by M. J. O'Shea
“So we doing the Manchester–Liverpool game this weekend?” Rory asked one Thursday at lunch. Everyone knew Ben subscribed to pretty much every soccer… er, football channel available. Fen and Jeremy didn’t exactly care.
“I’m in,” Ben said, knowing full well that it would be another day he had Rory to himself.
“You guys?”
Jeremy muttered something about Delia’s parents and brunch. Fen just flat-out said he didn’t get soccer and he didn’t want to.
“It makes more sense than American football!” Ben protested. The protest was token, though. He and Fen’d had the argument many, many times. Fen came to his girls’ home games as friendly support. The game itself didn’t do much for him.
“We all know it doesn’t,” Jeremy muttered with an exaggerated snort. “You’re not going to win this one.”
“I have someone else on my team now,” Ben declared. He slung his arm over Rory’s shoulders and pulled him close. Rory chuckled and blushed but pulled away after a few moments.
“Sorry,” Ben said quietly.
“It’s cool. Are you guys going to come watch the girls play tomorrow afternoon?” Rory asked.
“Of course,” Fen said.
“Yep,” Jeremy echoed. “We always do.”
“Good. I’ll see you there.”
“Please tell me you’re not going to be some obnoxious cheerleader,” Fen mumbled.
Rory grinned. “I even have a skirt.”
IT WAS great to have the guys and Pinky cheering his girls along on Friday—didn’t help much. They played against the best team in the league and battled to lose by a small margin instead of getting smashed like a lot of the other teams did. Fen and Rory made up dorky-ass cheers that had Ben grinning and his girls running just a little bit faster even when they knew exactly what they were up against.
The end of the game found his team dusty and grass-stained but smiling even though they hadn’t won.
“You played a really good game out there, girls. I saw some fantastic teamwork that I haven’t seen yet this season. I’m impressed.” Ben stuck his hand in the middle of the circle, and the other girls joined him. “Let’s talk game details on Monday. For now, just go home and get lots of rest this weekend, okay?”
They did their team cheer, shook hands with the other team, and dragged tired but still satisfied bodies off the field.
Ben high-fived his friends and made plans with Rory to meet up on Sunday for the Manchester game. Sure, it wasn’t the same as lacing their fingers together and pulling him home and into bed like he wanted to, but as far as possibilities went, Ben felt like he was winning at least a little. Finally.
THE FIRST week of November, his girls won their final in-season game and made it to district playoffs. Ben celebrated with a pizza party in the art room. Then he met the guys at his apartment that weekend for more celebration and a friendly game of poker. Fen and Jeremy were highly mistrustful of Rory, even though he’d insisted that he sucked at poker just as much as pool.
As far as Ben remembered, he was lying through his teeth.
It didn’t matter. Only took about fifteen minutes for all of them to realize they weren’t taking the game seriously. It devolved into some version of poker Truth or Dare. Ben wasn’t sure what the actual rules were; he didn’t think any of them really knew. The more beer they had, the less the game made sense. But it sure as hell was fun. By the time midnight rolled around, Fen had already streaked around the block in his boxers, Jeremy had knocked on the neighbor’s door and done the Macarena when they answered, and Ben and Rory had to call Pinky and bark into the phone when she picked up. By midnight or so, they weren’t really playing either game any longer. Mostly, the guys were just sprawled out on Ben’s furniture, staring into space with beers cradled in their hands and chuckling randomly every few minutes.
“I’m feeling a little dizzy. I think I’m going to go lie down for a while, okay?” Rory finally mumbled.
“Sure. You want my room?” Ben asked. “I think Jeremy and Fen are going to crash on the pull-out.” He tried for nonchalant. He was pretty sure he got it. Sort of, at least.
“Yeah. It’s down that way, right?” Rory asked, pointing down the hall.
Ben nodded and watched Rory weave his way down the hallway toward Ben’s room. Fen gave Ben just about the biggest eyebrow raise in the history of time. Okay, guess the nonchalant thing didn’t go off too well. He should’ve known better than to think he could fool Fen. Fen had his number; he had from the start.
