A/N I've never been really happy with the sex scene that ends this chapter and begins the next, so I went back and did a bit of tweaking to it. As such this chapter and the chapter after are a different version than what was originally uploaded. Hope you enjoy
Carl doesn't make Tom's actual 21st birthday party due to an unfortunately timed track meet, so the next night he presents him with a book of Native American myths and a bottle of Wild Turkey. They end up on the rug in the living room, Carl on his stomach with stocking feet in the air while Tom reads aloud to him, passing the bottle back and forth. Eventually, somehow, they find themselves involved in a game of "I Never".
Carl has never gone fishing, cheated on an exam, or given blood outside of a wizardry healing. Tom has never skinny dipped in public water, been forced to let a sister put makeup on him, and….
"I've never had sex."
Carl picks up the shot glass in front of him, salutes Tom with it, then downs it in one gulp. Afterwards, he studies Tom over the rim.
"So you've still got your cherry. Probably should have guessed."
"Yep. Want it?"
Tom has enough alcohol in his system that the offer comes out before he can stop it. Carl's eyes go dark, then angry.
"You've had enough." He almost snarls through gritted teeth, putting the cap back on the bottle. Tom pulls his shot glass out Carl's reach when he grabs for it.
"Look, I'm sorry, that just...came out. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable I just…"
"This isn't uncomfortable, it's angry."
Those eyes are more grey now then blue. Stormy.
"The first time shouldn't be some drunken fling you allowed just because you think it's not okay to be a virgin anymore. It's supposed to be awkward and fun and a little scary and something you're going to remember fondly when you're ninety years old. Especially for you. You're quality Tom, and you deserve someone who'll see that and treat you right and makes sure you really won't regret it the next morning before he goes there. And he damn well better understand what he's lucky enough to get."
Tom stares at him for a moment, which gives Carl time to snatch away his shot glass and stand up. He reaches out to grab a handful of jean, and when Carl doesn't yank it away he finds his voice.
"So the problem," he says slowly, "isn't that you mind me offering to have sex with you, but that you're too much of a gentleman to take advantage of me."
"I'm not a gentleman. I just know you're too good for that shit."
Tom shakes his head at that, but decides now isn't the time to argue.
"So do you want to go out on a date then?"
The way Carl's eyes widen would be funny if Tom wasn't so serious. Neither of them moves for a moment, then Carl heaves a sigh and goes to rinse the glasses out in the sink.
"Now I know you've had enough."
Tom leans back on the rug, stares at the cracks in the plaster of the ceiling.
"If you're going to say no then maybe I should drink a little bit more, just to make sure I don't remember this in the morning."
"I didn't say I was going to say no."
Tom sits up so quickly his vision goes a little blurry, but he doesn't notice all that much. Carl calmly sets the shot glasses on the side board to dry, and then rummages through the cabinets till he finds an actual glass to fill with water. When he's done that, he returns Tom's gaze.
"More then likely you're going to wake up tomorrow with one hell of a hangover, and once that clears you're going to realize how much of a bad idea that is. And then we'll go on from there like we've always done."
He taps the glass and utters a few words in the Speech that Tom's just intoxicated enough to not be able to follow, and then crosses to hand it to him.
"But if once the hangover goes away you decide the offer still stands, I'll probably take you up on it."
Considering this, Tom drinks down the water. And is promptly surprised when the glass is immediately full again.
"Trust me," Carl tells him, "You'll need that in the morning."
Tom wakes the next day exhausted, with a migraine the size of his home state, and is violently sick until his stomach has no more to give. Once he realizes he's not dying, he recognizes the hangover Carl predicated.
Later that night, he walks Carl home from work and asks if he can take him ice skating in Central Park. Adriana collects $10 from Mike.
Four months go by, during which ice skating is followed by an evening at Connie Island and by being treated to hot dogs from Central Park vendors during lunch breaks. Carl takes Tom to Yankee Stadium and tries to make sure he understands why they're a better team then the Mets (Tom still doesn't get it, but humors him anyway).
Tom makes him play tourist one Saturday, and they go visit Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty. Carl, who works as a radio dj on weekends for the same radio station that pays him to take phone calls and file most weekdays, sneaks Tom into the sound booth a couple of times and lets him pick the songs for the entire shift.
Tom takes him homemade potato soup for lunch one day and then teaches him how to make it when he claims that Tom's going to spoil him.
One night they sit on the roof of their building and watch the stars come out.
That is the night of their first kiss. Many more follow.
The first rainy night in August finds Tom stretched out on the sofa in between Carl's legs, his back to the other man's chest, while the TV plays some sort of mystery movie.
About halfway through the movie (which wasn't all that interesting to begin with), he feels the tickle of Carl's mustache behind his ear. As it moves to the side of his neck, he shifts his head to give better access. Carl's lips eventually make it back up to his ear, into which they whisper a reminder that nobody plans to be home till sometime the next morning.
Tom takes that as a hint.
He rolls over and takes Carl's face between his hands, giving the tip of Carl's nose a peck, then places one on his forehead. Then his fingers slide back to tangle in Carl's hair as he presses their lips together. He smiles as he feels Carl's fingers sliding under the hem of his t-shirt.
