HIMYM Co-Fic: Running Out (Wendy/Carl)
Aug. 25th, 2010 10:40 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
snoggedTitle: Running Out
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
snogged and secondmezzanine
Disclaimer: We do not own HIMYM or these characters! Please don't sue us.
Pairing: Carl/Wendy
Word Count: 4900
Rating: FRAO/NC-17
Spoilers: None.
Summary: Wendy lets a certain bartender distract her from work…
Many thanks to my lovely Wendy/Carl Co-Author,secondmezzanine! *squishes you*
It’s quiet in the bar when Wendy’s shift starts. She likes Tuesday nights; they’re slow, so until the evening rush begins, it’s just her and Carl in the bar. They banter and laugh, calling out requests for drinks to each other as she makes her way around the floor taking orders and he whips up drinks quick and easy for each customer.
And everything’s going along exactly like that, just as Tuesday nights should, when Wendy walks into the back room to find Carl shirtless.
He’s facing away from her, quickly changing his shirt as he does sometimes if he spills something, but this is the first time Wendy’s really… observed it. The way his muscles ripple across his back. How his skin is dark and smooth, like caramel. She realizes she’s standing there staring when she drops her pen and he turns to see her, flashing her a grin, his shirt still in hand.
“S—sorry,” she coughs, leaning down to pick up the pen.
Carl chuckles, his dark eyes twinkling with amusement at the deer-in-the-headlights, innocent look that Wendy wears so well. It’s a rare woman in New York that stutters at the sight of a bare-chested man and he can’t help but find it a little adorable.
He coughs, shaking his head. Thinking about Wendy like that is not a good way to start his day. She’s his waitress. He’s her boss. Any other girl and he’d probably milk the reaction until her cheeks were red. But this is Wendy. Wendy. His waitress. “No problem.”
He pulls the shirt over his head, the fabric molding quickly to his skin. “Don’t forget to get in that drink order, kiddo. The boys and girls will set the place aflame if they don’t get their beer. And you don’t want to be the one to cause that kinda fire.”
Wendy clears her throat. It's Carl who's causing the fire right now, one that's creeping its way straight down through her. "Of course," she replies, blinking. "I'll get right on it." She turns away from him, trying to remember what she came back here for in the first place. Trying to remember what it was he just told her not to forget. Something about...
His arm brushes against her as he passes and the fleeting thought is gone. "Get it together, Wendy," she murmurs to herself, grabbing a clean dish towel and following him out to the bar. Her eyes hover on the way his T-shirt hugs his torso, and they follow the material down to his waist, straight down to the way his jeans hug against his...
"Wendy?"
Her head shoots up. "Hmm?" It's a customer, holding up an empty beer mug. "Oh, right, of course," she laughs, and gets back to work. She hardly notices how low supplies are running. She's too busy chastising herself for even going there-- thinking that Carl is hot, wondering what it would be like to have him touch her in places that--
The shot glass she'd been holding shatters on the floor.
Carl looks up from the bar, his shoulders tensing as glass shards scatter across the floor. He knows she didn't mean it. Accidents happen and all that. But then he remembers what happened down the street at Pallo's when a waitress dropped a water glass and a fancy pants CEO, not paying attention, stepped on the broken pieces and immediately turned around and sued the restaurant for half a million dollars.
He grabs the broom off the wall and heads over to where Wendy's standing. He pushes the handle into her hands and tries to ignore the tingle he gets in his own fingers when their skin brushes against each other.
"Clean it up quick, kiddo."
Her cheeks burn and she turns her face from him, sweeping up the broken shards quickly. Usually her shifts with Carl go off without a hitch, everything fun and easy. If only he wouldn't do things like... smile at her. And take his shirt off in the back room.
"I'm sorry," she mumbles. "I'm kind of having a... personal problem."
She sweeps the last of the glass into the dustpan and practically runs into the backroom.
Carl nods, feeling like an ass as he returns to the bar. He should have been calm, said something more supportive, instead of making his favorite waitress run off with her tail between her legs.
Legs...God, Wendy has really beautiful legs and I bet they look great wrapped around... Shit, Carl, snap out of it.
He returns his focus to the bar and the line of customers waiting for their libations. There are just some things a bartender shouldn't be allowed to think about.
**
When Wendy walks into the bar the next night, she knows there are two things that she has to do.
The first is to put in the drink order. If Carl found out that she'd forgotten to do it, he'd question her, and then she'd be forced to admit that her mind had been completely taken over by her baser instincts and she'd spent most of her shift imagining him pressing her up against the bar and sliding a hand up her thigh and... anyway. Order the kegs, she reminds herself.
The second thing was to make contact with Carl. Real contact. Not just sweeping by him in the kitchen, not just bumping hips as they worked behind the bar. It was going to take all her nerve (and it had taken several pep talks in her mirror at home to even convince herself to think about going for it), but she’s determined to let Carl know she’s open to... well, taking their relationship to the next level.
Anything beyond helping each other with the drink orders would do.
She ties on her apron and goes behind the bar, where Carl is drying glasses. "Hi Carl," she says with a bright smile, flipping her hair (and hoping she did it right). "Ready for the rush?"
"You better believe it, kiddo."
Kiddo...
He'd rather call her baby...gorgeous...sexy as he trails kisses up and down the slender column of her throat. He'd rather hear her moan and whimper as the hardness of his erection presses against her soft pubic mound.
But...she's Wendy. Wendy the waitress. Not Wendy the sexual dynamo. And she's been apart of the MacLaren's family since it opened so there's probably some rule against it (besides the obvious potential for sexual harassment lawsuits.)
"You get the drink order in?"
Wendy blushes. How did he see right through her and know she hadn't done it yet? "Of course, silly!" she lies. "I did it the other day."
