After Ben (14 page)

Honestly, it was probably none of his business. That’s what he said via e-mail to Peter later on Friday evening. They’d given up on texting after consistently missing each other. Instead, they e-mailed from time to time, and Peter had turned out to be an interesting correspondent. He had a knack for taking serious subjects and reducing them to amusing anecdotes.

He didn’t take life too seriously.

It wasn’t that he was flippant, or took pleasure at poking fun at others’ expense. No, if anything, Peter’s views were saturated with understanding. Theo wondered if that was a result of seeing some of the worst things that could happen to people. Maybe dealing with distress and pain on an almost daily basis in his professional life meant that Peter’s laid-back, live-and-let-live point of view was a coping mechanism. Either way, his response to Theo’s concern about the interns was typical.

“What’s the worst that can happen?” he asked Theo. “They’re both adults, and from the way you described the smaller one it sounds like he can stand up for himself. Are you concerned because you don’t know if he’s gay? Honestly, I wouldn’t worry about it for the moment. If he’s straight he probably hasn’t even noticed the other kid at all.”

Theo sat in his study, almost smiling. Peter probably wasn’t wrong.

“If he is gay, then I guess he’ll notice eventually, if the other dude is being as obvious as you suggest. Then they can either fuck like bunnies in your archive room, or have a fistfight in the office. Just make sure to video it for me. I’m so bored with hotel pay-per-view porn.”

That was Peter through and through: straightforward and just a little irreverent.

It wasn’t quite that simple for Theo.

Firstly, if Evan felt uncomfortable about Joel’s increasingly obvious interest—the taller kid could not be subtle to save his life—he might not feel able to raise the subject at the office. It worried Theo more than a little that Evan might be coming to work carrying the weight of his mother’s expectations on his narrow shoulders, and then was also having to deal with Joel’s enthusiastic crushing. Secondly, it didn’t really matter if Evan was gay or straight, or even if he was interested in or unaware of Joel’s fascination. The fact was that Joel was acting unprofessionally.

It was as simple and as complicated as that.

It wasn’t that Theo was unsympathetic. He remembered what raging hormones felt like. He’d been older than Joel—approaching twenty-six—when he met Ben, but even so, they had both been crazy in love and couldn’t keep their hands off each other. He’d had his own unprofessional moments at the office. It wasn’t until he watched Joel follow Evan into the archive room, while he and Maggie spied on them from his office, that he remembered one of the best.

Back in the day, office parties actually happened at work, in the break room. Instead of decamping down to the nearest bar or restaurant for a drunken holiday celebration, there would be a potluck dinner arranged across a few tables, or pizzas delivered that they would eat while someone played terrible mix tapes on a boom box brought in from home.

Ben loved office parties.

Actually, Ben loving parties at the office was somewhat of an understatement.

He lived for them.

Theo used to waste hours on office-party days, clock watching until time slowly tick-tocked toward evening. Ben would appear, looking so handsome—all sleek dark hair and wicked smile—and would charm his way around Theo’s colleagues. He never forgot wives’ and husbands’ names, or who had kids graduating from kindergarten or high school. He made being sociable so easy. While Theo wouldn’t describe himself as shy, maybe his upbringing as an only child of quiet parents had left him with an inner core of reserve.

Ben didn’t suffer from shyness. He loved parties and people. But most of all he loved Theo’s office parties because they gave him access to the archive room.

It was true.

Theo read Peter’s e-mail, then paused mid-reply, eyes closed as he recalled time he’d spent being inappropriate at work.

Ben had brought a case of good wine to the first office party he attended and—more used to lite beer—the younger members of Theo’s team were soon more than a little drunk. The music got louder, as did the laughter. Instead of the usual polite standing around while food was eaten before people made excuses to leave early, frantic calls were made to babysitters, begging them to stay for just a few hours longer.

When the dancing started, the party spilled out of the break room and into the office. Theo had mingled a little, taking his new almost-management role seriously, drinking less than the others. He’d found it so hard to drag his eyes away from Ben, who danced with anyone who looked half willing. With his jacket off, Ben had looked good enough to eat—all toned torso in a tight white shirt and deep, devastatingly attractive dimples—as he smiled and swayed to the music.

