Page 22 of Punching the V-Card
“Yeah,” Carl nodded. “I know.”
“You know?”
“I guess it’s ch-chemistry. You and me. Like together we make it more. Just…m-m-more.”
“Yeah,” Devon agreed, turning to pull the hot Pop Tarts from the toaster and putting them on plates, passing one to Carl. “Chemistry. Compatibility. It’s something. I just—fuck, I’m getting hard now,” he said, laughing. “I’ve never come so many times in a row and still gotten hard. Hell, I’ve never come so many times with anyone ever.”
Carl reached down and obviously adjusted his own dick before putting his elbows on the counter. “But it’s not love,” he said firmly. “Because we can’t love each other yet, right? Because we don’t know each other well enough.”
“I thought you knew everything about me,” Devon teased.
“I had to reassess that when I sawRiverdaleon your fucking watchlist.”
Devon laughed. “C’mon, surely you watch something questionable too.”
Carl shrugged. “Cobra Kai.”
Devon nudged him. “Who do you think is hot on it?”
“No one. I just like the show.”
“It was fun for the first two seasons.”
“Third season, though?” Carl shook his head. “Jumped the shark.”
“Mm?” Devon’s mouth was full of Pop Tart.
“Means it lost the thread of the story, basically, or it became so bad it’s not even good. Or whatever. I don’t know. My mom says it.” Carl waved his hand. “But back to us and sex. We could have it again sometime, couldn’t we? When I come back to visit my parents or whatever?”
Devon was tempted to agree to the proposal, but he also knew that if this really wasn’t a thing that could last, he should just enjoy what he could this weekend, feel all this super-hot pleasure, and then let it go. See if he could find something like it with someone he could build a relationship with. Not someone who was going three thousand miles away to chase a dream that didn’t include being with him.
“Maybe,” Devon said, because his mouth wouldn’t say no.
I mean, the way he makes you come, his brain whispered.
“Yeah, we’ll see,” Carl said, but it was clear he was disappointed. He broke his remaining Pop Tart into four pieces and popped one into his mouth, chewing.
They were silent as they finished eating, and Devon felt like an idiot, but he had to bring it up. “I’m still hard.”
Carl smiled. “Me too.”
They stared at each other over the counter before Carl rose, his sweats bulging in the front. “I came here to get my ass fucked. You still haven’t done that. Upstairs. Now. Condom on. Let’s do it.”
Devon swallowed hard, the click audible in the otherwise quiet kitchen, and they ditched the plates and left their crumbs on the counter.
Being on the north side of the house, Devon’s bedroom was still dark, especially with the blinds down. Carl entered the room behind him, already taking off his shirt.
Devon fetched the condoms and lube and put them on his bedside table next to his old football clock he’d gotten from Santa one Christmas. When he turned around, Carl was naked, and hard, and staring at him with a commanding expression.
“Get the condom on,” Carl said. “I don’t want to toy around today. I want to get fucked.”
“I should prep you first,” Devon said, his voice shaking, which was super weird since he was not the ass virgin here. He shrugged out of his shirt and kicked off his sweatpants.
“Then get to it.” Carl dropped onto the bed, lay on his back, and lifted his legs behind the knees, spreading himself wide.
After tearing open a condom with shaking hands and rolling it onto his dick, Devon fell onto the bed, too, his mouth open and ready, eager to get his lips and tongue on Carl’s hole again. The condom felt annoying since he wasn’t in Carl yet, but he ignored it as he licked and sucked, and began to finger Carl’s asshole.
Just like the day before, Carl’s legs began to shake, his feet flexed, and he growled and cried out with pleasure while Devon worked him open. Each stroke over his prostate had him cursing with that same near-anger he’d had when Devon had given him head and fingered him the night before.
