Candy Boys

by Raven, Jo

  Mind-boggling. He’s drawing the pleasure out of me, drawing out my orgasm with his grip and twisting it into something huge, something that will leave me in a shuddering mess when it hits.

  And it does, suddenly and with a force of a gale, wrenching a cry from my throat. I clutch the back of Joel’s head, sinking or flying, I can’t tell, my dick jerking, spraying my jizz all over him, and through the haze, I feel it.

  I feel his cock jerk against mine, the deep moan rumbling through his chest. His hot load hits my chest and arms, and then his mouth is on mine again, his tongue thrusting against mine as we come together.

  Whoa. I’ll never forget the look on Joel’s face, the shock of pleasure twisting his features, the brightening wave of relief washing over them a second later.

  “Holy shit, guys,” Candy whispers and I blink at her, dizzy. “Can we do this again next time?”

  And that’s when Joel starts to pull away and slam his walls back in place, and I think—Fuck. This isn’t looking good at all.

  Chapter Twenty Five

  CANDY

  Title: Not Your Typical Drug

  From Candy Boys (Blog serial)

  “Are you awake, pet?” he asks me, and I shift in the cradle of their arms.

  “Depends. What do you have in mind?”

  “Sex. Then breakfast. Then more sex.”

  “Sounds good to me,” I mumble, stretching.

  I could get used to this, I really could. Waking up to two sex gods every morning. It’s frigging scary how much I want it.

  Question is, will this last, and will my heart take it if it doesn’t?

  And hey, isn’t this—sleeping with two men—exactly what the doctor prescribed?

  We sleep together on Jet’s bed, one pile of naked limbs and warm breath, until at some point at night Jet is gone, and then Joel, too, leaving me to hog the whole width of the mattress and the covers.

  Bliss.

  After a while, though, I start searching for them, in my sleep, on the bed, until I’m wide awake and slipping from under the covers. Wrapping a sheet around me, I go hunting for my boys.

  I find only Jet. He’s sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee. His dark hair is tousled, his spectacular chest bare, his tattoos shifting every time he lifts his cup. He’s dressed only in a pair of black boxer briefs, and he’s barefoot. That’s so sexy. I love men’s feet.

  Okay, I’m totally lying out of my ass here. I couldn’t care less about men’s feet. I bet they’re mostly like Hobbit feet, hairy and huge.

  But I love Jet’s feet. They’re strong and slim with high arches and long toes.

  First time in my life I’m obsessing over a guy’s feet, I swear to God. I need to check out Joel’s feet, too. With all that has been going on whenever we get naked together, I never got the chance to take notice.

  It’d be nice, I guess, to lounge around the kitchen together in the morning, having coffee and cereal.

  It would have been nice. If Joel was here.

  “Where is he?” I ask, and snicker when Jet jumps a foot off his chair with a gasp. “Morning.”

  “Holy shit, girl, you scared the crap out of me.” He falls back, a hand pressed to his chest, and I start to feel bad when I see how pale his face has gone. “Jesus.”

  “Sorry.” I approach him, and when he doesn’t flinch, I press my hand to his jaw. “You all right?”

  “Yeah, yeah. Shit.” He puts his hand on top of mine, and lets out a breath, his eyes wide and dark with shock. “Joel’s gone running.”

  “Oh. He does that every morning?”

  Jet shakes his head. “Sometimes. He likes moving. We also wrestle a few times a week, though we haven’t done that lately.”

  “Why not?”

  “Too caught up with you.” He smirks at me, and I’m relieved to see color has returned to his cheeks.

  “I’d love to see you two wrestle.”

  “Would you, now.” His smirk widens. “More than last night?”

  “Much more.” I squeak when he hauls me to his lap and I pull desperately on the sheet covering my boobs. “Hey.”

  “Hey yourself.” He kisses the side of my neck, wrapping possessive arms around my middle. “You smell good.”

  “I haven’t showered yet.”

  “Precisely.” He licks my neck, making me shiver. “You smell like Candy.”

