Fic: Step One: Cut A Hole In A Box (Cash/Ian)
Title: Step One: Cut A Hole In A Box
Pairing: Cash/Ian
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Ahahahaha. Not true. I hope.
Summary: Uh. Cash puts his dick in a box.
A/N: I don’t know, okay? I can’t even remember why I wrote this, other than I saw that SNL vid with JT in it and said ‘Hahaha, I bet Cash would put his dick in a box’ and mintyfiend didn’t tell me to shut up and then she betaed it because she is wonderful and puts up with me being insane. Any mistakes or shame at writing this belong to me.
It’s been suggested, once or twice, that Cash lacks both a sense of decorum and a sense of romance. He’s the dude who would walk up to you, knock your drink down his front and then say “let’s get me out of these wet clothes and you can make it up to me”. He’s the dude who would say things like “if you give me that last cupcake, I’ll let you blow me”. He’s the dude who would say “fuck, if I don’t get laid soon, I’m going to jizz in my pants. Any takers?”
So, yeah, Cash isn’t the most romantic dude in the world. And it isn’t much of a surprise that his band never take him up on the offers, “as tempting as it is” Singer drawls sarcastically every time he says no, and Cash shrugs and says “your loss” and that’s that.
Cash is indiscriminate with his come on to his band. He’s just as likely to come up behind Johnson and pretend to hump him as he’s to do the same thing to Singer. He’s as likely to unbuckle his belt and say “be gentle with me” as he walks towards Ian, as he’s to approach Marshall in the same way. He’ll happily walk into the room and announce he’s painfully hard and ask for a volunteer to jack him off.
It is, Ian’s learning, just a part of Cash being Cash-like. He’s never sure if Cash is serious or not- as far as he knows none of the band had ever taken him up on his offers (there were rumours, that he didn’t know quite whether to believe or not, that Cash had walked up to Brendon and said “I’d bet you’d like to fuck me” and had a bewildered Brendon halfway into a bedroom before Spencer had shown up and said “NO” and that had been that).
Ian’s tried to broach the subject with Singer, but he’d just rolled his eyes and said, “Oh, that’s just Cash,” like it was normal for a dude to proposition his friends on a regular basis.
“He gets like this when he’s not getting laid,” Johnson had explained. “Sometimes I wish someone would just do it to get him to shut up.”
“Why not you?” Ian had asked and Johnson had snorted and shaken his head.
“He doesn’t really want to fuck me,” Johnson had explained.
“Does he really want to fuck any of us?” Ian had asked, and Johnson had shrugged.
“Who knows what goes on in that little brain of his,” Johnson had answered. Then he’d squinted at Ian. “Why’re you so curious? Thinking of saying yes to him?”
Ian had rolled his eyes and walked away.
But the thing was. Well. Ian maybe is.
Ian knows that Cash can be a douche nozzle. He knows that Cash is basically a teenager in heat and that if he ever said yes either a) Cash would be so surprised at someone not laughing in his face he’d drop dead from shock on the spot, which would suck, or b) Cash would laugh in his face and say it was just a joke and then everyone would mock him for approximately forever.
So, the next time Cash sidles up to Ian and tries to stick his hands in Ian’s pants, Ian does what the others do, and shrugs him off and tells Cash to go and jerk off somewhere far away from him.
“Fine,” Cash pouts. “But I’m going to be thinking of you while I do it.”
Cash disappears off, and Ian has to hurry off into the bathroom to deal with the raging hard-on he’s suddenly sporting, just from the idea of Cash jerking off, thinking of him. It’s kind of embarrassing, but kind of hot too. For a moment Ian lets himself think that maybe Cash suspects that he has this affect on Ian, and that he knows what Ian is doing right now. It makes Ian wish they could just cut out the middle man and do this together. Maybe with their hands on each others dicks instead.
That’s pretty much when he realises that he’s fucked.
Ian knows it’s probably super creepy of him, but he starts imagining what it would be like to accept Cash’s advances, which continue on a regular basis. He even starts to let himself believe that he’s the only one Cash is propositioning, until he walks in on Cash grabbing Marshall’s hips and trying to get him to grind to some shitty song on the radio, Marshall making a face and pushing him away.
Ian spends a whole day being really pissy with them, which makes no sense whatsoever. It’s not Marshall’s fault that Cash chose him to do exactly what he does to all of them, every single day. And it’s not Cash’s fault that Ian is a complete tool who’d allowed his crush to develop to a ridiculous stage.
