by Anna Martin
Stan huffed a laugh. “I like gin.”
“One of them was rosemary flavoured. It was good.”
“Sounds… interesting.”
Stan felt Ben step up close behind him, then strong hands settled on his waist, and Ben peppered soft kisses over Stan’s neck. It was delicious, and Stan arched into the sensation, all thoughts of tea abandoned.
“You even taste good,” Ben murmured.
“Um….”
Stan’s mind had gone blank. He gripped the edge of the counter with straining fingers and fought the urge to grind his hips back against Ben’s groin.
The kettle clicked, announcing it had boiled, and Stan blinked and forced himself to carefully pour the water over the two teabags.
“I have soy milk, if you’d like some.”
“Yes, please.”
Ben’s breath was hot on Stan’s neck, and he shuddered again before delicately moving out of Ben’s grasp. When the tea was doctored to both their personal tastes, Stan led Ben back through to the living room and took his preferred end of the sofa.
“There’s so much I don’t know about you yet,” Stan said as he shoved his laptop and the binder of model specs out of the way. “You’re from New Zealand, right?”
“Yeah.” Ben wriggled down on the sofa and grinned over the top of his cup. “Not many people can place the accent.”
Stan shrugged, but smiled at the same time.
“I was an only child when we moved here when I was ten. We moved over the summer so I could start secondary school at the same time as all the other kids.”
“You said your dad moved back?”
Ben nodded. “Yeah. My mum came here with him, because he got a job in Oxford. But they got divorced three years after we moved, and mum refused to take me back to Auckland and disrupt my education again. She met Mark when I was in my last year of secondary school, and they got married a few years later. Then she decided she wanted more kids.” Ben rolled his eyes. “At forty-two. Obviously she couldn’t, so they did IVF, and she ended up with triplets.”
Stan’s eyes widened. “Three? Oh wow.”
“Yeah.” Ben snorted. “Huey, Dewey, and Louie.”
“You aren’t serious.”
Ben laughed. “No. They’re affectionate nicknames. Those kids are fucking terrors, though. They’re four now. Probably the reason why I hardly ever see Mum anymore.”
“That’s sad. What about your dad?”
“We keep in touch,” Ben said with a nod. “Skype, FaceTime, you know. It’s alright.”
“He doesn’t come here?”
“No. And I don’t go back there. It’s a twenty-two-hour flight, and… I could only go for a couple of weeks, tops, because of work. It’s just not worth it, really. When did you leave Russia?”
“It’s a long story,” Stan said with a little laugh.
“I’ve got time.” As if to illustrate his point, Ben stretched his legs out in front of him. Stan smiled and leaned back into the couch. He wondered how far he could push this lazy indulgence with Ben, and snuck his feet over towards Ben’s lap. Just as he’d hoped, Ben pulled them onto his thighs and gently stroked Stan’s bare arches. “You told me you moved to America,” Ben prompted.
“Yes. My mother’s sister is a photographer, and she got a contract to work in New York for a year. I begged my mother to let me go, begged and begged her, and she said no for the longest time. I was too young. Then Ava—that’s my aunt—was told she could take an assistant with her, but she didn’t have time to hire someone, so she convinced my mother to let her take me.”
“Is your family close?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well… my family is sort of spread out all over the place. It’s hard to stay in contact. But some families—like Geordie’s—they’re all super-close with each other.”
“Oh. I suppose… I think we’re a typical Russian family. Russian Orthodox. Lots of children all over the place. Ava is something of the odd one out because she doesn’t have any.”
“Mm.” Ben rubbed his hands over Stan’s feet again. “So, you went to New York. I’m jealous, by the way.”
“Oh, don’t be,” Stan said, rolling into the touch like a cat. “I spoke almost no English, and I had to go to school where I was looked at like I was a freak. I had to learn a whole new language, a new school system, make friends… and Ava would pull me out of class all the time to go help her. I learned more on photoshoots than I ever did in a classroom.
