by Anna Martin
Stan returned quickly, wielding a tube of K-Y and two condoms. He set both down on his nightstand, then lay down on his side and ran his hands over Ben’s firm, flat chest.
“I like this,” Stan said, tracing the lines of a tattoo.
“I like that you like it.” Ben caught the finger and brought it to his lips for a kiss. “You’re sure?”
Stan’s smile was soft and bemused. “I’ve had sex before, Ben. I want it with you.”
Ben didn’t respond, instead leaning in to kiss Stan again. He snicked the top of the lube open and coated his hand with it, then slicked some over Stan’s cock and pumped it slowly until Stan was lifting his hips up into the movement. With more lube, his fingers explored farther back then circled and petted Stan’s hole, spreading the silky wetness there.
Stan stretched his arms up over his head and spread his legs. Ben took that invitation and fumbled with the condom, smoothing it over his cock with lightly trembling fingers, then settled between those slim thighs.
He watched Stan’s face carefully for signs of discomfort as he pushed inside. For a moment, he thought the distress twisting Stan’s beautiful features was from that initial flash of pain, but as he settled into an easier position for them both, he mustered the courage to ask.
“You okay?” He punctuated his words with a kiss on Stan’s cheek, another on his jaw.
“I—” Stan’s breath caught on whatever he was going to stay, pain stealing the words.
“I’m just going to pull out for a moment,” Ben murmured. Stan wrapped his fingers around Ben’s arms, gripping hard enough to leave a bruise.
“It’s my back,” Stan said when Ben lay down next to him after discarding the condom in the bin at the end of the bed. “And I can’t spread my legs wide enough without hurting them. I have this problem with my bones, and….”
“It’s okay,” Ben said.
“It’s not. I want you, Ben….”
Ben reassured with kisses, an intimacy they both knew, comforting despite their naked bodies and the failed attempt at making love. With Stan gathered up in his arms, held safely from the discomfort of his own body, Ben let those wandering lips tell Stan it was going to be fine.
He groaned when Stan found his cock and wrapped his hand around it, squeezing gently and pulling on the still-hard flesh. After a moment of searching, Ben took Stan’s cock and moved his hand in a matching rhythm.
“How about if we tried it,” Ben said after a few moments of mutual pleasure, “like this.”
He nudged Stan onto his side, facing away so Ben could spoon him from behind. His cock nestled between Stan’s plump arse cheeks, a promise of what could come next.
“Oh,” Stan said, a little moan of pleasure when Ben reached around to once again take his cock in hand. “This could be good.”
Ben kissed his shoulder and smiled, then reached over to take the second condom and carefully rolled it down his cock. Used more lube.
“Tell me if you need me to stop,” he said, then fit their bodies back together again.
It still took a few minutes to work things out—how to kiss, where to touch, how to move to find the pleasure that would course through them both. Soon, though Stan was crying out with pleasure instead of pain, for him to whimper into the arm pillowing his cheek.
“Ben,” he whispered, then gasped the name again. “Oh wow. Oh my God.”
Ben pressed forward again, his face tucked into the curve of Stan’s shoulder, one hand on Stan’s chest anchoring them together, the other wrapped around his cock.
“With me,” Ben murmured. “I’m so close.”
Words were lost to Stan, it seemed, and he cried out and cursed in a variety of languages as hot come spilled over Ben’s fist. Ben grunted as the flash of pleasure chased his own come from his body, and for a moment he was paralyzed, held at that point where there was no space between them, nothing at all.
Stan’s bone-deep shudder forced them apart, and Ben laughed breathlessly as he once again tied off the condom and threw it away, then pulled Stan back into his arms.
“Better?”
“So, so much better,” Stan said, the words muffled by lips that refused to stop kissing. “Oh wow, Ben.”
“I’m glad you liked it.”
He yawned widely, and Stan took on something of a mother-hen role, clucking and fussing and handing Ben back his boxers to sleep in.
“I’m just going to get cleaned up,” Stan whispered, kissed Ben on the forehead, and left the room again.