Before too long, the bass was echoing through the outer office. The old building’s vaulted ceilings created amazing acoustics, and once they’d turned off the bright fluorescent lighting, the place seemed less office-like and more shadowy—full of hidden corners. Ben had grabbed Theo as he passed close by, then slipped his warm hand under Theo’s jacket until he had a covert handful of ass.

One huge glass of red wine later, and Theo had Ben pushed up against the inside of the archive room door.

Theo remembered it all so clearly as he sat at the desk he used to share at home with Ben.

He remembered the noise and laughter of the people he worked with every single day, muted by the fire door he pressed Ben’s back to, and the heavy click of the lock.

He remembered the growing excitement he felt as Ben clung to him, pulling his hair a little, groaning into his mouth.

He remembered the way his breath had slammed out of his body as Ben turned him—quickly, forcefully—then flicked the light off, plunging them into darkness so complete that he almost fell.

Ben held him up, then sank down his body, nipping through Theo’s shirt, almost growling. The vibrations from his lips shot straight to Theo’s cock, and when Ben bit, then sucked hard on his nipple, Theo had made a sound that was one long, prolonged consonant. He couldn’t see a fucking thing. All he could do was feel.

The inky darkness made everything—each breath, each touch, each bite—a hundred times more intense. He leaned back against the door and stretched his arms out, bracing himself on the shelves that lined the walls to either side, giving himself up to Ben, needing him so badly.

In the dark, Ben’s Italian cursing and the sound of his own zipper being unfastened pushed him closer to the edge. His clothes had been yanked down roughly, and Ben shoved his face in close, huffing, licking, murmuring against Theo’s balls until he turned his face just enough that Theo’s cock was scuffed by Ben’s five o’clock shadow. The soft almost-scrape made Theo’s hands grasp, hanging tightly onto the metal of the shelf supports until they cut into his palms.

Seconds later, his cock was engulfed in wet heat. He jerked, feeling Ben’s teeth, the ridges in the roof of his mouth and—fuck, fuck, fuck—Ben’s lips tightening as he pulled back a little. He felt fingers slide their way up under his shirt, short nails pressing into his pecs before scraping across a nipple. Lightning bolted across the inside of his eyelids.

Theo lurched forward, making his cock slam against the slick constriction of Ben’s throat. His choke and cough made Theo groan so, so loudly. In the utter darkness, Theo sounded like a man dying, being killed, suffering terribly. He hadn’t ever felt anything so good. The hand on his chest flattened, pushing him back, holding him up. He might have been smaller than Theo, but Ben had been so fucking strong.

Sitting at his desk at home, Theo’s hand reached out—shaking—as he switched off his desk lamp and PC monitor.

He sat in the dark and tipped his head back, pretending for a moment that he was back in the archive room.

Back with his Ben.

The darkness had wrapped around them, leaving Theo feeling like he just might be floating as Ben started to suck him off. His groans filled the narrow space, and when he felt a tongue flick—right there—exactly where he was most sensitive, his knees had buckled. Ben’s throaty chuckle as he pulled Theo down onto the floor, both of them clumsy with blindness, had made Theo grin.

Their teeth clashed as they kissed, still smiling.

Theo tried his fucking best to get Ben’s pants off as he kicked his own away, but Ben grabbed for his hands, pressing soft, wet kisses into Theo’s palms before whispering how much he wanted to fuck him—here
tesoro
, right here, right now, yes? He shifted over Theo’s dick as he unfastened his own fly. Theo’s breath caught as he heard the zipper’s distinctive rasp. He helped to pull off Ben’s clothes as his lover wriggled and tugged himself free.

When Ben finally straddled him again, Theo hooked a hand around the back of Ben’s neck, dragging him down for a kiss that missed initially but went on to become deep, damp, and desperate. Ben kissed him back, sucking on his tongue until Theo felt his cock twitch, leaving its own wet kisses on his stomach.

In the dark, Ben’s dick felt heavy and so hot in Theo’s hand. He started to jack him off fast as Ben’s ass rubbed over his own dick. They both panted. Theo planted his feet flat on the floor, and Ben did too—feet next to Theo’s ribs—before leaning back against Theo’s raised knees, the angle making the crack of his ass a perfect groove for Theo’s dick to rock through.

