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How he isn’t spitting up blood from screaming is beyond everyone. He’s on a fucking riptear–screaming at anyone and anything –and the furor can be heard from the dining room.
Hardly 60 days in and it’s already coming to this; Carmen’s becoming more like David Fields with each passing day. Except instead of whispered deep cuts and psychological torture, it’s a vehemence that instills fear in the other the chefs.
Richie takes his job as General Manager of The Bear seriously–some may say too seriously but that’s besides the point–and he can’t have Carmy fucking up the vibe of his dining room. Out of his peripheral vision, he sees Carmy walk closer to the window and shoots him a searing glare. Carmen’s seen that look very few times before, not enough to be used to it or comfortable with it, but he knows what it means.
His mind goes blank for a split second, but it’s more than he can afford with a kitchen in a state of upheaval. His face looks pale but he’s flushed at the same time, he stammers on his words for far longer than usual. “This cannot be happening” he whispers to himself.
It’s not like Richie can be so predictable, though–he needs to keep Carmy on edge. Besides, it’s not even 8:00 PM yet, it’s going to get so much worse and so much better. He looks away and goes back to engaging with the guests.
Carmen blinks hard and slaps himself in the face to try to jolt himself out of it, “Chefs!” He roars.
Two hours have gone by, it’s ten to 9:00 PM and at this point, the chefs have completely tuned Carmen’s rage out–they’ll be fine without him. As for the dining room, Richie’s pleasantly surprised with Sugar and Fak’s performances–they’re killing it and will be fine without him.
The kitchen is spinning at a hundred miles an hour and the lights are blinding, he’s walking circles around the stations with his hand pressed into his brow. But when Richie walks through the pass door it stops. His surroundings go come to a halt, and all he can see is Richie in his black suit as clear as fucking day. Richie had been making eye contact with him before his vision focused, so he’s instantly met with that same piercing stare that’s making his stomach knot up and burn.
Richie doesn’t hold eye contact for more than a single second. He immediately walks back to the office nodding "hi” to Syd and Tina on his way.
“FUCK!” Carmen shouts aloud.
“Chef–” Tina starts. Her tone is stern, but she’s incredibly concerned.
Carmen doesn’t even look at her, he can’t bear it, he storms to the back office.
The door is already open, as though he was expected here–duh. He abruptly shuts it behind him and looks at Richie, panting and trying to stifle his breathing simultaneously.
Richie looks back at Carmy with a different gaze than before, but it’s still ever so sinister. Carmen isn’t in trouble exactly, but he needs to be managed.
“Richie, I-I can’t do this right now, not tonight, I can’t.” He stammers, pleading right off the bat.
“Carmen.” Richie says, but it sounds like he’s stating a fact. “What the fuck is going on?”
“Wh-wh-what the fuck do you mean? There’s nothing going on.” He’s emasculated and defensive.
Richie looks at him like he has three heads, “You’re losing your fucking mind out there, you’re acting like a fucking psychopath.”
There’s no denying these accusations. It’s not only that Richie’s right, it’s that even trying to argue it would be genuinely psychotic.
Carmy’s bottom lip starts to quiver and he’s trying with all his might to suffocate the forthcoming emotion. His face is getting red and his hand that isn't grabbing the skin around his jaw is shaking profusely.
Richie hates seeing Carmy like this, it breaks his heart into a million pieces. Nothing terrifies him more than the fear of Carmy succumbing to his demons. He walks over to Carm and places his hand gently, yet assertively on his shoulder. “Let me help you.” He whispers.
Carmen closes his eyes and how his whole body is shaking, but Richie cannot decipher whether it’s nerves, anger, or desperation–perhaps a combination of the three? He’s not explicitly saying yes, but he’s not saying no either. With the hand that’s already gripping Carmy’s shoulder, he starts to lightly knead the muscles in his shoulder with his fingers. It’s gentle, but it’s the most Carm has been touched in so long. He’s not telling Richie to stop, and he’s clearly getting his breathing in check–so far, so good.
“You should sit down.” Richie advises.
Carmen clears his throat and nods, looking at Richie with trust in his eyes. He walks to the chair, but before he can sit down Richie redirects him. “Sit there.” He demands, pointing to the desk. Again, Carmen knows arguing isn’t an option, nor does he really feel like objecting, so he backs up against the desk and half sits on the edge.
Richie locks the office door and walks over to Carmen, standing in front of him, just a few inches away from his face. He looks down at the shorter, emotionally exhausted boy and runs the backs of his middle and pointer fingers down the side of his face. “You’re okay, Carm. You’re okay.”
