Break the Rules (Rough Love Book 7)

by Leighton Greene

  “Okay.” They start walking, and then Xander stops again. “I need to talk to you about some stuff.”

  “Yeah. I know. That’s why we’re going back to my place.”

  “Okay.”

  It’s only when they get back to Ben’s apartment that he understands what Xander was trying to communicate. Because when Ben pauses in the hallway, leaning against the door and looking at Xander hopefully, Xander just goes past him into the lounge and sits down, determined, on one of the single sofa chairs.

  Oh. No fooling around. Ben is disappointed, but Xander has a point. They do need to talk things out. Ben offers him some water, but Xander refuses, and they sit quietly for a moment.

  “What’s with the rubber-band?” Ben asks.

  Xander grins and holds up his wrist to look at the elastic band around it. “CBT.”

  “Uhhh, cock and ball torture?” Ben asks, his eyebrows flying up.

  “Cognitive behavioral therapy,” Xander snorts. “I snap it when I start thinking negative shit about myself.” They smile at each other. “I still haven’t worked out the quote,” Xander adds suddenly. “The Jung quote. But I’m not so worried about it anymore. I’ve made a lot of breakthroughs in other areas.”

  “Oh. Good.”

  “How’s your therapy going?”

  Ben sighs. It figures that Xander would want to talk therapy, but Ben isn’t really in the mood. “It’s okay.”

  Xander fidgets again.

  “Could you just say it?” Ben asks at last, amused. “Either you have something you really want to say or you need the bathroom. Which is it?”

  “Not bathroom,” Xander says briefly, with a smile. He opens his mouth to say something and then shuts it again. “Fuck. I’m really scared.”

  “Am I so terrifying?”

  “Can we talk more about other stuff first? I need to work up a bit of courage.”

  Ben is starting to get tense now, too, so he nods. “Sure. Yeah. Tell me about your therapy. Are you better now?”

  Xander gives a puzzled smile. “I’m still in one of the early stages of individuation. I already had the Persona down, and now I’m dealing with the Shadow, but that’s supposed to be a continuous process of acceptance for the rest of my life. And then in the next stage I have to identify my Anima, and then—”

  “Jesus Christ.” Ben stands up to pace. “The rest of your life? And seriously, Xander, can you stop throwing all this jargon at me? I feel like you’re trying to convince me to join a cult.”

  “You’re angry.”

  “Well, yeah, I’m angry. I’m glad for you, Xander, that you’re doing this sh—stuff, I really am, but…” He lets out a frustrated noise. But Suzanne has impressed on him, time and time again, how important it is to verbalize his angry feelings, so that he can deal with them. “I guess I had some expectations about this date. I thought—I just thought—and then you came back here—I thought—”

  Verbalizing his angry feelings is actually really difficult.

  “What did you think?” Xander asks softly. Ben shrugs, feeling suddenly hopeless. “Ben.” Xander has pulled off the rubber band and is threading his trembling fingers through it, stretching it, and a dappled flush is spreading up his throat. “Why do you think I asked you out on a date?”

  “I don’t know. To stop me from tearing your clothes off the minute I saw you? Can’t do that in public.” Can’t do it in fucking private anymore, either, apparently. “And then I thought you wanted to end things. But you said…” He subsides, feeling tired.

  “I don’t want to end anything. I asked you out to lunch because it seemed like neutral ground, and the best way to tell you—” He clears his throat. “But I got scared, so I came back here to tell you—”

  “Tell me what?”

  “To tell you that I think I’m ready to try again. If you still want to.”

  It doesn’t quite hit him what Xander is saying, not yet. “But you’re not fully individualized, or whatever.”

  “Individuated,” Xander sighs. “Ballard, psychoanalysis is not about being cured.”

  “I know. I know that. I don’t think you need a cure. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you. The whole process just seems overblown and fucking endless.”

  Xander shakes his head, impatient. “The thing is, I think I’m ready to try being in a relationship again. That’s why I came over from New York. I didn’t want to tell you that over the phone.”

  Ben blinks a few times, taking it in. “You’re ready?”

