Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/766000.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Twilight_Series_-_Stephenie_Meyer
  Relationship:
      Riley_Biers/Carlisle_Cullen
  Character:
      Riley_Biers, Carlisle_Cullen, Esme_Cullen
  Additional Tags:
      Age_Difference, Underage_Sex, Adultery
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-02-02 Words: 7177
****** Cause and Effect ******
by LouLa
Summary
     Every action has a consequence, sometimes it's just not what's
     expected.
Notes
     Written for this Twi Kink Fest prompt: http://twikinkfest.tumblr.com/
     post/12707463449/carlisle-cant-resist-his-attraction-to-his-teenage
     Huge thanks for Mar for betaing.
The weather is unseasonably warm for early October, and the draw of the
outdoors is too strong for Carlisle to resist. He lounges in one of the
poolside chaises, reading the day's paper while the sun beats down on him. He's
already discarded his suit jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and he's considering
removing his shoes and socks when his son comes running through the patio door.
He cannonballs into the pool as close to Carlisle as he possibly can, sending
splashes of water onto Carlisle's slacks, and when he surfaces, his shakes out
his too-long hair wildly, sending droplets of water all the way up to the paper
Carlisle's trying to read.
Frowning disapprovingly at his son, he flicks the section of paper aside and
grabs a new one. Jasper rolls his eyes and dives back under, yelling for his
best friend to hurry the fu– heck upwhen he comes back up again. Carlisle's
second disapproving look doesn't affect him any more than the first had.
"Hi Carlisle," he hears a second before he feels weight settling at the end of
the chaise he's sitting on.
Not wanting to be rude, Carlisle refolds his paper and sets it across his lap,
sitting up a little straighter to give Riley more room at the end so his hip
doesn't have to touch Carlisle's ankle. He gives Riley a small smile, firmly
keeps his eyes above neck level, and says, "Hello."
Jasper jumps out of the pool, purposefully shaking more water in Carlisle's
direction, before running across the deck to turn on the radio as loud as it
can go. He grabs the water polo ball and lobs it in Riley's direction as hard
as he can, yelling, "Come on!" and jumps back into the water.
"Can you..." Riley starts to ask, but the music is too loud to hear much of
anything.
"What?" Carlisle asks loudly, leaning closer to hear him.
Riley holds out a bottle of sunscreen. "Can you do my back?" he yells above the
music.
Oh.
Hesitantly, Carlisle takes the sunscreen from him, sitting up with a leg on
either side of the chair. Riley scoots back further, almost between Carlisle's
legs. His swimming trunks pull down a little with the movement, exposing far
too much of his ass in the process. But he doesn't move to fix them, and
Carlisle is suddenly thankful for the horrible music blaring from the speakers
that conceals his too-loud breathing.
He squirts the lotion into his hand and carefully rubs it into Riley's
shoulders, keeping his eyes up. When he's finished and Riley stays put, he
reluctantly gets more lotion and carefully spreads it across Riley's back,
going no lower than he feels is necessary. He swears to himself that he's only
looking because he has to.
Bringing his hands slowly back up Riley's side, he gives him a quick squeeze on
the shoulders and forces out a normal voice, saying, "There, all done."
He acts as if this whole thing isn't in some way affecting him, because it
shouldn't be, it can't be, and if he pretends hard enough, he almost believes
that it isn't. He's had enough practice in the last six months to nearly make
himself believe the lie is true, only it really, really isn't.
Riley stands and turns to face Carlisle, thanks him and takes back the
sunscreen. His crotch is perfectly eye level, and Carlisle, try as he might,
can't help looking, especially not when he can see... But it's just the way the
trunks are bunched up from sitting. Carlisle will choose to believe that,
because it would be inappropriate to think anything else. He won't allow
himself to think about what's underneath, making the fabric strain that way.
And anyway, he's just a teenage boy, he probably gets a hard-on over
everything. It's not like Carlisle turned him on, not that he's thinking about
it.
It's far too hot out all of a sudden ― a choking kind of heat that Carlisle
can't stand any longer.
He gathers up his newspaper, throws his jacket over his arm, takes off his
reading glasses to wipe the sweat that's beaded up at his brow. He turns down
the radio as he heads inside, ignoring his son's loud protests that probably
include more than one curse word.
Esme is at the stove, cooking dinner. Carlisle sets his things down before
moving to stand behind her, hands placed on her narrow hips. He kisses her
cheek, asks about her day.
"Will you finish this, I have..." she replies, dismissing his question and
pointing vaguely toward the upstairs. Presumably that's where whatever she has
is.
He nods, frowning after her when she picks up his suit jacket and the
newspaper, tossing one into the trash and the other on the laundry room floor.
