by Ava O'Shay
“Fuck,” Quill moaned, shutting his eyes tight at the feel of Assad’s tongue trailing up the grooves between his abs.
Assad stopped. Placing his hands at Quill’s shoulders, he pulled himself up to meet Quill head on. “Open your eyes. Look at me. Just you and me. No one else.” He lowered his mouth, giving Quill a soft kiss. With care, he petted Quill’s mouth with his own, moaning as he ground his crotch against Quill’s. “I want to touch you.” He moved to Quill’s neck and began to suck and lick his way around his jaw.
Quill couldn’t stopped the reflex and squeezed his eyes shut once more, overwhelmed with the emotions… the feelings Assad was able to build in him. He felt like he was going to go off any minute. His body was buzzing with the sensations Assad was causing. His hands massaging his shoulders. His lips tickling, sucking—his tongue tasting. Quill was going to explode.
Assad’s hands roamed around Quill’s sides then back up his torso and around his shoulders. Each time they skimmed closer to his waist band. Quill’s breath was coming in quick gasps, matching the labored breathing Assad was doing by his ear. But whereas Assad’s breath was filled with anticipation, Quill’s was laced with trepidation. He raised his arms, running his hands down Assad’s warm back. Perspiration coated the smooth skin, his cologne releasing its enticing scent at his excursion. Quill had meant to push him away. To stop the onslaught of sensations cursing through his body. He was losing control, and he couldn’t. He wouldn’t let that happen.
Never breaking his connection to Quill, Assad reached behind and grasped Quill’s hands with his own. “Let me do this. Let me take care of you,” he hummed against Quill’s nipple, tugging the piercing with his teeth. Assad placed Quill’s hands over his head and held them tight with his own hands, continuing to drive Quill over the edge with his mouth.
Assad shifted, laying to the side and running a hand down Quill’s side, stopping at the button of his jeans. “Look at me,” Assad whispered. “Just you and me.”
Quill moved his head to nod, but Assad had already shifted his attention back to his mission to drive Quill insane.
Assad worked the buttons of Quill’s pants, moving from one to the next as his button fly released his pulsing dick.
“Jesus,” Quill breathed out in an attempt to not cum. His body was craving the touch Assad was teasing him with. The touch of his hand around his hard cock. The idea of the mouth and the tongue that tortured his nipples moving onto the head of his dick… his body had never wanted anything so bad. But his brain was conflicted. Thoughts of the men who had touched him. Who had grabbed his small hands in theirs, showing him how to stroke and caress the tip in order to cum hard. Quill turned his head to the side, pushing it into the pillow, trying to press the memories away. Trying to keep the tears filling his eyes from spilling. Quill had buried those memories deep. A hard fuck at a bar kept them in the past, but Assad was bringing them flooding to the surface faster than he could get them tapped back down. Assad ran a finger down his length. His stomach lurched. Quill swallowed hard, pushing the bile back down. His dick jerked, so close to releasing the contents he had sequestered through weeks of celibacy. Assad’s calloused fingers caressed and teased until finally wrapping snuggly around his throbbing cock. It took only two strokes of his hand to bring Quill to orgasm and only one more to have him puking over the side of the bed.
“Holy shit.” Assad jumped up, grabbed a T-shirt from the floor, and shoved it in Quill’s direction.
Quill grabbed it and held it over his mouth, his stomach struggling to purge him of the violations of his past. The tears he’d tried to hold in ran down his cheeks as he stumbled to the bathroom across the hall. Hitting his knees, he wrapped his arms around the toilet and continued to throw up until all he was doing was dry heaving. Quill reached up and flushed the toilet, laying his spent body across the linoleum. He pulled in deep breaths, trying to calm his shaking, but the sobs waiting just under the surface were too strong. He covered his face in a towel and let them come.
Assad tapped at the door. “Are you okay?”