  “Slowly, though,” Xander warns. “Slowly. But that’s the other thing—I’m moving back. I wanted you to know, I’m moving back to LA. Soon.”

  Ben feels like all his Christmases have come at once. “So…could we take this conversation to the bedroom?” But Xander makes an apologetic face, and Ben groans. “Please don’t say what I think you’re going to say.”

  “I’m really sorry, but I don’t think we should sleep together right away. It’s just…” Xander spreads his hands.

  “Yeah, alright.” He’s getting angry again, so he tries to use some calming techniques he’s learned from Suzanne. They work, but it’s still a struggle.

  “I just think it would be better to take things slowly this time,” Xander continues. “Including the sex.”

  Ben closes his eyes for a moment, tries to really hear what Xander is saying rather than look for some hidden meaning, and rearranges his face into what he hopes is a smile. He looks back at Xander. “Okay. Slowly. We can do that.”

  “You don’t look thrilled.”

  “Well, Jesus, Xander, I haven’t gotten laid in a long, long time. I was hoping for at least a blow job in the hallway or something.” He’s only half-joking, and Xander nods seriously.

  “It’s because I use sex as a deflection technique,” he tells Ben. “I mean, you know I do that. And Paul thought it was a good idea to remove sex from the equation for a while.”

  “Yeah, okay.” Ben gives Paul the Jungian Therapist a slow, sarcastic mental clap. He knows it’s true, but that doesn’t make it any easier. He wants to find Paul and punch him right in his Jungian gut, but he squashes the fantasy. “I know. I get it.”

  “Also, it’s because of the kind of sex we have. Because, well, I don’t know how to say this without it sounding completely outrageous, but I can’t fuck you like that if I don’t know that you have limits. It’s not good for me, or you.” Xander says it all in a rush and sits back, waiting for Ben’s response.

  And for a moment, it feels like Paul the Jungian Therapist has reached all the way from New York and punched Ben right in the gut.

  “I don’t like Paul.”

  “Really? Because you hide it so well; I never would have guessed.” Xander is trying to diffuse the tension, giving a small, anxious chuckle. Ben breathes out, controlled, trying to release the anger and let it go. “You sure you’re not projecting?” Xander asks.

  “I’m sure I am. Doesn’t make me like him any more. He gets to spend more time with you these days than I do.”

  “I’ve dropped back to two sessions a week now, if that helps. Okay,” Xander adds, catching sight of Ben’s expression, “it doesn’t. He’s good for me, though.”

  “Oh, yeah. He’s good for you.” Ben is sincere about that. He might not like Paul, or the idea of Paul, but whatever he’s doing with Xander is apparently working. “What happens with him when you move back?”

  “Phone sessions.”

  Things are strained for a while after that. Ben changes the subject to friends and work and annoying interviewers, and Xander, looking thoughtful, stops talking about therapy and slow relationships. It’s not that Ben isn’t happy for him—really. Xander has clearly changed. He’s more relaxed, less closed-off, and he talks freely about when he plans to move back to LA, and how much he misses his pets, Noah and Henry—”And you. Of course.”

  Ben just makes vague noises of agreement. He’s still stung over Xander pointing out his own shortcomings. H
e’s been working hard on his anger management issues, but not so much on the masochism stuff, because he’s never felt like that’s been much of an issue. Ben accepts himself; it’s Xander who has problems in that arena. That’s the way it’s always been, he insists to himself. I’m perfectly fine with the pain stuff.

  “So what’s this dating thing about? Are we together again, or still not really?” Ben asks at last. He’s not trying to be hurtful, but he can see an uncertainty in Xander’s face that makes him try to tone it down. “I didn’t mean to be so abrupt. I just need to know where I stand with you.”

  “I was hoping we could start dating, like this. And I meant—exclusively.” He swallows, gauging Ben’s reaction. “But I’ll understand if you don’t want to. You don’t have to do this at all,” Xander adds, his tone even. “I can see it’s hard for you. You don’t have to wait anymore, not if you don’t want to. I want you to be happy, not—”

  “Could you just—” Ben snaps, and bites off the words. But he thinks again about Suzanne, telling him to verbalize it so you can take away its power. “Look, I’m pissed off, okay? I thought things would get better quicker than they have, and I thought at least that we might finally be able to fuck again, because God knows if I jerk off much more I’m gonna start taking off skin.”