The way he smiles at her, half sweetness, half spice... the warmth of it pooled in her. "Um, Carl, I..." She reaches for an order tablet and a pen and knocks over a wine bottle in the process. Jumping, she hurries to catch it, just as he did. The heat of his palm over hers as they right the bottle together was enough to make her shiver. "Carl, I... need to talk to you. In the back room." She gulps. "Now."
This is it. She has to say something-- do something. Maybe just something to diffuse the tension for a bit so she can get through the shift.
When they’re staring at each other in the back room, everything flies straight out of her head again. His chocolate-brown eyes pinned on her... the way his tongue barely licks his upper lip as he waits for her to speak...
"I... I'm have a work problem," she spits out finally. "Trouble concentrating."
Carl chuckles softly at her admission. It seems like such an understatement considering these last few days. But as much as he wouldn't mind teasing her for her klutziness, he opts to take the more gentle and directive approach. "And what do we need to do about it?"
He sees her teeth scrape over the top of her bottom lip and his brain instantly draws up an image of her down on her knees back here, wrapping those pretty pink lips around his...
Christ.
Maybe he needs to come up with a plan to get through the rest of the shift too.
Wendy knows what she needs to do about it. She needs to rip his shirt off and wrap her legs around his waist. She needs him to bury himself inside her and give her some relief from the sexual frustration she's been feeling.
But she'd never have the guts to just jump on him; so instead, she takes a nervous step toward him and hooks her finger on his belt, tugging him softly toward her. "I think we both just need to spend a few minutes working off some... tension. And then we'll get back to work?" It comes out like a question. She clears her throat and looks up to see his reaction.
Damn... he looks good enough to eat.
Carl gulps, not expecting that her one tiny digit pressed against the leather of his belt would produce so much heat, would produce such a fire in his groin. Hot da-yum....he can't remember the last time he felt this alive.
"Wendy..."
He could tell her about the risks, about the consequences. But why the hell would he want too?
Instead, he lets his brain switch off, lets his body do the talking, lets his lips capture hers possessively. She tastes so damn good.
Wendy nearly gasps into his mouth. He's so warm... his mouth, his lips, full of heat, consuming her. She wraps her arms around his shoulders and pushes her pelvis into his, giving way to the desire. It's not long before she can feel his arousal pressing back against her. "Carl... I know we shouldn't be..." she moans, wrapping a leg around his waist.
Damn what they should or shouldn't be doing. Doug can man the bar while she and Carl conduct their own business.
He scoots forward, pressing her tighter against the wall, keeping one hand on her beautifully curvaceous rump to keep her from falling. It's a game of precarious balance, but it's one he's had some practice in.
All in all, she's making this easy, making this so he can crawl inside her and bury himself in the roaring passion deep within her core.
Fuck... there are far too many clothes for his comfort.
Having Carl pressed tight up against her, so she can feel every hard inch of him, is the most erotic thing she thinks she's ever experienced. He sucks her bottom lip and a flame coils inside her. She thinks she might pass out.
Instead, she pulls her skirt up and lets him wedge his hips between her thighs, so there's only a thin strip of fabric separating her from him. She moans and pushes back against his denim-clad pelvis. "More..." she whispers.
He wedges his fingers between them, sliding under the lifted hem of her skirt to brush his knuckles against the wet heat that's soaking through her panties. Her hips rock against his touch and he feels her moaning hum against his lips.
Heaven help him, he wants to give her everything...and more.
"Carl, please," she gasps. Her fingers move to his belt, jerking at it clumsily till it falls away and opening his fly. He does something nimble, cool and sexy and confident, the way he always is, and then he's pushing her panties aside and burying himself inside her.
She gasps, nearly crying out. The buzz of the bar is loud, but it wouldn't take much to have someone coming back here to investigate.
It doesn't matter, though. Thoughts of the bar are pushed from her mind when he thrusts into her and her back hits the wall. "Oh god, oh god..." She pulls his head down and kisses him.
Carl braces his palms against the brick, breathing hard as her body wraps around him like a vine, as her insides burn a fire through his skin. He always prided himself on bringing the Latino heat to the bedroom, but sweet Jesus if Wendy doesn't do a better job.
"Ride with me, Blanca..." he whispers, using the nickname he reserves for the sirens he loves, the seductresses who drive him mad. "Ride with me over the edge."
He wants to drag her down with him, drag her over the edge of this cliff, the edge of this obliterating ecstasy.
Fuck the bar...
This is it-- what she's been missing with those other guys she's been out with, what she missed from each hookup that turned out to be meaningless-- the heat, the connection she feels just from the quiet growl in his voice and his breath on her cheek.
Not to mention the ripple of sparks that he causes as he slams into her. Her fingers curl at the back of his neck and she cries out, over and over.
She's wanted this, she realizes. This, this, this.
Him.
She climaxes so hard that she has to bite down on her lip to keep the scream in. "Carl..."
Just the sound of her voice whispering his name as if it were the sweetest sin she could confess is enough to make his balls ache and his cock twitch erratically. His eyes nearly roll back in his skull as his body's natural reaction to climax takes over.
"Wendy..."
He's never felt a connection with a woman like this before and in the aftermath of the erotic glow, it feels so. damn. meaningful.
Their noses brush together. Their breath mingles. Wendy can't remember a time she felt every physical feeling so intensely. Or maybe it isn't just physical, maybe it's Carl, the way he makes her feel when he kisses the side of her mouth and they both attempt to catch their breath.
Then she blinks and remembers where they are. Realizes he's got her pressed up against the wall and becomes dimly aware of the dull roar coming from the bar.
But she hangs on to his neck, afraid he'll let go.
Carl wishes he could block the noise of the bar, stuff his ears with cotton so he can keep focusing every molecule on Wendy. But it's getting to be peak time...the time of the night when MacLaren's is swamped with customers desperate to numb the pain of their work day.
"Babe...I don't wanna let you go. But I don't want Doug to squish us either. Say we pick this back up a little later?"