Quill cleared his throat. “Yeah.” He tried to sound okay, but his voice was weak and shaky. He struggled to his knees, looking down at the cum all over his stomach and the vomit splattered across his chest. “Shit,” he muttered. Using the sink as support, he pulled himself to his feet. His legs complained, and he thought they would fail him, the energy his body depleted after what started as an overwhelming orgasm and ended in a pukefest left him dead on his feet. “God damn those mother fuckers,” he muttered again. Why did the nightmares of his past have to rear their ugly head tonight? Why couldn’t he have let Assad jack him off and call it good? He ran a hand over his sweaty hair. Probably because he never let anyone touch his dick. The pleasure of masturbation had been taken from him a long time ago. By large aggressive hands. Hands so different than the caresses Assad gave him tonight. Never had he been touched with such care and affection. Why did the memories of those bastards have to ruin it? Why tonight? No matter how bad he’d wanted Assad to finish what he started, it seemed his past was going to step in once again and screw him. “I’m going to take a shower,” he said through the door.
“Okay. You sure you don’t need anything?” Assad’s voice was quiet and concerned. Quill hit himself in the forehead with the palm of his hand. “Stupid,” he said to himself.
Then added, “No I’m good. I’ll be right out.” He turned the shower on hot, stripped what was left of his clothes and climbed in. He was a joke in the universe. How many empty fucks had he been allowed and now the one time he actually had feelings, he couldn’t preform. “Fuck.” He hit the side of the shower.
Quill wrapped a towel around his waist and headed back to his room. Glancing over at Ren’s door, he noticed her light was on. She must have gotten home while they were… they were… well, while they were talking. Assad was dressed and sitting on the edge of the bed when he opened the door.
“Are you all right?” Assad asked again.
Quill nodded. “Yeah. I’m okay. Must have been something I ate.” He thought he might as well try the food poisoning angle, but the expression on Assad’s face told him he wasn’t fooling him.
Quill grabbed some boxers and pulled them on under his towel. Tossing his towel into his hamper, he found some gym shorts on the floor and slid them on. He’d turned to look through the T-shirts hanging in his closet when Assad spoke again.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed. You told me not to, and I didn’t listen.” Assad had gotten up and moved in behind Quill. He pushed into Quill’s back, wrapping an arm around his waist. “I’m sorry.”
Quill’s vision went black. Without thinking, reflexes kicked in. Quill spun around, catching Assad’s chin with his fist before grabbing his neck and slamming him against the wall, fist poised to strike again. He pushed into the soft flesh of Assad’s neck, hearing the breath forced out. Assad’s face didn’t register. Rage burned through Quill as the faces of the men of his past flashed through his mind. He slammed Assad’s head into the wall, bouncing it off the drywall.
A frantic knocking began at the door before it finally flung open, and Ren stood in shock in the doorframe. “What the fuck are you doing? Quill stop.”
The blackness dissolved, and Assad’s bloody face swam before Quill. “Get out,” Quill growled at Ren.
“Are you okay?” she asked no one in particular. “Get the fuck out!” he snapped.
Ren stepped back. “Are you okay?” She was directing her concern toward Assad. So much for sisterly concern.
“I’m okay,” Assad said.
“Okay.” Ren didn’t sound convinced, but she retreated, shutting the door behind her.
Assad’s hands were up like he was being arrested. Blood dripped from his mouth. “Look at me,” Assad whispered, either because he was trying to calm Quill or because the air was being cut off to his vocal cords.
Quill squeezed his eyes closed and looked away, tremors beginning to wrack
his body.
Tears he thought he’d ran out of dripped down his cheeks. “Look at me,” Assad said with more strength.
Quill shook his head and stepped back, releasing Assad from his tight hold. He bent over and pulled in a shaking breath.
Soft hands reached out to his shoulders.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” Quill grunted through clenched teeth.
“Quill. Don’t fucking turn away from me after what happened. Talk to me. What did I do?”
Quill stood, rubbing his hands over his face. “Fuck.” Assad stood, watching him fall apart.
