Carlos

"Nngh..."

John's hands slide beneath my shirt, his palms warm, calloused and rough, sensitizing me to his touch.

"Ah!"

His thumbs graze my nipples as he pushes my shirt over my head, sending electric shocks through my body. He crowds me against the counter, his hands on my waist, and I feel the bulge of his dick through his clothes as he presses himself close and licks the side of my throat.

"Mmhh."

He backs away, leaving me shivering in the absence of his heat.

"What's wrong?"

"N-Nothing. Why'd you stop?"

"Your whole body is shaking. You gotta tell me if this isn't what you want."

"It is. I—I want it."

"Then meet me halfway."

He crowds close again, his hardness and heat and solid muscular bulk making me feel soft and vulnerable by comparison, but he doesn't touch me otherwise. Instead, he waits.

I find some confidence in the space he's giving me, and look up to meet his eyes. He's so close I can see the swirls of green and brown and golden orange in his strange, multicolored irises.

"You like to play with your food, huh?"

Leaning close again, he slides a hand up my chest and closes it around my throat. A bolt of strange excitement goes through me like a shock, and my eyes widen with surprise.

A dangerous grin lifts one side of his mouth, showing his canine tooth. "Up to a point."

"Oh, fuck. Do I need a safe word?" I whisper.

He releases me, cupping the back of my neck instead, and pulls me towards him.

"Your safe word is 'stop,'" he says, his lips brushing mine.

"What if my mouth is too full to talk?"

"Then use your hands."

"What if my hands are tied?"

He laughs. "Believe me, if that happens, I will be absolutely certain that all signs are 'go.'"

I lean away from him a little and frown. "Aren't they now?"

He shakes his head. "Nope. Right now I'm seeing mixed signals. Yellow, red, green. You're all over the place. You want it but you're scared; turned on like a live wire and skittish as a stray cat."

I blink, surprised by his perceptiveness.

He relaxes a little, still steaming hot with lust but demonstrating firm control.

"Hey — make no mistake. I wanna take all you got, but you gotta give it to me. I'll fuck you senseless, but I won't hurt you. Unless you want me to," he adds with a soft growl in his voice that makes me shiver. "It's all about trust. Understand?"

I nod. "Yeah. And I... I trust you, John, but... um, do we have to do this with an audience?"

"Huh?"

He glances over his shoulder and huffs a laugh. Rick and Morty sit in the kitchen entryway, side by side, heads tilted at an identical angle and ears perked with curiosity.

"Shit." He lets me go and rubs the back of his neck. "I could lock them in the garage."

"Or... we could take this upstairs," I suggest, a hint of shyness in my voice.

He hears it and his expressions softens again.

"Sure. Your room. I'll get these guys settled so they don't bother us." He leans a little closer and brushes his thumb along my bottom lip. "I'm gonna take my time with you."

Taking my breath with him, he calls the dogs and they pad after him into the living room. I make my way upstairs, my heart beating like I've run a mile and my thoughts racing in a loop. Then I sit on the end of my bed, unsure what else to do with myself until he reappears, darkening the open doorway with his hulking frame.

Had he always been so big, or did he just make the room seem small?

I shrink away instinctively as he approaches, but he passes me and sets something on the bedside table. A packet of condoms and a bottle of water-based lube.

Fuck. We're really doing this.

He turns to face me and I swallow, but all he does is hold out his hand.

"Come on. Let's start with a shower."

I take his hand and he leads me into the bathroom, where he turns on the water and nonchalantly strips out of his clothes. My eyes roam his muscular shoulders and back, down to the dip at the base of his spine and the curve of his ass. As he tests the water and steps beneath the spray, I see a broad chest with a healthy growth of hair — not too much but just enough — a tight abdomen and angular hips, and dark trail leading to his cock and balls. He's half aroused already, and I swallow again.

He sees me gawking, and smirks.

"Your turn," he says, but busies himself with the soap, once again giving me plenty of room.

Gathering my courage, I shed my clothes and join him, stepping beneath the spray of hot water and running my hands, calloused but not as rough or large as his, over his back.

He turns around and takes in the view, and that look of feral hunger is back.

"Fuck, you're beautiful."

It's not a word I'd use to describe myself, usually. Scrappy and naturally athletic, with good muscle tone and very little body hair, thanks to my mixed indigenous ancestry, sure. But beautiful? Nah, not me.

The look in John's eyes makes me believe it.

I step into his arms and kiss him. His lips meet mine. For a moment, time seems to stop, and I can see every drop of water as it falls, each little rivulet streaming off our skin; then, like a match dropped in gasoline, we ignite.

He shoves me against the wall and grabs my throat with one hand, the other supporting him as his mouth invades me, hot and wet as the steaming water, his tongue gliding against mine. I gasp and hold on; then I kiss him back, giving as good as I get.

His length is pressed against my hip, hot and hard, and his muscles clench as I slide my hand down his abs and gently take hold. He gasps and grunts as a shudder convulses him, and then he drop his hand from my throat and wraps it around my cock.

After that it's fast and breathless. He makes me come, then encloses my hand with his own and shows me how fast and hard he likes it. He comes with a growl of pleasure, hips jerking, and I gasp as he bites down on my shoulder.

When he catches his breath and draws back, a thin stream of blood coats his bottom lip.

"Fuck. You bit me," I say, inspecting the spot.

He grabs my jaw and turns my face back towards his. "And now you're mine," he says in a low, dangerous voice, and kisses me again.

~ ★ ~

"Turn over."

Clean and dry, we've moved to the bed. Made a little wary by the bite (which he'd cleaned and stuck a bandaid over with care and efficiency) I hesitate.

"Come on. I won't bite. Again." He grins. "I promise I'll make you feel good."

The sight of him already hard again stirs the fire in my blood, and with a catch in my breath, I obey, propping myself on my elbows with a pillow beneath me.

He leans over me and whispers in my ear. "Remember — all you gotta say is stop."

He kisses the bandaid on my shoulder and then trails kisses down my back to my ass. Then I feel his tongue.

When he's got me gasping, he fucks me with his fingers for a while. Finally, when I'm begging him for more, he withdraws. I raise myself and look over my shoulder in time to see him slipping a condom down the length of his shaft.

"Dios mio," I breathe.

He looks up at me, brows raised. "Does that mean stop?"

I shake my head. "Not even close."

"Good."

The bed dips as he positions himself. I feel him pressed against me, and cry out as he pushes himself inside.

But he didn't lie. He strokes me with one hand, and goes slow until I'm halfway to paradise and drunk with pleasure. He takes his time and doesn't hurt me.

And finally, when I'm a whimpering mess, and begging him for it, he fucks me senseless.

Then he takes care of me, and I fall asleep in his arms.

He's perceptive and caring, strange and dangerous, and I don't completely understand him, or know what he wants from me. I just hope he wants more than a fling, because after getting a taste of him, I don't know if I'll ever have enough.

The only thing I know for certain, as I drift off, warm and contentedly fucked, is that he's a man of his word.