by Ava O'Shay
When Quill finally felt they had bridged a relationship of sorts, he laid the cello against the bed. His dick was tight against his zipper. His breath was coming in short bursts. The feelings the cello had stirred in him were too intense to walk away from. Where too intense to let go by simply rubbing one out in the shower. The old Quill would have left for the club and banged a chick to get rid of the need, but this wasn’t the same kind of need. He didn’t want to bury the feeling, he wanted to let the music simmer and develop. He wanted to deprive himself of the quick fix sex would provide because it wouldn’t even come close to the feelings the simple jam session with the cello had brought about. He wanted to make slow, lazy, love to someone. He wanted to know what feels good through an emotional honest exploration. He wanted to destroy the disgrace and the guilt every sexual experience filled him with.
He wanted to beat the shit out of the man that took that away from him. Quill sat in his chair, not sure where to go from here.
There was a light tap at the door and Ren peaked in. “You okay?”
Quill turned in his chair, making sure his hard on had diminished to at least a half chub and invited her in. “Yeah, what’s up?”
“What were you doing?” “Playing the cello.” “Why?”
“My music class. We have an assignment and Don, my boss, thought the cello would be an interesting choice of instruments.”
“I didn’t recognize the song.”
“I was just playing around.” Quill shifted to relieve some of the stress of his jeans. “It was good, Quill. Really good.”
Quill smiled. “Thanks, sis.”
“I wanted to let you know there are some left overs in the fridge, and I’m heading out.”
Quill drew his eyebrows together. “Where are you going?” He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. If Jolin called, it would be better if Quill could honestly say he didn’t know.
“Just out with a few girls.” Ren shifted uncomfortably. “They asked me over to their house.”
“By house you mean Sorority.”
She gave him an uncommitted shrug. “Half way?”
She didn’t answer for a minute, then shrugged again. “If it’s good for him, maybe it’s good for me.”
“Yeah, not sure it works that way.” He laughed dryly.
.fourteen
Quill Diaz
September 26
5:00 p.m.
By the time Monday came around, Quill had perfected the cello to the point he could play random notes in some semblance of a tune, and he could play U2’s With or Without You from memory. He was finishing up some variations on the vocals in the practice room after work when Cori walked in.
“Oh, I thought you left for the day.” She back peddled out. “No, wait. I need an opinion,” he called out.
Cori stopped, gave him a skeptical look then came back into the room.
Quill smiled. “I’ve been working on this piece for Music Appreciation. You know, Professor McDougal’s class? I have the instrumental down pretty good. At least I think I do, but any suggestions are welcome. Your dad suggested I add vocals.”
“Vocals aren’t part of the assignment.” Her tone and expression came across as bored. Ignoring her attitude, he continued, “I know, but I wanted something different. Better.” Cori raised an eyebrow. He figured she thought he was full of shit.
Quill had taken his hat off and it was sitting on top of the piano. He wanted to get up, retrieve it, and place it snuggly on his head. Slide it down over his brow and hide from the way she was looking at him. He was exposed and it didn’t look like she liked what she saw.
“Never mind. I was just asking for an opinion. Nothing more. Sorry I asked.” Cori flung her hand in the air, brushing away his words. “Just do it already.”
Quill dipped his head and smiled. He closed his eyes, seducing the instrument into giving him what he needed. He caressed it with the bow, fingered the strings like a delicate woman deserved to be touched then began to sing. His voice was low and held the twang of a bluegrass. He sang from deep in his soul, giving back to the cello the gift it was giving him.
When he was done, he lazily opened his eyes, locking his gaze to Cori’s. Every touch of his bow was the soft caresses he wished he was capable of giving to her—to someone.
She stood, seemingly stunned. He’d surprised her, and he liked that he could. They seemed to be sharing some unspoken moment. Until, out of nowhere, Assad appeared.