Carmen gulps and nods again, but he’s not making eye contact. He needs this, and he knows it. Richie puts his hand back on Carmy’s shoulder, but it’s different this time, it’s lighter and wanders down his arm, moving from his forearm over a few inches to his waist.Richie’s moving his middle and pointer fingers in a cycling motion, tapping against the fabric of Carmy’s chef’s jacket. The butterflies that have been fluttering around Carmy’s stomach are erupting, and he feels the agony of himself getting harder with every touch.
Intuitively, Richie’s fingers make their way to the jacket’s buttons, and he fiddles with them for a second before popping one open. He looks at Carmy’s face for approval before he undoes another, but Carmen’s eyes are glued to Richie’s fingers—he takes this as a green light.
By the time his chef’s jacket is on the floor, he’s aching in anticipation, mentally begging Richie to rip the rest of his clothes off. But he doesn’t say anything. Richie takes the bottom hem of Carmen’s white t-shirt between his fingers and lifts it up a bit, then he slides his hand under and presses it against his abdomen. For a kid who doesn’t take care of himself for shit, he’s got the nicest fucking abs. His hand moves lower and his sight is still locked on Carmy’s face watching every inch his hand moved.
“Turn around.” Richie softly demands.
Carmen looks back up at him and just stares into his blue eyes for a second. “He isn’t even going to kiss me?” He thinks to himself. Nevertheless, he obliges and turns around to face the wall, still pressed against the desk.
“Do you trust me, Carmy?” Richie whispers in his ear from behind. He’s pressing his body up against Carmen’s now, the only thing separating them is their clothes.
Carm can’t manage to get the word yes out, but he trusts Richie with his entire body and soul. He’s nodding his head as he supports his upper body with his hands on the desk, his muscular arms taking the pressure off of his back.
“Carm, I need you to say yes. Otherwise this can’t happen.”
“Y-yes.” He manages to spit out. “I trust you, Richie.”
Those words start a fire in Richie’s core. He knows he can take care of Carmen, he knows he can make it all better. “Take off your shirt.” He says.
Carmen wishes that Richie would rip all of his clothes off for him, but he knew that more—and better—was coming.
He straightens his back to put his weight fully back on his feet and lifts the white t-shirt up over his head. It lands on top of his jacket.
As soon as his shirt is off, Richie grabs each of Carmen’s arms and puts them back on the desk, pushing him forward so he’s leaning over at a 60 degree angle. “Don’t move.”
Richie’s hands move from Carmen’s to his belt buckle. He seamlessly slides his belt off and is now onto the pants button and zipper. Before completely pulling his pants down, he flattens his hand and slides it between Carmen’s pants and his briefs, cupping his bulge so very gently. He gradually applies more pressure to his grip, waiting for something from Carmy’s lips. But nothing. He’s past the point of needing permission, he already got his “yes.”
Finally, Richie drags his pants and boxers down at once, dropping them around his ankles. It’s kind of a weird sensation, he’s having flashbacks of getting pantsed by Richie as a kid, but at this moment he’s craving it.
“Stay.” Richie demands again. Doesn’t he know Carmen wouldn’t dream of moving right now?
He takes a step back to undo his belt buckle and unzip his pants, but you better believe he’s not taking the suit off. Richie’s so hard, the second he removes himself from his boxers, his cock shoots up for air like it’s been suffocated. He returns to his original spot, this time pressing his hard throbbing dick against Carmy’s ass.
“Suck.” He demands as he forces two fingers into Carmen’s mouth. Carmen immediately wraps his lips around Richie’s fingers and sucks on them hard. Richie’s already going crazy, trying not to moan or show any other premature signs of pleasure. Once they’re wet enough, he yanks them from Carmen’s mouth and starts to rub the tender skin around his hole.
Carmy doesn’t get fucked in the ass often, so Richie takes his time to get him relaxed enough to take him. With Carmy’s spit coating Richie’s fingers, he pushes his sleeve up and slips one in, leaving it for a moment. “That okay?” Richie whispers in his ear again. Instead of using his words—shocker—Carmen clenches and unclenches around his finger, begging for more. Richie doesn’t hesitate to insert another, then he starts to slowly move them in and out.
He’s taking it well, better than Richie thought he would. Maybe this wasn’t as uncommon for him as he assumed? It was, he was just really fucking desperate for more.
Carmen’s light humming and synchronicity with two fingers inside of him tells Richie that he’s ready for more, and so is he. He doesn’t want to deprive Carmy even for a second, so with his other hand, he reaches down to grab his cock and line it up with the space his fingers are currently occupying.