  I laugh. “I smell like sex.”

  “Sex and Candy. My favorite combo.”

  I turn my head and his mouth drags over my cheek. God, this boy. “I…” I think I love you, Jet. “I should shower and get ready for work.”

  And not panic for having such strong feelings for my boys. Nope. No panic allowed.

  “You need some coffee in you first.”

  He knows me so well already. He offers me his cup, and aw Gawd this is sweet of him. As I sip at the brew, thick with sugar, I study the tattoos on his arm. It’s an intricate meshing of shapes. A bird. A ship? A clock. A skull.

  “What do they mean?” I tap on his biceps and swoon a little when he flexes it to show me a circle on the underside. “And that?”

  “A snake biting its tail.”

  “That’s rebirth.”

  “Yeah.” He grunts, shock splashing over his gaze, then he lowers his arm. “Drink your coffee.”

  “It’s yours.”

  “Drink my coffee, then. We need to get going. You said so.”

  I sip at the coffee. “What about the bird?”

  “The bird?”

  “On your forearm.” I stroke it, and he shivers. He’s also hardening, his cock pressing into the small of my back. “Is it a raven?”

  He hums in affirmation. “A raven for the soul.”

  Now I’m getting goosebumps. That sounded ominous. “And the ship?”

  “A ship for leaving.” He bows his head. “A clock for the time remaining, and a skull for death who never waits.”

  Oh my God. “Why? Why so morbid?”

  “I’m not morbid.” He shakes his head. “You asked what they mean. I told you.”

  “Jet…”

  “Finish the coffee. I’ll take the shower first.”

  ***

  I give Jet a ride to the shop, and it’s quiet. Too quiet. Something’s on his mind, and I don’t know if it’s the fact Joel didn’t return before we left the apartment, or if it was the phone call he received as I was getting dressed.

  I think again of what he said about his tattoos, and the same shiver runs through me as it did then.

  A soul. Time. Leaving. Death.

  And underneath, rebirth.

  Is that positive, or negative? Does that mean he believes in rebirth, or that rebirth is gone, not to be found?

  Or am I making up stories in my mind, and the symbols don’t really mean anything to him? Some people get ink just because it looks good and cool.

  Yeah, okay. Jethro doesn’t strike me like that kind of guy, though.

  I study his clean profile as I park the car down the street from the bookshop and kill the engine. “Was it your cousin again?”

  “Huh?”

  “The call. He called you yesterday, too, didn’t he? Donna told me.”

  He closes his eyes, rubs them. “Candy…”

  “Let me help, Jet.” I pull down his hands, stare into his reddened eyes. “Let us help. With whatever is hurting you.”

  He doesn’t move when I unlatch my belt and slip my arms around him. He gathers me close and rubs his face in my hair.

  “Your hair smells like my shampoo,” he whispers.

  “It is your shampoo.”

  “First my coffee and then my shampoo. What next?”

  “Your clothes?” I inhale his scent of musky boy and soap, and close my eyes.

  “Damn.” He groans. “I can’t go into the shop with a hard-on, Candy pop.”

  “You think you’ll like me in your clothes?”

  “And even more out of them.”

  “You have a one-track mind
.”

  “Only when you’re around.”

  I pull back, laughing. “So you won’t tell me what’s going on with your cousin to get you so stressed? Not even a hint?”

  Aw crap. He was smiling when I pulled away and now his smile is fading fast.

  I place a hand over his heart, and it’s racing.

  “Many years ago,” he says, and just like that his accent changes, thickens, “something bad happened and it’s not over, but nobody believed me then or now, and I… I’m afraid I was right, and that it’s all going to hell.”

  “What do you mean?” He’s talking in riddles, and the fear in his eyes matches the fear that’s lancing through me. “Why did you run? From where? What didn’t they believe?”

  But he only shakes his head and gets out of the car, heading toward the shop.

  ***

  The day passes in a blur. Customers file in and out. Lots of students, too, preparing for the upcoming semester, which reminds me I should get some reading done myself. With everything going on, I forgot I’m in the middle of my studies.