“I can’t do this. I can’t.”
Assad reached out again, but Quill slapped his hand away.
“Get your shit together.” Quill grabbed a shirt, pulled it over his head, and walked out of the room.
Ren was standing at the counter, her head in her hands, when Quill entered. He slid behind her to grab some juice.
Ren raised her head. “Want to tell me who your sleepover buddy is?”
“Not really your business, is it?” He tried to keep his voice steady, but he felt like he was coming apart at the seams. He’d ruined everything just like he told Assad he would. With a shaky hand, he brought the glass to his lips.
“I think it is when number one,” she held a finger up, “you’re beating the shit out of them,” she put up another finger. “Two… it’s a guy.”
“You said it didn’t matter.”
“Well I said that, not thinking it did,” she argued. “So it does?”
“What are you doing, Quill?” Her expression hurt his heart. Somehow, this was turning into more than he’d intended.
“Nothing. I’m not doing anything.” He took another sip of his juice, but the lump forming in his throat made it difficult to swallow.”
“There is a fucking guy in your room.” She flung an arm around. “I heard you, and I just assumed it was a girl.”
“When have I ever brought a girl home?” Her mouth opened and closed.
He’d never brought anyone home. “He’s my friend. It isn’t what you think.” It would have been what she thought, but he screwed it up.
“I think you were beating on him, and I heard a whole lot of moaning going on.” “Jesus, Ren, leave it alone.” Quill ran a hand over his head. He couldn’t explain what was going on to himself, how could he explain it to her?
Assad emerged from the hallway.
Their conversation came to a halt. Quill’s gaze immediately locked on the bruise forming on Assad’s chin and a cut along the edge of his lip.
Assad paused briefly before moving to Quill. “I’m ready.”
“Ren you’re heading… “ Quill started. He knew he should take Assad home, but the last thing Quill wanted to do was be locked in a car with the guy who just had is dick in his hand.
Assad let out a noise of disgust and shook his head. “Never mind, I’ll find my own way.” He brushed his shoulder roughly against Quill’s as he passed.
Ren gave him a look of, ‘you better take him home.’ Quill flipped her off. “Wait. I’ll take you.”
Assad looked like he wanted to say something, but then thought better of it and simply nodded.
“I’ll grab my keys.” Against his better judgment, he left Assad and Ren in the kitchen. When he entered the hall after retrieving his things, he could hear hushed voices. “Shit.”
Ren was trying to figure out what was going on and all she was going to accomplish was fucking up an already fucked up situation.
“Ready?” he interrupted.
Assad avoided making eye contact and nodded.
Quill gave Ren a disapproving look. She shrugged as if she hadn’t stuck her nose where it didn’t belong. He flipped her off behind his back and followed Assad out the door. They’d gone down the stairs, got in the car and drove halfway across town without anything more than a simple one word direction from Assad.
The tension in the car was thick. Quill thought about trying to explain the incident away.
Finally telling someone his secret before it destroyed another thing in his life, but Quill had to wonder if it was best they ended things now before it got any more complicated.
Assad gave him the final direction. “Turn right. It’s the brick house on the corner.”
Quill pulled the car up to the curb and waited. The Assad he thought he knew wouldn’t get out of the car without some word of wisdom or fuck society rant, but apparently the Assad he knew wasn’t currently in the car because he got out without a word and walked up to the house without a glance back.
“Shit.” Quill banged his hand against the steering wheel. He’d told Assad what would happen. He’d warned him. And he’d done exactly what he’d promised. He’d fucked up.
.fifteen
Quill Diaz
September 27
3:30 a.m.
Quill walked in, tossed his keys in the basket, sending it off the table and onto the floor.
“Ren!”
Ren was stirring something in a pan when he settled on to a stool. “That was interesting.”
“What did you say to him?” “Nothing,” She stirred a bit faster.
“You told him something.” Quill was livid that she would share their past with someone he’d just met.