When he finally decides it’s time to remove his fingers, Carmen involuntarily whines at the absence. “Shh,” Richie whispers, “behave.”
He enters quickly and all at once, causing Carmen to double over and bend his elbows. Carmy’s eyes shut closed and he bites the inside of his bottom lip hard. It’s been years since he had Richie inside of him, and it sent shockwaves from head to toe.
“Fuck-“ Richie inhales sharply. He forgot how fucking incredible it feels to have Carmy wrapped so tightly around his cock.
He places his hands on Carmen’s hips to leverage himself, then he starts gliding in and out at a steady pace, ensuring that his entire length fills Carmy with every thrust.
Carmen can’t control the sounds escaping his mouth, they’re not sexy or dramatic, they’re raw and reflexive. Every time Richie’s fully in it feels like the first time, then he withdraws and stuffs him over and over again. It feels like there are sparks of electricity bursting in his head, goosebumps are rising from his skin, and he’s losing the ability to hold himself up for good.
Richie notices Carmen losing his strength and falling more vulnerable. He takes one of his arms and wraps it around Carmy, fully supporting his upper body. “You can let go, Carm, Richie’s got you.” He purrs in his ear.
The noise that comes from Carmen’s mouth in response can only be described as: he wants to belong to Richie completely. Even though Richie isn’t as ripped as Carmen, he’s tall and strong—holding him in his arm while railing him from behind proves to be no issue.
Carmen can let go and let Richie handle it from here, that’s his job anyways.
Watching his bottom moan and fall weak with each movement makes Richie feel like a god. No one can handle Carmy like this, no one can break him down just to build him back up, no one can fuck him into vulnerability like Richie can.
Richie’s dick is pounding against Carmen’s prostate as he lays limp against his manager’s arm. His cock has been on fire for what seems like hours, but now it’s starting to feel quite uncomfortable—he needs to cum.
“Richie…” Carmy moans. “My cock.”
Richie doesn’t need to hear another word. He wraps his other arm around Carmen to take the place of the one that’s been supporting him, and lifts his hand to spit on it. He grabs Carmy’s dick and starts rubbing it up and down, up and down. The whining and moaning is becoming desperate and louder, Richie can’t stop groaning and muttering “fuck.”
“I’m gonna fucking cum, fuck… fuck!” Richie grunts.
“C-cum in me, fucking cum in me.” Carmy breathes out.
The second Richie hears Carmen beg, he loses it. He keeps his grip around Carm and pulls him closer—almost like a bear hug from behind. His orgasm is intense and electric, but he’s not losing any momentum on jerking Carm off—he’s almost there.
Once he’s emptied himself, he whips Carmy around and looks him dead in the eyes. “We can’t have you cum on the desk, there’s important paperwork on there.”
“Suck my cock… please…” Carmen pleads. Does he really think Richie is going to give him the satisfaction? Richie just chuckles and starts stroking him faster—there’s no point in that now anyways.
And he was right, within seconds cum starts seeping out of Carmy’s cock. Richie repositions him so he’ll cum on his own stomach, while he simultaneously keeps going at it.
Carmen’s vision goes white and he falls back on the desk as he erupts onto his stomach and Richie’s hand. He can’t even manage to breathe in and out—he sounds so pathetic and used.
Once his orgasm comes to bay, he starts panting in an effort to catch his breath and process what just happened. Richie guides him to the chair so he can sit, then reaches for a few paper towels to clean up. He wipes Carmy’s cum off of his hand, then tends to his wet and sticky stomach.
Carmen watches Richie earnestly as he cleans him up; he is so fucking grateful to have him in his life. To have someone who not only cares for him so deeply, but is capable of making everything better when the world feels like it’s ending.
After Richie tosses the wad of paper towel into the trash bin, he looks at Carmy and gives him a warm grin. “You know how much I love you, right?”
Carmen lets a breathy laugh out of his nose, and looks into his eyes. “Then why didn’t you kiss me?”
Richie walks to the chair Carmy is still recovering in, and leans down to kiss him on his forehead. Before he can lift his head back up, Carmen reaches for the back of Richie’s neck and inhales sharply as he pulls him in to kiss his lips.
“That’s all I really wanted.” He says softly.
“But it’s not all you needed.” Richie reminds him as he zips his pants and buckles his belt. “Are you feeling better now?”
“Yeah, I’m okay.” Carmy nods. “Toss me my jacket.”
“Yes chef.” Richie chuckles, picking his clothes up from the ground.
He leaves Carmy in the office to get dressed, and leans against the wall before heading back out to the front of the house.
“You’re the best god damn general manager Chicago has ever fucking seen.” He smirks to himself.