a Buddhist monk. As if Peter has really said something absolutely ludicrous, and nothing at all like the completely sensible reasoning Carl comes up with on a weekly basis. He turns away from Peter dismissively, and starts getting ready for bed.
Peter feels like getting out the hidden Almanac and chucking it at Carl's head. "Carl!" he whines in exasperation, knowing he's going to be left nursing an insistent erection all night, lying in bed next to the mischievous and unrepentant young man who inspired it. "You can't blame me for trying. Honestly, it's like trying to get a shag off the bloody Zodiac Killer," he grumbles, pulling off his own clothes in annoyance.
As he gets into bed, Peter is positive he hears a very faint snigger from Carl's side. It really wouldn't surprise him. Knowing Carl, he's probably quite amused at the comparison.
It doesn't seem like Carl spends much time reflecting on Peter's attempt to join him at his own game, though, because the very next night he remarks, "I saw a black cat earlier. Just outside the house, walked across the pavement in front of me."
"Oh, cute," says Peter neutrally, though he knows exactly where this is going. He wonders if he dares play dumb like Carl did last night, but ultimately he knows how weak he is to Carl's charms. He can't bring himself to pass up any opportunity he gets to get into Carl's pants, no matter how much he might want to laugh at his justifications.
"Well, they're supposed to be good luck aren't they," says Carl, edging closer.
Peter has never been entirely clear about whether black cats are meant to be lucky or unlucky, but he doubts that matters to Carl. Nor to him, if this is Carl's latest ploy.
"So, you thought you'd get lucky too, did ya?" he says with a grin, adopting his worst Brooklyn accent.
Carl chuckles, moving more boldly into Peter's space and meeting his gaze with a familiar look that makes Peter's heart race, like it always does. He doesn't bother saying anything, just leans in and kisses a very willing Peter passionately on the mouth, and almost before Peter knows what’s happening, he’s flat on his back, naked, on the mattress, with his legs round Carl’s waist. Finally.
The next day - after they've double jeopardied, of course - Peter casually leaves the house, walks down to Sainsbury's, and buys several assorted tins of cat food, and a box of cat biscuits, for variety. As soon as he gets home, he carefully and surreptitiously leaves the contents of one can, and a handful of kibble, to the side of the front door of their building, and waits.
Sure enough, it works like a charm. Not only does Peter get to pet a friendly and grateful local feline when she's quickly attracted by his offering, but she lingers outside long enough that Carl inevitably must see her again too. Peter knows his plan has worked when Carl strides into their room with an unmistakable glint in his eye, and he starts gleefully shedding his clothes before Carl has even finished saying, "I saw that cat again just now."
But, alas, Peter's luck can't last. It's only the next evening when Carl catches him red-handed, tipping Whiskas onto the ground furtively under cover of darkness.
Carl actually looks extremely crestfallen. "That's not how it works!" he exclaims, exasperated. "You can't set it up like that, it has to occur naturally. Now we can't use that one anymore," he sighs, looking genuinely glum.
Peter feels pretty disappointed himself, not to mention frustrated - he's lost an opportunity to get off with Carl, at least until Carl can come up with his next exemption to the rules. He also wishes he'd bought tuna instead of brand name cat food, because at least he could eat the leftover cans himself now. But it occurs to him that Carl actually does seem pretty sad to be deprived of a chance to have sex with Peter, even if it is completely needlessly and only of his own making. He feels oddly encouraged by this, his hopes bolstered that maybe one day - maybe even soon - Carl will exhaust all his funny rules and excuses, and just accept that he enjoys shagging Peter just as much as Peter does, and he can stop kidding himself that it's just some side thing he can drop any time he wants.
The lengths Carl will increasingly go to to wring some kind of justification for being intimately naked with Peter just convinces him further that Carl's feelings about it are just as strong as Peter's, no matter how much he might try to fool himself. Though he learns the hard way that if he actually does let his thinly disguised amusement at Carl's increasingly tenuous excuses to have sex with him show, it doesn't end well for either of them. One night, Carl slips into bed behind him and cuddles up, murmuring something about the migration patterns of the Eurasian swift, and it's such a ridiculous excuse that Peter just can't stop himself laughing.
