“I feel suffocated,” he mutters. “There’s no air in here.” When he first arrived, Xander’s apartment felt light and friendly and filled with possibilities, but it’s closing in on him now. Like the whole universe has squeezed in on this one point, the fulcrum of existence between what has happened already and what’s to come, and it’s too much pressure.
Ben puts his hands around his own neck and makes exaggerated gasping, coughing noises, kicks his legs. Lets his hands fall down again and stares back at the ceiling.
“What are you doing?” Xander asks from the doorway, and Ben bolts upright on the bed, flinching at the pain from sudden movement.
“Nothing,” he replies uncomfortably. “Just thinking.”
“Thinking of strangling yourself?” Xander is holding a coffee in each hand, and both are shaking.
“No, of course not. No—just—I don’t know. I was thinking about us.”
“I told you—”
“Not that. Jesus,” Ben groans. “You told me you didn’t want to do that and that’s fine, I respect that. No choking. I wasn’t even thinking about that, I promise. I was just messing around.”
He’s prepared for Xander to keep making a big deal out of it, but Xander looks thunderstruck instead.
“What?” Ben asks.
“I forgot about that. I forgot—that is a boundary for me. A limit.” They look at each other and Xander slowly gives a small smile.
“Xander, what exactly is going on in your head?” Ben asks, hoping to draw him out. “I wish you’d tell me. What’s the deal with the shadow stuff?”
Xander walks over and hands him a coffee. “Here.”
“Xander—” The words Honesty Policy are hovering on Ben’s lips.
“We can talk. I just need caffeine first.” Xander sits down on the bed next to Ben and they drink in silence.
“It is good coffee,” Ben says, putting down his empty cup. “Pity they don’t have the right cookie things here.”
“Yeah,” Xander says. “I miss those.”
“I’ll send you some.”
Xander shoves his cup at the nightstand and then turns to pull Ben into a hard hug, pulling back a little as Ben lets out an ow. “Sorry,” he says.
“It’s okay. Just sore.”
“No, I mean, for before. I shouldn’t have—”
“No apologies for that stuff,” Ben interrupts. “But if you want to make it up, you can tell me what the fudge is going on inside your head.”
Xander starts laughing and kissing him. “Fudge,” he says. “You’re starting to sound like my mom. It’s disturbing. You can swear again if you want.”
Ben is laughing too. “I don’t know. You’re probably right, I swear a lot. I should tone it down. So come on, thoughts. Tell me. Is it about that quote from Jung? Where love rules…how does it go?”
“‘Where love rules, there is no will to power, and where power predominates, love is lacking. The one is the shadow of the other.’ It’s about that, yeah, a little. I guess.” Xander takes his time, pulling Ben into his arms and burying his nose in Ben’s hair. But Ben has found his patience again. “I thought I understood myself better than this, but obviously not. I thought maybe if I had more control, it would be different. I wouldn’t want it as much, if I had too much.”
“Like when you overdosed on cookie things and couldn’t eat them for a while.” Ben grins at him, and Xander nods, a regretful look on his face.
“Yeah, like that. But it seems like I can’t get enough control. Not yet, anyway. Not when it comes to you.”
“I thought you were enjoying it. I thought it was fun for you.”
“Not so much. Less fun, more…seeing what I can get away with. How far I can push.”
“You’ve been pretty fudg—fucking controlling, Xander.”
“Yeah.”
“I didn’t expect that.”
“Well, neither did I. I thought I’d get sick of it. But the more control I have over you, the less I have over myself.” His fingers contract around Ben’s arm and then release slowly. “You were right, this morning. I shouldn’t have been so hard on you, physically. I don’t want to mess up anything for you and I don’t want you in pain when you’re away from me, when I can’t take care of you.” Xander kisses him, pressing his lips into Ben’s temple for a long time. And then he sighs. “But the thing is, I love you even more now than I did before. And I really didn’t think that was possible.” He sounds astonished. “That worries me.”
