- Black Gold 2 - Double Black (12 page)

Lust shot through him as Billy came inside him, and Jett heard the obscene squelching sound of Billy’s dick forcing into Jett’s dripping hole again and again. Without touching himself, without expecting it, Jett felt his own balls tighten and draw up, pumping relentlessly as spunk shot from his cock until Jett was wrung out, sated on such a primal level he thought he might never move again.

Billy reached around Jett and grabbed his waning erection. Billy’s body froze as his fingers probed Jett’s cock, sliding over the slippery tip still dripping with the last pulses of semen.

Looking over Jett’s shoulder, Billy resumed breathing and then squeezed Jett tight. “You’re mine. All mine. You’re so mine I don’t even have to touch you to make you come. Your body knows who it belongs to.”

Jett turned his face to bury it in Billy’s throat. His shallow cuts and scrapes stung from the salty sweat coating their bodies, and he thought Billy’s must sting too, so he licked them with a simple, animal urge to care for the person he belonged to. He felt such tenderness and devotion to this man

He wanted to worship him.

 

“Yours.” Jett didn’t remember he was supposed to say it; he said it because it was true.
Chapter Five
The next morning, Jett had recovered enough to resume his usual habits, but he didn’t.

After yesterday, though, everything seemed different.
Jett wondered if Billy felt it too, like the tectonic plates beneath their relationship had collided in a world-shuddering quake. Since the beginning, Jett had taken the lead, not from any particular desire but because Billy never seemed to have the confidence that Goldie projected.

The thought that Billy might be coming into his own brought a smile to Jett’s lips. It was what he’d always wanted, what he’d striven for in all their sexual interactions, and if this was how it manifested, then Jett wasn’t fucking up as bad as he’d started to fear.

The previous night, Jett had eaten dinner in the bedroom to avoid That Cole Kid, not wanting to ruin the afterglow with a pointless argument. Billy stayed at his side to take full advantage of the extra time he’d been granted. By bedtime, Jett had been ready to go again. With Billy’s stitches and bruises, Jett had to be more gentle than usual as he fucked him, but the sweetness complemented their earlier exertions to perfection. They’d slept soundly, and when Jett woke around nine a.m., he didn’t feel any pressing need to be anywhere.

It was easier staying home when he felt so needed. The restlessness that had driven him most of his life seemed fucked out of him, at least for a while. He didn’t want to admit it, but it was a welcome respite.

Instead of kissing Billy gently and getting dressed right away, Jett curled around his sleeping boyfriend and stroked that godlike body, kissing his nape and jaw with the unhurried tenderness that used to be commonplace for them. When Billy woke and rolled over for more kisses, Jett wondered why he’d been so hell-bent on letting him sleep all those other mornings.

He felt so in love that he wanted to sing.

When Billy went to take a long soak in the Jacuzzi before the masseuse arrived, Jett joined him. He sucked Billy’s cock and bent him over the side of the tub to eat his ass, relishing how good it felt to pamper his poor, beat-up angel. They kissed and touched like they had in the early months of their relationship, insatiable and giddy with lust.

The masseuse showed up before Jett got a chance to fuck Billy, clearing her throat from just outside the doorway so that they sprang apart like guilty teenagers.
When Billy asked her to give them a minute, Jett crowed with triumph and pounced, pushing inside his body with abandon. It felt dirty knowing someone was waiting, that Billy had
made
someone wait so Jett could get off, but that just spurred him on.

Judging from the way Billy clung to Jett and urged him to come inside him, he felt the same thrill.

Afterward, they kissed through the afterglow despite the rush. Jett sucked a hickey into Billy’s neck, inspired by the high school vibe, pulled on some old, comfortable jeans, and sneaked downstairs to play guitar.

As he slipped out of the bedroom without attracting the masseuse’s notice, he shed at least a decade of ennui.
It had been a while since he’d hung out in their practice room. These days most of his jamming happened in the context of schmoozing and recruiting. He’d never been a solo artist, and it still felt strange to be in a practice room alone. A full band’s complement of instruments lined the walls. It exacerbated Jett’s lonesomeness. He knew how to play bass, drums, rhythm, but he’d been a lead guitarist for so long that whenever he tried, it only reminded him he was on his own now.
On his own, with no new albums planned. No band planned. No solo gigs. The last new material he’d released was the album he’d recorded with Goldie, and the last time he’d performed on a real stage had been the gigs done in support of the Black Gold tour.