The next morning, Ian vows to get over his crush, and he tries really hard to just laugh and push Cash away immediately whenever Cash tries anything with that big dorky grin on his face. There’s no more letting Cash push just that tiny bit closer so he can enjoy an extra moment or two of contact that will be filed away in his spank bank until he’s alone. No more imagining Cash actually means it when he says that he wants Ian’s mouth on his dick more than he wants anything in the world, ever, even more than he wants a burrito from Del Taco.
And it works, for a little while. Until Cash strolls in one day with a brightly wrapped package. Attached to the front of his crotch.
Cash looks extremely proud of himself and Johnson just groans loudly and says “Dude, dick in a box? You couldn’t come up with something more original?”
Cash grins and sticks the box in Johnson’s face.
“The old ones are the best ones,” he informs them all. “Wanna unwrap me?” he asks, wiggling his hips for good measure. Johnson declines with minimal usage of four letter words, which impresses Ian a lot.
Cash shrugs and moves on to Singer, who puts down the book he’s reading and gives a long suffering sigh that reminds Ian that Singer- and the others really, but especially Singer- has had to put up with all this for longer than anyone should really have to.
Ian doesn’t get to see how Singer tells Cash to fuck off though- his phone rings. It’s Shane and Ian hasn’t talked to him in ages, despite being in the same city, so he gets up and leaves the room to answer it. They only have a short conversation, trying to arrange getting together to hang out doesn’t really take that long when you’re as straight to the point as Shane can be sometimes. When Ian hangs up, he decides not to go back into the room with the others, and instead goes and hides out in one of the tiny rooms in the studio. There’s just a sofa in it, a pile of music magazines and an old guitar, and he’s pretty sure it’s somewhere for the techs to escape the artists and catch a few Z’s.
Ian curls up on the sofa and gets engrossed in an old article about Richie Sambora, enough so that when there’s a quiet knock on the door he says “Come in,” without considering it could be Cash.
“I’ve got a delivery for you!” Cash announces, pointing at the box that is still attached to him.
Ian sighs and sets the magazine aside, carefully leaving it folded open to the right page so he can finish reading once Cash has had his fun and fucked off and Ian has, let’s face it, had to quickly jerk off. He just hopes he doesn’t get the pages all sticky afterwards.
“Wanna open it?” Cash asks. “There’s a surprise inside.”
Ian sighs. “Really,” he says. “I wonder what it could be.”
Cash winks at him. “Unwrap it and see.” He positions himself right in front of Ian, so that the box is at eye level for Ian. It means Ian can actually look at the box, which Cash has clearly taken some time to prepare. It’s wrapped in shiny, expensive looking wrapping paper, and the lid has been papered too, and then a glittery ribbon tied around it, a large bow on top.
“Overcompensating much?” Ian asks, pointing to the bow, and Cash frowns.
It’s the first time Ian’s seen Cash’s bravado really slip in moments like these and he feels like he’s won something. He knows it’s cruel, but it’s also payback for the way Cash keeps getting him all hot and bothered with no real option to take him up on his offers.
“I mean, really,” Ian says, reaching out and stroking the bow. It slips through his fingers when Cash straightens up suddenly, like Ian’s surprised him.
It makes Ian smirk. “I thought you wanted me to unwrap the package?” he asks, pulling at the bow until it unravels and falls to the floor. He looks up at Cash, who swallows hard and stares down at him, looking a little bit confused. And a little bit scared.
Ian knows he should stop, that it’s not fair to tease Cash the way Cash has been teasing him. All of them really, but Ian’s been paying attention and he’s pretty sure Cash doesn’t affect the others in the same way. So, yeah, Ian should stop, but the thing is, he kind of does want to reach into the box.
So he takes the lid off.
Cash goes very still. Ian suspects he’s not even breathing so he waits until Cash lets out a long, shaky exhale before he shifts and gets up onto his knees on the sofa, so he can peer inside. There’s a lot of soft packing chips, and Ian is glad to see that Cash isn’t dumb enough to risk paper cuts from confetti.
Ian reaches in and shifts some of the chips aside and there’s Cash’s dick, peeking through the polystyrene. It surprises Ian a little- he hadn’t been certain that Cash hadn’t just stuck a box to his belt or something- but then he realises that if anyone is likely to put their dick in a box for real, it’s Cash.