He winks, flirting, hoping it's enough...
She can hardly breathe, much less think, to respond. He slowly detaches himself and as she slides down, finding the ground with shaky feet, she stutters. "I-- yes. What? Yes, I..." She touches her forehead. Every part of her is tingling with satisfaction and it's all because of /Carl/--
Wendy looks up at him, and damn if he isn't the sexiest thing she's ever seen, looking back at her with an intent smile, and her cheeks flame. In fact, her whole body feels like it's flushing. "Carl, I-- I gotta go. I'm fine, just--" It's disbelief. Or perhaps terror, because what comes next? This is Carl, /her/ Carl, and what happens now? "I just need to go home." Straightening her skirt, she reaches around him for the purse she left hanging on a hook, and stumbles out of the bar.
Standing outside the bar, ring of keys in hand, Carl looks up at the painted sign that bore his namesake. The green paint is chipping a bit, and the lettering looks worn from the weather, but not enough to make it look like a dive bar.
MacLaren's.
This pub has been his home as long as he could remember and now, every square foot of it reminds him of Wendy. Wendy's eyes. Wendy's lips. Wendy's soft, wet...tongue darting in and out of his mouth.
Wendy running away...Wendy scared of what of what they did.
Will she even look him in the eye today?
What have they done?
**
Wendy doesn't notice it at first-- the way some of the kegs seem to not want to work right. She's too busy freaking out internally over the fact that she and Carl are scheduled to work together again tonight, and she hasn't spoken to him since--
Well.
She has one tactic: pretend it didn't happen. Inside, of course, she's been thinking about it nonstop-- the way he lifted her so easily, the way he sent sparks shooting through her entire body like no pleasure she'd ever felt... the way his voice sounded so soft afterward.
But when Carl comes through the door, she puts on a smile, hands off a vodka-and-tonic to a customer, and calls out, "Hey, Carl!"
Play it cool, Wendy, she thinks as she fiddles with the stubborn keg handle. Why won't this thing work right?
"Hey Wendy," he says, offering her a shrug and a tired smile. One up shot to this is they're at least on speaking terms. As he slides behind the bar, he notices that she's having difficulty operating the keg handle and so he moves in closer, closing the distance between them.
"Sometimes, they get a little tricky," Carl offers, reaching over to jiggle the handle. "If you just move it this way..." Much like Wendy, the tap offers him nothing. "Or maybe wiggle it a little..."
Again, nothing.
Then suddenly it dawns on him.
"You got the drink order in yesterday..."
She's instantly defensive. "Of course I did! I'm not so flustered over-- you-- us-- what hap-- of course I did!"
She wiggles the tap again a little, and coughs. So maybe she had been distracted by Carl. And Carl's kisses. And Carl's--
"I mean... I think... I did..."
A few customers seated at the bar, waiting for their drinks, start narrowing their eyebrows and murmuring.
"You think...you..."
God, he doesn't want to yell, doesn't want to scream. Not when she's looking at him with those frustrated eyes and perfect lips. Not when he can still remember the fever she stirred in his cock as they made love in the break room.
"Wendy...I'm your boss...and I..."
He's at a loss for words. He doesn't know how to handle her actions right now.
"Just...push the vodka and rum drinks. Make it a special for the night. I don't care."
Without another word, he walks away, disappearing into the kitchen. It's all he can do to keep his cool.
Flushing with humiliation, Wendy makes a series of drinks for the men at the bar, insisting that they'll love vodka and tonic or a glass of wine... it's not a great plan, especially since some of them came to watch the game, but when they notice the tears at the corners of her eyes, their grumbles stop and they take the drinks.
She knows she should go apologize to Carl, but her embarrassment turns to irrational anger. She keeps working for ten minutes, fifteen, twenty. Carl still hasn't returned, so she forces herself to the backroom. There's a light from his office around the corner.
"Carl... I thought I did... sort of. I kept reminding myself, but then..."
He's doing his best to focus on the paperwork in front of him instead of looking at Wendy.
It's not that he doesn't want to. God, he wants to look, and touch, and feel, and make her scream his name again. But he can't do that right now...not when they have to cover their tracks. Not when they have to get in an immediate keg order.
"Are they staying?"
She wishes he would turn around. "Yes," she says meekly. "Carl..." When he doesn't turn around, she sighs. "I'm sorry. What do you want me to do?"
Resting his chin on top of his hands, Carl focuses on a point on his desk. There's a stain there. Coffee, probably. He feels like maybe he should clean it, but he doesn't move, even if the Lysol wipes are within reach.
"I don't know, Wendy. I guess...it's just one night. If we keep 'em blind, maybe it won't be so bad."
"It won't," she says immediately. "I can push the mixed drinks. I'll just-- flirt with them, or something. And for the girls, I'll just... get Robin to threaten them?" She takes another step toward him. "Hey... I was just... distracted. By you. Not that I'm blaming you. You know?"
He knows exactly what she means about distractions. She's certainly been skirting around the edges of his mind all day and her snug waitress outfit isn't helping matters any right now.
"You're a peach, Wendy. I know I can count on you."
He feels almost clinical when he says it, playing a poker face to hide the emotions raging inside of him. He wants to kiss her, wants to touch her, wants to do everything they did last night and more. But he can't...
He can count on her. The words ring in her ears as she goes back to the bar, tries to distract the customers, and pushes the mixed drinks. She's still thinking about them when they've pushed the last of the customers out the door and she's quietly mopping up under the booths. All in all, it wasn't too terrible.
Except that those words are *still* echoing in her mind... he can count on her. When he's drying the glasses behind the bar and she puts away the mop, she sighs, turning to him. "I know you think you can count on me," Wendy says. "And I'm sorry I let you down tonight. I swear, from now on, you *can* count on me. No matter what." She nods for emphasis. Sure, the soft way he's looking at her makes her knees weak, but she's not going to let a little... well... big crush... get in the way of her reputation as a good employee.