“Her contract was extended, so that went on for two and a half years. Then I graduated with my high school diploma—on time, with good grades, which is a miracle really. Ava wanted me to work full-time as her assistant then, unpaid, of course. I said no, went to one of the magazines, and asked for a job.”
“You’ve got balls, that’s for sure,” Ben said with a laugh.
“I do,” Stan said solemnly. “That was a few years ago, when fashion blogging was just taking off. But I’d had a blog all through high school, with pictures of myself and some I’d taken on the street. I’ve got a lot of followers, and one of the people there, at the magazine, had heard of me. I’d met a few of them from the work I’d done with Ava. So they said yes. The pay was horrible, but they sent me to Italy after about a year, then Giovanni, he… what is the word? Hunted me?”
“Poached you?”
“Yes! That’s it. Giovanni poached me and got me the job at Vogue Italia.”
“That’s one hell of a story.”
“It’s all true.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt that.”
It was maybe more complex than Stan made out. His family had never really been happy with him moving away, but even at fifteen he was an “unusual child,” and his father, at least, had recognised that Stan would have more of a chance in a more liberal country. Their society’s easy homophobia, gay-bashing, and life-ruining accusations were something Stan’s father couldn’t protect him from, even if they weren’t views he held himself. America was maybe Stan’s only chance to thrive.
Stan’s father was an imposing man, by even Russian standards, but turned into the softest of giants around his kids. For Stan, the ache of missing his family had been hardest the first few years in America, when everything around him felt strange and wrong. Stan had learned, through force of circumstance, to find family wherever he lived. Those he’d acquired at birth were a foundation, a constant in his life, and he knew he’d be welcomed back when—or if—he ever returned.
At least now he could Skype with his mother so she could see he was well.
Using Stan’s feet as an anchor, Ben leaned in and stole a kiss. Stan smiled as their lips rubbed together and he pressed his hand to Ben’s cheek, holding them in place.
“Do you speak any Italian?” Ben asked when he settled back into his indolent slump.
“Of course. Apparently I can learn languages easily. Italian is more like English than Russian, so once I had learned English, it was easier to learn other European languages. Living somewhere helps.” Stan reached for his tea, leaning over the edge of the sofa, then balancing it on his chest. “Tell me more about your family? Please?”
Ben sighed heavily, and Stan worried that he’d pushed too far. Then Ben started to speak. “Well, my mum is half Maori—that’s Native New Zealander. Her father—my grandfather—he was Maori, and he married a white woman. Granddad died a year or so before we moved here. My mum would have never moved if he was still alive.”
“You were close to him?”
“Yeah. I only had him and a grandmother on my dad’s side who we never saw. He was this big bear of a man, huge, had all these traditional Maori tattoos all over his arms and chest. That’s where this one comes from….”
Ben pulled up the sleeve of his T-shirt to reveal the design that covered his shoulder, part of his chest, and partway down his arm.
“It’s a replica of Granddad’s tattoo, or as far as we can tell. I only had some old photos to base it on. But it’s like
his. It was the first tattoo I ever got.”
“But not your last.”
“No,” Ben said with a laugh. “The most recent one was this one.”
He pulled up his T-shirt again, this time revealing a slim but toned stomach and an eagle tattoo that started on his sternum, the wings stretching out across the front of his ribs.
“That must have hurt,” Stan said.
“Yeah. But it’s cool, though, right?”
“I like all your tattoos.”
“And this?” Ben asked, flicking the hoop in the corner of his bottom lip with his tongue.
“Yes, that too. For different reasons.”
Ben laughed and jostled on the sofa, wrestling with Stan and almost causing the cup of tea to fall. When Stan protested, Ben carefully set it on the floor, then stretched out full-length, covering Stan’s body with his own.
“Hi,” Ben said softly.
“Hi, yourself.”