“Dude! You have to play that at the club. Look at me.” He pointed a finger down to the front of his jeans where a bulge pushed against the zipper, begging to be set free. “I’m hard.” He looked at Cori. “Are you? You know… “ He chuckled.
Cori blinked, the moment having passed, and slapped Assad hard on the arm. “God, you are so disgusting.”
“You are, aren’t you?” Assad winked at Quill. “Dude that was effing awesome.
Seriously, you need to play with us sometime.” Assad came up and slapped Quill on the back. “You are hiding some pretty intense skills. Don’t you think, Cori?”
Cori remained poised at the threshold of the room. She had yet to agree or disagree, which had Quill nervous. It was great Assad liked it, but Cori’s opinion was what he’d hoped for.
“What did you think?” he asked carefully.
Cori drew in a deep breath. “It was good. There were a few places you could push harder, change it up a little more. You have a bluesy, almost blue grass sound. I think you could bring that in more. But for the first time out of the gate, it was pretty good.”
Quill couldn’t help the smile itching to spread wide across his face. She’d actually said something kind of nice to him.
Assad, however, was not satisfied. “That’s it? No one is asking where in the world those changes could possibly be because I didn’t hear it.”
Cori rolled her eyes. “Shut up.” She turned back to Quill. “I can help you tomorrow after work. It’ll only take a minute to show you.”
“That would be great!” Quill kicked himself for being overly exuberant. “I got stuff to do. See you later.”
Quill watched Cori retreat, the grin still plastered on his face.
Assad smacked him on the back again. “I was serious, dude. That was awesome. We play at The Warehouse again on Friday. Please tell me you’ll do that cover for us. Man, if you want lead vocal when Cori bails, you got it. We can work over some covers and… “ He threw his hands in the air. “We could actually get paid gigs!”
Quill laughed. “I don’t know. I’ve never sang in front of a crowd, of more than two people.”
“The crowd will love you.”
Quill propped the cello against the wall. “I’ll do it if you wear that to perform.” He pointed up and down at Assad’s loose fitted pants and T-shirt with a thermal under it. “No costumes.”
“We’ll look like a boy band with Sean on drums and Eli on guitar. I don’t do boy bands.” Assad scrunched up his noise as if the idea actually smelled.
“I thought you don’t do labels. Let’s just be us. Out of the box musicians that change the way music is played. No costumes, no gimmicks.”
“You seem pretty excited about this idea.” Assad winked.
Quill looked at his feet, then cocked his head and drew in a deep breath. “I have never been good at anything. Except fucking and I don’t know if I’m really good at that. I feel like I could be really good at this.”
Assad stepped into Quill’s space. “You are very good at this, and you don’t know what you’re doing. Imagine if Cori helped you. You’ll be amazing.” He ran the back of his fingers down Quill’s cheek. “My guess is you are indeed excellent at sex. I’ll wear normal… normal in society’s eyes.” His eyes dropped to Quill’s mouth. “If you let me kiss you,” he whispered.
“We’re friends without benefits, remember?” Quill shifted from his touch. He didn’t want this with Assad, but someone needed to tell his body that. Every time Assad was near, every time he touche
d him, Quill’s body responded. The return of the intense arousal he got when playing the cello in his room and Assad’s close proximity made him light headed.
“You give me this?” He pointed at the front of his pants. “And leave me hanging. You can’t do that. It’s cruel, man.”
Quill stood and began packing the cello. He wasn’t going to let this thing with Assad happen. He wasn’t gay. He’d hated the men touching him. He liked girls. “Yeah I can. Don’t push me.”
“Kill joy,” Assad muttered. “Whatever.”
“Coffee?”
Quill rolled his eyes at Assad’s pouting. “Sure, why not.” He finished packing what he now referred to as the ‘ole girl’ and followed Assad out, giving Don and Cori a wave.
Assad refused to let Quill pay again then settled into what he now referred to as their booth.
“Seems things are going better with Cori.” Assad didn’t sound like that fact made him happy. “Sorting out your feelings and all?”