"Sounds good," Carl murmurs, picking up a wet glass from the counter and wrapping it in the towel. His nose twitches from the smell of bleach in the air and his eyes focus on the way she grips the thick, wooden handle of the mop. A barely audible groan leaves his lips as he imagines her hands stroking it, stroking him. As he gets lost in the hedonistic fantasy of Wendy sucking him off, he's grateful for the bar counter, thankful that it hides his partial erection from her prying eyes. Despite what they've already done together, he would hate to have her think he's a pervert.
When Wendy finishes mopping, she takes the mop to the backroom. She can still feel herself occasionally blushing when she thinks of her ridiculous mistake, but she forces herself to walk out to the bar counter and face Carl again before she leaves for the night.
It almost feels like she startles him when he turns to face her. Is he... nervous? Being around her? She definitely is around him, and it isn't just her mistake making her feel that way. "Carl..." She isn't sure how to finish. She licks her lips, and the image of him thrusting into her jumps into her head. "Damn. I mean... do you... I mean."
She finds herself inching closer to him, till he's leaning back against the bar and she's nearly touching him... god, she wants to touch him. Before she can stop it, her hand reaches out and brushes over the crotch of his pants. "I want to... make it up to you. Somehow." She's blushing, AGAIN, damn it, but now it's because she's not usually so forward. She goes with it, unzipping his fly. "Any... suggestions?"
His breath hitches and he tries to hide it with a cough. She's in his space, she's in his head, she's in his...pants.
"Wendy...you have...."
Her fingers dip inside the elastic band of his boxer shorts and a groan drops from his lips as his dick twitches with enthusiasm.
"Nothing..."
Her hand encircles him, pushing down fabric as she frees his cock from its confines. He shudders when her nails lightly brush over the crown.
"To..."
She begins stroking him, tentatively at first, not saying a word as he stammers to find the words he wants to say her.
"Apologize..."
He moans, his eyes rolling back in his skull as she increases the speed, as one sneaky hand reaches for the base and caresses his balls.
"For..."
Rational thought leaves Wendy's head. She just wants to make him make that sound again. Like she's giving him everything. Moving purely on instinct, she kneels and takes him into her mouth, her eyes fluttering shut as he groans. Her tongue swirls on him and she keeps caressing his balls, taking her sweet time, building the pressure slowly.
It's almost funny for a moment, giving him head, like she's just the naughty waitress doing him a favor so he'll forget about her little mistake.
Then his fingers are in her hair and it's not so funny; she just wants to make him feel good. Really good.
"Jesus Fucking Christ..." Carl curses, eyes rolling back in his skull as her wicked tongue flicks over his sensitive spots. It's all too much, she's too much. Too damn much... But fuck, he doesn't want this stop.
Feeling his balls draw up, he grunts, knowing he's got a half-second decision to decide whether to climax inside her mouth or bury himself inside her velvet sheath one more time.
Decisions, Decisions...
It's tempting to pull her mouth away and find out whether the awesomeness of their first time together was just a fluke, or if it'll be just as amazing again.
But then, the thought of just taking control and blowing Carl's mind on her own trumps everything. She reaches up and curls her fingers through his belt loops, tugging his pants an inch lower and taking his cock farther into her mouth. His groans grow louder and as she feels him grow bigger, harder in her mouth, she lets out a moan and gives it her all.
She's got to make up for her mistakes somehow, after all.
She doesn't give him the half-second to decide. All it takes it the constricting pressure of her throat around him to make him explode, to make him see fireworks, to make him see heaven.
She's his heaven. She's an angel with a dirty mind and a sinful tongue. And he doesn't want to come back down to Earth.
"Wendy..." He moans her name, praising her like the goddess she is.
There's something about the way her name sounds on his lips... breathless. It makes something lurch deep inside her. She almost... almost feels dizzy as he sinks his fingers in her hair and very slightly pulls up.
She shyly brushes her fingers over her mouth and raises her eyes to him, standing. "So... how... how was that? I mean. In regards to my performance. Job... performance."
The mistakes, the paperwork, the lack of beer...
None of that matters right now. Not with the way she's looking at him, the way she's speaking to him.
Her coyness and the way she unconsciously licks her lips, not in a lewd or pornographic way, but in a sweet and subtle way sends an extra shudder down his spine. "You were brilliant."
She lets out a half-laugh, half-sigh, almost in relief. She bites her lip and fidgets for a moment, linking her fingers, then sliding them into her apron pockets, then crossing her arms.
Wendy's always been a little awkward, but nothing compares to the sudden realization that you're in love with your boss.
She takes a small step forward, narrowing the gap between them. Her eyes meet his for a moment before she trains them on the floor and clears her throat. "Carl? Maybe it's too late for this, but I don't want to jeopardize..." She trails off. Her hand has a mind of its own, reaching forward and stroking down the hard line of his abs. God, he's distracting.
His abs tighten under her touch, letting her feel the hard and well-defined muscles. The muscles he hopes carry the strength and stability that he wants to offer her. His own fingers move to caress her cheek, memorizing the beautiful curve of her cheekbone and taking in the softness of her eyes.
"I love you."
He knows where the words come from, he knows how comfortable they feel leaving his lips, and he wants to say them over and over again for their rest of their lives.
"I love you."
Her hand freezes for a moment at the words.
He loves her.
She flattens her palm and slides it up, over his heart, till she can feel it beating. She's smiling, she realizes. She wants to laugh. "I love you," she breathes, and then her arms are wrapped around his neck and strong shoulders and she's never seen anything as wonderful as his face smiling back at her. "Me and you," she whispers against his mouth. "We could do some real damage to this place."
He chuckles, low and sultry, sliding his arms around her waist and brushing his lips against hers, a sign of his commitment to this, no matter how crazy making it might be in the long-run.