“Worries you?”
“Yeah. Worries me. I don’t want to go too far.”
Ben starts wondering if he should be offended, but his boyfriend has just told him he’s crazier than ever in love—that’s not an insult. Or it doesn’t seem like it. “What do you mean, too far? You don’t think I love you as much?”
“You really do ask a lot of questions,” Xander sighs.
“You said I could today. Come on, tell me.”
“I worry because the more I love you, the further I want to push you. And eventually you’ll break, or more likely you’ll safe-word, and I’m worried…”
“What?”
Xander rolls away from him, looking tormented. “I’m worried that I won’t stop, Benjamin.”
Ben stares, shocked. “That’s never occurred to me. Ever. No way, Xander; you’re controlled, and you’ve always respected the safe words; you even stop and ask if I want to safe-word out, and besides, everything that we’ve done, I’ve enjoyed. Maybe not at the time, but I like the effects and all the stuff that comes along with it.”
“I’m not so controlled,” Xander says quietly. “Not anymore. I am losing my self-control. You’ve seen that yourself, you even brought it up earlier this morning.”
“But not because I thought it was abusive. Jesus Christ, Xander.” Ben is getting angry now. “We do this stuff because it’s fun, not because we have to or because we’re in some sick co-dependent relationship. There’s a line, and it hasn’t been crossed. I’m still consenting. That’s the line.”
Xander stands up and starts wandering around the room, upset. “But it’s not consent if I’m manipulating you into it.”
Ben stands up as well, and grabs Xander by the shoulders, looks him straight in the face. “Do you think that’s what you’ve done? You think I’m just doing this because you talked me into it?”
“I did, or at least I feel like I did,” Xander says, and looks guilty. “It feels like I manipulated you.”
“You’re such a dumbass sometimes, Xander.”
Xander looks outraged, and then slightly hurt, until he sees Ben grinning at him. “I am not,” Xander says, and Ben laughs.
“You really don’t get it, sometimes, do you? Why I like this, I mean.”
Xander shakes his head slowly. “I’d say a good ninety percent of the time, I think you’re just putting up with me. You’ve never done anything like this before me, and that makes me think that you’re not…like me.”
The words strike right at Ben’s heart, but he keeps smiling. “Of course I’m not like you. You cry over a fucking paper cut, Xander. Besides, I never took it in the ass before you either and you know I love that.” That, at least, prompts a small smirk. “You’ve read my journal, what I wrote for you. You know better than that. You know I do these things because…”
“Because?”
“There are millions of reasons. Because I love the adrenaline rush, because I love the way the pain turns into pleasure, because it’s a challenge and I want to see if I can do it. And okay, yeah, because I love you and I want to make you happy—no, don’t look like that. It’s not a bad thing to want to make you happy, and that’s only a small part of it. I guarantee you—ninety percent of the time, I’m doing it just for me. Because I like it.”
“Don’t you wish I were different?” Xander asks, his voice small. “You said you forget about it sometimes.”
Ben kisses him gently, next to his mouth, wondering how one man can be so self-confident
and so incredibly insecure at the same time. “I don’t wish you were different. You wouldn’t be you if you were different. I don’t love you except for this or that. I love all of you, even the part of you that’s a dumbass sometimes, like now.”
Xander looks a little better, less worried.
“And Xander, you need to have more faith in me. I’m serious. I’m pretty new to this stuff compared to you, but I know the difference between sadomasochism and abuse. And so do you. Jesus Christ, you know it down to your core. We walk a fine line sometimes, but I think we’ve done pretty well so far. If I ever feel uncomfortable with something, you know I’ll tell you. I promise I will.”
“Okay. But maybe we should stop the trial thing.”
Ben shrugs. “If you want to. I was enjoying it, mostly. It got a little weird, less fun. But if we could make it just fun again, maybe—maybe that would help you, too.” Ben pushes Xander’s black hair back from his forehead, and cups his face.
