GENERAL DISCLAIMER: This story contains sexual situations between adult males involving various aspects of the kink and fetish communities. If you find material of this nature offensive then you should not read any further. All characters in this story are over the age of 21. If you are under 18 years old in the US or under 16 in the UK you are not legally allowed to read this story. This is purely a work of fiction, any resemblance to persons living or dead, or to any events that may have occurred, are purely coincidental. The author claims all copyrights in this story and no duplication or publication of this story is allowed (except by the websites to which it has been posted) without the consent of the author. Nifty does not exist without donations. If you enjoy these stories, please donate here: http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html
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The Brownstone on Union Park
- Chapter Nine -
"No, it's not the broken glasses," Michael replied, swallowed hard, and continued, "It's me..." and moved his eyes away from Carter's to look down at his mid-section above his crotch. He was obviously hard and there was no hiding it.
Carter's eyes followed Michael's new focus, realized what he was talking about and said, "Shh... It's fine. You're young. It happens," and shrugged like it was no big deal.
Michael let out another deep sigh as his heartbeat quickened in response to this weird confession. Trying to take the sting away from his embarrassment, Carter brought him in closer repositioning his arm to raise his top half thereby bringing Michael's ear next to his mouth.
He whispered, "Don't worry, I'll bring you to my room. James doesn't have to know. It's fine."
The warmth of his breadth and moisture hitting his ear made the words not quite register at first. Michael had to replay the sounds in his head to fully comprehend what was just said to him; he started to relax.
They arrived on the bedroom level and Carter entered his own room with Michael and placed him in the same area that he dropped him off before on the foot of his bed.
Michael began to protest, "But my shorts are wet."
"Haha, that's kind of been the theme of tonight!" laughed Carter, "Don't worry, you're not dripping anymore, the bed will be fine."
Michael nervously laughed in response, it was clear he was still visibly hard in his soaked shorts. The outline of his package was obvious with his shaft now pointing down his left leg against the tightly fitted khakis. Why did he think it was a good idea to wear these again?
Carter tried to think of something to take the edge off, smiled, and said, "Well, you finish pitching the tent and I'll check in with James to see what he has for you."
He tousled Michael's now wet hair, laughed, turned and left his room. Michael felt mortified and did not even attempt to fix his hair this time. He continued to sit and waited for a fresh pair of clothes. There was something comforting about sitting on Carter's bed, possibly because it faintly smelled like him. The unkempt pile of pillows and the bunched-up comforter seemed so inviting. He wanted to crawl inside and go to sleep.
Meanwhile, Carter continued down the hallway and began to enter James' room. The thunder in the background was dying down but he could still see a flash of lightning coming from the bedroom window. Carter knocked on the door frame before actually entering and found James deep in his closet fishing around for something that might fit Michael. He had already changed into a new set of dry clothes himself.
"You finding anything for his small waist? I don't think he's even a size thirty. I didn't want to ask him for his exact size, thought it might embarrass him more," asked Carter.
"I have some gym shorts from fifteen pounds ago that I think will fit him," James responded and held them up to show Carter.
"Yeah, those should be fine. And what about a shirt?"
"Hmm... I don't think I'll have anything in this closet. Let me check my dresser."
The two of them backed out of the closet and James crossed the room to quietly close the entrance of his bedroom door to be outside of earshot of Michael in the other bedroom. He turned around to face Carter.
James had questions.
James narrowed his eyes, and asked in a harsh but whispered tone, "Is there something going on between the two of you? The kid seems so nervous about everything. And you're carrying him everywhere. Did you two hook up before or something?"
"No, I think he might like me a little, but that's it. And do you really want him injuring himself in your place with his ankle like that? I'm just trying to avoid a potential lawsuit if he falls on the stairs," retorted Carter.
"Well, if you sleep with this one like, like Tony, and shit starts getting weird again..." James threatened.
Carter cut him off, "It's not going to happen. Besides, that was just one night, he was drunk, so was I and he fucking ambushed me in my own room. You honestly think Michael would do that? He's like a puppy!"
"And where is he now?" James asked.
"My room, but I just put him there because... Oh never mind. Look, would you really want him sitting on your bed in his wet shorts?"