"They'll never know what hit them."
Author:
snogged and secondmezzanineDisclaimer: We do not own HIMYM or these characters! Please don't sue us.
Pairing: Carl/Wendy
Word Count: 4900
Rating: FRAO/NC-17
Spoilers: None.
Summary: Wendy lets a certain bartender distract her from work…
Many thanks to my lovely Wendy/Carl Co-Author,
secondmezzanine! *squishes you*It’s quiet in the bar when Wendy’s shift starts. She likes Tuesday nights; they’re slow, so until the evening rush begins, it’s just her and Carl in the bar. They banter and laugh, calling out requests for drinks to each other as she makes her way around the floor taking orders and he whips up drinks quick and easy for each customer.
And everything’s going along exactly like that, just as Tuesday nights should, when Wendy walks into the back room to find Carl shirtless.
He’s facing away from her, quickly changing his shirt as he does sometimes if he spills something, but this is the first time Wendy’s really… observed it. The way his muscles ripple across his back. How his skin is dark and smooth, like caramel. She realizes she’s standing there staring when she drops her pen and he turns to see her, flashing her a grin, his shirt still in hand.
“S—sorry,” she coughs, leaning down to pick up the pen.
Carl chuckles, his dark eyes twinkling with amusement at the deer-in-the-headlights, innocent look that Wendy wears so well. It’s a rare woman in New York that stutters at the sight of a bare-chested man and he can’t help but find it a little adorable.
He coughs, shaking his head. Thinking about Wendy like that is not a good way to start his day. She’s his waitress. He’s her boss. Any other girl and he’d probably milk the reaction until her cheeks were red. But this is Wendy. Wendy. His waitress. “No problem.”
He pulls the shirt over his head, the fabric molding quickly to his skin. “Don’t forget to get in that drink order, kiddo. The boys and girls will set the place aflame if they don’t get their beer. And you don’t want to be the one to cause that kinda fire.”
Wendy clears her throat. It's Carl who's causing the fire right now, one that's creeping its way straight down through her. "Of course," she replies, blinking. "I'll get right on it." She turns away from him, trying to remember what she came back here for in the first place. Trying to remember what it was he just told her not to forget. Something about...
His arm brushes against her as he passes and the fleeting thought is gone. "Get it together, Wendy," she murmurs to herself, grabbing a clean dish towel and following him out to the bar. Her eyes hover on the way his T-shirt hugs his torso, and they follow the material down to his waist, straight down to the way his jeans hug against his...
"Wendy?"
Her head shoots up. "Hmm?" It's a customer, holding up an empty beer mug. "Oh, right, of course," she laughs, and gets back to work. She hardly notices how low supplies are running. She's too busy chastising herself for even going there-- thinking that Carl is hot, wondering what it would be like to have him touch her in places that--
The shot glass she'd been holding shatters on the floor.
Carl looks up from the bar, his shoulders tensing as glass shards scatter across the floor. He knows she didn't mean it. Accidents happen and all that. But then he remembers what happened down the street at Pallo's when a waitress dropped a water glass and a fancy pants CEO, not paying attention, stepped on the broken pieces and immediately turned around and sued the restaurant for half a million dollars.
He grabs the broom off the wall and heads over to where Wendy's standing. He pushes the handle into her hands and tries to ignore the tingle he gets in his own fingers when their skin brushes against each other.
"Clean it up quick, kiddo."
Her cheeks burn and she turns her face from him, sweeping up the broken shards quickly. Usually her shifts with Carl go off without a hitch, everything fun and easy. If only he wouldn't do things like... smile at her. And take his shirt off in the back room.
"I'm sorry," she mumbles. "I'm kind of having a... personal problem."
She sweeps the last of the glass into the dustpan and practically runs into the backroom.
Carl nods, feeling like an ass as he returns to the bar. He should have been calm, said something more supportive, instead of making his favorite waitress run off with her tail between her legs.
Legs...God, Wendy has really beautiful legs and I bet they look great wrapped around... Shit, Carl, snap out of it.
He returns his focus to the bar and the line of customers waiting for their libations. There are just some things a bartender shouldn't be allowed to think about.
**
When Wendy walks into the bar the next night, she knows there are two things that she has to do.
The first is to put in the drink order. If Carl found out that she'd forgotten to do it, he'd question her, and then she'd be forced to admit that her mind had been completely taken over by her baser instincts and she'd spent most of her shift imagining him pressing her up against the bar and sliding a hand up her thigh and... anyway. Order the kegs, she reminds herself.
The second thing was to make contact with Carl. Real contact. Not just sweeping by him in the kitchen, not just bumping hips as they worked behind the bar. It was going to take all her nerve (and it had taken several pep talks in her mirror at home to even convince herself to think about going for it), but she’s determined to let Carl know she’s open to... well, taking their relationship to the next level.
Anything beyond helping each other with the drink orders would do.
She ties on her apron and goes behind the bar, where Carl is drying glasses. "Hi Carl," she says with a bright smile, flipping her hair (and hoping she did it right). "Ready for the rush?"
"You better believe it, kiddo."
Kiddo...
He'd rather call her baby...gorgeous...sexy as he trails kisses up and down the slender column of her throat. He'd rather hear her moan and whimper as the hardness of his erection presses against her soft pubic mound.
But...she's Wendy. Wendy the waitress. Not Wendy the sexual dynamo. And she's been apart of the MacLaren's family since it opened so there's probably some rule against it (besides the obvious potential for sexual harassment lawsuits.)
"You get the drink order in?"
Wendy blushes. How did he see right through her and know she hadn't done it yet? "Of course, silly!" she lies. "I did it the other day."
