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“Look, I’m not doing this very well,” Ben tries again. “I didn’t mean to sound like I was asking you to wail on my ass again or anything.” “Good,” Xander says. “Because I do not fool around with straight boys.”
“I’m going to let you watch me, Benjamin,” he says softly. “And just so we’re clear—I don’t let anyone watch me.”
“You’re just going to watch. And I’m going to tie you up while you watch, because I don’t want you to be tempted to touch. And also, because I think I’ll like seeing you tied up.”
“Just do as you’re told for a change, will you? Jesus.”
“Good boy,” Xander purrs with a whisper of a smile.
“When I make a deal, that’s it, exactly as I say.” He pauses. “But maybe next time we can negotiate something beforehand.”
“God, you’re so demanding,” Xander says, but his tone is mild. “I just thought we should get used to each other before we start in with the circus animals, or whatever you’ve ticked off in there.”
Ben feels so happy, which, he reflects, is a strange way to feel about being gifted a riding crop. With which Xander intends to hit him. But fuck, he feels happy.
But is it? Ben thinks frantically. He tries to add up the potential pain—if cane is x then crop is x minus a bit, times six strokes each, divided by…
Ben bites back a smart-ass retort. Xander, it seems, likes to get off on verbal humiliation as well as physical.
“Why do I have a giant X on my ass?” he asks.
“I promise,” Xander says, smiling. “It's just, my mom always taught me to write my name on my property. So it doesn't get lost.”
Two months, and all they’ve done is suck, touch, rub. And spank, pinch, scratch, bite. But no penetration, which Ben is starting to wonder about.
And one of Xander’s rules, which he invokes occasionally, is If you can’t say it, you can’t do it.
“Fuck your hipster chai,” Ben sighs. “We’re talking about sex.”
“Yeah. So, what else, Benjamin?” “I want you,” Ben says, painfully. “You have me.” “No,” Ben insists. “I mean—Jesus, Xander. I have feelings for you.” Ben has rarely felt so stupid and so inarticulate.
“Yeah,” he says. “If that’s what you want.” He looks at Ben, his eyes unreadable, and Ben feels like he’s not telling everything.
There are little things that Xander does that touch his heart unexpectedly, like the way he starts leaving dairy milk for Ben in the fridge (Xander prefers an organic almond-soy mix).
“I don’t know if that’s a great idea right now,” Xander says. “I have a propensity to get really rough. We should take things slow.” Slow, always slow. Slow as goddamned continental drift, Ben thinks.
“Let me guess. Melting icecaps. Human evolution and extinction. Tectonic plates colliding. Asteroids from space.”
"Why are you in such a hurry, Ballard? Just relax and enjoy the ride."
“Do you think I’ll leave you?” Ben asks finally.
“I’m just trying to make it last as long as possible, Benjamin,” Xander says at last.
Xander nuzzles into his neck. “What does it feel like?” It takes a while to find the right word. “Freedom,” Ben says at last. “I felt completely free.”
“You’re just another boy for him to fuck up,” he says, his expression still pleasant. “Don’t start thinking there’s anything special there just because he kisses it all better when he’s finished.”
They also find that excessive amounts of hair spray in an enclosed space is not a great idea.
“So,” Ben says, because he’s not really sure how to start. “Blood, huh?”
Xander starts shaking on top of him, and Ben realizes he’s laughing. “What I like about you is the subtlety, Ballard,” he says. “Oh, give me a break,” Ben mutters.
“It’s about fear. I like seeing how people react when they’re afraid. I like being in control while the other person is terrified. I mean, really scared for their—safety.”
“Maybe if it had just been blood, he wouldn’t have minded so much. Cuts heal, after all. But I wanted to see his terror. He knew what I meant.”
“Shut the fuck up, I did not. You’re a lying liar from Liesville.” “I’m a truthy truthster from Truthtown,” Xander says. “And you did.”
There’s no biting again, which is weird, just kissing. “Don’t you want to bite me anymore?” Ben asks sleepily, once they’re in bed. He feels Xander smile against his shoulder. Xander is snuggled up against him and their arms and legs are tangled. “I love to bite you, Benjamin.” “Why do you love it?” “Probably some Freudian thing.” “You don’t believe in Freud.”
Xander is saying: “If it’s any consolation, I think I’m growing out of the cookie phase. I’ve only had two this week.”
“You don’t have to give me a cover story,” Ben grins. “I’ll be there soon. With coffee and cookies.”
“You’re such a child,” Xander is telling him. “You cry all the time. Scared of frogs? Horror movies?” Ben swears to himself he’s never going to make a list of anything for Xander again.
He still doesn’t know where the knife is.
“Benjamin,” he murmurs, “this probably isn’t the best time, but I think I love you.”
Ben is quiet. These little connections Xander has with another world sometimes make him feel left out. Stupid. Unable to contribute.
Don’t start thinking there’s anything special there just because he kisses it all better when he’s finished.
The next time he wakes up, Xander isn’t there, and it’s dark outside. Don’t start thinking there’s anything special there just because he kisses it all better when he’s finished.
“Yes,” he says. “Yes.” He pulls Xander down on the bed with him. Don’t start thinking there’s anything special there.
His fingers dig into Ben’s back, making him gasp at the hurt, but at least it’s real, at least it’s not that voice in his head. “Don’t you ever think that about me, about us, about this. Please.” Xander sounds like he wants to murder someone, until his voice cracks on the last word.
“Because I—I didn’t want to hurt you. Because I love you.”
The whole time, he replays Xander’s words from yesterday. I love you. I love you. He runs back into the bedroom, jumps through the air and lands heavily on the bed, and Xander’s middle.
“Fuuuck,” Xander groans. “What the—” “I love you,” Ben grins into Xander’s face. “And you show that by hurting me?” Xander asks, pained. “That’s not normal behavior.” “Shut up and kiss me, you fucking sadist.”
“I think you must be totally insane,” Xander says. “I mean, really. Sometimes I watch you when you’re sleeping and wonder if you’re actually crazy.” “Okay. I’m crazy. You’re creepy. You watch me when I’m sleeping? What's up with that?” Ben is laughing.
After a while, Xander tries to move away, but Ben feels something wet against his skin. “Are you crying?” he asks, astonished. He tightens his arms, keeping Xander there.
Ben laughs. “Scared?” Xander looks at him. “I am fucking terrified,” he says slowly. “I’m really starting to see the appeal in fear,” Ben grins.
“I don’t want anyone else. I want you.” “I’m sorry,” Ben had said. “It was stupid. I didn’t mean it. It was a stupid thing to say.” “And for fuck’s sake, stay off the internet.”
Ben knows that his own reputation among a certain part of Xander’s circle is that he’s just an experiment, Xander seeing how long he can twist the straight boy gay.