"I told you," Carl says with a teasing smirk, hands roaming Tom's back under his t-shirt, "that I'm not a gentleman."
"And I've had nothing to drink tonight." Tom replies, putting his arms up so that Carl could slip the shirt over his head. It disappears on the other side of the couch's arm as Carl pushes him back a little, following until his back meets the cushions.
A hand is planted on either side of Tom's head, and Carl takes a moment to just look. He stretches his arms above his head to give his partner a better view. Carl smirks down at him, and then lowers his head to press a kiss right below Tom's chin.
Carl's mouth moves lower, nibbling at his throat and pausing to press his tongue into the dip in Tom's collarbone. On lower, pressing open mouthed kisses down his chest, pausing to nuzzle his sternum with his nose. On lower, tickling Tom's stomach with his tongue, paying special attention to the belly button. On lower, to the top of Tom's jeans…
At which point Tom wiggles in just the wrong way and they nearly fall off the couch.
Tom's hand shoots out and grabs the edge of the coffee table to steady himself. Carl reaches for the back of the couch. They freeze for a second, look at each other with wide eyes, and then both burst out laughing. Carl leans down and whispers in his ear the question "your bed or mine", which sets him laughing again. He's not sure why it's so funny, except that maybe he's really excited and actually kind of nervous and realizing suddenly that wow, they were really going to do this. Carl smiles down at him, and with a decisive "my bed then" Tom is pulled to a standing position.
Fingers are hooked into the front of his jeans, and Carl's leading him to the bedroom. At the door he closes the gap and presses his lips to Carl's shoulder, his hands coming up to slide up Carl's stomach under his t-shirt. Somewhere in the ensuing tangle of lips and hands the t-shirt ends up on the floor beside Tom's jeans and boxers. Carl gives him a little push and he goes to sit on the edge of Carl's bed.
He realizes he doesn't feel venerable, naked like this in front of Carl, and it soothes much of the nervousness.
He watches as his partner slides his jeans and boxers down narrow hips and those long, toned legs (at which point he's grateful for every moment Carl's spent on that track) and then Carl stands naked before him and his thoughts stutter to a halt for a second. They stand there, looking at each other, and then he reaches out and pulls Carl to him.
For a while they just explore, mapping each other's skin with mouths and hands and leaving little flags in the form of love bites and finger shapped red marks. Then Carl puts him on his back again and repeats the slow journey from his chin on down. There are no jeans this time, and suddenly he can feel Carl's mustache on the inside of his right thigh. Then his left, and then in between.
His hands fist in the sheets.
Carl keeps at it until right before he's going to explode, and then releases him to crawl back up his body. His moan of disapproval is swallowed by Carl's lips, and then he's being turned around to rest on his hands and knees. He hears the sound of a drawer being opened, and looks over his shoulder to see Carl slicking his fingers. Carl looks up to meet his eyes, and the other man's voice is in his head saying "this is going to feel funny, but you're going to have to relax and trust me."
So he does.
And then Carl's finger is inside of him. He tenses at first, and then at the press of Carl's lips in-between his shoulder blades he forces himself to loosen up. It makes the process easier, and by the time the second finger gets added the slight edge of pain is gone. Carl takes a hold of his hips then, and Tom tires to stay relaxed. Even that doesn't stop the pressure that results when Carl buries himself to the hilt.
He tenses and Carl is moving, shifting backwards so that Tom is sitting in his partner's lap with said partner still inside him. Arms go around him tightly, a nose nuzzles his neck, and he realizes he's actually shaking just a bit. They sit there for a second or so, neither moving as Tom tries to get himself to relax, and then as he hears the intent in Carl's mind to tell him it's okay if he wants to stop he feels his muscles adjust slightly, the pressure beginning to give way to the feeling of being filled rather nicely. Before Carl can voice the thought he grabs for the other man's hand and squeezes it. There's a smile against his neck, and then Carl moves their joined hands in between his legs and the words "show me how you like it" are whispered in his ear.
He shivers again, this time in pleasure, and does so. After another moment or so Carl begins to move, mirroring the tempo Tom set with their hands. Tom rides that rhythm all the way over the edge, crying out Carl's name as he falls. Carl's hand shifts to his waist and he leans forward, bracing himself on his arms to give Carl a better angle as he lets out a mixture of verbal and mental encouragement and pure satisfied emotion. Shortly thereafter Carl follows him over, face buried in Tom's hair.
They allow themselves a few moments in that position, waiting while heartbeats and breathing return to normal, and then he feels his arms start to wobble. He's too relaxed to argue with them, and so he lets himself slump to the mattress, shuddering at the tingle of over stimulated skin as Carl slips out of him. He closes his eyes, feels the shift in the mattress as Carl moves to toss the condom in the trash and then settles down next to him, pulling the comforter over them both. He shifts slightly to put his back against the wall and his front to Carl's front comfortably on the twin sized mattress.
There, safe and contented and warm, he falls asleep.