  Hey, it’s not every day your fantasy boyfriends waltz into your life and become reality.

  One of them, though, is a no-show today. Joel. He doesn’t call or show up with coffee. When I ask Jet about it in the afternoon, he shrugs.

  “Was it the kiss?” I ask him, a cold lump of dread settling in my stomach. “Crap, I shouldn’t have asked that of you, I shouldn’t have—”

  “We wanted it, Candy sugar.” He pulls me in for a quick, one-armed hug and I melt against his side. “He wanted it. He’s just resisting.”

  “Resistance is futile,” I say automatically.

  “Right.”

  Yet, despite his reassuring words, he looks stressed out, and I can tell it bothers him, too, that Joel vanished today.

  To take his mind off this topic I brought up anyway, I turn the conversation elsewhere.

  “Hey, about the GED you’re studying for. I talked to Donna, did I tell you? Convinced her to give you some time to find your diploma.”

  He shivers, leans a little against me. “Thanks.”

  “Do you know when you’re going to take the test?”

  “Not ready yet.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Yeah, I do. I took the mock test online. Failed it. Spectacularly.” He huffs. “You saw how it is for me. Reading takes forever. Can’t concentrate. And writing is even worse.”

  “Okay.” I frown as I try to put together all the pieces. “You’re not as bad as you think, you know. In reading, at least. And you concentrate enough to draw a comic, though, don’t you?”

  “That’s different. I do it in pieces, whenever I feel like it. And it’s pictures. Not text.”

  “So the problem is the words. And the time needed focusing on them?”

  When he nods, another thought strikes me. “Do you have any other symptoms?”

  “Symptoms?”

  I frown, trying to remember. “Do you sometimes lose track of time? Forget things? Are you often late at appointments?”

  “Heh, all the time. Just ask Joel, I drive him crazy.”

  Check.

  “What about the way you think. Do you think in images? Confuse letters? Get dizzy while trying to read?”

  “I… yeah. Sometimes.” He’s staring at me, dark brows knit over his eyes. “What does it mean?”

  “That could mean you’re dyslexic,” I say, my mind whirring because that can’t be all.

  He gives a slow blink.

  “Do you lose your stuff? Get easily distracted? Lose your temper easily? Can’t deal well with stress?”

  “You know I can’t.” He makes a wry face.

  That’s right. He can’t. And the way he’s tapping his foot, probably not even realizing, the way he’s always putting himself down…

  “ADHD.”

  “What?”

  “Attention deficit and hyperactivity disorder.”

  He starts pulling away from me, his frown turning darker. “What are you, a doctor? I’m fine.”

  “Were you never diagnosed as a child?”

  “Nobody tested me for anything. I’m just stupid, Candy.”

  “You’re not stupid.” I grab his arm, not letting him go away thinking that. “Far from it. You’re amazing, Jet, but if you are dyslexic or have ADHD, you could get some help with the GED test. It’d only be fair.”

  He stills. “They’d help me with the reading and writing?”

  God, my heart shouldn’t ache for him so much. Hasn’t anyone thought to help him with this before? I think I’ll have a word or two with Joel.

  “I could be wrong about this,” I reluctantly admit, “but it does sound like you have the symptoms. I mean, I know this because my brother was tested for these things, even if the tests turn out negative. So…. Yeah, if you’re diagnosed with either, there are special accommodations to help you.”

  “So that means…” He swallows hard. “I’d have to visit a doctor or something?”

  “A psychologist.”

  “A shrink? No fucking way.” He shakes his head and wrenches himself free of my desperate grip. “Not pills. Not doing this ever again.”

  “Not a shrink. Jet, wait.”

  But he doesn’t stop, and I watch him walk away, my mouth open.

  Not again? He was seen by a psychiatrist in the past? What for?

  What do I do with this? Do I run after him, push for an explanation? Do I call Joel until he answers and coax it out of him?

  What the hell do I do to help them both?