"No, but he can certainly stand."
"Look, the storm freaked the kid out, he just needed some time to himself. Tonight is nothing for us, but for him, it's a huge deal. He's stressed out," Carter replied.
James smirked not fully satisfied with the answers and returned to pulling out his dresser drawers looking for a shirt that might fit Michael. He was at least a standard size bigger than Michael and realized most of his wardrobe would be too large. And then he shrieked, "Oh, I think I found it!"
He held up a similar matching blue and white baseball shirt like the one Carter had on before it got soaked from the rain, except this one had the words "Baby Slut" in a pink cursive font with the "Slut" underlined for added emphasis.
Carter shook his head and simply stated, "No," and then asked, "And where do you even find this shit?"
James laughed and continued looking in his dresser and eventually found a form-fitting black T-shirt that would do the job. He turned around holding the front of the shirt and asked Carter, "This one then?"
"Better," he replied and then demanded, "Wait, let me see the back."
James flipped the back around and it was just like the front, all black with no writing of any kind.
"Perfect," Carter replied.
The rain was still coming down but there were no more flashes of lightning like there was ten minutes ago. Most of the storm had passed out to sea and the wind also began to die down.
James handed the gym shorts and T-shirt to Carter and announced, "Maybe we all could use another drink. Or at least I could. And I still have that bottle of Prosecco on the upper level."
"I'll have another glass if you bring it down," Carter added and started to leave James' room with clothes in hand.
"Ok, I'll be down in a bit. Let's meet back in the living room," James suggested and followed Carter out.
When Carter walked back in his room he found Michael laying down on his back with his head atop a pile of the red and blue pillows. He announced, "Glad to see you're making yourself at home!"
Michael immediately shot up and returned to his seated position and said, "Sorry, it's just been a long day for me."
The visible excitement from his trip down the stairs was mostly gone. Carter approached the bed, still shirtless, and sat next to Michael placing an arm around his neck and opposite shoulder.
He began, "I work with young athletes all day long. I don't think I've been to a single wrestling match where one of the guys didn't get excited at some point. Please don't be freaked out by this. As far as I'm concerned it never happened."
Something about the way Carter put his arm around him was so reassuring to Michael. He felt like he could do no wrong when he touched him so lovingly like this.
"I guess I should put these on," Michael said in an attempt to change the subject.
"Yeah, unless you want to take a shower. I think the worst of the storm is done. No more lightning or thunder," Carter replied.
Michael thought about the prospect of trying out the most technologically advanced shower he had ever seen before but decided against it on account of his ankle. Slipping and injuring himself further in an unfamiliar shower was not something he wanted to do this evening. Besides, now that he was away from the draft of the AC vent it was easy to regain his body temperature. Being snuggled up in Carter's bed for a few minutes certainly helped too.
"I'm fine now," Michael replied.
"OK, let's do this!" Carter said still sensing Michael's nervous energy and he began to open up the black shirt and raised it above Michael's head.
In response, Michael almost began to protest when he stopped himself and just let it happen. He raised his arms up in the air again to facilitate the placement of the shirt and Carter easily was able to slide it down on his now dry chest and torso.
"That looks like it actually fits pretty well," Carter observed, "It must be from the days before James started lifting and working out."
"Yeah, it feels fine," Michael agreed not entirely certain if that was meant as a jibe against his own body.
"OK, now the shorts," Carter said and facetiously made a motion like he was going to undo the front button of his khakis.
Michael breathed in sharply and tensed up not realizing he was joking. Carter laughed and said, "Relax man, I'm just kidding. I know you can do this yourself."
Michael responded with a defeated smile, he was emotionally and physically spent after this evening. His mind raced and wondered if he did not have such a sharp reaction if Carter would have actually unbuttoned his shorts exposing his semi-erect state.
"I'll leave the room, and you can finish up. I need to do some laundry before my trip tomorrow and was going to start a load with the shirts from upstairs in the sink. When you're done, just add your shorts to the washing machine. I can do a quick cycle and have everything done in under an hour," Carter explained.
"Thanks," Michael responded.
Carter then shuffled over to his closet and got a change of clothes for himself and exited to change in the bathroom.