Ben had told him in a least three languages that he wanted to fuck, needed to fuck—please baby, please—but the combination of complete darkness, the weight of Ben’s hot ass, and the muffled sound of music from the break room just yards beyond one locked door, sent Theo spinning. He pushed up, up, up, feeling his orgasm approach like someone switching on a light—instant, blinding, explosive.

He hung on to whatever came to hand while he shot. Papers shifted on the shelf he grabbed hold of, fluttering down around them.

Ben cursed, calling him a quick little shit. Then he laughed and shuffled on his knees until his cock nudged Theo’s chin. His
ciao, bello
had Theo laughing, then swiping blindly with his tongue. The sharp salty flavor of his man’s cock made him shift up onto his elbows, chasing the taste until Ben’s hands cupped both of his cheeks as he slid into Theo’s mouth.

The room filled with filthy, husky Milanese, and Theo loved it. He loved the smell of the man who had followed him all the way across the Atlantic Ocean with nothing but blind trust and a passport. He loved Ben’s hand yanking his hair just like he had the first night they were together, fucking like they’d been made to fit each other, and he loved the way he beg-demanded: In me, in me, in me.

Pulling off for a moment, Theo had slicked his own fingers, then pulled Ben’s cock to him again, licking, sucking, drooling some—not caring at all. He was mindless as his wet fingertips sought out where Ben would open to him, his head still reeling.

Every inch of skin that he mapped, tracing slowly and lovingly, was familiar. Theo didn’t need any light to know exactly where to touch, or exactly where to push in. His fingers pressed, slipped, slid into Ben, making him stammer and jerk. It had been Theo’s turn to choke until Ben’s fingers slipped through his hair, apologizing, demanding, soothing, and then tugging all over again.

Ben fucked Theo’s face slowly, keeping one hand on his cheek—he loved to feel where they were joined—while he alternately pushed back on Theo’s fingers, then slipped forward into his mouth again, bruising his lips. When he started to curse again, speeding up his hip thrusts, Theo pressed his fingers in as deeply as he could, feeling the spasm around his knuckles start before he tasted the bitter, metallic salt of Ben’s hot release.

Alone in his study in the home they had shared for nearly ten years, Theo shut his eyes and was back in the dark archive room with the man he didn’t want to let go. His hand stroked and pulled out his solitary orgasm, but it was a bittersweet and fleeting feeling, like trying to hold onto smoke.

Like trying to kiss a ghost.

He sat in the dark for a little while longer, then slowly dried his eyes.

After cleaning himself up, he turned on all the lights in the apartment. Every single one. Then he switched on the PC monitor and finished his e-mail to Peter.

He agreed that things would probably be fine, but just to be certain he would talk to the interns on Monday. He needed to be sure that Evan was okay; he owed that much to his father. Then he would talk to Joel, and he wouldn’t let himself be distracted. Distraction was one of Joel’s skills, but he had to learn to be professional.

If he couldn’t, Theo would have to let him go.

It was better, Theo wrote, to make sure that things were completely clear right from the outset. That way, expectations could be managed. While he was on the subject of expectations, Theo typed quickly, explaining that he’d had time to think about what happened between them—between him and Peter—and it probably wouldn’t happen again. It wouldn’t be fair to either of them. He wrote that he hoped they could stay friends.

He wasn’t ready to let Ben go. He had no clue when he would be. Most of all, he didn’t want to.

Not now.

Not yet.

Theo pressed send, then turned out all the lights.

H
E
WAS
crossing the street, heading back to his car after completing Saturday morning errands—dry cleaning, groceries, post office—when a hand grabbed at his elbow from behind. If it hadn’t been for the cheerful “Mr. de Luca!” which accompanied the yank to his arm, Theo might have reacted physically. Instead, being called by Ben’s surname made him catch his breath.

He hadn’t been called Mr. de Luca for so long.

Too long.

As their years together passed they’d found it easier to avoid confusion—and Lordy, some people confused easily—by assuming each other’s surname from time to time. Ben was often home during the day, organizing the import business he ran with his brother via the Internet, so often dealt with deliveries or bureaucracy. He soon discovered that answering to “Mr. Anderson” made some transactions so much simpler.