“Today was the first day she’s spoken to me in a civil manner. Not sure that equated to going better.”
“So, it’s going slow.” Assad couldn’t hide his satisfied grin.
“If slow means she avoids the store when I’m working. Does all her lessons and composing after hours.” Quill tipped his cup to his lips. “Tonight I stayed late and threw her off.”
“She likes you. But you scare her.” “And you know this how?”
Assad leaned back in the booth. “She talks about how annoying you are. How she thinks you’re a gimmick to sell guitars.”
“I am a gimmick. But it was her dad’s idea, not mine. And how does she know I’m annoying if she’s never around?”
“You’re annoying because she is trying to avoid you, and you’re always at the store.” Quill raised a shoulder in a half shrugged. “Where else should I be?”
“Home, dorms, a party getting laid… she has a list.” “Home is shitty. My sister is having a mid-life crisis.” Assad’s expression softened. “That’s too bad… maybe… “ “Stay away from her.”
“Geesh. I can’t have you, and you won’t let me have her.”
“I don’t live in the dorms. Does she want me to loiter around? I thought she’d be happy I’m keeping the big guy in my pants because that’s how I pissed her off in the first place.” Quill had decided to quit the fast women and pick-up sex and try to clean up his act. He’d tried before and failed, but this time he was searching for healing.
“She doesn’t like you because you’re dangerous. Which is exactly why I do like you.” Assad leaned back and looked Quill up and down. “I however, am very happy you’re keeping the big guy in your pants.”
“Well, we’re even. She scares the shit out of me.” Quill tried to ignore Assad’s comment and adjusted his hat nervously. “It’s all a mute-point anyway. I’m not what she needs in her life. I’m shit, and no matter how bad I want to be better… , I turn everything to shit. She deserves better.”
“She deserves Julliard. She got accepted last year but deferred because she didn’t think she was ready.”
“Is she now?” Quill asked.
“No. She doesn’t want to leave her dad, and she isn’t sure what she wants to study.
Drama, drama.” He sipped his coffee.
“Well she certainly is good enough to go.”
“Yes she is. She just needs to give herself permission to be happy again.” Assad clapped his hands. “Enough talk about Cori. She’s great! She should be at Julliard, blah, blah—let’s go bowling.”
“What the fuck?” Quill coughed.
“Bowling and beer. Let’s go. I’m tired of listening to your depressing babble.” “Bowling,” Quill repeated.
“Nothing like throwing some hard balls down when life is kicking your ass.” Assad pulled himself out of the booth and headed out the door.
With a sigh, Quill followed.
-oOo-
They’d been bowling for an hour, or maybe it would be more accurate to say they’d been drinking for an hour and bowling for about five minutes.
“I thought you didn’t drink.” Quill stood, balancing the bowling ball.
“I don’t drink when I perform; besides, beer isn’t really drinking.” He tipped back his fifth or tenth beer, Quill hadn’t started counting until it became obvious he was on a mission to get shit faced.
Quill frowned. “Beer is definitely drinking.”
Assad flipped his hand toward Quill. “Bowl already. I want to watch that glorious ass clench when you throw the ball down the lane.”
“I don’t think you’re getting the idea of friends.” Quill turned and tried to concentrate on the pin he was aiming for. Assad made keeping his feelings tapped down very difficult.
“Friends with benefits sounds like a better idea.”
Quill tried to ignore him. Tried to remind his dick he was into girls, but it wasn’t listening.
“I’m tired of bowling.” Assad leaned over on the bench.
“You aren’t even bowling. You’re drinking beer and lying all over the benches.” “Take me home.”
“I don’t know where you live.” Quill ran his hands down his thighs. “Take me to yours.”
Quill chuckled. Assad was laid out on the hard, plastic bench, hanging his head off the edge. “Yeah, you don’t drink much do you?”
Assad pulled himself up and blinked a few times. “Dude.” He smiled.
Quill retrieved his boots from under the seat and shucked off the multi-colored bowling shoes. “Put your shoes on.”
