Ryan - Merger

Merger Cecilia Ryan

Merger

Cecilia Ryan

Copyright 2012, Cecilia Ryan.

With thanks to Anna.

***

This has been a fucker of a week. Carter dropped his briefcase in the hall and kicked off his shoes, thankful to be out of the London smog and already loosening his tie by the time he made it into the living room, fully expecting Owen to be there or in the kitchen area by now.

But it is over. Owen strolled out of his bedroom, half-dressed himself and heading for the kitchen to change the timer on the oven. Carter flopped onto the sofa and moaned deep in his chest as he sunk into the feather-soft cushions and closed his eyes.

Owen collapsed down beside him with a sigh, the tinkle of cuff links being dropped into the glass bowl on the coffee table making Carter smile. He waited until he felt him sit back, and then pounced to settle himself on top of him, knees either side of his hips. Is dinner going to burn if I occupy the cook for fifteen minutes?

We've got two hours, if you want them. Owen chuckled. I thought you might appreciate a nap beforehand.

Maybe, Carter whispered distractedly. After.

Leaning in slowly, Carter brushed his lips against Owen's so lightly as to barely touch them at first, encouraging him to open up and relax. He sighed into the warmth of the other man's mouth, feeling the tension flow out of his shoulders and into his belly, much more welcome there. It was only when he realised that while Owen wasn't fighting him, he wasn't really participating, that he stopped and leaned back to look at him, one eyebrow crooked in puzzlement.

You kissed me. Owen blinked at him.

And?

You don't that is, we don't normally do that. Not that I object, obviously, but... has something happened?

The way Owen stumbled over whatever he was trying to say made Carter realise how unusual what he'd just done had been. He cleared his throat and settled back further to put a little more distance between them, suddenly uncomfortable with the closeness.

No. No, nothing's happened. I'm just tired and stressed and a bit scatterbrained right now. He scratched the back of his head and then ran his hand through his hair. Thought it might speed things up a bit, he lied.

A slow smile stretched Owen's lips for a moment, and before Carter knew what was going on, he was being pushed gently back onto the sofa and watching Owen kneel on the floor in front of him.

Quick stress relief is definitely something I can do. He leaned down to nuzzle Carter's crotch through his trousers, getting an instant reaction.

Without undue ceremony, Owen dealt with belt buckle and fly in record time, and had Carter's half-hard cock in his hand in the space of seconds. All other thoughts flew out of Carter's head for the moment, as he leaned back with eyes closed and wriggled in anticipation of having the other man's mouth where he really wanted it. He gasped at the first touch of a warm tongue and reached out to run his fingers through Owen's hair, encouraging him to get on with it.

In the way that he always did, Owen seemed to understand exactly what Carter needed from him; he sucked firmly on the head, swirling his tongue around and using it to rub at the ridge where it met the shaft, which he had his hand wrapped around, just putting enough pressure into short strokes to speed him on. He could tease with the best of them, but he knew that it wouldn't have been appreciated today, and so he didn't. Even though he would have enjoyed it more.

How was this a man he didn't kiss all the time?

The opportunity to think of an answer was lost as soon as the question was asked, as Carter's orgasm took him by surprise so that he jerked up into Owen's mouth without really meaning to as he finished, already feeling like the disaster of a week he was leaving behind couldn't touch him any more. Owen had his own way of making you feel like you were being looked after, without feeling like he thought you needed it. He took the unexpected thrust with so much effortless grace that it would have looked to an outsider like he'd known it was going to happen, and lapped gently at Carter's over-sensitive and slowly softening cock.

Sorry about that. He smoothed down Owen's hair, rubbing the residue of whatever it was he put in it between his fingers. It would smell of citrus, if he lifted his fingers up to his nose. Owen's hair always smelled of sweet lemon with just a touch of honey. It was a wonder he didn't get attacked by insects every time he went outside.

Owen didn't make any effort to stop until Carter started shifting when his discomfort at being touched straight after he'd come overrode any pleasure he got from it. Owen backed off without having to be told and sat back, eyes hooded and smiling lazily, like a cat that had just woken up in the sun after a long nap.

No need to be sorry. Have a nap. I'll wake you for dinner. Owen smiled at him, friendly fondness creeping in at the edges just enough that it almost felt affectionate.

I should take care of you, Carter objected, already half-asleep and fighting to make his lips move.

You will. I definitely need to work out a little tension, but not right now. I'm going to take my time. His smile turned into a grin, and he stood and sauntered towards the kitchen, leaving Carter to strip down to his t-shirt and underwear and take advantage of the couch. He listened to the sounds of saucepans being put on the stove and bowls on the bench and let them lull him into a light doze, the subtlest taste of coffee and breath mints lingering on his tongue from Owen's mouth.

He woke with a start when Owen shook his shoulder a solid hour later, having just fallen into a deeper sleep. A low rumble in his stomach told him that it was about time to eat, and he could smell that dinner was close to being served, if not already on the table. He padded to the table without bothering to get dressed, enjoying the freedom of not having to worry about things like that with Owen. He could have dinner in his underwear or naked without so much as a batted eyelid.

So, are you going to tell me what's made your week so awful? Owen walked over from the kitchen and set one of his complicated-looking pasta dishes in front of him. Carter wet his lips automatically and reached for the fork laid out beside it, getting started while Owen dealt with the cork in the wine bottle.

Rather not talk about it, he mumbled between mouthfuls, eating with great enthusiasm after having skipped breakfast and lunch today. Just that new bastard showing me up everywhere I go. Fucker.

You're so open to new things. Owen poured a generous measure of wine into the glass beside him, and did the same for himself. Really, I'm always shocked by how well you take change.

Smartarse. Carter slowed down once his immediate need to have something in his stomach was satisfied and took a sip from his wine glass. It's not change I have a problem with. It's jumped up gits fresh out of some business course that taught them everything they'd never need to know. He makes nice presentations. He looks good. He's young and bright and completely fucking clueless about what he's doing.

He's you, twelve years ago, Owen interrupted. Judging from that description, anyway.

Carter paused and swallowed back a mouthful of wine. Maybe. I didn't like me then, either.

Owen shrugged and started on his own dinner at a more sensible pace. He'd never forgotten to have lunch in his life.

It can't be twelve years. Carter paused to do the maths. Can it?

I'm afraid it can. Owen sipped his wine, clearly getting a much deeper pleasure out of the subtleties of the vintage or the vineyard or the horse that rode past every second Tuesday, or whatever it was he could taste in it.

Fuck me. Carter sat back, honestly shocked at hearing how much time had gone by, almost without his notice. He knew Owen had become a fixture, but he hadn't realised how long ago it had happened.