“Fun,” Xander repeats. “Yeah. It stopped being fun.”
“Then let’s try to make it fun again.”
“You think we can?”
“I think we can do anything,” Ben says sincerely. “Come and feed me.”
“What? No. That wasn’t a great idea.”
“Come on. Come and do it, but promise it’ll be fun this time.” Ben can see the wheels turning in Xander’s mind, and then Xander smiles.
“Okay,” he says. “Fun.”
Chapter Eight
It is fun, the second time round. Xander makes more pancakes because they’ve gone cold, and holds each forkful of food, dripping liberally with maple syrup, in front of Ben’s lips, making him keep them closed. When Xander says, “Open,” Ben obeys. More syrup ends up on Ben than in his mouth, and afterwards Xander takes his time licking it all up, his tongue wide and flat and teasing, until Ben is begging for more.
“I still want all of you,” Xander says softly once Ben has come in his mouth and they’re lying on the lounge room floor, recovering. “I’d still like you to write for me.”
“I will, but you know, you’re never going to have all of me. It’s just not possible.” Xander frowns at Ben’s words. “It’s not a challenge, Xander, it’s just the truth.”
“But when you write down stuff, I can see inside your head. Eventually, maybe, I’ll be able to know what you’re thinking before you even—okay, this is sounding weird even to me.”
Ben laughs. “But it doesn’t work that way. It’s just bits of me, the journal, just stuff I think at any one moment. But that doesn’t mean my thoughts stay the same. They change. I hate something you’ve done one minute and love it the next.”
“Just bits of you?” Xander sounds thoughtful. “I never looked at it that way.” He stands up abruptly. “Stay there.” When Xander returns, he’s holding a composition book, and hands it to Ben.
“If you want me to write now, I will, but I need a pen.” Ben rolls over to open the book, preparing to flick to the last page, but stops. “Xander. What is this?”
“I’ve been journaling, too.” Xander lies down next to him. “I’d like you to read it and see what you think.”
“I don’t want—”
“I know you don’t want to read my personal journal. This one is different, it’s just for the trial. You can skim if you want, but I’d like to know what you think.”
Ben sighs, but runs his eyes over the words, flicking pages, picking out phrases.
I had no idea I was capable of loving someone this much.
He illuminates my heart.
I lose myself in him when he begs for me; his eyes are like bright blue whirlpools sucking me under and I want to go with him. I want to drown in him.
Ben smiles. “This is nice.”
Xander silently turns the pages—he’s written much more than Ben has—to the last few entries.
I could keep him here, I think, if I said the words, because he’s so eager to please. I could say, Benjamin, move to New York, and he would. He is dangerously giving, and I am too selfish. But perhaps there’s a cosmic balance there.
I want all of him.
He should run away, but he doesn’t. It’s almost overwhelming sometimes, the temptation to just take everything.
I want ALL of him.
Same dream again, but a little further this time. I took the knife and—
“I can’t read any more.” Ben shuts the book and pushes it away. The words his eyes rested on are still swimming in his mind. Blood and bone and—”Why did you show me that? Are you trying to scare me again?”
Xander doesn’t say anything, and it takes a moment for Ben to realize that his reaction wasn’t what Xander was looking for. “I’m sorry,” Xander says stiffly. “I won’t ask you to read it again.” He grabs the book and scrambles up.
“Wait—” But Xander is already out of the room. Ben follows him. “Xander, wait, please.”
“Is it still just bits?” Xander asks, shoving the book back in the nightstand drawer.
“Yes,” Ben says firmly. “It’s just bits, it’s not the whole picture. I know what you were trying to do, and I shouldn’t have…I should’ve…I’m sorry, Xander.”
“What do you think I was I trying to do?” Xander asks, hostile.
“You were just trying to show me bits of yourself, parts that I don’t see sometimes, the parts that I don’t always remember. Because you’re worried that if I knew about them, I wouldn’t love them. And that I wouldn’t love you. But I do.”