“What?” Ben asked. He gave “casual and innocent” one more good try. “He just needs to crash.”
“In your bed?”
Ben shrugged and tried to pretend that his entire body wasn’t doing a huge cheerleading routine, complete with backflips and high kicks. “You guys wanna play another game?” He really wanted nothing more than to go in his room and slide into bed with Rory. Sure, he’d stay a platonic distance away, and it really wasn’t going to mean a damn thing, but still.
“I’m pretty beat, honestly. I’m about ready to pass out,” Fen said. Jeremy nodded. Ben bit his lip to keep from smiling and helped them pull out the sofa bed.
“You two going to be cool out here?” he asked.
Fen chuckled and swayed when he tried to stand. “Just go. We all know you want to.”
Ben had to hold himself back from flat-out sprinting down the hallway.
“Hey,” he said quietly when he did slip into his room.
There was no answer other than Rory’s soft breathing. He’d never snored, but he’d made this cute little snuffling noise in his sleep ever since they were kids. Ben listened for a minute or two, and, yeah, there it was. Rory was passed out for the night. Ben tugged the comforter over him and slid under it on the other side. He felt the warmth from Rory’s body travel across the barren inches of mattress between them. Ben inhaled and smiled at the familiar smell—exactly the same, warm and masculine and like every memory that he treasured.
He thought of the last time he and Rory had slept in the same bed together. Things had already turned a little weird between them. Ben had been getting crap from the other seniors about hanging out with the geeky science fag. He had wanted to hit them so hard, but instead, he’d cringed and remained silent, said “he’s not so bad,” shrugged, and reminded the guys they’d been neighbors since they were kids. Like that was an explanation for how much he loved Rory. Rory had known something was up that night. He’d wrapped his arms around Ben and whispered that he loved him and he couldn’t wait for college, and they’d fallen asleep kissing. Ben had tried to pretend that night that things were fine and everything could go on just like it was.
Maybe pretending instead of actually talking to Rory about it was what had gone wrong. Maybe if he’d actually told Rory all the things he’d been so scared of, they could’ve just talked it out. Made a plan. Eight years later, same guy, different bed, Ben knew they still needed to talk. At least he did. But there wasn’t anyone to talk to. Rory had made it clear that he didn’t want to rehash the past any more than they already had.
“Love you, Ro. Always have, always will,” Ben whispered. Rory grumbled in his sleep and flopped onto his stomach. Ben reached out and ran his hand along Rory’s long, leanly muscled spine but then pulled back, knowing he didn’t have permission. Not anymore. “Night.”
HE DIDN’T know what he’d done, but Ben sure as hell liked it. Sometime between their drunken night of moronic joking and—well, honestly he didn’t know exactly when it had started to change, but things… well, they were different. Good different. The same Rory who’d shied away from Ben’s touch now didn’t seem to mind slinging an arm over Ben’s shoulders all of a sudden or sitting right next to him on the couch when they watched a game, legs and arms and shoulders melded together. Somehow, it had become okay—more than okay, actually—for Ben to touch Rory’s hair. He honestly hadn’t thought he’d ever get the right again. Now, every once in a while, Rory would butt hi
s head under Ben’s hand just like he used to, asking for pets. Ben reveled in each moment, each touch, each sweet platonic cuddle. He never wanted it to end.
Ben dreaded the days he couldn’t see Rory—when there was no game, no plans, or even worse, when Rory would say quietly that he did have plans. Those were the days when Ben went home alone with a sick pit in his stomach or out with Fen and Jeremy, trying to pretend he didn’t care that Rory was with his boyfriend. Rory never brought Keith up by name, but Ben knew the guy was still there, lurking in the background with his preppy clothes and his slick smile. He liked to pretend he wasn’t and was hoping someday soon that the guy might disappear altogether. Didn’t mean that Rory wouldn’t move on to someone else who wasn’t Ben. Some guy who might get way more of Rory’s attention than Keith was currently getting. As it was, he spent far more time with Ben than most boyfriends would like. Ben tried to concentrate on that.