He ignores it, trying not to think about the article he was halfway through, or
how his jacket will probably end up buried under Jasper's horrible smelling
lacrosse uniforms.
"Hi daddy," Rose calls as she goes loping through the kitchen.
"Rosie," he says, stopping her before she can get outside. "Be careful. Your
brother and Riley are–" probably trying to kill each other with a ball"playing
water polo."
She smiles, carefree as ever, shrugging a shoulder. "Okay."
The neighbors are going to complain about that music,he thinks as the patio
door slides open, and then shut again, drowning out the sound once more.
Carlisle's just sliding garlic bread into the oven when the door opens again,
emitting not only the sound of music, but Rose's loud wailing. Letting the oven
door slam shut, he crosses the room to find out what's wrong, sees Rosalie's
bloody knees and curses to himself.
"What happened?" he asks, and is answered with more crying, garbled words he
can't make out, and then sobbing that makes his heart twist. Despite her
dripping wet bathing suit, he scoops her up, lets her bury her face into his
shoulder.
He carries her outside and angrily unplugs the radio from the wall. "What
happened?" he demands, glaring in Jasper's direction.
"It wasn't my fault," he yells. "She was in the way. I told her to move."
Beyond frustrated, he shifts Rosalie to his other hip and fights to keep
himself calm. "You are grounded. Dinner is almost ready, get dried off and into
the house, now."
He ignores the answering protest, carrying Rose back inside, mentally
increasing Jasper's punishment to two weeks when he hears the water polo ball
bounce off the patio door behind him.
He's bandaging up Rose's skinned knees when Esme comes in to question him. "I
thought you were finishing dinner," she says.
He doesn't bother replying, because whyhe's not finishing dinner right now
should be pretty obvious.
"Why is Jasper grounded?" she asks.
And again, how that's not obvious either is mystifying to Carlisle, though how
she knows already is not. Esme just gives a flippant, "I'm sure it was an
accident," before walking away.
He grinds his teeth together and forces out a sweet smile for his daughter. He
kisses her forehead and picks her up off the bathroom counter, telling her to
go get dressed.
Jasper and Riley are milling around the kitchen when Carlisle comes back down.
Jasper's dripping water all over the floor, from cupboard to cupboard as he
digs through them like dinner won't be on the table in five minutes. Riley at
least has the decency to keep a towel around his waist, though he's done a piss
poor job of drying himself off too, water still trailing off of his shoulders,
down his chest...
Carlisle grabs the burning garlic bread that no one else could be bothered to
get out of the oven, dropping the pan onto the counter with a loud clatter.
"You don't have to be such a dick about it," Jasper says, sitting his soaking
wet ass into a chair.
"Watch your mouth or it's going to be three weeks," Carlisle replies.
"Three?" Jasper sputters. "You've got to be fuck–"
"I can get a ride home, if you want," Riley cuts in awkwardly, saving Jasper
from himself.
"Oh, sweetie, no, that's–" Esme is saying as she walks in.
"I'll give you a ride home after dinner," Carlisle intervenes firmly.
"Boys, will you go get changed, please?" Esme asks. Carlisle forcibly keeps
himself from rolling his eyes at her poorly concealed 'get out so I can bitch
at your father.' The second they're out of the room, she is angrily whispering,
"They were supposed to work on homework together tonight."
"Do they have a group project?" Carlisle asks pointedly.
"No, but I don't see what that–"
"Then I think Jasper can manage on his own," Carlisle cuts her off.
Thank God for small favors, that's when Rose walks in and stops Esme before she
can even get started.
―
"Sorry about this evening," Carlisle offers as he drives Riley home. "I know
you and Jasper had plans but I hope you understand."
Riley nods. "I do. It's not a big deal. I'm sorry too. Rose is pretty cool, I
hope she's okay."
Carlisle can't help but smile. "Don't let Jasper hear you say that, he'll never
talk to you again."
Riley laughs, then says, "You know, he really didn't try–" and Carlisle stops
him right there, because he knows that.
"I know, but he's too rough with her. He needs to learn to be more careful. Our
backyard is not the field, Rosie is not one of your teammates, he can't just
disregard that." Sighing, he reaches over to squeeze at Riley's shoulder.
"Sorry, I'm not trying to take this out on you. It wasn't your fault that Rose
got hurt either. But," he continues, holding a little more firmly onto the back
of Riley's neck, "I would like to know what happened to that lamp in the living
room three weeks ago."
Riley blanches and stiffens under his hand. "I... We– It was– I'm sorry, I
wanted to tell you, but–"
Chuckling, Carlisle scratches lightly at the short hair at the back of Riley's
neck before pulling his hand away altogether. "I'm just kidding." To avoid the
uncomfortable silence that will likely follow, he asks Riley about school,
sports, how everything's going.