“For me?” Ian says, too sweetly. “You shouldn’t have.” His tone is light and he thinks it’s doing a good job of hiding just how much he really does want to touch Cash’s dick.
He looks up and Cash meets his eyes. There’s a flicker of something there, and it takes Ian a moment to realise that Cash thinks they’re playing chicken- the last one to break away is totally gay or something. Ian almost feels sorry for Cash, that he doesn’t know that Ian doesn’t care if Cash knows that he totally is gay. For Cash at least.
Ian reaches into the box and wraps his hand around Cash’s dick. He manages to get his fingers right the way round it, give it the tiniest of squeezes, before Cash steps back taking himself, and his dick, out of Ian’s reach.
Cash stares at him, and Ian stares back.
“You just touched my dick,” Cash says. Ian can’t read his tone, and he winces, waiting for Cash to freak the fuck out or punch him or run and tell the others or, worst of all, laugh in his face.
“I did,” Ian says evenly when Cash hasn’t done any of that after a whole minute has passed.
“Um. Why?” Cash asks, like he doesn’t understand it.
“Because you asked me to,” Ian replies, like it’s obvious and Cash takes a half step forward again.
“What if I asked you to stick it in your mouth?” he asks.
Ian raises an eyebrow. “I’d tell you to stick it in your own mouth,” he replies calmly. “But if you kissed me and said you liked me too and that you’d really like it if we fucked and that you love getting your dick sucked and that you’d probably reciprocate, well, then I probably would.”
Cash stares at him. “Are you fucking with me?”
Ian decides to borrow some of Cash’s usual attitude. “Not yet,” he says, giving Cash a suggestive smile.
Cash moves closer and sits on the sofa beside Ian, as best he can with the box still attached. He pushes the magazine out of the way. It falls to the floor and Ian loses his page, but he doesn’t really care.
“Really?” Cash asks. He leans in, as if trying to see how close he can get before Ian shoves him away and tells him to fuck of, like normal.
“Really,” Ian says, and kisses him.
“Oh!” Cash says, sounding surprised, and pulls back. “You like me!” he exclaims. “I knew it! I knew you did! Johnson said you probably did, but I wasn’t sure. But you do! I can’t believe this finally worked.”
Ian rolls his eyes. “Yes, well done,” he says, dully. “You’ve finally gotten one of your band mates to consider sleeping with you.”
Cash stares at Ian like he’s a little bit stupid, which is hardly fair. After all, Ian isn’t the one with his dick in a box. “No, you idiot. I mean, it finally got you to notice me!”
Ian frowns. “What do you mean?” he asks. Then, “wait,” he adds. “How long have you been doing this whole thing for?” he waves his hand at the box, where the head of Cash’s dick is still peeping through the polystyrene.
Cash blushes, which is something Ian’s never seen before. “Didn’t the others tell you? I’m surprised you didn’t ask, especially since you’ve obviously got the hots for me.”
Ian wonders why he never did ask. And why no one had mentioned it. He’d just assumed it was something that he’d been doing forever. But it sounded like-
“Since we met you,” Cash admits. “I know it’s not the smartest way to make an impression on someone, but I never said I was a smart guy.”
“I don’t know,” Ian says, knocking Cash’s shoulder with his own. “It seemed to work okay. Certainly original, at least.”
That makes Cash grin, a wide, honest smile. And so when he leans in and says, “I really like you, I’m sorry I’m a douche about showing it the way you’re supposed to,” and kisses Ian, Ian hungrily kisses him back.
When the kiss ends, Ian points at the box and says, “What say we free Cash junior and you get that blowjob you were wanting?”
Cash eagerly tries to yank the box off, then goes white and stops. “Um,” he says, voice sounding strained. “I think it’s stuck.”
Ian tries very hard not to laugh as he fetches a pair of scissors and carefully cuts Cash free, with lots of shouting and near missed injuries until Cash’s dick is once again boxless.
“Ow,” Cash complains, and Ian gives him a sympathetic look.
“I hope we’ve learnt a lesson,” he says, “about not putting dicks in boxes as a means of seduction.” He reaches out and rubs Cash’s dick, which makes Cash hum happily, and wince at the same time.