“YOU AND Rory are getting close again,” Fen said quietly one Saturday night when they’d been seated at their usual booth at Beaver’s after his team’s final game of the postseason. Jeremy and Rory were in line at the bar for a first round of beers to celebrate. His girls had done well at districts, but not quite well enough to make state championships. Next year.
Ben smiled. “Yeah, it feels good. You know, like it used to.”
“Are you two?” Fen hadn’t asked the question in a few weeks. Ben knew that if he were looking in on the two of them from the outside, he might assume the answer had changed as well.
“We’re friends. Good friends.”
“Good friends who spend the night in the same bed?” Fen asked with eyebrows raised.
Ben felt a flush rise up the back of his neck. That morning…. They’d woken up all twined together like they used to. It had felt—he didn’t want to think about how it felt because the idea of not having it again kinda made him want to stab his eye out.
“It was just that one time. You and Finchy took the other spots.”
Fen snorted. “You have a pretty big floor.”
“I just….”
“Yeah, I know. You wanted him there. So again, is there something going on between you two?”
Ben shook his head. “No. I kissed him back in October. He said he still wanted me but he just couldn’t.”
“Dude, a lot’s changed since then, hasn’t it?”
“Not enough.”
Fen reached out and put his hand over Ben’s arm. “Do you still love him?”
Yeah. Way to take the knife in my eye and twist it real nice. “Of course. I… always have.” Ben laughed softly to himself. “You know when we were kids, I’d tell him I loved him and then say ‘always have, always will.’ I guess I was telling the truth.”
“Then do something about it. Quit being a pussy.”
“But Keith—” Ben protested. Sure, he told himself he’d mow Keith down in a heartbeat if he had the chance, until he was scared to make a move and needed an excuse to do nothing.
“Fuck Keith.” Fen rolled his eyes. “Rory’s not in love with him.”
“He’s not in love with me either.”
“You can’t really be that dumb,” Fen muttered as the other two slid into the booth with beers.
“Don’t call Ben dumb,” Rory said reflexively. He knocked Ben with a shoulder. “What’d you do to annoy poor Fenny?”
Ben snorted. “Fenny. That’s a classic. You are eternally dubbed.”
“Don’t you fucking dare. I’ll tell them about that time when you put on the bra at Victoria’s—”
“Okay, Fen. Fen. No bra story.” He really didn’t need abject humiliation to top off his night.
Rory barked out a laugh. “No way. I’ve gotta hear this.”
“There isn’t enough beer in this bar for that story to be okay.”
“I’ll get you all liquored up, and you’ll tell me later.” Rory winked at Ben.
Ben tried to tell his belly not to do about seventy backflips. Yeah, that didn’t work so well. Fen shot him a significant stare. Ben wanted to pelt him with one of the cheese fries from the plate in the middle of the table. He satisfied himself by laying his head on Rory’s shoulder instead.
“Good luck with that,” he muttered.
Rory bumped knees with him under the table. That knife in Ben’s eyeball twisted just a little bit more.
Why can’t I have you?
JEREMY DROPPED Rory and Ben off at Ben’s apartment a few hours later. Ben’d had just enough beer to feel loose and buzzy. It was a chilly night; winter was definitely settling in.
“Wanna crash on my couch?” he asked Rory. “Even if you don’t pull it out, it’s great to sleep on.”
“I don’t live far. I can just walk home.”
Ben hooked their arms together. “It’s late. And it’s cold out. Just come upstairs. I’ll grab you a blanket, and it’ll be nice and cozy.”
Rory’s smile was a bit lopsided. Ben was pretty sure he’d downed a few more beers than the rest of them. “’Kay.” He held on to Ben’s arm. “Lead the way, good sir.” He allowed himself to be led by Ben up the stairs and into his living room. “You know, you guys are bad influences,” he mumbled.
“How come?” Ben asked with a grin. It wouldn’t be the first time he and Fen had been accused of that.
“You keep getting me drunk. I think Fen’s trying to have his way with me.”