When he returned, Ben was almost asleep, clutching the edge of the duvet. He cracked an eye open as Stan paused, then dressed in clean boxers and a T-shirt before crawling into bed too.
Ben grumbled unintelligible words and pulled Stan back into the same position they had made love in.
“Are you comfortable like this?” Stan asked in a low voice.
“I can only sleep with something against my chest,” Ben admitted. It seemed so childish. He wanted to make sure Stan understood before he let sleep claim him. “I used to have a teddy bear when I was little, but I grew out of that, and since then, I have to be able to hold something or I can’t sleep. Most of the time it’s a pillow or a… a….” He yawned widely, then settled. “Or a blanket or something. I like it being you though.”
Stan kissed the hand wrapped around his shoulder. “We all have our habits, I suppose.”
For a few minutes, they both breathed deeply, settling into something that was safe. Theirs. Then, just before he fell asleep, Ben said, “I think I’m falling in love, Stan.”
Stan smiled slowly in the dark, where Ben couldn’t see. “I think I am too.”
The next morning, Stan woke first and crept out of the bedroom, leaving Ben sleeping deeply. He grabbed his gym kit, which was always kept next to the door, and spent half an hour swimming, then half an hour running at the apartment complex in-house gym.
It was almost nine in the morning by the time he arrived back at the flat, and he expected Ben to be up, maybe to be gone already, despite the note Stan had left imploring him to stay. But no. Ben was still asleep, lying on his back and snoring softly.
Deciding he would have to wake Ben soon, Stan took a shower and carefully washed his hair, then made two mugs of coffee and took them back to the bedroom. He had space on the nightstand for them both, and the little jug of soy milk, but only when he’d moved the bottle of lube to the top drawer.
Stan sat down on the edge of the bed, still wrapped in his towel.
“Ben,” he whispered softly. “Ben.”
A chink of light spilled through the curtains diagonally across Ben’s body, highlighting his narrow hips, broad chest, and the dark tangle of tattoos. Ben’s soft, boyish features were a part of his charm, even when the morning brought a soft fuzz on his chin.
“Izzat coffee?” Ben mumbled as he stretched like a cat, kicking the blankets down to his knees.
“Yeah. I’m not sure if you like it with soy milk, or black.”
“Mmm… milk, if you’ve got it. Please.”
Stan fussed over fixing the coffee as Ben hauled himself up into a sitting position, scratching at his chest, belly, balls.
“What time is it?” Ben asked as Stan handed him the mug.
“Nine o’clock!”
“Really? What are you doing up so early?”
“Early?” Stan repeated with a laugh. “This is late for me.” He took a sip of his coffee and hummed in appreciation. A light prickle at the back of his neck told him Ben was watching. “I got up and went to the gym while you were sleeping,” he said in a rush, suddenly desperate to fill the silence. “I have some granola if you want breakfast, or we could go out….”
“Or we could stay in bed all day and you can let me do things to you,” Ben said in a low voice.
Stan ducked his head to hide his blush. “Or that,” he agreed in a soft mumble.
A warm hand wrapped around his wrist, and Stan was forced to set his coffee down next to where B
en had left his, and then Ben tugged and manipulated him until he sat astride Ben’s strong thighs.
“God, you’re beautiful,” Ben said, tucking a wet strand of blond hair back behind Stan’s ear.
“I—”
“Please don’t argue with me.”
Stan leaned in and kissed him softly, mostly to stem the source of those heat-raising compliments he was so unused to hearing. Oh, flattery was easy to give, and to receive, but that wasn’t what Ben was offering.
When Ben’s tongue flicked against his lips, Stan tilted his head, offering a better angle for a deep, searching kiss where tongues and lips moved in lyrical synchrony and Ben’s hands gripped his waist.
“I don’t think,” Stan said as they moved apart and Ben’s lips continued down his neck, “that I can take you inside me again right now.”
“I don’t need to be inside you to make you feel good,” Ben murmured. Stan arched, tilting his neck back and inviting more of those sweet, teasing kisses. Between their bellies his erection started to rise.