The truth is that Carlisle perversely enjoys these short minutes alone with his
son's best friend, the car rides to and from houses, from school or practice.
It's easy to forget how immensely improper and wrong his feelings toward the
boy are when it's just the two of them. Riley is good company, sweet and soft,
playful but so much less immature than the other boys his age. He's so good
looking at fifteen that Carlisle can hardly stand it, can only imagine how he's
going to grow up into something even better.
It's easier to not feel guilty about his thoughts when they're alone together.
He pulls up into the driveway at Riley's house and puts the car in park, though
he's not staying ― he's not going to doanything besides say goodbye and make
sure Riley gets in okay. Riley turns in his seat to face Carlisle, and he has
this wide, open smile that makes Carlisle's stomach go tight, makes him want to
lean over and kiss him.
It's a horrible, horrible feeling to have when Riley's so close, when it would
be so simple to just do it and worry about the consequences later.
Carlisle looks away and clears his throat, shakes himself free of those
thoughts. He tells Riley goodbye, wishes him a good evening, and apologizes
again.
That smile stays firmly in place as Riley gets out, then turns back around to
lean into the car. "Goodnight, Carlisle. Thank you for dinner," he says. He
looks down slightly, at Carlisle's white-knuckled grip on the gear shift, then
back up with his lip clasped firmly between his teeth. "See you later," he
almost-whispers before shutting the door lightly behind him, walking up to the
house, casting Carlisle a few parting glances over his shoulder.
Carlisle can't think straight the rest of the night.
―
"Up, boys, time for church," Carlisle says, walking into the room to pick up
some of the trash lying around.
Jasper grumbles something ― something that he's lucky his father didn't hear,
probably ― and rolls over to go back to sleep. Riley is on the floor next to
the bed. He kicks the blanket that covers him down to his feet and stretches,
and he's naked except for a pair of briefs ― very, very brief briefs, that
leave little to the imagination.
"Morning," Riley says gruffly, arching up slightly in another long stretch.
Carlisle jerks his eyes away, looks absolutely anywhere but at Riley and his ―
very minuscule ― underwear, focusing on the fact that Jasper's room is a mess.
He thinks about how Jasper should be the one to pick it up, while stuffing his
arms full of empty soda cans and discarded wrappers. Pointedly ignoring Riley,
he gets everything he can with two hands, makes a mental note to somehow get
Jasper to clean his room, does not once look at the boy sprawled mostly-naked
across the floor or even think about the horrible-bad-wrong things he wants to
do to him.
Then he leaves, releasing a breath he didn't realize he was holding, and
remembers to yell, "Jasper, now," when he's halfway down the hall.
He'd come home from the grocery store Saturday afternoon to find the two boys
yelling at the television set while they played their violent video games. If
his son's smug-ass smirk had been anything to go by, he'd begged his mommy to
let him off of being grounded, knowing damn well that Carlisle wouldn't be
pleased.
When Carlisle asked, Esme just pulled one of her why must you question
everything I do? faces and made it very clear that it wasn't Jasper's fault
anyway, and he really was so sorry. Excuse after excuse about how Jasper was
just coming into his own, it wasn't fair to be so hard on him, all things
Carlisle's heard before, so he was only half-listening until Riley's name came
up, when Esme continued with, "I couldn't just say no, Carlisle. His birthday
is Wednesday, and you know how he likes to be over here."
One more time, he'd let it slide, and it wasn't as if Carlisle wanted to punish
him, but Jasper needed to learn that there were consequences to his actions. He
was getting more and more reckless and rebellious with age, and all Esme had to
say about it was, "Well, he's a free spirit, and strict parenting never did any
good anyway," making Carlisle the sole parent responsible for any and all types
of punishment ― also known as 'The Bad Guy.'
He can't even begin to understand how Esme can unquestioningly and constantly
undermine everything he says and does, but she succeeds at it quite easily.
Like now, when he's politely asking Jasper to change, because a Black Sabbath
t-shirt is not proper church-going attire, and she's talking right over him
saying, "Oh, baby, just put a button-up on over it, it'll be fine."
It's so fucking frustrating that Carlisle literally wants to rip his own hair
out, or hers ― which he feels bad about immediately after thinking it, but
still. He's at the end of his rope. He can understand that they have different
opinions on parenting, but he just wishes she would meet him in the middle, or
at least try to. Or at the very fucking least, stop subverting him in front of
the children. They're supposed to be a team.
No longer hungry, he skips breakfast, escaping up to his office to work away
some of his frustration before it's time to leave.
A tentative knock on the door interrupts his stewing.
"Come in," he calls quietly, shuffling papers around his desk.