"Come on Carl, that's just getting silly," he says, hoping maybe it will snap Carl out of it and they can just have a laugh about it together, but it's too late. Carl immediately pulls away from him and turns over huffily onto his other side, facing away from Peter.
"Well if you're going to be like that about it," Carl mutters. "Fine. We won't do it then."
"Aww, no, Carl, now you're being even sillier," Peter protests. He turns over so he can snuggle up to Carl placatingly, putting a tentative hand on his side. "There's no need to cut off your nose to spite your face. Look, I'll make it up to you," he says as sweetly as he can, trying to move under the duvet, but Carl just wraps it tighter around himself and denies Peter access, keeping his eyes firmly closed until Peter gives up with a sigh, and eventually goes to sleep.
Carl sulks for two whole days afterwards, though after that, according to Carl (and, presumably, his almanac) Mercury turns retrograde again, which gives him the green light to bend Peter over the sofa and fuck him with the energy of someone who's spent two days regretting his decision not to do exactly that when he wanted to two days ago. But Carl obviously has too much pride that still gets in his way, he can't let it go and just have sex with Peter without there being some celestial excuse for it, because then they might as well be in a relationship or something. And red-blooded playboy bachelor Carl wouldn't want to be tied down to one of those, would he?
As if they're not in a relationship already, thinks Peter with wry amusement. As if they haven't been since even before they were living together. Peter knows it, and he honestly suspects Carl knows it too, he just wants to have all his cakes and eat them too.
Maybe he thinks he’s been having too much Peter-cake lately though, because for the first time in a while, Carl suggests they go out, not just to the pub for as many drinks as they can swipe, but to an actual club, which implies that he wants to pull someone who isn’t Peter, for a change. There mustn’t be anything in the Almanac for tonight, Peter thinks dryly, and no notable animal behaviours or exotic far-flung festivals to make it acceptable in Carl’s mind for him to touch Peter’s dick. Peter doesn’t really care about going clubbing at the best of times, he’s more in his element in smaller, less noisy spaces where he can rely on his wit to charm people. But he reasons that if he goes along, at least he can keep an eye on Carl. And he’ll have no shame at all about throwing a spanner in the works if Carl starts getting too involved with some unsuitable bird. Or anyone at all, if he feels like it.
Carl, of course, can immediately attract the notice of anyone he wants without having to say a word, based solely on his considerable physical attributes. But he must be feeling benevolent, because at least tonight he brings Peter along when he finds a girl to chat up. Maybe he thinks Peter needs something to distract and occupy him, rather than constantly mooning over Carl - and, moreover, tempting him to break his own oh so strict rules. In any case, Carl encourages him to talk to his chosen girl's friend, while Carl himself gets to work.
The friend is alright at least, Peter thinks. Her name is Mel and she has purple hair and a number of tattoos. It turns out she’s from Liverpool, so he spends some minutes reminiscing pleasantly about places he’s fond of up there. They go out to the smoking area so they can make themselves heard, and they share her cigarettes and talk about music. Peter tries - not very successfully - to not think about Carl, but that becomes even more difficult when he and his girl come outside as well. As they pass by, Carl meets his eyes in a loaded gaze, and Peter’s stomach turns over uneasily. He tries not to look, but it’s with a grim inevitability that, after a few minutes of obvious flirting and giggling and getting closer and closer, Carl and his bird start snogging. Peter forces himself to look away then, because he knows his distaste must show on his face, and it’s not really very polite to the girl he’s with.
He looks back at her with a bit of a sheepish smile, which she returns, obviously feeling equally awkward.
“What do you reckon?” he asks. “You wanna?”
She shrugs. “Might as well. As long as you do.”
