Treble Maker

by Annabeth Albert

  “Sorry.” Hand shaking, he got the button on the boxers undone and his cock out. Geez Louise, just the brush of cool air was almost enough to tip him over.

  “It’s okay.” Cody’s voice was tight. Strained. “Yeah. Jerk it for me.”

  Going back to licking rather than sucking, Lucas wrapped a hand around his dick.

  “Better not come before me.” Cody’s words were harsh grunts that, as always, went straight to Lucas’s dick. But for the first time, it felt like he was really choosing to play along, like he could turn the tables if he wanted, or he could choose to wallow in how amazing it felt to give in to Cody’s orders.

  Running his tongue around the head, Lucas worked his hand up and down Cody’s shaft, trying to match his own pace.

  “Fuck. So close.”

  Yeah. He wanted that. Wanted to see it. Wanted to taste it. The tile floor bit into his knees and his jaw protested the new activity, but he wasn’t moving. He tried to push deeper again, get a little more of the shaft. Coordinating his hands and mouth wasn’t quite as hard as singing and dancing at the same time, but he still managed to make himself cough and Cody curse.

  “Here, baby.” Cody stroked a thumb down Lucas’s cheek, getting him to tilt his head. “Let me show you. Like this.”

  Yes. Show me. Something shifted, and Cody seemed to get that Lucas wasn’t giving up on this, which meant Lucas could choose to hand some control back. Equal. Lucas felt on level ground for the first time.

  Everything got easier with Cody mumbling praise and keeping Lucas’s head at an angle that let him make quick, shallow thrusts of his hips. Abandoning jerking himself, Lucas shifted his hands around so he gripped Cody’s hips, the rough denim and spiky belt dragging on his palms with each thrust. His own dick rubbed against the silk of the boxer shorts, and his brain did freaky things with the dual sensations, making it feel like his dick was rubbing against Cody.

  “That’s so good.” Cody’s words sounded like they’d been pushed through a locked jaw. As Cody sped up, going deeper, Lucas tensed up.

  “Sssh.” Cody stroked his hair. “Not. Gonna. Hurt.”

  Lucas sucked harder, not caring anymore, spit running down his chin. He trusted Cody not to choke him. Even though Cody’s eyes were screwed shut, Lucas could still read Cody’s demands. It was a bit like jazz—he could read Cody’s cues in the sharpness of his breath, the tension of his grip, the twist of his mouth, and then adjust his actions until time slowed down, their breath coming in equal measures, bodies playing off each other. As his body moved in concert with Cody’s, Lucas’s dick slid back and forth against his shorts, the cold kiss of air from the vent almost painful on his tight skin. He could feel how close Cody was because of how close he was.

  “Want to . . . Oh fuck.” Cody’s voice broke, echoing in the small room. “Close. So close. Can finish . . . in your hand.”

  “No.” Lucas protested, although it came out as an angry moan around Cody’s dick. He backed up enough to get a word out. “Want it. Please. Let me swallow you.”

  “You. Ask. So. Sweet.” Cody’s eyes opened, a challenge there and something more. Something softer. “Show me you want it.”

  Lucas moaned, redoubling his efforts as Cody’s thrusts intensified. A game. He got it now—what Cody had been trying to say about kink. It felt different now—something he wanted instead of something he had to have in order to do things with Cody.

  “Fuuuu . . .” Cody’s voice trailed off as the first spurt hit the back of Lucas’s throat, salty with a hint of soap. The flavor made his dick throb. So. Close. Even the brush of his hand could have tipped him over, but he focused everything on Cody, licking and swallowing until Cody gently pushed him away.

  “Too much. God.” Cody’s whole body shuddered and he sank onto the floor.

  I did that. Lucas couldn’t help it. His dick was hard as concrete, like one of those pylons in the hotel’s parking garage. Jizz exploded from the tip the instant he touched his shaft, spurting in sync with Cody’s gasps. He cupped his hand around his cockhead, trying to contain the mess, but it leaked around his fingers. His vision swam. Holy crap. He’d never come that hard, even when rubbing off with Cody. Holy, holy crap.

  Jesus fucking Christ. Lucas had killed him. Dying. Dead.