Stan sighed into the kiss, a soft, sweet connection. Things between them were yet to heat up too far; they had danced around the idea, or even the possibility of sex for a while now, and Stan was starting to feel impatient. He wanted more.
“Can you stay tonight?” Stan asked, running his fingers through Ben’s messy hair.
“I don’t have anything with me. A toothbrush or anything.”
“I can lend you things.”
Ben wrinkled his nose. “Have you eaten?”
For a moment, Stan considered his day. “Not really,” he admitted.
“Let’s get some dinner.”
They lay on the sofa kissing until Stan couldn’t stand it any longer and nudged a recalcitrant Ben onto his side before their erections took control of their brains. With swollen lips, Stan wandered to his bathroom and relieved himself of the pressure on his bladder, although the one on his balls was more persistent.
“I don’t want you to have to cook,” Ben said, tapping on his phone when Stan returned to his living room. “I’ve got a list here of vegan places in London that deliver.”
“That sounds fine to me.”
“Do you want to look at a menu? Or I can just order anything.”
“I trust you,” Stan said and smiled before going to make more tea for them both.
The food arrived while they were watching a Saturday night talent competition, something Ben had complained he would receive hell for should he put it on at home. Stan thought it was hilarious and had quickly learned that Ben’s running, grumbling commentary was almost as entertaining as the television.
“Here,” Ben said, shifting his hips on the sofa to reach for his wallet when the buzzer rang. “I’ve got half.”
“No, it’s my turn.”
“Stan—”
“I’ve got it,” Stan said with a smile, passing through the kitchen to collect some money before answering the door.
Ben seemed to have been raised with old-fashioned family values, which Stan appreciated, even though it made him feel like the girl in the relationship. That wasn’t always a bad thing, but occasionally he wanted to assert his independence and masculinity both.
After paying the delivery guy, Stan took the big brown paper bag through to the kitchen and started to unpack the boxes.
“Come and get it,” he called in a sing-song voice, then laughed when Ben appeared quickly around the corner. “Help yourself.”
“It smells good,” Ben said as he pulled two plates from the cupboard.
“Mm. This papaya salad looks amazing.”
With plates piled high, they resumed positions on the sofa to watch the end of the talent show from opposite corners. Stan couldn’t help but look over every few minutes where Ben was inelegantly shovelling food and rolling his eyes at the television. With a little flutter of something in his belly, Stan realised he could easily become accustomed to this.
Chapter Six
Ben didn’t stay that night, even though he really wanted to. Nor the next night, when he went to Stan’s with dinner he’d made himself—a Thai soup that was just perfectly spicy and spring rolls Stan reheated in the oven that had yet to be used. Ben had to show him how to turn it on.
The next night, Ben had band practice, then over the weekend he was working and Stan was busy with his epic photoshoot that was taking over so much of his working life. For those few days, Ben had to make do with text messages and the occasional phone call. He realised it was maybe more than a normal amount of text messages when Tone threatened to steal Ben’s phone and read every one aloud in the middle of the pub.
“Fuck off,” Ben mumbled. “It’s Stan.”
“Of course it’s bloody Stan,” Tone said. “Who the fuck else is it likely to be?”
Despite working all weekend, Stan still had to go back to work on Monday morning, and from the brief conversation they shared on Monday night, Ben got the impression he was seriously tired. Their manic schedules had aligned on Tuesday—Ben wasn’t working at the pub and his tutoring job finished at five, so he had plenty of time to head over to Bow and meet Stan as he got off the Tube.
“You look exhausted,” Ben said as he took Stan’s hand and led them out into the late afternoon sunshine.
“I am.”
Stan had dark circles under his eyes that he’d done a good job of disguising with make-up, but they were still there, nonetheless. He looked weary, and Ben wanted nothing more than to kiss that bone-deep ache away. He knew it well.