“Yeah why not,” he offers, and they chuckle together, both knowing they’re obviously just doing this for show, but isn’t that as good a reason as any? In any case, Peter thinks as his mouth meets Mel’s, he’s pretty sure that’s what Carl is doing. There’s a bitter, cynical little knot in his stomach when he thinks about Carl kissing some random girl just a few metres away, obviously to make some obscure point that fits with his stupid made up rules. He’s clearly trying to prove he isn’t too attached to Peter, that whatever they have together isn’t that serious and he still wants to get off with other people - girls - sometimes, because he can, and Peter is just for the times when he hasn’t got the opportunity. Or whatever. Peter is jealous, of course he is, but at least he can channel that right now by kissing his own girl. Try and at least give Carl a taste of his own medicine, or at least not give Carl a reason to pity him or laugh at him later.
Peter tries to focus on what he’s doing, rather than letting his thoughts keep drifting back to Carl, but it all feels a bit pointless - he doesn’t especially want to shag this girl, and he knows she’s not that bothered about shagging him either, but he supposes he will if he has to. Like if Carl decides he wants to shag his girl, especially if he wants to do it at their place. Peter does not want to be around for that. He’s really only putting in a workmanlike performance here, but stopping now would feel even more awkward, so he just keeps at it, starting to hope for a fire alarm, or even a bolshy ex-boyfriend to show up and want a fight, just to give him an excuse to get out of this situation.
But in the end, he doesn’t need one. After some time - he doesn’t know exactly how long, but long enough - he feels a firm hand land on his shoulder. His eyes fly open, thinking maybe the pugnacious ex he’d imagined has turned up after all - but, to his surprise, it’s just Carl.
“I think I’ve had enough of this. You coming?” he asks, so casually that Peter gapes at his sheer front, as if he isn’t interrupting Peter with his lips attached to a girl’s. Not that Peter - or the girl - really cares about being interrupted, but still, Carl’s cheek is astounding. Peter thinks it’s almost worthy of himself, and he’s secretly both impressed and incredibly relieved. Because if Carl is ready to leave, he must be bored of kissing some random girl, and he’d rather go home, with Peter. And Peter doesn’t really care that he should be outraged at Carl’s audacity, because he can only really be delighted that Carl has made his choice, and he’s chosen Peter.
“Yeah, sure,” he says easily. He gives Mel a cheeky wink, and she smirks at him. “See ya later, darlin’,” he says breezily, like he’s a real jack the lad, loving and leaving, but he knows he’s simply at Carl’s beck and call, and she probably sees it too.
He doesn’t care though, because Carl is his again, and that’s all he’s wanted all night. And to be honest, he's starting to suspect that maybe Carl realised that's what he wanted, too.
"You didn't fancy her that much then?" he asks Carl, as they wait for the night bus home.
"Nah," says Carl with a non-committal shrug.
"Same," says Peter with a laugh, and Carl looks at him approvingly.
"But it's nice to know we could've, if we'd wanted to," Carl says, in a tone Peter recognises very well. He's gearing up towards some delusional reasoning, Peter thinks, and he can't wait to hear what it is this time.
"Oh yeah, still got it," he agrees encouragingly.
"Exactly," says Carl emphatically, and to Peter’s astonishment, he leans in and kisses him, full on the mouth.
It doesn’t last long, but it’s certainly enough for Peter to get a very good idea of Carl’s intentions. Carl hardly ever kisses him outside of their flat, and never like that, with such barely concealed hunger that it makes Peter dizzy. Carl is giving him a clear message, that he’s taking Peter home, and he’s going to have his way with him, and Peter shivers with excitement knowing that he’s going to love every second of it. Carl smirks at him, and Peter squirms, knowing that Carl knows the effect he has on him. He can tell Carl isn’t playing around - he’s given Peter notice, and he fully intends to follow through. ’Just you wait,’ Carl is saying to him, with his raised eyebrows and knowing tilt of his head, and Peter is in no doubt at all what to expect.