He doesn't know who he's expecting ― he knows he wants it to be his wife,
coming to apologize, but like that's going to happen. And anyway, she wouldn't
knock. Only one person would knock, so he shouldn't be so surprised to see
Riley leaning quietly back against the closed door, chewing his lip nervously.
Swiveling the chair around to face him, Carlisle asks, "Everything alright?"
Riley nods, pushing away from the door to walk hesitantly toward Carlisle. He
doesn't stop until they're close, too close, standing with his knees touching
Carlisle's. Carlisle doesn't move; he's a little curious about what this is, a
whole lot frightened about what he thinks it might be, undeniably excited at
the possibility of getting what he's hoping for.
Riley licks his lips, and Carlisle gulps in response.
He snaps out of it a little when there's a commotion downstairs. Downstairs,
where his wife is. Where his kids are.
Christ.
Everything about it is wrong. Riley is ― perfect, gorgeous, so fucking lovely ―
too young. Too young. Too. Fucking. Young. And Carlisle is married. A father.
Twenty years too old for the beautiful boy in front of him. There is nothing
right about anything happening between them. No good could come from it.
Carlisle scoots back quickly, stands, and in his haste to get away, knocks his
chair against his desk, sending a folder full of files onto the floor. Already
flustered, he swears before dropping down to his knees to pick up the papers.
Riley kneels beside him, helps him straighten out the paperwork. He's quiet; he
doesn't say anything, and Carlisle can feel the tension between like a lead
blanket over his shoulders. But when he looks at Riley, he's perfectly at ease,
calmly stacking files one on the other, and Carlisle thinks that maybe it's
just him, maybe he's overreacting. Nothing happened, nothing is going to
happen. It's nothing.
Just as he thinks that, Riley catches him staring and leans in to close the
small amount of space between them, pressing the barest of kisses against
Carlisle's mouth.
Riley goes right back to picking up files, like nothing even happened. Like it
never happened. Carlisle is shocked, and dumbfounded, terrified, pleased,
angry, elated. He's feeling everything and nothing all at once, numb with it.
Mind revolting against body, he's thinking, can't, won't, bad, wrong, no while
rushing toward Riley, getting his hands on him, finally. Finally. Want, need,
please, more, yes.
Riley gasps against his mouth, but opens right up for his tongue, sucks at it,
scrambles closer, gripping at Carlisle's shoulders. Carlisle presses as close
as he can get, licking into Riley's mouth, tasting everything inside that he
can reach. He slides his hands down Riley's neck, over his arms and across his
shoulders, down his narrow waist, his thin hips, grips at his skinny thighs and
then at his little ass. He kisses Riley harder as he starts to pant, deep,
heavy breaths, his muscles twitching under Carlisle's hold as he tries to push
forward, closer, wanting to touch, wanting friction, wanting to fuck.
No. No. No.
Carlisle leans back fast, leaving Riley falling, hands splayed across
Carlisle's chest, mouth red and wet, opening with each quick breath, his eyes
dark and searching. Gently, Carlisle pushes him back, gets to his feet, and
carefully rearranges the folders on his desk. Riley stands beside him, but
Carlisle steps away as soon as he starts to lean closer.
Just a kid, just a boy. Stupid, stupid mistake. What have I done?
"Better get downstairs, we're going to be late for church," he says, forcing
the words out, nearly choking on the last one.
Church is exactly where Carlisle needs to be right now. Needs to get this
behind him, forget about it, forget about Riley, pray for forgiveness, for
help, pray away the... whatever this is, the sin, the temptation.
Temptation is exactly what Riley is, the cruelest form of it.
"Wait, wait," Riley says, a hint of desperation in his voice, a frantic edge.
He gets a hold on Carlisle's wrist and stops him from walking away, pulls him
back. Carlisle goes too easily, lets Riley turn him right back around ― upside
down and inside out and everything backwards and tilted, stilted, can't-make-
sense-of-it sideways.
Riley takes his hand and holds it for a second, looking up at Carlisle before
he presses Carlisle's palm flat against the fly of his jeans, over the bulge
there, curling their fingers together over the thickened length beneath the
denim.
Carlisle clenches his jaw against the urge to groan, breathes out calmly
through his nose. He doesn't pull back, not yet, not meanly or sharply; he
waits, wants to give it just a second and then he'll firmly tell Riley no.
Riley talks first. "I think about you all the time," he says. It's not wistful,
he doesn't sound like he's in love or heartbroken or in any way slighted, he
just sounds frustrated. He sounds like Carlisle feels, like they've already
waited so long, why should they keep having to wait, like he knows how good
it'll be, how good they'll be, if only they didn't have to wait any longer.