  They’d find him passed out here in this dank, windowless bathroom with a stupid smile on his face. He’d been blown plenty before. By lots of guys with lots more practice than Lucas, but something about Lucas’s earnest insistence had cut him deeper, opened him up more than any deep-throat theatrics. Lucas on his knees for him, hand on his fat dick, face all open and eager. Hells yeah that was making his top-ten highlight reel.

  He wasn’t entirely sure what had triggered this—one moment Lucas had seemed broken by his parents and then the next second he was up in his space like he had toppy syrup in his coffee. Then Lucas was on his knees and . . . oh holy fuck. His body convulsed with another aftershock. He couldn’t keep the whimper back. He seriously couldn’t feel his legs.

  He breathed deep, trying to slow his heart. Which was silly because it didn’t seem to be in his body anymore—instead it felt like it was ripped out, laying on the floor, waiting for Lucas to trample it again.

  “Give me a sec,” he said again, trying to get enough spit to swallow.

  “You don’t . . .” Lucas bit his lip, falling back against the wall. He had his dick in his fist. Spunk oozed between his fingers.

  “Did I say you could do that?” Cody couldn’t manage to sound anything other than amused. Even so, Lucas still blushed and took his hand off his dick. Cute. Reaching over, he grabbed Lucas’s hand and brought it to his mouth. Salty. Slightly sour. All Lucas. His dick gave a halfhearted jump. Wouldn’t take much to get him up for round two. Damn. Just that little hint had his throat aching to get Lucas’s dick in it.

  He licked Lucas’s hand clean, then leaned in to kiss him but thought twice and wiped his mouth off instead.

  “It’s okay.” Lucas closed the distance between them with a slow, leisurely kiss.

  “First taste of cum didn’t turn you straight?” Cody joked as he broke away, needing something, anything, to ratchet his churning brain back to sanity.

  “Wasn’t first time I’ve tried it.” Lucas turned red as he fixed his clothes.

  “Oh? How’d you—” Understanding hit. The idea of Lucas tasting his own spunk was enough to make his dick twitch again. “You dirty thing. You’ve been holding out on me. I’m gonna need a demo later.”

  Lucas turned redder, his face closer to purple now. “I . . .” he trailed off, looking away.

  Cody’s chest got tight as he remembered why Lucas had dragged him in here. It was only too easy to fall back into sex and teasing and acting like there would be a later. When really this wasn’t so much about them as it was about how shitty the irritable Norse gods Lucas called mom and dad had treated him. Cody had been so close to walking over and pulling Lucas away from them. But while he was all for Lucas using sex as stress relief, he had no idea where this left the two of them. And no, he was not going to be the one to ask.

  “We should probably head back. Find you your clothes.”

  “Oh, crap.” Lucas looked down, like he’d only now realized he was sitting on the cold tile floor in boxers and a wadded-up robe. His face fell, the sad and distant look returning. Oh, hell. Way to throw some lemon juice on the wounds his parents left.

  “How ’bout I go and grab your things from wardrobe?” Cody’s hands opened and closed. He needed something to do stat. Some way to make Lucas feel better about the two douche canoes who’d raised him.

  “I don’t want my things.” Lucas looked down at his bare legs.

  “That’s cool. It’s an awesome look on you.” Taking a chance, he leaned in, kissed Lucas’s bare shoulder, and ran a hand down his chest. God, I missed you.

  “My phone is in my pants. If I get my pants, I’ll see how many dozen missed calls I have and . . .” He trailed off, waving his hand.
“You guys all heard, right?”

  “Yeah.” Cody wasn’t going to lie to him. He’d done enough lying—to both of them—already this week.

  “I did good, right?” Lucas asked in a small voice, and Cody knew they weren’t talking about the sex.

  “Sang better than I’ve ever heard you. Looked good, too.” Complimenting people always gave Cody hives, never felt natural at all, but he knew Lucas needed to hear it. “Your tone was spot-on—like you just, I don’t know, embraced your range.”

  “Yeah.” Lucas still sounded far away.

  “Here.” He retrieved his backpack from the corner where it had landed. He fished out the T-shirt he’d stashed there. It was a bit loose on him, which meant it’d look like a clubbing shirt on Lucas.