  ***

  I drive to my apartment, my heart heavy. Brylee isn’t at home, and I sit at my computer, feeling out of sorts. It’s as if this isn’t my home anymore. It feels foreign, strange.

  My favorite people aren’t here with me, and what if it’s my fault? What if I pushed Joel too far, too soon? What if Jet is wrong, and Joel wasn’t ready?

  He had seemed so into it, though. He was the one who initiated the kiss and grabbed Jet’s cock to jerk them both together.

  It had been damn hot.

  And then Jet with those vague, alarming hints of his former life that make me wonder whether they really mean what I think they mean or if it’s my mind that’s twisted.

  Joel has to know about this, right? About what Jet told me—about running, about the vague hints of danger, about the shrink and the pills. Should I call him again? Should I call Jet?

  Frustrated, I boot my computer up and open my story files. I stare at the words, at the strangers making out on the screen.

  I have unread messages from Connie. Comments upon comments from the readers. I have an unfinished scene and…

  I can’t.

  I bite back a sob. Why can’t I write more? I love this story. Readers love it, too. I made friends over the posting of the chapters. I laughed and cried as I got it down. And what if my boys don’t know about it?

  This story is my secret. My one secret from them, my fantasy.

  But it’s turning sour anyway because I can’t. Can’t write. They aren’t like I imagined them.

  And they don’t know about it, which makes it feel as if I’m… abusing them somehow. Forcing them into doing stuff they don’t like doing.

  Would they do more? Would they go down on each other? Have sex with each other? They never touch much during sex with me.

  They aren’t as I imagined them, and I don’t care about my stupid story anymore if I can be with them, discovering new things about them every day, touching them, and pleasuring them, and living with them.

  I don’t want to write that story, because I’m going to tell them about it, and then I’ll delete it forever.

  In fact, I’ll delete it, period. I’m sorry for the readers who invested so much time in it, who loved my imaginary boys, but it’s not fair.

  Nothing is as I thought it was. Both boys are so different from the men I painted them to be in my story it’s not even funny. With every revelation,
every tiny tidbit I learn about them, the tables are turned, my perception of them is changed.

  How Joel hesitated to touch Jet, how he vanished today. How Jet gets after those phone calls and the talk about shrinks and pills.

  But also the good sides. Jet’s artistic nature, Joel’s intellectual one and his awesome cooking skills, his protectiveness of Jet.

  As it turns out, they don’t give a damn about tantric sex. They want it rough, quick, slow, hard, in every way.

  I never thought they’d kiss so differently, or they’d prefer different things in sex, though—like how Jet is more passionate, Joel more aggressive and controlling, how Jet likes to play with my ass and Joel is more of a titty-pussy guy.

  And all these thoughts are making my face warm and my heart race, my pulse beat between my legs.

  My boys aren’t imaginary anymore. They’re real, and I’m in big, big trouble…

  Chapter Twenty Six

  JOEL

  “The world,” my father says, “is full of depraved men. Welfare cases, socialists, faggots. Joel would never turn out to be one of them. He’s my son.”

  You’d think that after fighting with paperwork all day at work and feeling paranoid about the covert looks and giggles I receive from some people, I wouldn’t have time or energy left to worry about other stuff.

  Like Candy. Like Jet.

  Like kissing him, getting us off together and then running.

  But I do. Worry, that is. Or maybe I just need time to think. To process this. Process the fact I kissed a guy for the first time in my life and liked it.

  His taste… unlike anything I’ve ever tasted. Strong. Salty. Spicy. Definitely male.

  One hundred percent Jet.

  I liked it way too much, and that’s scary shit.

  So unlike Candy’s taste. She’s sweet. Love her taste, God… I’d love to kiss Jet, eat up that spice, and then kiss her to wash it down with her sugar.

  I’m so fucked.

  After leaving the office, I sit in my car for a while, trying to come to grips with this realization and only panicking more.

  At a loss for what to do next, I grab my phone and call my sis. We don’t see each other much, lately, and that’s largely my fault. I’ve been so wrapped up in this thing with Jet and Candy, I’ve not been returning her calls and texts.