And there's absolutely everything wrong with that thought. They aren't waiting
for anything; there's nothing to wait for. Nothing can happen. Nothing ― else ―
will happen. Too much wrong has already been done, just in thought alone, not
even counting the kiss, the horrible mistake.
Carlisle hears Rose's voice just seconds before she opens the door. "Dad, it's
almost time to go, and Mom said to remind you that– Ri, I thought you were in
the bathroom."
Panic is gripping and tearing at his throat, agony and disgust with himself and
bone-deep terror all rolled into one. Riley doesn't look any better off,
finally as scared as he should have been from the very beginning.
Carlisle thinks about what his daughter may or may not have seen ― his hand in
the general vicinity of Riley's crotch ― and he wipes every telling emotion off
of his face when he turns toward her.
"He was," Carlisle says. "He got his zipper stuck, needed my help."
"Oh," Rose answer, frowning slightly at Riley. "I hate when that happens."
"What did Mom say?" he prompts, leading her from the room, leaving Riley to do
whatever it is he needs to do ― pull himself together, or sneak out, or figure
out how to tell Carlisle's wife what a sick, perverted man he is.
Let the chips fall where they may, Carlisle would deal with whatever came of
this. He made a mistake and he would suffer the consequences.
―
Riley is quiet in the backseat of the SUV, Rosalie between him and Jasper. Rose
is singing along with the radio, and Jasper is screwing around with his phone,
Carlisle can see in the rear-view mirror. Esme is chattering on about
something, he doesn't know what. But Riley is silent, staring out the window.
Carlisle is sick with guilt, shame.
"Dude, what is your problem?" Jasper asks dubiously, punching at his friend's
shoulder.
Carlisle grips the steering wheel tighter, keeps his eyes firmly on the road
ahead.
"Just tired," Riley says.
Jasper snorts at that. "Whatever, at least I don't have to suffer alone."
"He's lying," Rose singsongs in a superior tone.
Carlisle nearly misses their turn, gritting his teeth with nerves.
"He's just embarrassed," Rosalie continues. "He got his zipper stuck and Dad
had to help him."
"That's what took you so long in the bathroom? You're such a loser," Jasper
says, laughing at Riley while Rose giggles along.
"Rose, that wasn't nice. You shouldn't have told everyone, now he's just more
embarrassed," Esme reprimands.
"It's okay," Riley says, chuckling along good-naturedly at the blatant lie.
"Carlisle helped me out."
Carlisle meets Riley's eyes in the rear-view mirror, releasing a stuttering
breath. Something in his chest loosens at Riley's soft, secret smile, some of
the panic, maybe, but it doesn't help him to feel any better.
He pulls into an empty parking space, barely making it to the church without
having to pull over to throw up. Everyone piles out of the car, while Carlisle
leans forward to rest his pounding head against the steering wheel.
Esme knocks sharply on his window, pointing at her watch when he looks up. He
drags himself from the car, taking a deep breath of cool air.
"Are you okay? You don't look so good," she says as he walks beside her toward
the church.
"I'll be fine," he answers.
"You didn't eat any breakfast, maybe you should grab a donut or something."
He nods, walking in the opposite direction of his wife once they're inside,
taking a stack of programs from Ms. Cope and handing them out, greeting
everyone he knows with a slightly stiff smile.
Somehow, he ends up sitting next to Riley in the packed pews, sharing a book of
hymnals while Jasper attempts to covertly text through the service with his
cell phone wedged between his knees. Carlisle lets it go until Jasper starts
jostling Riley into his side. They're already pressed shoulder to shoulder,
knee to knee, and Jasper kicking at him to amuse himself is making it even more
difficult to sit comfortably.
Leaning around Riley, he snaps out a quiet, "Give it to me," holding his hand
out expectantly.
He ignores Jasper's haughty glare, Riley's warm breath puffing against the side
of his neck. Jasper finally hands over his phone with an annoyed huff, and the
rest of the service passes quietly enough, though Carlisle's attention span is
appalling.
The warm weight of Riley pressed against his side is distracting. He's all
Carlisle can think about ― this morning, sprawled across the floor, sleep-
mussed hair and a tired pout, the lean, delicate line of his body, and those
goddamn underwear; and in Carlisle's office, the taste of him, the feel of him
so close, in Carlisle's arms, gasping for breath and pushing closer,closer, so
hard already; and in the future, how he'd taste in other places, how smooth his
skin would feel, how warm he would be inside, and the sounds he would make when
he came.
Carlisle doesn't hear a word of the sermon.
―
Nearly a week later, Carlisle is at home, trying to get some work done for
once, rather than answering phone calls and replying to emails, when the
doorbell rings.
He's elbow deep in paperwork, and honestly, he could use a break, but the
thought of losing what little progress he's made by walking away is daunting.