Instead, he shouldered Stan’s leather satchel and diverted them to a gastro-pub for dinner, somewhere Stan could order a mushroom risotto, and he could get cheesy chips. These sorts of pubs—the ones that tried a little too hard to be posh—were usually the last place Ben wanted to end up. He preferred them darker, grittier, grimier, but this was more Stan’s scene. Refined. Sophisticated. Ben could do that. The food was good, Ben begrudgingly admitted, and decided if this became their local pub in Bow, he would probably be okay with that.
The sun was setting as they walked back to Bow Quarter, fingers loosely entwined, and the sky was turning a rich pink, streaked with purple, outlined with blue.
Back at the flat, Ben toed off his boots and padded through to the living room. He flopped on the sofa, then opened his arms for Stan to settle into his side. Nuzzling into his neck like a cat, Stan yawned widely, then settled down with his head on Ben’s chest.
Ben turned on the TV and found a music channel that was playing a recording of a Foo Fighters gig, and he left it on for background noise. After a few minutes of Ben playing with the long silky strands of Stan’s hair, Stan was almost asleep.
“Are you sure you want me to stay?” Ben asked softly. “I can get a cab back home.”
“I want you to stay,” Stan said. “Please.”
“Okay.” Ben ran his hands up and down Stan’s sides. “I’ll apologise in advance in case I do something….”
“Something?”
Ben laughed to himself. “That you don’t want me to do?”
“I want you to do those things with me,” Stan said, turning to put his chin on Ben’s chest and look up at him properly. “I want that too.”
“Are you sure?”
In that moment, Ben realised his hesitance came from his own fears and not any Stan was harbouring. He knew he didn’t know everything there was to know about Stan yet; they hadn’t been dating all that long, and he was okay with figuring things out as they went along. They didn’t need to know everything about each other before having sex. It was possible Stan wanted it just as much as Ben did… and that was almost as scary.
Stan kissed away his worry with impossibly soft lips and fingertips that fluttered over his cheeks. As Ben started to let go, to just touch and feel like Stan was, Stan slipped his hand into Ben’s and tugged.
“Let me take you to bed.”
“But you’re tired,” Ben said, half protesting, half teasing.
“Not any more, I’m not.”
Ben hadn’t been in Stan’s bedroom—there wasn’t any need f
or him to. The curtains were pulled, so it was dark until Stan lit a tall lamp in the corner and another on his nightstand, casting the room in a soft glow.
He had a big double bed pushed against the wall and at the end of the room. Next to the window, a dressing table with a large mirror in front of it reflected the light coming in through a crack in the curtains. The sheets were navy blue and neatly tucked around the mattress.
Those impressions were formed in an instant as Stan tugged them towards the bed and shuffled up it, leaning on his elbows, inviting Ben to crawl up his body.
Stan was angles and bones, silky-smooth skin and the finest dusting of body hair. Ben tugged the shirt up over Stan’s head and lightly kissed tiny pink nipples that puckered and kissed him back. Stan’s hands grasped Ben’s shoulders, his biceps, his waist; gently guiding and encouraging with breathy moans.
Ben wanted to take his time with his sweet boyfriend, to explore this body that seemed so fragile and delicate under his. They undressed each other slowly, learning shapes and angles, discovering what lay beneath—the truth under Stan’s daily illusion.
“You’re so beautiful,” Ben murmured as he moved his naked body over Stan’s, rolling their hips together in a deep, aching grind.
“I’m….” Stan gasped, then laughed as friction caused their cocks to stick together.
“I want you, Stan. Can I be with you?”
“Yes. Oh, yes. Please.”
Ben kissed down the taught curve of Stan’s neck and nibbled at his collarbone. “I’m going to need some stuff, sweetheart….”
“Oh,” Stan said again and nuzzled into Ben’s chest. “I have that. In my bathroom. I’ll be right back.”
He rolled elegantly off the bed, and Ben watched, unashamed, as a milky-white ass and incredibly long legs strode purposefully off to the other side of the flat. He had a feeling this was about to blow his mind, and he squeezed his balls, tugging them away from his body to relieve some of the tension building there.