With a soft growl, Ben flipped them both over so Stan was pinned to the bed, looking up into sleepy, horny eyes that smiled down at him with unashamed want.
“Do you mind if I suck your dick?”
Stan huffed a laugh. “No. Why would I?”
Ben kissed his earlobe, then left a trail of soft, tiny kisses down his neck. “I’m still figuring you out, Stan. I’m probably going to ask a lot of stupid questions until I get there.”
“I’m still a boy,” Stan said, tugging at the thick mop of dishevelled hair until Ben looked up at him. “I came to terms with that because it’s something I can’t change. But I like my cock. And I like it when you touch it.”
Ben ran his fingers down Stan’s body, and wrapped them around Stan’s cock. He rubbed his thumb back and forth slowly, smiling when Stan’s breathing jumped in response.
“If you wanted to change, you could, you know.”
“I know. I’m okay with who I am, just like this.”
“I think you’re stunning, you know,” Ben murmured, his lips skimming over Stan’s neck. “You’re possibly the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”
“You can keep saying these things to me,” Stan said, making Ben laugh.
“Okay.”
Stan was already naked, his skin slightly damp from the shower, and Ben kissed down it, learning all the angles and contours of Stan’s body. By the time his mouth met his hand, Stan’s cock was thick and hard, the pink head peeking out from the delicate foreskin.
When Ben took it into his mouth, Stan knew he wasn’t going to last long. Very few people had ever done this to him before, or showed his cock any kind of attention. Some men liked to pretend he didn’t have a cock at all. With the love and care and very sexy attention Ben showered on Stan’s body—all of it, not just the parts that looked good in a dress—Stan was starting to learn everything he’d been missing out on.
After only a few minutes, Stan was bucking up into Ben’s mouth and crying out as he orgasmed, stars dancing across his vision as his body curled up tight, then exploded outwards in a shower of sparks.
Ben, Stan thought as the waves of pleasure pulsed through his body. Ben did that to you.
Chapter Seven
Stan’s vision hadn’t quite returned to normal. He sprawled on his back, feeling more sexually satisfied than he had in a very long time, Ben’s head on his stomach, looking up at him. Stan lazily wound his fingers through Ben’s hair, smoothing the tangles and tugging at the roots.
Sex hair. The words entered Stan’s mind without permission, and he grinned.
“I need to go back to my place,” Ben said mournfully, rubbing his finger over Stan’s nipple. “I need clean clothes.”
“Okay. If I come with you, we could go out somewhere after?” Stan batted away the inquisitive fingertip; he didn’t have the energy to go again, not so soon after the last time.
Ben pulled a face. “Where I live… it’s not as nice as here.”
“That doesn’t matter to me.”
“It’s a dive, Stan. Proper grotty.”
“What does ‘grotty’ mean?”
“Um,” Ben laughed. “Dirty. A bit grimy. A mess. And falling apart.”
Stan kissed Ben quickly on the lips, then darted out of bed before he could be pulled back into something else.
“I’ll get ready, and you can go take a shower.”
Ben grumbled and did as he was told, dragging himself through the flat to the bathroom while Stan threw the curtains and the window open and started his morning ritual.
With his hair already partly dry, there was no point in trying to make it smooth and straight. With some mousse and scrunching and his hairdryer on a low heat, he teased rough curls from the unruly strands and let the hairstyle lead the rest of his outfit choices.
Slightly mussed was a look he could do. He mentally picked out tight black jeans, high-top sneakers, a loose, low-cut tank top, because it was going to be a warm day, he could tell already. A smoky eyeshadow and sketchy kohl liner, a quick slick of mascara, all on top of his usual base, and Ben was back from his half-drowning while Stan stood in front of his wardrobe and pretended he hadn’t figured out his outfit already.
He was naked.
It made him feel very desirable when he cocked his hip to the side and Ben hummed low in his throat, covering the room in a few short strides.