Sighing, he stands, trying to arrange the documents in an orderly fashion so he
can come back to them and pick up exactly where he left off.
There's an impatient knock, and he trots down the stairs, calling, "Coming,
coming."
Any thoughts of getting back to work are dashed when he opens the door and
finds Riley standing there.
"Hey, Carlisle" Riley says, smiling slightly.
Despite the few days of reprieve from the boy, Carlisle finds himself no less
comfortable in Riley's presence. If anything, the week of separation has made
it worse. Just one look at him, and Carlisle's throat's gone dry, palms sweaty,
mind clogged with want, need and no, can't.
"Jasper," he croaks, pausing to clear his throat. "Jasper," he starts again,
"isn't here."
"I know that," Riley willingly admits.
The house is gloriously empty, Riley is standing on Carlisle's front steps
waiting for an invitation in, presumably with a devious plan to seduce
Carlisle, and Carlisle has no choice but to say no.
There is a choice, of course there is, but going down that path ― even the
thought of picking that option scares the hell out of Carlisle. He has too much
to lose, everything, his whole life. And for what? One measly fuck? One measly
fuck with this gorgeous, sweet boy ― a boy that he rightly shouldn't even want,
shouldn't be given the option to have, too young, too innocent, too perfectly
beautiful for one measly fuck with an old, married man.
"Riley..." he starts warily.
Riley just curls his lips sadly in response and nods. It makes Carlisle miss
that bright, open smile, makes him hate himself, even though he knows he's
doing the right thing, for both of them, by saying no.
"I forgot my iPod in Jasper's room when I stayed last weekend. Can I come in
and get it? Then I'll go, if that's what you want."
Carlisle swings the door open wide, nodding.
"Thanks," Riley says, walking past him towards the stairs. Carlisle watches him
go up, tries to resist the urge to really watch the way his body moves, under
those tight jeans, the equally tight shirt that rides up a bit to reveal a
sliver of pale skin at his lower back ― and fails miserably, of course.
Carlisle snaps himself out of it, jogs up the stairs after him. "Can you show
yourself out?"
Riley nods his answer, turning to head down the hall to Jasper's bedroom.
Carlisle goes the opposite direction, escaping back into his office. He sighs
quietly to himself at the grim sight of his messy desk, sliding into the chair
and slipping his glasses back into place.
Riley knocks just minutes later, a gentle rasp of knuckles before the door
quietly clicks open, and then snicks shut. Carlisle swivels his chair around to
face the boy, determined to behave in a professional manner.
Riley clenches his jaw tightly, fisting his hands at his sides. He exhales
loudly and rolls his shoulders back, meeting Carlisle's eyes firmly. "All I
want to say is that you don't have to worry about anything. I don't want things
to be awkward, and I don't want you to worry that I'm going to tell anyone.
I'll keep my mouth shut. So, that's all."
"Riley," Carlisle says, stopping him before he can go. He removes his glasses
again, pinching lightly at the bridge of his nose in an attempt to quell off
the frustration he feels. "I want you to know how sorry I am."
"You don't have to apologize. I don't want you to apologize," Riley is saying.
"Regardless," Carlisle continues, talking over him. "I still need you to
understand that what I did was wrong, and it shouldn't have happened. I am so
sorry–"
"No you're not," Riley cuts in sharply. "You wanted it as much as I did–"
"That doesn't make it okay–"
"So don't sit there and act like you wouldn't do it again!" Riley all but
yells.
"I'm sorry," Carlisle mutters helplessly, not knowing what else to say. It
feels like the only thing he can say at this point.
"Sure you are. So tell me to stop, Carlisle. Say, 'no, I don't want this.' If
you're really sorry then tell me you don't want me," Riley says firmly,
stepping in close, his knees touching Carlisle's.
Breathing out harshly, Carlisle watches Riley smoothly sink onto his lap,
straddling him. He leans forward, mouth so close that Carlisle can almost taste
it.
"Say it," Riley urges, palms flat against Carlisle's chest.
He can't. He can't say anything. He's frozen there, mind and body all locked up
with Riley so close. Want. Want. Want, coursing through his head.
"You don't have to lie to me, Carlisle," Riley whispers, breath and lips
brushing, tickling at his jaw.
"Riley," he grunts from behind his teeth.
Riley presses forward, right up against Carlisle's stomach, and Carlisle can
feel him there, hard behind his zipper. He shifts uncomfortably in the chair,
feeling himself start react to the steady pressure against his lap. Riley
grinds down against him, working his hands up to Carlisle's neck, and then into
his hair, curling his fingers into it, pulling slightly.
"Don't lie to me," he whispers raggedly, knocking their hips together as best
as he can from where he's sitting.