Xander looks taken aback. “Oh.”
“Am I right?”
“Well…yes.”
Score! Ben thinks. “I know you have some violent fantasies, Xander. Hell, you spent most of last night kicking me in your sleep, so I guess you were dreaming something pretty bad then.” Xander gives a furtive, guilty glance at the bedside table, where the knife is lying, innocent and pure in the morning light. Ben shivers, but keeps talking. “But you know the difference between fantasy and reality, so—so that’s okay.”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Xander says, absurdly, but Ben understands.
“I know.”
“I mean, I do, but not like that, never like that—nothing bad. Nothing wrong. I want it to be fun. I don’t want to get too serious about it. There’s no point doing it if it’s not fun.”
“I know. So what do you want to do today? Tonight? Take me to a club and whip me in front of a crowd?” Ben is only joking, but Xander stares at him. “You could let people take turns on me,” he suggests with a grin.
“If you think I’m going to let anyone else play with you, you must be out of your mind.”
Ben starts laughing. “I’m kidding, Xander, I’m just messing with you. Lighten up!”
“Lighten up.” Xander starts smiling back, a little confused. “Yeah. I forgot. Fun.”
“Right, fun. So, what are we doing today?”
Xander lets his gaze travel up and down Ben’s naked body. “Today you have a meeting, don’t you? So we’ll save the fun for later tonight.”
Ben nods, feeling happy. “Sure, Xander. Whatever you want.”
They spend the late morning discussing Blood Bond, Ben’s play, and he explains his ideas about his characters. “But there’s still something missing. I want to really understand that violent side, because that’s really what the whole play is about.”
“But you’ve written about violence before, in your spec scripts.”
“This is different.” Ben frowns.
“How?”
It’s different because Ben wants to really prove himself, and both write and direct the hell out of this play. He’s nervous about the genre mash-up—horror-comedy is a tough sell—but his greater worry revolves around balancing the aggression and hostility of Fletcher, the lead character, with charm and warmth. After spending so long on the receiving end of a sadist, Ben is starting to wonder if he can really capture such a charismatic villain, if he can tap into his own Shadow and not only write
an amazing character, but then direct an actor adequately in such a role.
“When I was cutting you, it was hard to turn off the caring,” he says, and Xander twitches. “That’s good between us, of course, but this guy, Fletcher, he’s not like that.”
“He loves his cat,” Xander points out.
“Yeah. I could channel it into that,” Ben says thoughtfully. “And leave the cruelty for humans. He’s like you in that way.”
“What do you mean?” Xander asks immediately, and Ben reminds himself yet again that he has to be careful around these topics. Xander can get touchy.
“I mean, you care about animals.”
“And leave the cruelty for humans?”
“Well…yes,” Ben says awkwardly.
They are interrupted, to Ben’s relief, by his phone ringing. It’s his agent. He rolls his eyes at Xander and answers.
“Good news!” she trills. “Another interview, doll face, and they’re so fascinated with your relationship with Xander, I’ve managed to get you the front page. You can thank me by upping my percentage or something. But you have to do the interview tonight, at—”
“You know what, I’m gonna have to call you back,” Ben says hurriedly, and ends the call. He turns to speak to Xander, who looks dark. “It’s, um. An interview. I’m supposed to talk about you. About us. Ramona booked it for tonight.”
“That’s not happening,” Xander says, baring his teeth. Ben realizes, after staring at him for a second, that it’s supposed to be a smile. “No. You’re mine tonight.”
Ben fights with every fiber of his being to not say But. He runs a hand through his hair and looks at his thighs, covered in red, black and purple crop marks in perfect precision, spreading equal distances. They look like little tag marks, as though Xander has determinedly labeled up and down: Property of Alexander John Romano. If found, please return to New York City.
“You cannot serve two masters, Benjamin,” Xander says in a low voice.
Break the Rules (Rough Love Book 7) Page 6