The way he smiles at her, half sweetness, half spice... the warmth of it pooled in her. "Um, Carl, I..." She reaches for an order tablet and a pen and knocks over a wine bottle in the process. Jumping, she hurries to catch it, just as he did. The heat of his palm over hers as they right the bottle together was enough to make her shiver. "Carl, I... need to talk to you. In the back room." She gulps. "Now."
This is it. She has to say something-- do something. Maybe just something to diffuse the tension for a bit so she can get through the shift.
When they’re staring at each other in the back room, everything flies straight out of her head again. His chocolate-brown eyes pinned on her... the way his tongue barely licks his upper lip as he waits for her to speak...
"I... I'm have a work problem," she spits out finally. "Trouble concentrating."
Carl chuckles softly at her admission. It seems like such an understatement considering these last few days. But as much as he wouldn't mind teasing her for her klutziness, he opts to take the more gentle and directive approach. "And what do we need to do about it?"
He sees her teeth scrape over the top of her bottom lip and his brain instantly draws up an image of her down on her knees back here, wrapping those pretty pink lips around his...
Christ.
Maybe he needs to come up with a plan to get through the rest of the shift too.
Wendy knows what she needs to do about it. She needs to rip his shirt off and wrap her legs around his waist. She needs him to bury himself inside her and give her some relief from the sexual frustration she's been feeling.
But she'd never have the guts to just jump on him; so instead, she takes a nervous step toward him and hooks her finger on his belt, tugging him softly toward her. "I think we both just need to spend a few minutes working off some... tension. And then we'll get back to work?" It comes out like a question. She clears her throat and looks up to see his reaction.
Damn... he looks good enough to eat.
Carl gulps, not expecting that her one tiny digit pressed against the leather of his belt would produce so much heat, would produce such a fire in his groin. Hot da-yum....he can't remember the last time he felt this alive.
"Wendy..."
He could tell her about the risks, about the consequences. But why the hell would he want too?
Instead, he lets his brain switch off, lets his body do the talking, lets his lips capture hers possessively. She tastes so damn good.
Wendy nearly gasps into his mouth. He's so warm... his mouth, his lips, full of heat, consuming her. She wraps her arms around his shoulders and pushes her pelvis into his, giving way to the desire. It's not long before she can feel his arousal pressing back against her. "Carl... I know we shouldn't be..." she moans, wrapping a leg around his waist.
Damn what they should or shouldn't be doing. Doug can man the bar while she and Carl conduct their own business.
He scoots forward, pressing her tighter against the wall, keeping one hand on her beautifully curvaceous rump to keep her from falling. It's a game of precarious balance, but it's one he's had some practice in.
All in all, she's making this easy, making this so he can crawl inside her and bury himself in the roaring passion deep within her core.
Fuck... there are far too many clothes for his comfort.
Having Carl pressed tight up against her, so she can feel every hard inch of him, is the most erotic thing she thinks she's ever experienced. He sucks her bottom lip and a flame coils inside her. She thinks she might pass out.
Instead, she pulls her skirt up and lets him wedge his hips between her thighs, so there's only a thin strip of fabric separating her from him. She moans and pushes back against his denim-clad pelvis. "More..." she whispers.
He wedges his fingers between them, sliding under the lifted hem of her skirt to brush his knuckles against the wet heat that's soaking through her panties. Her hips rock against his touch and he feels her moaning hum against his lips.
Heaven help him, he wants to give her everything...and more.
"Carl, please," she gasps. Her fingers move to his belt, jerking at it clumsily till it falls away and opening his fly. He does something nimble, cool and sexy and confident, the way he always is, and then he's pushing her panties aside and burying himself inside her.
She gasps, nearly crying out. The buzz of the bar is loud, but it wouldn't take much to have someone coming back here to investigate.
It doesn't matter, though. Thoughts of the bar are pushed from her mind when he thrusts into her and her back hits the wall. "Oh god, oh god..." She pulls his head down and kisses him.
Carl braces his palms against the brick, breathing hard as her body wraps around him like a vine, as her insides burn a fire through his skin. He always prided himself on bringing the Latino heat to the bedroom, but sweet Jesus if Wendy doesn't do a better job.
"Ride with me, Blanca..." he whispers, using the nickname he reserves for the sirens he loves, the seductresses who drive him mad. "Ride with me over the edge."
He wants to drag her down with him, drag her over the edge of this cliff, the edge of this obliterating ecstasy.
Fuck the bar...
This is it-- what she's been missing with those other guys she's been out with, what she missed from each hookup that turned out to be meaningless-- the heat, the connection she feels just from the quiet growl in his voice and his breath on her cheek.
Not to mention the ripple of sparks that he causes as he slams into her. Her fingers curl at the back of his neck and she cries out, over and over.
She's wanted this, she realizes. This, this, this.
Him.
She climaxes so hard that she has to bite down on her lip to keep the scream in. "Carl..."
Just the sound of her voice whispering his name as if it were the sweetest sin she could confess is enough to make his balls ache and his cock twitch erratically. His eyes nearly roll back in his skull as his body's natural reaction to climax takes over.
"Wendy..."
He's never felt a connection with a woman like this before and in the aftermath of the erotic glow, it feels so. damn. meaningful.
Their noses brush together. Their breath mingles. Wendy can't remember a time she felt every physical feeling so intensely. Or maybe it isn't just physical, maybe it's Carl, the way he makes her feel when he kisses the side of her mouth and they both attempt to catch their breath.
Then she blinks and remembers where they are. Realizes he's got her pressed up against the wall and becomes dimly aware of the dull roar coming from the bar.
But she hangs on to his neck, afraid he'll let go.
Carl wishes he could block the noise of the bar, stuff his ears with cotton so he can keep focusing every molecule on Wendy. But it's getting to be peak time...the time of the night when MacLaren's is swamped with customers desperate to numb the pain of their work day.
"Babe...I don't wanna let you go. But I don't want Doug to squish us either. Say we pick this back up a little later?"
He winks, flirting, hoping it's enough...