Carlisle stands abruptly, startling a gasp out of Riley, throwing him off
balance, sideways. But Carlisle catches him, takes two steps forward to set him
down on the paper-strewn desk, and leans in to crush their lips together.
Riley's hold on Carlisle's hair tightens while his legs lock around Carlisle's
hips, keeping him in place ― like there's any chance in hell Carlisle will be
able to pull away now, to stop this.
Carlisle pushes him back roughly, laying him down flat against the desk, and
just stares for a second. Riley arches his hips up, pushing up against
Carlisle's wrist, and Carlisle's never seen anything so sexy in his whole
fucking life as this boy, spread out on his desk, slick, bruised lips parted,
eyes dark and heavy with lust, thighs spread and wrapped around Carlisle's
hips.
Carlisle slides his hand down lower, over the prominent bulge in Riley's jeans,
feels the heat of it against his palm and rubs at it, listening to Riley punch
out these quiet little moans at the small amount of friction.
God...
He shoves Riley's shirt up with his free hand, leaning over him to lick and
suck at his flat, smooth stomach. Palming the sharp juts of his hipbones, he
holds him still as he works his way higher, up to his ribs. Sliding rough palms
up Riley's sides, he yanks the shirt off over his head, and goes back to it,
licking around his nipples, sucking red marks into his pale skin. He pushes
Riley's hands above his head when he tries to pull at Carlisle's hair again.
At that, Riley whimpers, hips arching up sharply to rub himself against
Carlisle's stomach. Carlisle stands up straight, pausing once again to just
look at him. He looks filthy, debauched, and it makes Carlisle feel equal parts
proud and ashamed for being the one to make him look that way.
Riley sits up, pushing at Carlisle's shirt, forcing it up over his head. His
eyes wander over Carlisle's chest, his stomach. He scratches curiously at
Carlisle's chest hair, looks up at him uncertainly before leaning in to kiss a
nipple, swirl his tongue around it, and Carlisle holds him there, a cupped hand
against the back of his head ― it's been so long since anyone's paid any
attention at all to his nipples, feels even better than he remembers to have a
mouth there.
When Carlisle reaches between them to open Riley's pants, Riley pulls away,
leaning back onto his elbows, giving Carlisle better access to his fly.
Carlisle expects to just strip him of his jeans, give him a little room to
breathe, so to speak, but when he peels the jeans off of his hips, Riley's cock
lays exposed against his stomach, curved up, flushed dark and swollen. Carlisle
pulls his pants off the rest of the way, and Riley plants his heels up on the
desk, knees spread, shamelessly revealing himself in a way only someone so
young can.
"I'm not a virgin," Riley says, breaking the silence between them.
"I didn't want to know," Carlisle mutters in reply.
Riley, already flushed, darkens further. "I– Sorry, I just didn't want you to
worry about that."
Carlisle nods. He had been worried about that, but either answer was going to
bother him. If he was a virgin, Carlisle would have felt ridiculously guilty
for being his first, but finding out he isn't, it just pisses him off. It's not
that someone else got to have him first, but that he's so young and already
lost his virginity.
"It was before we moved here, my boyfriend back home," Riley whispers, sounding
unsure if he should still be talking or not.
Carlisle nods once more, feeling better now that he knows it was at least
someone he cared about, but still...
"Was he any good?" Carlisle asks, mostly jokingly.
Riley smiles, fond and real. "Not really," he laughs. "Not that I have anything
to compare it to," he adds quickly, licking his lips nervously.
"It's okay," Carlisle assures him. He braces a hand on either side of Riley's
head and leans over to kiss him, dipping his tongue into Riley's mouth when he
gasps at his cock getting caught between their stomachs. "What do you want?" he
asks after breaking the kiss.
"Anything. I don't care, just anything, please," Riley says breathlessly, then
helplessly gasps, "I want you to fuck me," like an afterthought.
Smiling, Carlisle kisses his way down Riley's body, lapping away the sticky
trail of pre-come smeared below his belly button. From there, he drops lower,
licking at the skin pulled tight over Riley's balls and mouthing his way up his
straining cock, watching his belly rise and fall sharply with every stuttering
pull of breath.
He sucks Riley's cock into his mouth, taking it in as far as he can, breathing
steadily through his nose and holding it there, feeling the shape of it, the
pulse beating against his tongue as his mouth waters, the taste of pre-come
mingling with spit. He pulls off to swallow, sucking just the tip back inside,
licking around it and fighting back a laugh when Riley grabs his hair and
forcibly attempts to shove him back down. He lets Riley's cock fall back
against his stomach, fixing him with a sharp look as he grabs Riley's wrists
and pushes them down against the wood beneath him.
Carlisle reaches behind himself for the chair and pulls it up, sitting down
between Riley's parted knees. He slides Riley's ass to the edge of the desk,
knocking full folders of files to the floor and kicking them aside carelessly.