She turned the stove down and faced him. “What’d you tell him?” “Nothing. I hardly know him.”
She put her hands on her hips. “You barely know a guy you had sleep over?”
“Stop with the high and mighty shit. You had a guy’s dick in your mouth, and you didn’t know him.”
“Fuck you.”
“No. Fuck you for telling him anything.”
“He asked. I gave an answer.” “To what?”
She stared back.
“Jesus Christ, Ren, I have never thrown you under the bus. I never told Jolin anything about your past, and I bring one guy into our house and you chuck me under. Fuck you.”
He got up and headed to his room. She was always trying to protect him and all it did was screw everything up. He was supposed to meet Cori in the morning, but he couldn’t sit in his room and smell Assad’s cologne. He had to get out of the apartment before he blew on Ren.
Ren tapped on the door. “Go away.”
“I didn’t tell him anything, but he asked, Q. He told me what he did… and what you did.” Her eyebrows drew together. “What’s going on?” Her voice caught. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing.”
“What happened to you in the homes? At mom’s? What aren’t you telling me?”
Quill grabbed his baseball cap from his dresser and pulled it down. “You know what happened.”
“I know what I think happened, but why the hell did you throw your new friend against the wall?”
“God dammit, Ren, stay out of my life.” He glared at her in a silent stand-off. “I can’t.” She fluffed her short hair and wiped under her eyes.
He leaned in to get a closer look at her. “Hey, are you crying?” Quill could give her the silent treatment and brood with the best of them, but he didn’t like seeing his sister cry.
“No,” she spat.
“Then your face is leaking.” Ren flipped him off.
“I thought you decided you were above the vulgarity of cussing.”
“I didn’t cuss. I used sign language.” Her voice sounded thick. If she hadn’t been crying, she was fighting it now.
Tired and confused he sighed. “Dammit, Ren, don’t cry.” She shook her head and tried to leave, but Quill grabbed her by the arm. “Talk to me.”
“You don’t talk to me,” she shot back. “I listen.” He gave her a crooked smile. “I wish things could be different.”
“I thought positive thinking was helping you move beyond the past and changing your image to create a new person inside… who you want to be… blah, blah… “ Quill said, happy the conversation had shifted from whatever happened with Assad. He was mad, but he wanted her to fight back, swear a
t him—not cry.
“It isn’t as easy as I thought it would be.”
“Nothing about our life is easy. I told you changing the color of your underpants isn’t going change your past.”
Ren slapped his shoulder but his joke seemed to lighten the mood. “Do you know all the girls do is drink? They get shit faced every weekend. They dress like socialites and act worse than anyone I’ve ever seen at The Warehouse. Every freakin’ weekend it’s the same thing.
Drink until they puke, and then fuck some frat guy, and somehow it’s okay. They aren’t called whores or sluts. They just touch up their make-up and walk home in the morning. And in a few hours they get a vase of roses. The entire entry way is full of roses. They have special tables made to line the walls for the flowers. It’s majorly fucked up. I thought it would make me a better person. I thought I could learn how to be sophisticated. Something more than I am. But they’re screwed up, too. Different screwed up, but still fucking looney. I want to stand up in the middle of a party and scream. I bet I could teach them a thing or two.”
“Eeew.” Quill covered his ears.
“I’m trying to be sober, and I don’t think I can with them. Either I have to drink to fit in, or I want to drink to drown out the drivel they spout out.”
“No one said you had to be with them.”
“I’m half way, Quill. Half way to the looney bin.” She looked at the ceiling. “Don’t you get it? They’re just as screwed up as us, but for some reason when they do it everyone says its kids being kids. Why would it be okay for me to blow a guy now but not before? They don’t even hide it, and they find success in classes and on their reputation. That’s what I wanted. I wanted to be in a sorority so I could find a new identity, not keep the old one but cover it in a cardigan.”
“It’s like a group of all the people you hated in high school. Why did you think changing the way you look was going to change who you were?”