In Sync
After Kate drops me and my luggage off at my apartment, the first thing I do is text Carrick. I’m barely even inside the door before I pull my phone out and start typing. I wonder just how much Kate told him about her decision to change our plans. Of course, I doubt he really cares about Natalie, as callous as that sounds. But he doesn’t, at least not if it doesn’t affect him or me. Unfortunately, nearly everything she does seems to affect me these days.
Carrick’s texts don’t reveal anything, but he does promise to come over soon so that we can spend the night together like we had planned. It’s asking too much to hope he will say he’s missed me too, I guess. He doesn’t really say anything of substance in his texts, in fact, and it makes me nervous. Is he pulling away from me? Is this the first step in breaking up with me before he leaves?
Breaking up with me.
That implies that we’re actually dating, doesn’t it? It’s the first time I’ve thought of it that way and not immediately felt sick. Not sick sick, but it’s just these… butterflies. Now it feels good, somehow. Maybe that conversation with Kate made me feel better about the fact that this really is happening, that I really do have feelings for Carrick. That I really do want to be with him.
Of course as soon as I realize that, it’s time for him to leave. That’s just my damn luck.
I get so lost in my thoughts that I barely realize any time has passed at all when suddenly my buzzer is going off. I know it’s Carrick, so I buzz him up without a second thought. Maybe after what happened with Kate not too long ago, I should be more cautious, but I don’t care. I don’t have anything to hide right now.
Carrick must take the stairs two at a time with his long legs, because he’s knocking on my door in no time at all. I fling the door open and give him my best smile, which doesn’t feel like a smile at all. The look on his face says that he can tell my smile is fake, so he doesn’t even bother to return it with a fake one of his own. Instead, he just throws an arm over my shoulder—more friendly than romantic, it seems—and nudges me back into the apartment.
“Are you alright?” He asks once we’ve made it to the kitchen and each retrieved a beer from the refrigerator.
I shrug. “It’s not my wife in the hospital. I mean, I don’t want anything awful to happen to her. Well, nothing too awful. It’s just the way Taylor is acting about it.”
“Still licking her boots so she won’t spill the beans about you two?”
“Something like that,” I reply, nearly choking on my beer at the mental image his colorful metaphor paints.
“I bet he’ll be glued to her bedside until they let her out,” Carrick continues.
“Probably,” I reply, then set my beer down on the counter a little harder than strictly necessary. “But I don’t want to talk about it. I had a long flight after a long trip and then I came home to this. So all I really want to do is go to bed.”
Carrick nods knowingly. “I bet you do. Don’t let me keep you up. I probably shouldn’t have even come over.”
“No,” I reply, stepping closer to him. Suddenly I’m feeling bold, and although I don’t know where the feeling came from, I decide to run with it. “I wanted you to. And I don’t want to go to sleep. I want to go to bed. With you.”
Carrick stares at me for a moment, like he’s having trouble digesting my words. Finally they sink in and he gives me a genuine smile. He downs the rest of his beer quickly and I do the same, even though I don’t want to be drunk. One beer won’t do it, though; I’ll still be one hundred percent present for what we’re about to do.
With our beers emptied, our hands are free, and I grab one of Carrick’s, practically dragging him toward my bedroom. He doesn’t protest. Maybe he likes this new boldness of mine, too, though I still have no clue where it has come from or why it decided to appear now. I consider giving control back to Carrick once we reach the bedroom, but he collapses onto the bed so willingly that I decide I’d rather just stay in control. Just this one time.
Carrick leans back against my headboard and I crawl across the bed toward him. There’s something that I just really enjoy about climbing up his long, lean body. He’s so like Taylor, but not; in recent years, Taylor has filled out, but Carrick seems to always stay the same, like he’s frozen in time. But I shouldn’t be comparing them or thinking of Taylor right now. It isn’t fair to Carrick. So little about this entire situation is, and I wish I could do more to make it up to him. For now, I’ll have to settle for what I can do physically.
And what I can do is pull Carrick’s shirt over his head and toss it across the room. He does the same to mine. It takes a little more effort to get our pants off, so I’m pretty thankful that Carrick didn’t wear underwear today. As soon as his pants are down his hips, his erection pops out and my mouth begins to water.
Maybe I am gay.
I shove that thought aside and quickly scramble down Carrick’s body again, taking nearly his entire length into my mouth in one gulp. I want him, but I want him to enjoy this, too. Judging by the way he moans and runs his fingers through my hair, he is.