“Don’t worry,” Ian says, sliding off the sofa and onto the floor. “I’ll kiss it better.”
Pairing: Cash/Ian
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Ahahahaha. Not true. I hope.
Summary: Uh. Cash puts his dick in a box.
A/N: I don’t know, okay? I can’t even remember why I wrote this, other than I saw that SNL vid with JT in it and said ‘Hahaha, I bet Cash would put his dick in a box’ and mintyfiend didn’t tell me to shut up and then she betaed it because she is wonderful and puts up with me being insane. Any mistakes or shame at writing this belong to me.
It’s been suggested, once or twice, that Cash lacks both a sense of decorum and a sense of romance. He’s the dude who would walk up to you, knock your drink down his front and then say “let’s get me out of these wet clothes and you can make it up to me”. He’s the dude who would say things like “if you give me that last cupcake, I’ll let you blow me”. He’s the dude who would say “fuck, if I don’t get laid soon, I’m going to jizz in my pants. Any takers?”
So, yeah, Cash isn’t the most romantic dude in the world. And it isn’t much of a surprise that his band never take him up on the offers, “as tempting as it is” Singer drawls sarcastically every time he says no, and Cash shrugs and says “your loss” and that’s that.
Cash is indiscriminate with his come on to his band. He’s just as likely to come up behind Johnson and pretend to hump him as he’s to do the same thing to Singer. He’s as likely to unbuckle his belt and say “be gentle with me” as he walks towards Ian, as he’s to approach Marshall in the same way. He’ll happily walk into the room and announce he’s painfully hard and ask for a volunteer to jack him off.
It is, Ian’s learning, just a part of Cash being Cash-like. He’s never sure if Cash is serious or not- as far as he knows none of the band had ever taken him up on his offers (there were rumours, that he didn’t know quite whether to believe or not, that Cash had walked up to Brendon and said “I’d bet you’d like to fuck me” and had a bewildered Brendon halfway into a bedroom before Spencer had shown up and said “NO” and that had been that).
Ian’s tried to broach the subject with Singer, but he’d just rolled his eyes and said, “Oh, that’s just Cash,” like it was normal for a dude to proposition his friends on a regular basis.
“He gets like this when he’s not getting laid,” Johnson had explained. “Sometimes I wish someone would just do it to get him to shut up.”
“Why not you?” Ian had asked and Johnson had snorted and shaken his head.
“He doesn’t really want to fuck me,” Johnson had explained.
“Does he really want to fuck any of us?” Ian had asked, and Johnson had shrugged.
“Who knows what goes on in that little brain of his,” Johnson had answered. Then he’d squinted at Ian. “Why’re you so curious? Thinking of saying yes to him?”
Ian had rolled his eyes and walked away.
But the thing was. Well. Ian maybe is.
Ian knows that Cash can be a douche nozzle. He knows that Cash is basically a teenager in heat and that if he ever said yes either a) Cash would be so surprised at someone not laughing in his face he’d drop dead from shock on the spot, which would suck, or b) Cash would laugh in his face and say it was just a joke and then everyone would mock him for approximately forever.
So, the next time Cash sidles up to Ian and tries to stick his hands in Ian’s pants, Ian does what the others do, and shrugs him off and tells Cash to go and jerk off somewhere far away from him.
“Fine,” Cash pouts. “But I’m going to be thinking of you while I do it.”
Cash disappears off, and Ian has to hurry off into the bathroom to deal with the raging hard-on he’s suddenly sporting, just from the idea of Cash jerking off, thinking of him. It’s kind of embarrassing, but kind of hot too. For a moment Ian lets himself think that maybe Cash suspects that he has this affect on Ian, and that he knows what Ian is doing right now. It makes Ian wish they could just cut out the middle man and do this together. Maybe with their hands on each others dicks instead.
That’s pretty much when he realises that he’s fucked.
Ian knows it’s probably super creepy of him, but he starts imagining what it would be like to accept Cash’s advances, which continue on a regular basis. He even starts to let himself believe that he’s the only one Cash is propositioning, until he walks in on Cash grabbing Marshall’s hips and trying to get him to grind to some shitty song on the radio, Marshall making a face and pushing him away.
Ian spends a whole day being really pissy with them, which makes no sense whatsoever. It’s not Marshall’s fault that Cash chose him to do exactly what he does to all of them, every single day. And it’s not Cash’s fault that Ian is a complete tool who’d allowed his crush to develop to a ridiculous stage.