  Xander snorts, and tries to hide it. “You’re not the only one,” he admits after a moment, and Ben lets out a long breath, looks up at Xander, who is grinning at him.

  “This dating, no-sex thing—was that actually Paul’s idea?” Ben asks.

  “No. Like I told you, it was mine. And the no-sex thing isn’t going to be forever—it’s just till we get things sorted out between us.”

  That makes it a little easier to take, at least. But, still, Ben can hear the implicit criticism about not having his limits worked out. “But—how long?” He can hear the whine in his own voice, and feels ashamed of himself.

  “Ben, I’m really trying here, okay?” It’s the first time Xander has sounded on edge, and Ben sighs.

  “Sorry. It just feels like a punishment.” He’s got that same feeling hovering around him that he did many months ago, when Xander first moved away and Ben was drinking too much, and generally behaving like a jerk. Bratty. Petulant. Entitled. “We’re finally in the same city and now you tell me I can’t even touch you? It’s torture.”

  “If it makes you feel better,” Xander says, hesitant, “maybe you could think about it that way.”

  Ben snaps his head up, feeling blood surge straight to his cock, and stares at Xander. His mouth is dry, and he has to sit down and surreptitiously rearrange his jeans before asking Xander to clarify.

  Xander gives a quick, nervous grin. “You know what I mean.”

  “You mean I could think about it like a game we’re playing, or like the Rules we had?” Ben stretches lazily, his arms bent behind his head, and is pleased to see the way Xander’s eyes flicker to his waistband, hoping to see some skin flash between material. “I could do that. Sure. Would Paul allow that?” He’s just teasing, not needling, and Xander, thankfully, understands.

  “It’s allowed. Would it make you happier?”

  “Yeah. It would.”

  “Then let’s play it that way.”

  Xander leaves soon after, but they make plans to see each other again before he goes back to New York, to try another date and see how it goes. After Xander stands and turns to leave, Ben puts a hand on his arm.

  “I get the no-sex thing. But no kissing either?”

  Xander’s eyes go soft, and Ben thinks of stupid similes like melting chocolate, before he realizes Xander is nodding. “I think kissing’s okay.” He pulls Ben closer and they kiss, tentative, until Ben can’t help himself and grabs Xander’s face. It’s not just him; Xander is squeezing at his ass and breathing heavily. Ben hears him makes a long noise that runs the gamut of tempted, aroused, torn and decisive, and then Xander takes a firm step back. They look at each other. “Um. Actually,” Xander says, flushing, and Ben nods in furious agreement.

  “Yeah. Okay. Maybe next time.”

  “Because it’s just—”

  “Xander, I’d love to talk it out, but I’m really fucking hard right now, and if you don’t leave in the next few seconds, you’ll have to resign yourself to watching me jack off.”

  “Fuck.” Xander rubs his hand across his eyes and starts laughing. “Point taken. And reciprocated, so I—yeah. Bye?”

  After Xander leaves, Ben flops on the bed and smiles at the ceiling, his fingers resting under his waistband. He feels content despite the ache in his balls. It is torture, but just a few words have made it sweet.

  Like magic.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  For the next date, they meet at Joe’s place, where Xander is staying, and Ben is pretty sure it’s because Xander thinks they’re less likely to jump each other out of respect for his brother’s couch. Ben himself doesn’t have any particular scruples about the couch, but he does want to respect Xander, so he keeps his hands to himself and also refrains from lascivious staring. He’s taken his journal with him, the one he’s written for Xander, but he doesn’t mention it right away. He’s looking for the right opportunity.

  Xander wants to throw the ball around for Noah the dog, who’s been staying with Joe while Xander’s been in New York, so they go out into the yard and let Noah scramble between them for half an hour. It’s easier, this time, being together. The conversation flows better, and they even joke with each other.