Assad leaned over. Quill grabbed the collar of his shirt to keep him from toppling over. “Shit, Assad. Pull it together.”
Assad’s glassy eyes looked at him.
“Jesus Christ.” Quill grabbed Assad’s foot, pulled off his bowling shoes, then gathered his own and took them to the counter, hoping Assad would have his shoes on when Quill returned.
However, when he returned, Assad hadn’t put his shoes on and looked like he’d passed out. Quill nudged his shoulder, pushing him to the side so he could sit down. “Sit up. I am not putting your fucking shoes on.”
“Didn’t I put them on?” Assad let out a moan and straightened. “I don’t drink very often.”
“No?”
“You drank just as much as me and look at you.” Assad pointed a shaky finger at him.
Quill stopped tying his boots and looked at the floor. “Beer is like Kool-Aid compared to the shit I’ve done.”
Assad touched his arm. “You’ve done a lot of drugs?”
Quill looked down at Assad’s hand. “Depends on your definition of a lot.” Quill lightly removed Assad’s hand from his arm.
“I’d like you not to do them anymore.”
Quill laughed. “I’ll take that into consideration.”
“But you won’t quit will you? If I offered you something, you wouldn’t even think twice about taking it.”
Quill thought a minute. “Not with you. I wouldn’t do them with you. And I’m not planning on doing any tonight.”
“But you don’t care what they are.” Assad’s voice was getting louder. Quill didn’t want to have this conversation. What he wanted was Assad to put his fucking shoes so they could get out of here. “Are you trying to kill yourself? Don’t you care that when you’re careless the people who care about you hurt?”
“That’s a lot of caring going on,” Quill snorted.
Assad’s voice was quiet, his eyes intense. “I don’t want to lose you to something stupid.” Quill broke his stare and looked around to see if anyone was watching their exchange. “Jesus Christ, Assad. Do you understand the concept of fucking boundaries?” he muttered. “This conversation here,” he pointed back and forth between them. “This conversation is what makes me want to do drugs. So, yes, if you keep harping on me, I will go score some pot or some X and get high.”
Assad gave him a sad smile. “I told you I don’t believe in a world that fences you in.” His dark lashes lowere
d to his cheeks. “Friends zone sounds like a fence to me. I can’t help but want to break out.”
Quill pulled him up to stand. “Slide your shoes on for fuck sake.”
With a little support, Quill got Assad into his shoes and out to the car. The minute he hit the passenger seat, his head lolled to the side, and he started making soft snoring sounds. At least he’d shut up. The last thing Quill had been looking for was the opportunity to disappoint another person.
Quill drove them to his place since even if Assad’s had been an option, Quill didn’t know where Assad lived and now that he was passed out, Quill would probably never know.
The short ride was all Assad needed to revive. The minute the car stopped and Quill touched his shoulder, Assad’s eyelids sprang open. He did look more coherent than he had at the bowling alley.
“Time to get out.” Quill removed his hand from Assad’s shoulder.
Assad gave a nod, climbed out, and followed Quill into the building. “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I shouldn’t talk so freely in public, but it bugs me I can’t. I’ll try to do better when it comes to you. I can handle it. I know you can’t.”
Quill turned on the stairs, looking down at where Assad stood a few stairs below. “I can handle anything. I just don’t know where I stand in this relationship with you, and until I do, I’d rather not give the town ideas on where my feelings lie.”
Assad smiled. “You said relationship. You also said feelings.” Quill shook his head and turned around. “Shut up,” he grumbled.
Ren wasn’t home when they entered the apartment. Quill had a sinking feeling she was out with some sorority girls making her life worse than it already was. He dropped his keys in the small basket Ren had sitting on the side table, shook off his coat, and headed into the kitchen to get Assad some water.
Assad followed him, mimicking his actions by losing his coat and hanging it neatly on the coat rack. He settled on a stool next to the counter, accepting the glass of water Quill set in front of him.