The next morning, Ian vows to get over his crush, and he tries really hard to just laugh and push Cash away immediately whenever Cash tries anything with that big dorky grin on his face. There’s no more letting Cash push just that tiny bit closer so he can enjoy an extra moment or two of contact that will be filed away in his spank bank until he’s alone. No more imagining Cash actually means it when he says that he wants Ian’s mouth on his dick more than he wants anything in the world, ever, even more than he wants a burrito from Del Taco.
And it works, for a little while. Until Cash strolls in one day with a brightly wrapped package. Attached to the front of his crotch.
Cash looks extremely proud of himself and Johnson just groans loudly and says “Dude, dick in a box? You couldn’t come up with something more original?”
Cash grins and sticks the box in Johnson’s face.
“The old ones are the best ones,” he informs them all. “Wanna unwrap me?” he asks, wiggling his hips for good measure. Johnson declines with minimal usage of four letter words, which impresses Ian a lot.
Cash shrugs and moves on to Singer, who puts down the book he’s reading and gives a long suffering sigh that reminds Ian that Singer- and the others really, but especially Singer- has had to put up with all this for longer than anyone should really have to.
Ian doesn’t get to see how Singer tells Cash to fuck off though- his phone rings. It’s Shane and Ian hasn’t talked to him in ages, despite being in the same city, so he gets up and leaves the room to answer it. They only have a short conversation, trying to arrange getting together to hang out doesn’t really take that long when you’re as straight to the point as Shane can be sometimes. When Ian hangs up, he decides not to go back into the room with the others, and instead goes and hides out in one of the tiny rooms in the studio. There’s just a sofa in it, a pile of music magazines and an old guitar, and he’s pretty sure it’s somewhere for the techs to escape the artists and catch a few Z’s.
Ian curls up on the sofa and gets engrossed in an old article about Richie Sambora, enough so that when there’s a quiet knock on the door he says “Come in,” without considering it could be Cash.
“I’ve got a delivery for you!” Cash announces, pointing at the box that is still attached to him.
Ian sighs and sets the magazine aside, carefully leaving it folded open to the right page so he can finish reading once Cash has had his fun and fucked off and Ian has, let’s face it, had to quickly jerk off. He just hopes he doesn’t get the pages all sticky afterwards.
“Wanna open it?” Cash asks. “There’s a surprise inside.”
Ian sighs. “Really,” he says. “I wonder what it could be.”
Cash winks at him. “Unwrap it and see.” He positions himself right in front of Ian, so that the box is at eye level for Ian. It means Ian can actually look at the box, which Cash has clearly taken some time to prepare. It’s wrapped in shiny, expensive looking wrapping paper, and the lid has been papered too, and then a glittery ribbon tied around it, a large bow on top.
“Overcompensating much?” Ian asks, pointing to the bow, and Cash frowns.
It’s the first time Ian’s seen Cash’s bravado really slip in moments like these and he feels like he’s won something. He knows it’s cruel, but it’s also payback for the way Cash keeps getting him all hot and bothered with no real option to take him up on his offers.
“I mean, really,” Ian says, reaching out and stroking the bow. It slips through his fingers when Cash straightens up suddenly, like Ian’s surprised him.
It makes Ian smirk. “I thought you wanted me to unwrap the package?” he asks, pulling at the bow until it unravels and falls to the floor. He looks up at Cash, who swallows hard and stares down at him, looking a little bit confused. And a little bit scared.
Ian knows he should stop, that it’s not fair to tease Cash the way Cash has been teasing him. All of them really, but Ian’s been paying attention and he’s pretty sure Cash doesn’t affect the others in the same way. So, yeah, Ian should stop, but the thing is, he kind of does want to reach into the box.
So he takes the lid off.
Cash goes very still. Ian suspects he’s not even breathing so he waits until Cash lets out a long, shaky exhale before he shifts and gets up onto his knees on the sofa, so he can peer inside. There’s a lot of soft packing chips, and Ian is glad to see that Cash isn’t dumb enough to risk paper cuts from confetti.
Ian reaches in and shifts some of the chips aside and there’s Cash’s dick, peeking through the polystyrene. It surprises Ian a little- he hadn’t been certain that Cash hadn’t just stuck a box to his belt or something- but then he realises that if anyone is likely to put their dick in a box for real, it’s Cash.