She can hardly breathe, much less think, to respond. He slowly detaches himself and as she slides down, finding the ground with shaky feet, she stutters. "I-- yes. What? Yes, I..." She touches her forehead. Every part of her is tingling with satisfaction and it's all because of /Carl/--
Wendy looks up at him, and damn if he isn't the sexiest thing she's ever seen, looking back at her with an intent smile, and her cheeks flame. In fact, her whole body feels like it's flushing. "Carl, I-- I gotta go. I'm fine, just--" It's disbelief. Or perhaps terror, because what comes next? This is Carl, /her/ Carl, and what happens now? "I just need to go home." Straightening her skirt, she reaches around him for the purse she left hanging on a hook, and stumbles out of the bar.
Standing outside the bar, ring of keys in hand, Carl looks up at the painted sign that bore his namesake. The green paint is chipping a bit, and the lettering looks worn from the weather, but not enough to make it look like a dive bar.
MacLaren's.
This pub has been his home as long as he could remember and now, every square foot of it reminds him of Wendy. Wendy's eyes. Wendy's lips. Wendy's soft, wet...tongue darting in and out of his mouth.
Wendy running away...Wendy scared of what of what they did.
Will she even look him in the eye today?
What have they done?
**
Wendy doesn't notice it at first-- the way some of the kegs seem to not want to work right. She's too busy freaking out internally over the fact that she and Carl are scheduled to work together again tonight, and she hasn't spoken to him since--
Well.
She has one tactic: pretend it didn't happen. Inside, of course, she's been thinking about it nonstop-- the way he lifted her so easily, the way he sent sparks shooting through her entire body like no pleasure she'd ever felt... the way his voice sounded so soft afterward.
But when Carl comes through the door, she puts on a smile, hands off a vodka-and-tonic to a customer, and calls out, "Hey, Carl!"
Play it cool, Wendy, she thinks as she fiddles with the stubborn keg handle. Why won't this thing work right?
"Hey Wendy," he says, offering her a shrug and a tired smile. One up shot to this is they're at least on speaking terms. As he slides behind the bar, he notices that she's having difficulty operating the keg handle and so he moves in closer, closing the distance between them.
"Sometimes, they get a little tricky," Carl offers, reaching over to jiggle the handle. "If you just move it this way..." Much like Wendy, the tap offers him nothing. "Or maybe wiggle it a little..."
Again, nothing.
Then suddenly it dawns on him.
"You got the drink order in yesterday..."
She's instantly defensive. "Of course I did! I'm not so flustered over-- you-- us-- what hap-- of course I did!"
She wiggles the tap again a little, and coughs. So maybe she had been distracted by Carl. And Carl's kisses. And Carl's--
"I mean... I think... I did..."
A few customers seated at the bar, waiting for their drinks, start narrowing their eyebrows and murmuring.
"You think...you..."
God, he doesn't want to yell, doesn't want to scream. Not when she's looking at him with those frustrated eyes and perfect lips. Not when he can still remember the fever she stirred in his cock as they made love in the break room.
"Wendy...I'm your boss...and I..."
He's at a loss for words. He doesn't know how to handle her actions right now.
"Just...push the vodka and rum drinks. Make it a special for the night. I don't care."
Without another word, he walks away, disappearing into the kitchen. It's all he can do to keep his cool.
Flushing with humiliation, Wendy makes a series of drinks for the men at the bar, insisting that they'll love vodka and tonic or a glass of wine... it's not a great plan, especially since some of them came to watch the game, but when they notice the tears at the corners of her eyes, their grumbles stop and they take the drinks.
She knows she should go apologize to Carl, but her embarrassment turns to irrational anger. She keeps working for ten minutes, fifteen, twenty. Carl still hasn't returned, so she forces herself to the backroom. There's a light from his office around the corner.
"Carl... I thought I did... sort of. I kept reminding myself, but then..."
He's doing his best to focus on the paperwork in front of him instead of looking at Wendy.
It's not that he doesn't want to. God, he wants to look, and touch, and feel, and make her scream his name again. But he can't do that right now...not when they have to cover their tracks. Not when they have to get in an immediate keg order.
"Are they staying?"
She wishes he would turn around. "Yes," she says meekly. "Carl..." When he doesn't turn around, she sighs. "I'm sorry. What do you want me to do?"
Resting his chin on top of his hands, Carl focuses on a point on his desk. There's a stain there. Coffee, probably. He feels like maybe he should clean it, but he doesn't move, even if the Lysol wipes are within reach.
"I don't know, Wendy. I guess...it's just one night. If we keep 'em blind, maybe it won't be so bad."
"It won't," she says immediately. "I can push the mixed drinks. I'll just-- flirt with them, or something. And for the girls, I'll just... get Robin to threaten them?" She takes another step toward him. "Hey... I was just... distracted. By you. Not that I'm blaming you. You know?"
He knows exactly what she means about distractions. She's certainly been skirting around the edges of his mind all day and her snug waitress outfit isn't helping matters any right now.
"You're a peach, Wendy. I know I can count on you."
He feels almost clinical when he says it, playing a poker face to hide the emotions raging inside of him. He wants to kiss her, wants to touch her, wants to do everything they did last night and more. But he can't...
He can count on her. The words ring in her ears as she goes back to the bar, tries to distract the customers, and pushes the mixed drinks. She's still thinking about them when they've pushed the last of the customers out the door and she's quietly mopping up under the booths. All in all, it wasn't too terrible.
Except that those words are *still* echoing in her mind... he can count on her. When he's drying the glasses behind the bar and she puts away the mop, she sighs, turning to him. "I know you think you can count on me," Wendy says. "And I'm sorry I let you down tonight. I swear, from now on, you *can* count on me. No matter what." She nods for emphasis. Sure, the soft way he's looking at her makes her knees weak, but she's not going to let a little... well... big crush... get in the way of her reputation as a good employee.