The youthful energy that had suffused him minutes ago evaporated. Brooding took hold.
Maybe Jett was scared to go it alone. Maybe, just maybe, he didn’t want to find out how hard he’d fail if he tried to fill a venue without the superstar power of Goldie’s name.

“Fuck that shit.” Jett dug in his box o’ drugs for some pot and papers. He rolled a joint, lit up, and passed through the practice room into the studio to spy on Goldie’s progress.

He sank into the producer’s chair and fired up the computer they used for mixing tracks. He smoked as he looked through the list of recently recorded files, added them to a playlist, and donned the headphones. With his bare feet propped on the table and the chair leaned back, Jett closed his eyes to listen while the herbal therapy did its thing.

A half hour passed. Jett’s joint burned down without him noticing. His chest ached from the songs.
It wasn’t just the lyrics. It was the way they were sung: forlorn, yearning, full of some indefinable need. This was what had been lurking in his boyfriend’s heart the past few months, and Jett hadn’t realized until now.
Loneliness was the human condition, he thought.
We’re born alone; we die alone.
But it wasn’t always like that. It didn’t have to be like that. Not for Billy, not if Jett had anything to say about it.
Mixed in with those heartbreaking songs were tracks whose sole purpose seemed to be hardening Jett’s cock. Those tracks were raw, full of sexual aggression and pentup lust that Jett had never imagined Billy felt.
Or maybe Billy didn’t feel those things. Maybe that was Goldie. There definitely seemed to be two separate people inhabiting one body. The problem was Jett wasn’t always sure who he was talking to, dating, or in bed with.
When he thought about the previous afternoon and compared it with those songs, he knew it was Goldie who’d cut him and taken total possession of his body. The memory made Jett blush.
Jett Black didn’t blush.

Struggling with these new thoughts, Jett returned to the practice room, lit a cigarette, and plugged in his seven string. He tuned it down a half step, played for a few moments with the distortion pedal, and then played crunchy, noisy riffs until his fingertips hurt.

They weren’t as calloused anymore. He’d lost his edge.

“What am I doing?” Jett banged his head on the wall as he hung up his guitar. He grunted in frustration, padded up the half flight of steps to the main floor hallway, and made for the kitchen to get something to eat.

It was too early for Hasani, so Jett fended for himself. He preferred it that way. Billy needed a fixed diet to stay in performance shape, but Jett didn’t dance on wires.

 

Food was food, and bacon was good.

 

Whatever sacrifices Billy made in the name of fitness, Jett always found the kitchen stocked with anything he could want. Billy was good that way.

And in most ways.
Preparing grilled cheese sandwiches for them made Jett smile. In an effort to be thoughtful of Billy’s nutritive restrictions, Jett put some rice cakes on the side. Rice was healthy, right?
The masseuse passed Jett on the stairs, meaning he’d timed everything perfectly. He was beaming until he saw Cole standing in the master bedroom with his back to the open door.
Billy slept on the massage table, towel folded to just below the crack of his ass. He’d acquired the table for home use so the masseuse could leave him there. It bought Billy a couple extra hours of relaxation before he returned to the pressures of being Goldie. After yesterday’s beat down, his muscles were probably even sorer than the usual pains from dancing.
It should have been a peaceful scene, but there was Cole, shifting ponderously closer to the table like he was trying not to trip over his boner.

Jett set down the plate.
Still a few feet away, he heard a belt unbuckle. “Hey, what the shit do you think you’re doing?” Jett grabbed Cole by the wrist and yanked him around to face him. Before Cole could say anything, Jett hissed, “Shh! Don’t wake him. I’ll fucking break you if you wake him.”

He released Cole and pointed at the door.
Cole looked over his shoulder at Billy like he wanted to memorize him there, then preceded Jett into the hallway. Jett glowered at the boy and shut the door with exaggerated care. Cole’s face was bright red, but Jett couldn’t tell if it was from shame or fury.

Resisting the urge to punch him, Jett instead pulled Cole into the guest room designated for Cole’s use. It wasn’t a small room compared with Jett’s old apartment in New York, but it felt tiny after the expanse of the master suite. Jett shut the door behind them.