He pops the button on his jeans and reaches his hand inside, giving himself
some relief as he goes back down on Riley.
After only a few short minutes, Carlisle is in full swing, remembering all the
tricks of how to suck a cock, and Riley has his head thrown back, mouth open
around constant moans. He hasn't come yet, and Carlisle doesn't plan on letting
him.
One particularly throaty grunt, a pointed thrust of hips, and a thick blurt of
salty pre-come later, Carlisle pulls off, leaving Riley writhing against air,
whining pitifully for a few long moments until Carlisle grips him behind the
knees and exposes him further.
Carlisle licks him from tailbone to balls and back, pausing only for a second
to feel the flutter of muscle against his tongue as he mouths at his tight
hole.
"Oh," Riley chokes out, hands slapping loudly against the wall as he pushes
himself harder to Carlisle's mouth any way that he can.
Once he's wet, looser, Carlisle works his tongue inside, feeling Riley relax
and open up for him. He fucks into him like that as much as he can, until his
jaw is sore from it.
He wipes his mouth and stands, kicking his jeans off the rest of the way. It's
unfair, maybe, to ask someone in such a state to answer a serious question, but
in the end, Carlisle's not in his right mind either. "Are you sure you want
this?" he asks Riley, to which he receives dazed nod.
"Please, yes. I want it now," he says.
Carlisle opens up a filing cabinet, the drawer at the bottom, furthest to the
right, and grabs the bottle of lube from there and a condom off the roll of
them, kicking it closed before he can even think about what else he hides in
there. Riley's too far gone to have noticed Carlisle's Extra Confidential file,
where he hides the paperwork for the highest end clients, among other things.
Standing at the edge of the desk, he coats his fingers with lube, then wraps
Riley's legs around him, one at his waist, the other over his shoulder. Riley
nods encouragingly at Carlisle's questioning look, and with that, Carlisle
presses a fingertip against his hole, carefully sliding inside. Riley breathes
out raggedly, pulling Carlisle in closer with his legs, and Carlisle crooks a
second finger against the first, feeling Riley stretch around him.
It's a tight fit, and he nearly groans at the thought of how Riley's going to
feel around his cock. Sliding in as deep as he can reach, he twists his
fingers, working him open and slicking him up. Riley groans at the push of a
third finger, and Carlisle pauses once it's inside, letting him calm down again
before continuing. It doesn't take long for him to take all three, pressing
himself wantonly against Carlisle in search of more.
Carlisle grabs the condom and rolls it on, slicking himself up before pressing
his cock right alongside where his fingers are buried in Riley. He slides them
free slowly, pushes his cock into the grasping heat, moaning right along with
Riley at the sensation.
He brings Riley's leg down off of his shoulder, grasps both of his thighs in
his hands as he slowly starts to thrust, eyes keenly taking in every last one
of Riley's reactions.
He's speechless and breathless, bright red from cheekbones to collarbones,
sweating and senselessly moving into whatever feels good. It's... unbelievable.
Carlisle can't remember the last time he's had sex like this, in this filthy
way, out in the open with the lights on and not a care in the world. It's
reckless and freeing, dirty and wrong, but so, so good that he can't even think
of regretting it. Not with Riley beneath him, gasping out his name like he
can't get enough of it.
Carlisle is convinced that this is the best thing in the world, that he could
do this forever and not feel ashamed of it. It doesn't feel like he's cheating
or breaking any rules or doing anything bad when he's thrusting into Riley's
willing body over and over. And that is exactly what should be his first
warning that he's in too deep, making a horrible mistake, but he isn't thinking
about anything besides how good it makes him feel.
He lets Riley's legs go, dropping down over him as he gets closer, feeling
Riley arch himself up into it. He pants into Riley's neck, licking at his
sweaty-salty skin before kissing him.
"Please," Riley begs. "Please, I need to... I can't– Carlisle, I have to." His
hand fits between their bodies, and he moans, guttural and wild. "I'm going
to–"
Just like that, he brings himself off, clinging tighter and tighter to Carlisle
with every pulse, shuddering with it. Carlisle watches him lose it between
their bodies, spurting clear up to his chest and dribbling the last of it over
his belly, and goes off inside of him at the sight.
Spent, he stays there bent over Riley for a few long minutes while they both
catch their breath, the air cooling their sweaty skin.
Carlisle uses tissues to clean them both up, helps Riley get to his feet, and
peels away the papers that have stuck to his skin.
After they've dressed, Carlisle expects it to get awkward, neither of them
knowing what to say or do, but Riley just steps in close and presses a kiss to
Carlisle's mouth.
"See you later," he says calmly.
And that is exactly the problem.
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