  After that, Xander pulls things out of the fridge to find something to eat, and Ben tries not to think about knifeplay as Xander chops things. He makes them each an enormous sandwich, and they sit at the kitchen counter and eat in a comfortable silence. Noah waits patiently next to their chairs, hoping for something to drop on the floor.

  “He hasn’t left me alone since I’ve been here,” Xander confides. “I feel bad. He’s my little shadow. I can’t wait till I’m back for real.”

  “What about Henry?”

  “Henry, like all cats, couldn’t care less.” But Xander grins.

  “Dude, you have lettuce in your teeth.”

  Xander runs his tongue over his teeth and bares them. “Gone?” Ben nods weakly and tries not to stare too much at his teeth as Xander takes another huge bite into the bread. He misses the biting. He misses the sex. And right now it feels further out of his reach than ever, thanks to Carl Jung and his disciples. Where love rules, there is no will to power…

  “Have you even read it in context? Or looked at the original German?”

  Xander makes a confused noise around his mouthful of food, drawing his brows down.

  “The Jung quote. The one you obsessed over.”

  Xander chews, swallows, and takes a drink of water. “Why would I do that?”

  Ben looks at him, unbelieving. “Because if you don’t know the context of it, of course it’s not going to make sense.”

  Xander smiles. It’s a little supercilious, and Ben, as usual, finds it irritating. “I know you’re an English major, Ballard, but not everything works that way. Whether or not the quote is in context, it has an innate meaning for me. It wouldn’t stick with me and bug me so much if it didn’t. The quote itself is what matters to me.”

  It’s so quasi-mystical that Ben almost suggests Xander call Oprah or something, but he bites back the words. Probably not helpful right now, and besides: he’ll show Xander the superpower of the English major. After they finish eating, he settles down in a lounge chair and steeples his fingers, pretending to be Sherlock Holmes. If he’s not going to get any physical benefit out of this, at least he might exert his mind a little. “Tell me the quote again.”

  “‘Where love rules, there is no will to power, and where power predominates, love is lacking. The one is the shadow of the other.’”

  Ben thinks about it a bit, closes his eyes. “Xander, what in the hell are shadows, anyway?”

  “Well, in Jungian theory—”

  “Give
me the concise, for-dummies version.”

  “Oh.” Xander sounds disappointed. “Well, okay. Basically everyone has a Shadow—it’s the parts of ourselves that we don’t like to be conscious of, the bits that we’ve decided are not good things and so we try to pretend they don’t exist. But they do. And the more we ignore them or deny them, the stronger the Shadow gets.”

  “It sounds like some bad horror movie,” Ben snorts.

  “Actually, a lot of Jungians point to Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde as an example.”

  “Fascinating,” Ben says dryly. And then, because he can feel Xander winding up again for a big lecture on Jungian theory and how it really is fascinating, Ben cuts him off. “Let me think for a minute.”

  What he’s wondering about now isn’t Xander’s quote; it’s whether his own anger management issues could be considered shadow problems. Ben takes a moment to picture what his alter-ego might look like—Shadow Ben. Nah, Dark Ben. Sounds more mysterious and powerful, like Dark Phoenix. Maybe he’d be green-eyed instead, and still have all that acne he had as a teenager. That makes him feel bad for Dark Ben though, so he removes the acne. Dark Ben is probably a whole lot more suave than Normal Ben, anyway. He wonders how Dark Xander would manifest, but he just can’t picture it. Xander has always been dark enough on his own. Ben can’t imagine what kind of things make up his Shadow.

  “I think my Shadow is really mad a lot of the time,” he says aloud, opening his eyes, and Xander grins.

  “Mine’s terrified.”

  “Really?” Ben sits up.

  “Of course. All those fears I have—that’s a large part of it. The fear comes from the Shadow.”

  “So your Shadow is just a big scaredy-cat?”

  “That’s one way of putting it. Shadows are big on projection, too, so that night, after the play, when I was saying all that stuff to you about taking bits of me and using them, it was mostly just my own fears about myself.”