Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
ONYX
I haven’t seen Benson beyond our gigs at the Hinky Dinky Bar. That doesn’t mean I haven’t been over to his house. I’m there every night. But not to see Benson.
Guilt grows in my chest a little more every day. Maybe not for the reasons I think it should, which does make me feel guilty for not feeling guilty.
I know that Benson will lose his shit when he finds out that I’m messing around with Cash. Which means I need to stop. Not because of Benson, but to protect Cash from Benson’s already overbearing animosity pointed toward Cash.
Cash doesn’t need more of Benson’s hostile attitude. While Benson has been all bark and no bite, I swear I can see his control slip a little more each day.
Once, I used to ask him what his problem was. I used to try guessing, hoping that I’d see a crack in his fury if I hit it right. I’m guessing I never hit it on the head, though, because I’m still not sure what caused this abrupt shift in Benson Ellis.
I’m tired of being around him. I wish he were the kid he’d been eight years ago.
I’ve always thought that he had a bad dream one night, and somehow that dream translated to reality because the switch was flipped just that quickly.
Some perceived insult from Cash completely shattered their brotherly friendship.
I know it hurt Cash. Especially at first. He and Benson were good friends. Close brothers. It wasn’t a gradual shift. There wasn’t a heated argument. No one broke a toy or overheard someone say something they shouldn’t have.
One day, Benson just wasn’t the Benson I’d always known. He became angry, and that anger was pointed at his brother.
He became strangely homophobic in the following weeks, and that grossness festers and grows all the time. No matter how many times I hear it, it always shocks me.
Hell, I remember the first time his parents—his gay dads—heard his homophobic screaming directed at Cash. The looks on their faces… It’s never left me. Their horror. Their hurt. Their shock.
Over the years, I think that’s all twisted into failure. They failed to raise a loving and accepting son.
We were fourteen or fifteen at the time, and I remember thinking that maybe someone touched him and he didn’t consent. Maybe someone made him uncomfortable. But why turn that around on Cash? Why make him the target?
I kept that thought for several years and watched his interactions with everyone around us.
It was right before we graduated high school that I determined that was probably not the case.
I’d asked him outright many times. I’d hinted.
I asked our counselors at school how I might spot someone who was abused; what signs I might look for.
As I watch Benson walking down the road toward the docks from the shadows of Cash’s bedroom window, I think about all this.
I think about the abrupt change and about Cash being his target.
I think about how most of his homophobia was only directed at his brother for a long time.
Right until we started playing gigs, and then it turned outward. It expanded like poisonous vines.
One of the kids down the road is playing outside. I can see him drawing with chalk in the driveway. He looks up and says something to Benson, and Benson stops. He clearly looks all around. Up and down the street. Obviously, seeing who’s watching.
Seeing no one, he comes into the driveway, and I hold my breath. Fuck. Please don’t be a dick to that little kid, I shout internally. I hold my breath as he crouches down… and picks up a piece of chalk. It takes me several minutes to realize that he’s drawing with the kid.
I lean closer to watch him. That’s not right. That can’t be right.
No, he’s actually drawing with the chalk. Fuck, I think I see him smiling!
Benson stays with the kid for a solid ten minutes before he gets to his feet. He holds his palm out to the kid and gets a high five! Benson actually smiles. I see it.
“What the fuck?” I mutter.
Part of me desperately needs to run after him and demand to know where that guy is every day. Why are we all forced to deal with the asshole unless no one but a fucking child is looking? What kind of bullshit is this?
Me! Why can’t I still have the old Benson? That Benson. That’s my Benson. My best friend.
Maybe it’s me. Maybe I did something.
When Benson’s out of view, I kneel on Cash’s floor with a frown. Maybe he realized Cash has been my muse since we were kids. Is it jealousy? Is that why he’s so angry at Cash? I shake my head because that doesn’t truly make sense. Not when his anger is so focused on Cash’s sexuality.
“But is it?” I muse. I haven’t actually heard him say anything about it in a while. Now, it’s just Cash’s very existence. His presence. His smile. His happiness. His success at work. Everything about Cash pisses him off.