  He tossed it to Lucas and, after examining it with narrowed eyes, Lucas put it on. It stretched tight over Lucas’s pecs and arms, and Cody wanted Lucas to wear nothing but that shirt ever again.

  “Hmm.” He dug out a pair of running shorts. They were pretty loose with a drawstring. “These might work.”

  “I look like the Hulk.” Lucas studied himself in the mirror and laughed. “Like Hulk in midchange.”

  “Yeah.” Cody swallowed hard.

  “I lied,” Lucas said with surprising finality.

  “About?” Cody prompted, pretty sure he didn’t want to be following this conversation.

  “Everything.” Lucas did a sigh worthy of Ashley’s theatrics. “I thought we were so different. I lied to myself, telling myself that I wasn’t like you at all.” His tone wasn’t insulting, merely quizzical.

  “Because that would be a bad thing?”

  “But we’re the same. You and me, I mean. You’re just honest about not belonging. Not wanting to belong. But me? I don’t even belong in my own freaking family, but I keep right on lying to myself. If I get better grades next term. If I get my friends to fill out surveys for my mom. If I get the college a chance to be on TV. But I’ll never belong—I’m still not as good as the rest of them. Whole freaking college, too—”

  “Hey, now.” Cody cut him off with a rough hug, pulling him in close. Lucas was having a sixteen-course pity party and Cody had no clue how to offset that. “They’re idiots.”

  “Yeah.” Lucas’s voice was muffled against Cody’s shoulder. “But I still love them. Is that so wrong?”

  Was it wrong to want a heat wave in January? Even five years after leaving Iowa, Cody still didn’t have a good answer for Lucas’s question. All he knew was how to bury unwelcome emotion and keep moving forward. But this was Lucas, who might as well be a walking emoticon for all he could suppress his feelings. Lucas loved. His town. His school. His parents. Bacon.

  “I’m pretty sure they still love you.” Both Lucas’s parents looked like escapees from an organic cheese commercial. When Lucas’s mom hadn’t been doing the whole horror-movie recoil thing, she’d been looking at Lucas with surprising warmth. Yeah his parents were pissed, but Cody doubted they’d ever give up on Lucas. Badger him to death, yes. Walk away, no.

  “I’m disappointing them. Over and over right now.” Lucas’s tone was pure desperation and Cody’s heart was breaking for him. “But I’m not sure I want to stop.”

  “Then don’t.”

  Deciding not to care about what his parents thought was far easier said than done. There was also this strange not-broken-but-not-fixed place he was in with Cody.

  Cody had shepherded him back to their room, hovering while Lucas got changed, watching him like Lucas might disappear. He supposed that was as close as Cody would get to saying that he wanted Lucas using the room for more than storage.

  They schlepped to afternoon rehearsal, Lucas spacing out for most of it, letting Ashley have free rein with choreography changes and watching Raven jockey for some lines. Cody seemed equally out of it, giving Raven a verse without any complaints. Good. Maybe he’s off balance too. Maybe there’s still hope for us . . .

  Dawn stuck her head in the room around five o’clock. Her ponytail drooped and her shirt was untucked. He guessed it had been a long day for everyone.

  “Hey, Lucas?” she asked. “You left your phone over in wardrobe. Here. Catch!”

  “Um. Thanks.” He caught the phone right before it hit his groin.

  “Awful cute of your parents to come to rehearsal.” She was hanging on the doorframe, like she might leave any second, but not leaving anywhere near quickly enough. “We’ll have to get them on camera on Saturday. I love when we have family in the audience.”

  “Yeah.” He couldn’t tell whether she’d missed the drama with his folks or she’d caught every word and was salivating to get it on air. In reality TV land, every fight was a potential ratings boost.

  “Oh, and Lucas? You killed it this afternoon. Michelin was raving about you afterward.”

  Michelin Moses raving about him? Wow. He’d had Speed Kills’ Flat Line album on his playlist for years—a guilty pleasure because the alternative band wasn’t exactly Mount Monticello–approved listening. But Michelin had one of the best baritone voices since Johnny Cash. Lucas was the only Embellish member excited that Michelin was releasing a country album.

  Maybe it was okay that his parents had hated the performance. Michelin-freaking-Moses had loved it. Cody and the rest of the group had appreciated it. However, he felt the full weight of parental disapproval as soon as he looked at his phone. Sixteen missed text messages and four voice mails.

  Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t look. But he could only hold off so long. After Dawn left and the girls started practicing the cup game they were using in the song, he scrolled to the bottom of the message list.

  I know this afternoon went badly. But how about we still do dinner with your group? Try again?

  Oh man. His gut did handsprings around the idea of seeing his parents again. It was totally their MO not to want to leave the argument hanging. They had a rule about never going to sleep angry, and he knew his mom would be a mess and his dad would only get angrier if he kept them waiting. And maybe they really did want a redo.

  “Hey, guys,” he interrupted Ashley and Jeff’s discussion about whether to hang it up for the night. “I know it’s probably the last thing you want to do, but my folks say they’re sorry and they’d still like to do dinner.” He winced at his apologetic tone. Whatever confidence he’d felt earlier in the day seemed to have dried up.

  “Oh, Lucas.” Ashley came over and ruffled his hair. “I love you, sweetie. I really do. But that’s a train wreck waiting to happen.”

  “You know they don’t mean it.” Cody leaned back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling.

  “Maybe not.” Lucas couldn’t explain why he thought he should at least make the effort.

  “I’ll go,” Raven said.

  “I’ll pa—” Jeff started to say, but Raven cut him off with a loud cough. “I guess I’m in.”

  “Thank you.” He nodded at the two of them, ignoring Cody and Ashley’s side of the room. “I’m going to go call them. If anyone else wants to come, you can meet me in the lobby in an hour.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Damn. You look almost—”

  “You say straight and I’m going to deck you.” Cody swiveled on Jeff, deliberately crowding him into the corner of the elevator.

  “Lot of swagger for a guy who came to beg my last clean shirt.” Jeff made a clucking sound, not backing down.

  Cody had considered grabbing something from Lucas’s part of the closet as most of his stuff was still in their shared room. But that had seemed pathetic at best and kind of creepy at worst. Everything in his stack of clothing was either too dirty—both literally and figuratively—or too casual. Last time he’d tried to dress conservative was more than five years before. He’d worn a shirt and tie for graduation, thinking that might soften his grandmother up. And it had. Right up until she’d asked if he was ready to repent for his gay sins.

  Instead, he’d caught the next bus to LA. And worn his own damn clo
thes and been his own person right up until Lucas invaded his life. Now, here he was in a long-sleeved shirt of Jeff ’s that was too loose in the body but not quite long enough in the arms. He felt damn near naked walking around without his heavy belt, but Jeff didn’t have a spare, and wearing one of his own heavily studded look-at-me numbers would have defeated the point of borrowing a plain shirt. The pants were his—left over from the back-to-school-week costumes. Somehow they’d never made it back to the wardrobe people. Oops.

  “And your face . . .” Jeff tilted his head like a bad TV detective looking for clues. “It’s so shiny.”

  “You think I won’t hit you?” Cody lifted an eyebrow. He did look all squeaky clean. No makeup. No jewelry. No styled hair. Reflexively¸ he touched his limp hair—he’d combed it flat with only the minimum of product. He looked all of fifteen and ready for the math league. Or hell, slap his band uniform back on him. He could march up and down the field and fit right in.

  “I think you’re going to an awful lot of trouble, considering you seem to have your agent on speed dial this week and can’t wait until we’re eliminated.” Jeff got right back in Cody’s face. This time Cody’s hand fisted for real. He wouldn’t mind hitting something, and Jeff’s stomach looked like a convenient target.

  “Hey, now.” Cody flexed his fingers, trying to remember all the reasons why getting into it with Jeff would be a bad idea.

  “Keep on talking.” Jeff rolled his eyes as the elevator dinged for the lobby.

  The elevator door slid open, and Cody fell behind Jeff, taking a second to take a deep breath and look longingly at the elevator’s buttons. He could hit his floor and abandon this—

  “Cody?” Damn. Lucas had caught sight of them. His head tilted, as if trying to decide if it was Cody or his doppelgänger. Let me know when you make your mind up.

  “I figured what the heck. Free food.” He shrugged. His insides rattled around like the jewelry in his pocket. Reflexively, he touched a bare ear—felt weird, like missing a tooth or shaving too close, and made him feel even more raw and exposed.