“Hmm?” Stan said as Ben’s hands went to his waist, sliding down to his ass, groping briefly before travelling round to his front and gently cupping his soft cock in both hands.
In response, Ben attached his lips to Stan’s neck, surely leaving a mark, hopefully one his hair would cover.
“You make me feel—” Stan said, then cut off the thought before he could voice it.
“Tell me.”
“So feminine.”
Ben gripped his chin in one hand, tilting Stan’s head back to devour his mouth.
“We are never going to leave this house today,” Stan said with a laugh as they broke apart once more.
“Jesus,” Ben moaned as he pulled his hips away from their kissing. He dropped his head to Stan’s shoulder and sighed deeply. “I’ll behave.”
“Oh, don’t do that,” Stan told him.
Feeling slightly sheepish, Stan turned on the radio and got dressed in silence, only watching out of the corner of his eye as Ben layered up in the clothes he’d been wearing the night before.
“Do you have everything?” Stan asked before they left. Ben still sat on the edge of the bed, lacing up his boots, but he nodded.
“If I’ve left stuff here, just hold on to it for me. I’ll be back soon, I expect.”
“Okay. That’s good.” He didn’t say any more, still wary of letting too many emotions show, despite Ben’s whispered words the night before. He wasn’t going to bring up pillow talk the next morning. He wasn’t that guy.
It really was a beautiful day, and Stan felt guilty for having spent so much of it indoors already. Even if the time had been well spent.
They held hands as they walked the short distance to the Tube station in companionable silence, content to enjoy the balmy summer day London had blessed them with. The Tube, of course, was a hothouse of hell, and Ben took his clammy hand back, surreptitiously wiping it on the frayed knee of his jeans.
Stan noticed anyway and laughed at him.
The house Ben shared with the other boys was a standard mid-terrace in East Finchley, the small garden at the front covered over with paving stones through which weeds insistently poked up. It looked like where they might keep their bins; evidence of split bags littered the small area in a melee of banana peels and teabags.
“It’s really not that nice,” Ben insisted again as he unlocked the door and pushed at the peeling, red paint, eventually kicking the bottom of the door to gain entry.
“It’s fine, I promise,” Stan said.
He was hit with the smell of marijuana as they stepped ove
r the threshold, and Ben shut the door before any of the hazy smoke could escape.
“I’m home,” he yelled in the direction of the room at the front of the house that overlooked the bin area, then immediately started up the stairs.
Stan followed, wincing at the steps with their threadbare carpet and suspicious stains. There was some kind of sticky… something on the banister, and he quickly drew back his hand.
At the top of the stairs, there was a bathroom, the sink, bath, and toilet all a pale blue with reddish rust around the taps. The shower curtain had black spots on it. Stan schooled his face into a neutral expression.
There were three bedrooms on this floor and another flight of stairs that Stan guessed led up to another room. But Ben had mentioned five of them living in the house…. He decided there was probably another bedroom on the ground floor.
“This is me,” Ben said, stopping at the end of the hall, where the bedroom would look out over the street. “Um, do me a favour and close your eyes, count to twenty or something while I just… sort things….”
“Okay.” Stan closed his eyes and heard Ben open the door. Ben took his hands, led him inside, then kicked the door shut. “One… two….”
“Slower than that!” Ben said, sounding panicked.
“Three-four-five,” Stan said in a rush, teasing.
Things clunked and Ben muttered curses as he presumably cleaned up the room; throwing clothes around too if the rush of fabric that passed Stan’s arm was anything to go by.
“Six… seven….”
“Shit, fuck, bollocks,” Ben muttered. “I need to put some washing on.”
“Eight, nine, ten….”
“Slower, Stan, for fuck’s sake.”
“How messy is this room, anyway?”
“I’m not going to answer that,” Ben said in a low mutter.
“Eleven.”
Ben continued his tornado-like sweep of the room, and by the time Stan was up to eighteen, the window had been thrown open, letting the summer breeze into the room. He was secretly pleased. The room smelled… like it needed a window opening.