As soon as he starts thrusting his hips up toward my face, I lose any self control I might have fooled myself into thinking I had. I don’t want to wait for this. I want him now, even if it hurts. At least I know I have the weight advantage, so he can’t protest too much from his current position—not that I really expect him to. I kick my pants the rest of the off and into the floor, then plant my legs firmly on either side of Carrick’s. His eyes widen a little, but his lips are turned up into a smirk. I knew he wouldn’t protest.
When I ease down onto him, it does hurt, but not enough to make me stop. I brace myself with my hands on Carrick’s shoulders and he holds my hips, keeping me from moving once I’m in position. For a while, I just sit there, staring down at him. There’s nowhere else I would rather be.
But I can’t just sit here forever.
Slowly, I begin to move, a moan so low and primal falling from my mouth that at first I don’t even realize I’m the one making the sound. Carrick’s voice soon joins in with mine as I find the perfect rhythm, and his hand wraps around my dick to imitate that rhythm. We’re perfectly in sync in not just this but in so many ways, in ways I don’t think I’ve ever been in sync with anyone else. Not Kate, not Taylor… no one but Carrick.
Maybe it’s just the ecstasy of the moment getting to me, but I don’t know why I was worried that Carrick was pulling away from me. He’s not. He may be leaving soon, and I can do nothing about that, but his feelings for me haven’t changed. I know that now, as I stare into his eyes and watch his face contorting with the pleasure I know I’m causing him to feel.
I’m feeling it, too, and I wrap my hand around his just to make sure he doesn’t stop. My body is shaking so hard that I don’t have if I have the strength to see this all the way through. Carrick grasps my hip with his free hand, helping to set my pace. He maneuvers me into just the right spot to make stars explode behind my eyes. When he growls out my name, everything fades to black for a second, only coming back into focus once I’ve shot my load all over Carrick’s hand and stomach. All my strength is gone now and I can do nothing but collapse on top of him.
“If you weren’t tired enough to sleep before that, you ought to be now,” Carrick breathes out, chuckling a little at his own joke.
“Mmm,” I reply, rolling over so that I’m laying beside him rather than on top of him. “I guess I could sleep. If you’ll stay.”
“Of course I’ll stay,” he replies.
I lean up and kiss his cheek. “Awesome. Just let me, umm, clean up my mess. Then we’ll sleep.”
“I’ll be here,” Carrick assures me, returning the kiss with one on my forehead.
After giving him a quick smile, I jump up out of the bed and scurry off to the bathroom. I don’t want to be away from him for any longer than necessary. The fact that I can’t even stand to be in a separate room makes me wonder how I’m going to survive when he goes back to California. I don’t want to think about that, but it keeps popping into my mind. I have to think about it.
But maybe not right this second.
I use the bathroom quickly and clean myself up the best that I can. I still don’t want to take any extra time away from Carrick, so as soon as I feel like I’m remotely clean, I grab another washcloth for him and hurry back into the bedroom. He’s still laying across my bed, and I’m not sure he’s moved an inch. He just looks so at home there, which makes it hurt even more to think about the fact that he’s leaving.
“Here,” I say plainly, trying not to show any stupid emotions as I toss the washcloth onto the bed next to him.
I turn my back to him both to give him some privacy and because I’m probably about to start crying or something. While he’s cleaning off the mess I made, I stumble into a pair of boxers and try to get my emotions under control. I fail at the latter.
Carrick must sense the tension and awkwardness, because he tosses his dirty washcloth at the back of my head, letting out a surprisingly high pitched giggle as he does it. It’s just what I need to distract me from my thoughts, at least for as long as it takes me to spin around and see him again, stretched out across my bed like he’s perfectly at home. And he is, even though this isn’t his home and won’t be his temporary home for much longer.
“Come here,” he says softly. He’s still smiling, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. I guess he can see that mine doesn’t either.
I cross the room quickly and crawl into bed with him, pulling the covers up over his naked body and my not-quite-so-naked one. It’s too warm to be that covered up, but I like the way it feels like a nice little cocoon around us, like nothing in the world can touch us right now. Like nothing exists but the two of us.
But that isn’t true, is it? I don’t even realize I’ve sighed at that thought until Carrick runs his hand through my hair and asks, “Everything alright?”
I shake my head.
“You want to tell me what isn’t alright?”
I shake my head again, but Carrick’s big sad eyes looking down at me wear me down easily. I just don’t know how to say what’s wrong without sounding pathetic. How can I tell him that I don’t want him to leave? I suppose I could say exactly that or…
“Can I go to California with you?”