Peter is so preoccupied with his imaginings that he doesn’t say a word for the whole journey home. Neither does Carl, though he keeps giving him such smouldering, suggestive looks that Peter’s face gets warm and his toes curl and he can feel himself starting to get hard, even just sitting next to Carl here at the back of the bus. He wishes he could just turn and snog him, like he would with a girl, use this growing tension between them, start getting ready for what’s going to happen when they get home - but he has to admit there’s something exciting about waiting too, letting the anticipation build, fizzing and simmering inside.
The night bus always feels like it takes forever, but it’s never felt quite as long as it does tonight. Peter can barely sit still, he fidgets around and fiddles with his hair, and every time he dares look at Carl his heart skips and his stomach flips and he feels another inappropriate rush of blood to the groin. He shifts, crossing his legs in a self-consciously casual way, but he knows Carl must notice, and he can see that Carl is loving it. And, to be honest, Peter is too. He knows he’ll get his soon enough, and the thought of it is a thrill in itself.
Eventually, they get off the bus and Peter is ready to practically run home. He really hopes Carl doesn’t need to stop and observe the night sky to check if the Pole Star really is visible tonight or whatever, because if there’s any delay to proceedings now, Peter might just have to throw a tantrum. Carl’s been teasing him just by looking at him, just by existing next to him, and Peter is so keyed up he’s ready to burst. But to his relief, as soon as they get into their room, without even switching the lights on, Carl is kissing him so hard his knees go weak and his head swims and he can’t help making a grateful little whimper against Carl’s lips.
Carl scrabbles at Peter’s fly with eager fingers, unfastening his jeans and tugging them down while Peter struggles to get out of his t-shirt fast enough. He stumbles out of his jeans as Carl pulls his own shirt over his head, and he stops to watch, transfixed, when Carl hurries to take off his own trousers and underwear. Carl is already hard, and Peter still hasn’t stopped getting a shock of arousal so intense it shakes him, every time he sees Carl’s cock, hard and gorgeous and all for him. His mouth waters at the sight of it, he trembles with the weight of his desire to touch, to kiss, to lick, to have Carl against him and on top of him and in him, he’s fucking burning hot inside he’s so turned on.
Carl is too, Peter can see it in his eyes, the way they’re fixed on Peter in a way he knows well, so intense and getting closer as Carl approaches again, kisses him again, just as fierce, and when he pushes Peter down onto the mattress, forceful and commanding, Peter has never felt this desperately aroused before he’s even been touched. Carl gets down on top of him and starts kissing his mouth again, presses and rubs against him like he can’t get enough, can’t get it quickly enough, and Peter is completely weak to it, he melts under Carl like butter. It's Carl this time who fumbles for their well-used tube of KY, it's Carl who pulls off Peter's underwear impatiently and wraps a hand round his cock confidently, but it's Peter who has to gasp at him to stop, or it'll all be over before they get to the good bit. He's never known Carl like this before, so focussed, so open and unabashed in his desire for Peter, and it's so exciting that he can barely contain himself, he's so hard Carl must feel him throbbing in his hand.
Carl grins down at him, taking his hand off Peter's cock and squeezing some lube onto it before taking hold of his own, giving it a few urgent strokes while Peter watches, salivating. He loves to see Carl touch himself, but he just can't wait to get him inside, just wants to fuck, he knows from this crazy, unprecedented heat between them that it's going to be the best ever.
"Are you ready?" whispers Carl as he positions himself, and Peter shivers, he's so ready he can hardly speak.
"Yes," he manages, and then all he can do is moan as Carl pushes inside him, all the way, barely pausing before he pulls back and then thrusts in again, fast and deep and so so good that Peter can't keep quiet.