Cash’s door opens, and I look up to find the object of my fascination walking into his bedroom. His eyes are on me, amusement dancing in his eyes to find me in his room again.
He shuts the door and locks it, but doesn’t cross the room to join me. He leans against the door and crosses his arms. “All this time you’re spending with me is going to make me think you like me or something.”
Every song I’ve ever written is about him. I think ‘like’ has long since sailed. He’s not just my muse at this point. He’s my obsession.
“Come here,” I say, ignoring his statement entirely.
A brief look of defiance flashes across his face, and I have a feeling that if he didn’t want to come over here, he’d be a little brat right now. Since my demand aligns with what he wants, he doesn’t comment.
I don’t let him sit beside me, though. I grip his hips and pull him onto my lap. His mouth closes over mine before his weight has even settled.
Though it’s not a conversation we’ve had outside of brief exchanges that he’s never really kissed someone before, I’ve concluded that Cash hasn’t been with anyone at all.
He’s shy, and his inexperience shines through in everything we do.
Which, admittedly, isn’t much. Our clothes have always stayed on.
His hands move over my torso freely, but he doesn’t go beyond my belt.
He doesn’t ask for anything. Even when I feel how much he wants more. I’m caught between waiting for him to move beyond the pre-dry humping stage and understanding that I don’t think he’s comfortable asking for more.
Then again, I’m proved wrong as he rolls his hips against me. His cock rubs against my stomach, and if it weren’t for the way my jeans are bunched at my crotch, he’d feel just how much I want to return the touch.
His mouth breaks free of mine, and his hot breath brushes across my skin. He smells like toothpaste. “I’m horny,” Cash whispers, cheeks hot and flushed.
I groan. No matter how hard I try to keep the sound in, I don’t manage. “You have lube?”
Cash’s eyebrows knit together. “I didn’t say I wanted to have sex with you.” His pinched eyebrows turn down into a frown.
I laugh. “Cash, lube makes everything better.”
He chews the inside of his lip as he studies me. His bashfulness is always right there on the surface. It doesn’t usually stop his teasing and flirting. I’m realizing that maybe hiding under his shyness and flirting is anxiety.
“There’s no pressure, Cash,” I assure him. I touch his lip with that pad of my finger. “I’ve tried to let you dictate what we do as much as possible, though I’ve recently realized that you might be waiting for me.”
Cash smiles, eyes dropping as he bows his head. “Yeah. I, uh…” His teeth pinch his bottom lip between them. “I haven’t really… done this before.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tease him. To give him an out and lighten the mood. Cash generally prefers that over heavy conversations.
But maybe not this time. I cup his cheek and gently bring his gaze back to mine. “I figured that out.”
His cheeks burn, and he winces.
I press my lips to his softly. “That’s not a bad thing, Cash. I didn’t mean to make it sound… I don’t want you to feel insecure about it.”
He sighs. “I just…”
“I also don’t need an explanation as to why you haven’t been with anyone before.
All I need from you is to know you’re going to tell me if you’re uncomfortable with something we’re doing.
I might need some guidance on where you’re at, like tonight.
You told me you’re ready for more without having to say the words.
I never want to make you feel like you owe me something or that I’m expecting anything from you.
Not suggesting that we do more doesn’t mean disinterest. I promise. ”
“I don’t like people in my personal space,” he says quietly. “Unless I invite them. And I find that I don’t like people in my space unless I really know them and I trust them. When I’m comfortable with them, it’s different. So… that’s why I haven’t… done any of this stuff.”
“You’re avoiding the word, aren’t you?” I tease.
Cash huffs and pushes off my lap. “I’m a virgin,” he hisses. “In all the things. You’re not exactly my first kiss, but I think you’re still my first kiss.” He trails off. “If that makes sense.”
I watch him look through his nightstand drawer as I consider his words. I think his explanation as to why he’s a virgin was more for himself than me. Maybe he needed to say the words out loud.
Eventually, Cash comes back with a small bottle of lube.
He drops it in my hand before returning to my lap.
I examine the bottle and note that I’m going to need to bring lube with me moving forward.