“Okay.” Jett tried to keep a reasonable tone despite the provocation. “Explain yourself. What the shit was that about?”

Cole looked flustered and a little scared. He pressed his lips together, glaring at Jett like it was all his fault. “What do you
think
it was about? Did you get so used to seeing him that you forget what it’s like for the rest of us?”

“What the fuck kind of thing is that to say?” Jett’s train of thought derailed temporarily, but he found his way back. “It fucking looked like you were about to take gross advantage of a sleeping man who’s practically married to someone else is what I think it was about. Fucking answer for that, kid, or do I go wake him and ask him what he thinks you were doing in there with a stiffy tenting the goddamn pants he fucking bought you, unbuckling the belt he fucking gave you from the goodness of his sweet, generous heart?”

Cole blanched. “I wasn’t going to touch him!” His voice climbed toward an inaudible pitch. Any higher and only dogs could hear it. “I was just going to touch
myself
.”

“’Cause it’s okay to whip out your dick if you don’t touch him?” Jett’s voice rose sharply, then diminished to a steely growl. “It’s okay to watch a good, kind man sleeping and jerk off right there in front of him to satisfy your perverse desires without any thought to how he’d feel if he woke up and saw that? I should just let you keep staying here after that? What the fuck might you do next? Thought you were a fucking Kansan, boy. Morals and decency. Heartland values. You just buying into the party line that all queers have to be disgusting? You gonna be the kind of man who proves the talking-head wingnuts right?”

At that Cole looked down, expression muted by guilt. “Everyone jerks off thinking about Goldie. I didn’t expect to see him there like that. I went to talk to him, and he was just there. It wasn’t some master plan or anything. Look, I feel awful, okay? I don’t know what came over me.”

“Listen to me.” Jett felt tired now instead of angry, but the importance of the issue lent him strength of conviction. He stepped forward into Cole’s space, using every trick of body language he knew to intimidate a kid just as big as he was and probably in better shape. “When you see him like that, he’s not Goldie. Goldie belongs to his fans, but Billy Goldean—the man he is when he’s alone, when he’s in his own home sleeping—is my boyfriend, and he deserves some respect under his own roof. I have to share Goldie with the world. I don’t have to share Billy with fucking anyone, and I won’t. Maybe you’re so busy hating me you forget who I am, but I can and will make you suffer tenfold for any egregious lapses of judgment that may visit you via your pustulent adolescent yogurt-slinger.”

The moment of true regret on Cole’s face bled rapidly into contempt. “He must be Billy a lot, because from what I’ve seen, he’s alone most of the time.”

Cole glared as if he’d somehow gained the high ground.
Jett wondered how much Billy had told this kid. By the time he’d fallen asleep last night, he was certain there was nothing going on between Billy and Cole. After that smug look, Robbie’s warning, and the kid’s insider knowledge, he doubted again.
Would Billy have confided in some dumb kid? Jett hadn’t been around enough lately to know.
Jett’s righteous indignation surged alongside his guilt. “I think what you mean is that I’m gone all day, and after what? Two days? Three? You deserve to fuck him because you don’t have a job to go to. You think you’re so fucking great for him?”
“I’d take him every fucking where I went. If I did have to go to a job—and let me remind you that it’s not like you have a job where it’s not welcome, even advantageous to bring him—when I came home, I’d be fucking sober because I’d want to experience every moment I could with him and remember it forever. If I were out, I’d call him! And I wouldn’t skank around with other people where I could be photographed.” Cole’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, what I did was shitty. I get it. But it was maybe half a minute of bad judgment, and at least I’m man enough to admit it.”

Cole pushed Jett back by the shoulders. “You— You’re just some hard-on who fucks anything that moves. You wreck families, and you don’t give a fuck what happens to anyone but you. Yet he loves you. He really fucking
loves
you. And you know what he told me? He told me that he
trusts
you. He sees pictures of you all over other people all day long, and he just says it’s not happening like that. Why you? Why the fuck you? You’re fucking old. You’re wasted. You fucked my mom and ruined her marriage and my life, and you get him. It’s not fair!”

Though Jett’s instinct was to fight, what would he be fighting for? Maybe not all those accusations were true, but the kid had a point. Besides, if he was honest, he’d be pretty pissed off to find out some rock star had fucked his mom too.