Hello all– I have to say, it’s fun when you guys lobby for your favorite couples. The lobbying for SuperBat was FIERCE today– via this link RIGHT HERE as was the lobby for Cartinski, with some awesome pictures. I’m going with the Cartinski– and if you had any idea how many times I flipped back and forth, you’d think I’d gone mental.
But Cartinski it is– hopefully because there will be some rockin’ sex in the Cartinski and there would have been angst only in the SuperBat. YAY for rockin’ sex.
* * *
Derek held tight to the iron rail of the bed, and tried very hard to let Stiles have his way.
“But this feels good, right?” Stiles had two fingers in the tight and achy place, and his mouth hovered over the engorged and dripping thing, and Derek was going to break his damned bed, he really was.
“Feels. Great.” He spoke through gritted teeth and pressed both feet on the bed as he arched his hips.
“Mmm…fff…” Stiles was trying to talk with his mouth full, and Derek whimpered.
“Fuckin’ really?” he begged.
Stiles released his cock with an audible pop. “Yeah–after this, I think we should totally go over to my dad’s house and eat turkey.”
Derek’s erection started to lose some of it’s… erectness. “Stiles, really?”
“Oh! Wait! Let’s finish here first!” And then, there was blessed, blessed silence, because Stiles had his mouth full and Derek was coming down his throat.
And when Stiles rose up to thrust slowly into Derek’s body, Derek let go of the bed and pulled him down into a kiss, while they were joined. And then another. And then another. And one more for good measure. that’s right, just kiss all the talk right out of him while they fucked, so that way, Stiles would forget the whole leftover plan.
Derek didn’t think he could take the smell of sex and turkey for one more meal.
* * *
“Is it good?” John Stilinski asked nervously. “I mean… you know. Is it tasty?”
“Mmmf…” Carter made a sound of orgasmic completion and chewed rapturously on the pan-fried turkey and dressing sandwich, with cranberry mole` as a spread. “This,” he said after a swallow, “this is the most amazing thing I’ve ever tasted.”
John grinned. “Yeah?” Oh, he was pleased. Stiles used to eat pour Cheetos in the mixing bowl, add milk and call it breakfast cereal. John had been pretty sure he’d picked up some cooking skills since his wife died, but until this holiday season, that had been pure speculation on his part. And Carter was so appreciative of a home cooked meal, which was decent of him. John understood the cafe at Eureka was the equivalent to a five star restaurant, so when Carter made sexy-yum-yum sounds over a turkey sandwich and potato bombs, John wanted to make sexy-yum-yum sounds over Carter’s cock.
“This is seriously good,” Carter confirmed, digging in again. John took a bite of his own sandwich and he had to admit– not half bad. “And I’m so grateful to you for cooking. I will buy anything for you on the way home from work, if only you keep making food like this.”
John felt a blush creep up. “Well, not this– this is sort of holiday special. We need to keep everything else a little healthier, you know?”
Carter shook his head, but yeah, he knew. They were at that age where taking care of themselves was important–and that included taking care of each other by remembering to eat right and exercise.
“Yeah, John, but that’s what holidays are for– a little bit of decadence, right?”
John smiled shyly, still not able to take the really decadent things they did in the bedroom in stride. “Yeah,” he said, trying not to fidget like a teenager. “It’s always nice to indulge.”
Carter bit neatly, leaving the complete half of his sandwich on his plate. He chewed quickly and swallowed, then leaned near to John and whispered, “There is pumpkin whipped cream in the refrigerator, and I know just what to eat that off of.”
John gaped at him, completely T-boned by the suggestion at all. Pumpkin whipped cream? Who made such a… where did Jack want to put it?
Twenty minutes– it took twenty minutes for that question to be answered to their complete satisfaction, and by the end of it, John was leaning over a kitchen chair with a pillow between his knees and the floor, while Jack thrust manically into his ass. He buried his face in the chair seat as he came, the mess on his stroking hand a combination of hot spend and the remnants of once-frozen pumpkin flavored whipped cream that he didn’t want to think too much about. Carter took three more thrusts and then cried out, his own spill just as stick and confused as John’s.
Carter collapsed across his back and nuzzled his ear, laughing softly as they recovered.
“That was awesome,” John panted. “And the whipped cream was low fat.”
“So glad you liked it,” Carter purred. He pulled back from John, probably to stand up, and their skin stuck unpleasantly. “But now I think a shower is in order.”
“But you haven’t finished your sandwich!” John laughed.
They stood up and wiped off-half-heartedly with the T-shirts they’d been wearing before sex broke out over the late dinner John had cooked after Carter’s shift had gone long. Carter went in for a sloppy, whip-cream and John sank into him, fake sugar and pretend cream forgotten. Together they clung, happy and sexed out and full of food.
“Tell you what,” Carter laughed, kissing John’s temple. “You go up and start showering, and I’ll be up after I clean up down here.”
“I get to show–“
“You cooked! Anyway, I’ll bring up a plate and we can eat the rest of our sandwiches while we’re watching TV in bed. It’s almost eleven!”
John grimaced. “that’s hardly healthy.”
“Indulge me,” Carter said, and his eyebrow waggle was wicked enough to prompt John up the stairs.
“Yeah, fine– just bring extra napkins,” he muttered.
“Heh heh heh…”
“You’re incorrigible!”
“And you keep feeding me and fucking me as a reward!”
John kept walking up the stairs, naked and happy and more than ready for his shower, thinking about how really glad he was that his son had moved out and that Stiles and Derek weren’t due to visit until the next day.
* * *
“What’s wrong?” Stiles asked. He was naked, Derek was in their bed, and they were all ready to do the happy thing. “Dad’s cooking tonight was great– someone else cooked and we get to have sex– why is Mr. Happy sleeping?”
Derek couldn’t answer him. “Confused,” he said, feeling like the word had been forced out of him. “My dick is so confused.”
God, was it ever. The smells at Stiles dad’s place had gone from turkey to sex to something sweet and synthetic mixed with the sex. The jizz on the wall from a few weeks before had turned into turkey sandwich in the bedroom and fake pumpkin spice in the kitchen.
Derek had eaten his own weight in dinner and dessert, and now… when their night was wrapping up into their usual conclusion, Derek’s olfactory senses and his sexual senses were…
“Confused,” he whimpered.
Stiles just gazed at him, from between his legs, teasing Derek’s softened cock with a single finger. “Yeah?” he asked, his smile wicked.
“Little bit,” he said honestly.
“Well, let’s just suck the confusion away,” he cracked. And then he proceeded to do just that.