This little bottle is barely more than a sample, which, now that I’m looking at it, I think that’s exactly what this is.
A sample he picked up from the clinic or from one of the shops on the islands.
“Don’t judge me,” Cash says grumpily.
Grinning, I set it beside us and grip the back of his neck to bring his mouth to mine. He kisses me eagerly. His hands grip my shoulders tightly before moving down my chest. His thumb brushes over my nipple. Then he’s tugging on my shirt.
Breaking the kiss once more, I pull my shirt off over my head before reaching for his.
Cash raises his arms so I can slide his shirt up.
I don’t know why, but something inside me ignites at this vision.
The way I reveal his body, how he looks at me with those beautiful brown eyes when he brings his hands back down, resting them on my chest.
I feel like I’m panting. Fuck. Why is he so breathtaking?
Cash licks his lips, and I bring his mouth back to mine roughly. He grunts as our lips crash together with a bite of pain. He rewards me by pinching my nipple. Hard. Joke’s on him. I love that. My moan into his mouth announces as much.
“Touch me,” Cash demands into my mouth.
He’s wearing shorts. Loose shorts that I have no problem moving out of the way. Blindly, so I don’t have to remove my mouth from his, I reach for the tiny bottle of lube and use my fingers to gauge how much to squirt onto the head of his cock.
Cash gasps into my mouth, his hips jerking into me. I’m barely touching his dick until I have lube in place. I’m far too excited to touch him. Now that I’ve met my own criterion, I wrap a hand around his cock and give him an experimental stroke.
His lips break from mine as he gasps again. His hips rock into my hold, and I almost hold my hand still so he can fuck himself into my fist, but I’m too hungry for that. I’m too desperate to finally touch him.
So I stroke, keeping my hand light at first. Simple. Just a hand for him to feel around him. When I finally strengthen my grip around him, Cash’s gasp shivers down my spine and pools in my balls.
“Fuck,” he grunts and drops his head to my shoulder.
He tries to hold still and let me take care of him. I can feel it in the way his hips jerk, and then he stills.
“Onyx,” he groans. My name in that tone practically has me growling. “I’m going to come,” he whines.
He doesn’t come. I don’t think it’s because he’s not there. I think he’s not ready. He’s a leaking sieve right now. Coating my grip with his precum every time I bring my hand up.
“I’m going to—” His words cut off, and then he repeats them again. “Oh, fuck, please. Please, Daddy, please.”
I groan at his words. He comes into my hand a minute later. He bathes us both in his release until he finally settles, his body turning soft and boneless. “Oh my god,” he pants.
“Good?” I ask.
“Are you looking for praise?”
I laugh and nip at his neck. “No. But if you’re going to call me Daddy, what does that make you?”
“Lost in the moment. I’m a little horrified that Daddy left my mouth.”
More laughter bubbles out of me. His hands drop to my jeans as he struggles to undo the button. They’re pulled tight, both because of the position we’re sitting in and because I’m so fucking hard. We struggle for several minutes before we manage to get my jeans out of the way.
When he releases my dick from my underwear, I watch his face. His eyes widen, his hands resting on my stomach as he stares. Very softly, he presses his finger to the slit of my cockhead.
“Onyx?”
“Mm?”
“I knew you had big dick energy for a reason.”
I laugh. “You’re good for my ego.”
“No, really. This isn’t a first-time-sized dick.” He meets my eye with skepticism.
“Since we’re only playing with hands tonight, that’s not even a consideration, Cash. If you decide you want to have sex another day, we’ll work up to it, and I’ll make sure you’re ready.” I gently brush his damp hair from where it’s sticking to his cheek. “Okay?”
His teasing expression softens. I’m right that his teasing is primarily to hide his nerves. Maybe even his insecurities. “Yeah. Thanks.”
I kiss him softly, letting our lips linger. “I will always do right by you, Cash. Always. I promise.”
He sighs.
He’s had enough of the serious conversation because he wraps his hand around my cock and squeezes. I grunt, hips bucking up into his hand. Cash grins. “I may not know how, but you’re probably going to be edged for a while. I want to explore your dick.”
Good thing I enjoy being edged.