This is his favourite way to do it, on his back with Carl between his thighs, so he can see him and hold onto him, pull him closer against him and deeper into him, rock up against him so he can get that perfect angle. He doesn't remember Carl ever fucking him quite as enthusiastically as he is tonight, and Peter never wants it to end, he just feels so completely and thoroughly taken. He feels so wanted, so claimed by Carl, like Carl just couldn't wait to have him, like he was so overwhelmed with desire for him that there was no hesitating, no thought for matters of conscience or what rules might apply or how he could justify this to them both. He just wanted Peter, plain and simple, and now he's having him.
Peter feels delirious with pleasure, he's so filled up with it that he can barely keep up with Carl's pace. He can feel himself getting close, and he can tell Carl is too, can feel him start to move even more urgently, and erratically, and start to tremble against him, so he slides his hand between them to stroke himself, rough and quick just like Carl is moving inside him. It's only a minute or two more before Carl stiffens and jerks in his arms, thrusting deep into him as he comes with a groan that Peter can tell is as satisfied as he's ever been, and that's it for Peter, he comes too, hot and sticky over his stomach and Carl's, and just as happy.
Peter doesn't want Carl to move. He just wants to lie here with Carl's weight on top of him, so he wraps his arms around him and holds onto him tight. Carl seems content to be held, and Peter is just so satisfied and filled with affection, he never wants this moment to end. But eventually Carl stirs and shifts, and Peter has to reluctantly relinquish him as he rolls off to lie by his side. Carl lights them a cigarette each, and Peter lights a candle, because he wants to be able to see Carl as he gazes at him, fond and loving in the afterglow of that passionate session.
"That was amazing," Peter purrs. He nuzzles Carl's hair indulgently. "Where did that come from?" he teases, though he can hear the genuine wonder in his own voice. If Carl has finally unleashed a hidden side to himself, Peter hopes fervidly that he can see it again soon.
Carl shrugs. "Well, y'know, after I got off with that girl, and you got off with that girl…" He gestures expansively between himself and Peter, leaving Peter with lots of room for interpretation.
Peter isn't stupid, and he knows Carl and his ways very, very well by now. He has a very good idea of what Carl is getting at, especially when he thinks back to their brief conversation at the bus stop earlier. He can't help but laugh - after all, he's not got anything to lose, now he's already been well and truly shagged senseless.
"So… Because we both kissed girls, it was alright for us to be together after that?" he deduces, with incredulity and amusement both obvious in his voice.
"Yes!" Carl says gratefully, as if Peter has done all the hard sums and thrown Carl the answer just in time for the big exam. "We still go with girls when we want to. But we just didn't want to with those ones."
"No girl has ever fucked me like that," Peter points out, with feeling, before he can stop the words coming out, because it's absolutely the truth and it's all he can think right now.
Despite what Carl just said, Peter can see he’s smirking, the smug bastard, and he knows he's proud of what he's wrought on Peter's body and senses. Of course Carl would still have an excuse, even the flimsiest and most threadbare one, for why he was suddenly overcome with an uncontrollable urge to fuck Peter's brains out, but Peter thinks he has a much better one. More like, Carl was happy to feel like a lad, kissing some bird in a club, but as soon as he realised Peter was doing the same - he wasn't going to stand for that! What else would explain the sudden interruption, the instant abandonment of his own pull?
He kisses Carl's temple lovingly. Under the circumstances, he's more than ready to push his luck. "It's alright Carlos," he whispers. "You can just say you got jealous when you saw me kissing someone who wasn't you."
"I did not!" Carl exclaims indignantly, though he doesn't move away from Peter even a centimetre.
Peter just snickers to himself. Carl can protest all he likes, but Peter thinks this is the closest he’s got yet to just being with Peter for his own sake, no excuses, no codicils, no permission slip filled out in triplicate - just doing it because he wanted to, and making up some reasoning later.
And it’s only taken… a few months. Peter is sure that with a little bit more work, Carl will forget about his need to justify every time he wants to shag Peter, and just get on with it. Soon, Peter thinks, it’ll happen.
Though even if and when it does, Peter will still keep expecting double jeopardy. Lying here snuggled up to Carl right now, warm and sated and blissfully happy, he’s looking forward to it already.