"Sounds good," Carl murmurs, picking up a wet glass from the counter and wrapping it in the towel. His nose twitches from the smell of bleach in the air and his eyes focus on the way she grips the thick, wooden handle of the mop. A barely audible groan leaves his lips as he imagines her hands stroking it, stroking him. As he gets lost in the hedonistic fantasy of Wendy sucking him off, he's grateful for the bar counter, thankful that it hides his partial erection from her prying eyes. Despite what they've already done together, he would hate to have her think he's a pervert.
When Wendy finishes mopping, she takes the mop to the backroom. She can still feel herself occasionally blushing when she thinks of her ridiculous mistake, but she forces herself to walk out to the bar counter and face Carl again before she leaves for the night.
It almost feels like she startles him when he turns to face her. Is he... nervous? Being around her? She definitely is around him, and it isn't just her mistake making her feel that way. "Carl..." She isn't sure how to finish. She licks her lips, and the image of him thrusting into her jumps into her head. "Damn. I mean... do you... I mean."
She finds herself inching closer to him, till he's leaning back against the bar and she's nearly touching him... god, she wants to touch him. Before she can stop it, her hand reaches out and brushes over the crotch of his pants. "I want to... make it up to you. Somehow." She's blushing, AGAIN, damn it, but now it's because she's not usually so forward. She goes with it, unzipping his fly. "Any... suggestions?"
His breath hitches and he tries to hide it with a cough. She's in his space, she's in his head, she's in his...pants.
"Wendy...you have...."
Her fingers dip inside the elastic band of his boxer shorts and a groan drops from his lips as his dick twitches with enthusiasm.
"Nothing..."
Her hand encircles him, pushing down fabric as she frees his cock from its confines. He shudders when her nails lightly brush over the crown.
"To..."
She begins stroking him, tentatively at first, not saying a word as he stammers to find the words he wants to say her.
"Apologize..."
He moans, his eyes rolling back in his skull as she increases the speed, as one sneaky hand reaches for the base and caresses his balls.
"For..."
Rational thought leaves Wendy's head. She just wants to make him make that sound again. Like she's giving him everything. Moving purely on instinct, she kneels and takes him into her mouth, her eyes fluttering shut as he groans. Her tongue swirls on him and she keeps caressing his balls, taking her sweet time, building the pressure slowly.
It's almost funny for a moment, giving him head, like she's just the naughty waitress doing him a favor so he'll forget about her little mistake.
Then his fingers are in her hair and it's not so funny; she just wants to make him feel good. Really good.
"Jesus Fucking Christ..." Carl curses, eyes rolling back in his skull as her wicked tongue flicks over his sensitive spots. It's all too much, she's too much. Too damn much... But fuck, he doesn't want this stop.
Feeling his balls draw up, he grunts, knowing he's got a half-second decision to decide whether to climax inside her mouth or bury himself inside her velvet sheath one more time.
Decisions, Decisions...
It's tempting to pull her mouth away and find out whether the awesomeness of their first time together was just a fluke, or if it'll be just as amazing again.
But then, the thought of just taking control and blowing Carl's mind on her own trumps everything. She reaches up and curls her fingers through his belt loops, tugging his pants an inch lower and taking his cock farther into her mouth. His groans grow louder and as she feels him grow bigger, harder in her mouth, she lets out a moan and gives it her all.
She's got to make up for her mistakes somehow, after all.
She doesn't give him the half-second to decide. All it takes it the constricting pressure of her throat around him to make him explode, to make him see fireworks, to make him see heaven.
She's his heaven. She's an angel with a dirty mind and a sinful tongue. And he doesn't want to come back down to Earth.
"Wendy..." He moans her name, praising her like the goddess she is.
There's something about the way her name sounds on his lips... breathless. It makes something lurch deep inside her. She almost... almost feels dizzy as he sinks his fingers in her hair and very slightly pulls up.
She shyly brushes her fingers over her mouth and raises her eyes to him, standing. "So... how... how was that? I mean. In regards to my performance. Job... performance."
The mistakes, the paperwork, the lack of beer...
None of that matters right now. Not with the way she's looking at him, the way she's speaking to him.
Her coyness and the way she unconsciously licks her lips, not in a lewd or pornographic way, but in a sweet and subtle way sends an extra shudder down his spine. "You were brilliant."
She lets out a half-laugh, half-sigh, almost in relief. She bites her lip and fidgets for a moment, linking her fingers, then sliding them into her apron pockets, then crossing her arms.
Wendy's always been a little awkward, but nothing compares to the sudden realization that you're in love with your boss.
She takes a small step forward, narrowing the gap between them. Her eyes meet his for a moment before she trains them on the floor and clears her throat. "Carl? Maybe it's too late for this, but I don't want to jeopardize..." She trails off. Her hand has a mind of its own, reaching forward and stroking down the hard line of his abs. God, he's distracting.
His abs tighten under her touch, letting her feel the hard and well-defined muscles. The muscles he hopes carry the strength and stability that he wants to offer her. His own fingers move to caress her cheek, memorizing the beautiful curve of her cheekbone and taking in the softness of her eyes.
"I love you."
He knows where the words come from, he knows how comfortable they feel leaving his lips, and he wants to say them over and over again for their rest of their lives.
"I love you."
Her hand freezes for a moment at the words.
He loves her.
She flattens her palm and slides it up, over his heart, till she can feel it beating. She's smiling, she realizes. She wants to laugh. "I love you," she breathes, and then her arms are wrapped around his neck and strong shoulders and she's never seen anything as wonderful as his face smiling back at her. "Me and you," she whispers against his mouth. "We could do some real damage to this place."
He chuckles, low and sultry, sliding his arms around her waist and brushing his lips against hers, a sign of his commitment to this, no matter how crazy making it might be in the long-run.
"They'll never know what hit them."