“Busted.” Ben chuckled. “Our master plan is foiled. I’ll go get you a pillow and a blanket.”
It was so, so very tempting to guide Rory into his bed, but Ben wanted to be a good friend. He didn’t want to be that guy who took advantage of the situation to get what he desperately wanted. So he grabbed a pillow and tossed it down on his leather couch. He trailed into his room to grab an extra blanket and turned to go back out to the living room only to find Rory standing right behind him.
“What are you doing, Ro?” Ben teased. He ruffled Rory’s curls and went to turn him back toward the living room.
“It’s cold. I miss sleeping with you.”
Sober. Instantly completely painfully sober. “You can’t say stuff like that to me,” he whispered.
“But I do miss it. I sleep better when you’re there. Always have.”
“Always will,” Ben echoed without even thinking. “Okay. Just… here.” He pulled back the comforter on his bed. “Lie down. I’ll grab you a water and some ibuprofen. I’m guessing you’ll be wanting those in the morning.”
“Thanks, Ben. I’m glad we’re friends again. I really missed you.”
Ben cringed. Drunk Rory was a bit too honest for his sanity. “I missed you too. Every day.”
He stripped and pulled on some sweats and a T-shirt quickly, then teetered out to the kitchen for water and pain relievers. When he came in, Rory was on his back, drawing patterns in the air with his finger. His jeans were on the ground. Ben chuckled and slid into bed next to him. He wanted to scoot closer, wrap Rory in his arms, run his hands along lean lengths of bare leg. Ben wondered if it was possible to die of unrequited lust, love, and pretty much everything in between. He’d felt like he was teetering on the edge of death at least once or twice a day since September.
“Hey,” he muttered. “You have enough blankets?”
“Yeah.” Rory scooted closer. “You were always a hot sleeper. I’ll be fine.” He snuffled a little and burrowed his face into the pillow right next to Ben like it was the back of Ben’s neck. If Ben squeezed his eyes closed, he could almost remember how that felt.
“I’m glad we’re friends again too, Ro.” Ben’s heart slammed, and he remembered what Fen had said earlier. “I’m going to say something, and it’s a little bit because you’re drunk and you won’t remember, and a little because I’m kinda drunk too and stupid, but I have to say it. Okay?”
“Okay,” Rory agreed.
“I do love being friends with you again. I’ve missed it for a long time.” Ben swallowed hard. “But just so you know, I don’t want you to think t
he wrong thing. As happy as I am to have you back in any way I can get you, if you’d let me kiss you again even once, I’d never want to stop.”
Rory closed his eyes for a moment; then he leaned over and brushed a tiny soft kiss on Ben’s lips. “I know.”
Chapter Eight
BEN WOKE to warm breath against his neck and a long, lanky body wound around his. He forgot for a second, just one beautiful aching second, that it wasn’t supposed to be like that. That he didn’t wake up with the smell of apples and warm skin every morning. And then he realized that Rory wasn’t gonna be happy when he realized that they’d slept spooned together all night. Ben had to move. He started wriggling away. He had to—
“Hey. Stop moving,” Rory mumbled behind him. “It’s early.”
“Um.” Ben didn’t know what to say. Sure, they’d been a hell of a lot more touchy lately; sure, Rory had even sort of kissed him the night before. And that’s when Ben remembered the rest of it, how he’d spilled out his stupid feelings, and Jesus, please let Rory have been drunk enough that he doesn’t remember.
“This is nice. Just go back to sleep,” Rory said. His voice was soft, halfway sleeping already. Ben tried to slow his pulse down. “Missed cuddling. You still smell like you.”
Aw, c’mon.
Ben didn’t need to hear that Rory remembered his smell. He didn’t need arms wrapped around his waist or soft muttered words against his neck. He wanted all those things. He wanted them every night and every morning and maybe some lazy afternoons in there too. He did. But it wasn’t fair that none of it really meant anything. Ben closed his eyes and tried to enjoy what he had, even if it was only friendship. He snuggled back into Rory’s arms and was rewarded with a pleased grunt and Rory’s grip tightening around him.