“For me?” Ian says, too sweetly. “You shouldn’t have.” His tone is light and he thinks it’s doing a good job of hiding just how much he really does want to touch Cash’s dick.
He looks up and Cash meets his eyes. There’s a flicker of something there, and it takes Ian a moment to realise that Cash thinks they’re playing chicken- the last one to break away is totally gay or something. Ian almost feels sorry for Cash, that he doesn’t know that Ian doesn’t care if Cash knows that he totally is gay. For Cash at least.
Ian reaches into the box and wraps his hand around Cash’s dick. He manages to get his fingers right the way round it, give it the tiniest of squeezes, before Cash steps back taking himself, and his dick, out of Ian’s reach.
Cash stares at him, and Ian stares back.
“You just touched my dick,” Cash says. Ian can’t read his tone, and he winces, waiting for Cash to freak the fuck out or punch him or run and tell the others or, worst of all, laugh in his face.
“I did,” Ian says evenly when Cash hasn’t done any of that after a whole minute has passed.
“Um. Why?” Cash asks, like he doesn’t understand it.
“Because you asked me to,” Ian replies, like it’s obvious and Cash takes a half step forward again.
“What if I asked you to stick it in your mouth?” he asks.
Ian raises an eyebrow. “I’d tell you to stick it in your own mouth,” he replies calmly. “But if you kissed me and said you liked me too and that you’d really like it if we fucked and that you love getting your dick sucked and that you’d probably reciprocate, well, then I probably would.”
Cash stares at him. “Are you fucking with me?”
Ian decides to borrow some of Cash’s usual attitude. “Not yet,” he says, giving Cash a suggestive smile.
Cash moves closer and sits on the sofa beside Ian, as best he can with the box still attached. He pushes the magazine out of the way. It falls to the floor and Ian loses his page, but he doesn’t really care.
“Really?” Cash asks. He leans in, as if trying to see how close he can get before Ian shoves him away and tells him to fuck of, like normal.
“Really,” Ian says, and kisses him.
“Oh!” Cash says, sounding surprised, and pulls back. “You like me!” he exclaims. “I knew it! I knew you did! Johnson said you probably did, but I wasn’t sure. But you do! I can’t believe this finally worked.”
Ian rolls his eyes. “Yes, well done,” he says, dully. “You’ve finally gotten one of your band mates to consider sleeping with you.”
Cash stares at Ian like he’s a little bit stupid, which is hardly fair. After all, Ian isn’t the one with his dick in a box. “No, you idiot. I mean, it finally got you to notice me!”
Ian frowns. “What do you mean?” he asks. Then, “wait,” he adds. “How long have you been doing this whole thing for?” he waves his hand at the box, where the head of Cash’s dick is still peeping through the polystyrene.
Cash blushes, which is something Ian’s never seen before. “Didn’t the others tell you? I’m surprised you didn’t ask, especially since you’ve obviously got the hots for me.”
Ian wonders why he never did ask. And why no one had mentioned it. He’d just assumed it was something that he’d been doing forever. But it sounded like-
“Since we met you,” Cash admits. “I know it’s not the smartest way to make an impression on someone, but I never said I was a smart guy.”
“I don’t know,” Ian says, knocking Cash’s shoulder with his own. “It seemed to work okay. Certainly original, at least.”
That makes Cash grin, a wide, honest smile. And so when he leans in and says, “I really like you, I’m sorry I’m a douche about showing it the way you’re supposed to,” and kisses Ian, Ian hungrily kisses him back.
When the kiss ends, Ian points at the box and says, “What say we free Cash junior and you get that blowjob you were wanting?”
Cash eagerly tries to yank the box off, then goes white and stops. “Um,” he says, voice sounding strained. “I think it’s stuck.”
Ian tries very hard not to laugh as he fetches a pair of scissors and carefully cuts Cash free, with lots of shouting and near missed injuries until Cash’s dick is once again boxless.
“Ow,” Cash complains, and Ian gives him a sympathetic look.
“I hope we’ve learnt a lesson,” he says, “about not putting dicks in boxes as a means of seduction.” He reaches out and rubs Cash’s dick, which makes Cash hum happily, and wince at the same time.
“Don’t worry,” Ian says, sliding off the sofa and onto the floor. “I’ll kiss it better.”