15
Ben
Ben stared at the bed as though doing so would make a solution to the problem appear, but all he could think about was the kiss. Harper’s bizarre request made a bit more sense after Sam explained that she was unhappily married and loved wine a bit too much. That was a dangerous combination. But since it had led to that kiss, he was hardly going to complain.
That kiss. Just the memory of it made his toes curl. He hadn’t known how to respond to Harper’s suggestion—demand—that they kiss, but Sam had acted before he could react. And now he was glad he had. For months, Ben had wondered how Sam would kiss. If it would be soft and tender or possessive and dominant. As it turned out, it was a bit of both, and that fact nearly had Ben weak at the knees. He wanted to do it again, this time in the privacy of their own bedroom, with no family watching. They would be able to take their time exploring one another, learning how they enjoyed kissing.
The bathroom door opened and Sam stepped out. His hair was wet and his skin pink, and he wore only a pair of plaid pajama pants, hanging low on his hips. Ben couldn’t stop staring, the answer to a question he’d had for ages finally revealed—what Sam looked like with his shirt off. His stomach was flat, with a bit of softness that suggested he didn’t go to the gym as often as he might, and a trail of light brown hair dusted from his navel down to the waistband of his pants.
“Toss me a couple of pillows?”
Ben blinked, forcing himself to look away. So they were going to have this argument again. “I’m not letting you sleep on the floor,” he said.
“And I’m not letting you sleep on the floor.”
There had to be a way to resolve this like normal people. “You got a quarter?”
“Yeah.” Sam walked over to his bag and rummaged around, returning with the coin. “Are you seriously going to decide based on a coin toss?”
“Neither of us are willing to budge, so it was the most logical solution.” And he had every intention of skewing the toss in his favor.
“Okay. On one condition. No catching it. However it lands, that’s how we call it.”
Ben gritted his teeth. “Fine.”
He settled the quarter on his thumb, then flicked it, watching it soar up into the air, then come back down. But it didn’t land on heads or tails.
“No fucking way.” Kneeling down on the floor, he peered down at the quarter, which had landed on its side, in a crack of the wood flooring.
Sam went to his knees beside him. “Are you kidding me?”
Ben had never been one to ignore signs. Sometimes the universe had a way of steering you in the direction it wanted you to go, and this seemed to be one of those times, especially after that kiss. Right now, it felt like the universe was telling him to make a move, even if that thought scared him half to death.
“Well, guess it looks like we’re both taking the bed,” he said, much more confidently than he felt.
“What?” Sam yelped.
Ben rolled his eyes. So much for the universe. “Look, it’s a king size bed. That’s like, almost twice the size of my bed at home. We won’t even have to touch each other.”
Sam still didn’t look convinced. “I don’t know.”
“You can go camping out in the woods, but you can’t share a comfy-ass bed for two nights with a friend?”
“Are we friends?”
There was a hesitancy in Sam’s voice that pulled Ben up short, and he frowned. “Of course we’re friends. I’ve known you for nearly a year. We talk every single day.”
“Not outside of work.”
And whose fault is that, Ben wanted to say, but he kept his frustration restrained. “I wouldn’t be opposed to talking outside of work. You could stop by one of my exhibits. Everyone else from the Press Room has, except you, and I can’t quite figure out why. It isn’t because you don’t like photography.”
He couldn’t tell for sure in the dim lamp light, but it almost looked like Sam’s cheeks were redder than they’d been when he came out of the bathroom.
“I’m busy.” Sam didn’t quite meet his eyes, picking at a thread on his pajama pants.
It was very clearly a lie, but Ben wasn’t going to press the issue tonight. The long day had tired him out, and all he wanted to do now was sleep. Preferably not having to worry about whether or not Sam was comfortable on the floor.
He shrugged. “Hey, it’s your choice. I’m just saying the world isn’t going to end if you show up. Now pick a side. I’m going to pee.”
Walking into the bathroom, he closed the door behind him. They were dancing around…something. It was clear that whatever they felt for each other was much different than friendship, given that Sam wasn’t actually sure they were friends. Hearing that had been a tiny bit disappointing, but understandable. The only interaction they had was when Ben came into the coffee shop. A friend of Faith’s was an artist and often had her work up in the gallery, and Peter donated every month. But it had always seemed like Sam was holding something back.
He washed his face and brushed his teeth, doing his best to stay in the bathroom as long as he possibly could. It wasn’t that he dreaded sleeping in the same bed as Sam, or regretted suggesting the idea. It was that he might react in a way that made Sam uncomfortable. If he got hard in the middle of the night, would Sam think it was because of him? Would he freak out?
He stood in front of the toilet, his teeth grazing over his bottom lip. There was one way to decrease the risk of getting hard in the middle of the night. Ben glanced at the door, then just to make sure he wouldn’t be interrupted, walked over and locked it. He turned the shower on to cover up any sounds he might make and to provide a reasonable excuse for being in the bathroom for too long. And then he slid his jeans and underwear down over his hips and took his cock in his hand.
At first it was a bit awkward. He was hyper-aware of the fact that he was jerking off with Sam only a closed door away, but then he let his mind wander back to the kiss they had shared. Sam had been restraining himself, Ben could tell. Much like he seemed to restrain himself every time he was around Ben. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to imagine a scenario in which Sam didn’t restrain himself.
Ben didn’t really have a preference for topping or bottoming, but in this fantasy, Sam took the lead. They were in the bedroom, the only light coming from the fireplace. Sam undressed himself slowly, and now Ben didn’t have to use his imagination to know what his body looked like. His cock grew heavier and fuller in his hand. In his mind, Sam approached him and cupped his cheek, much as he had earlier that evening. And then he leaned in and kissed Ben deeply, lips parted, his tongue seeking entrance to Ben’s mouth. Rather than his own hand, Ben imagined it was Sam’s—that he had reached down between them to stroke him. He broke the kiss, only to trail kisses down Ben’s neck and chest. Ben rubbed the pad of his thumb across one of his nipples, replacing his thumb with Sam’s tongue in his mind. His toes curled. It wasn’t going to take long at all.
He skipped ahead in his fantasy, knowing he wouldn’t have time for the whole thing to play out. They were on the bed, Ben on his hands and knees, Sam with one arm wrapped around him, fucking into him slow and deep, each thrust punctuated by a snap of his hips. Something was missing. Ben widened his stance and slid his free hand in between his legs, massaging that area between his balls and his ass in time with Sam’s imagined thrust. Fuck, what a difference that made. His breathing grew quicker and more labored, and he knew that he wouldn’t last much longer.
Come for me, Ben, Sam whispered in his mind.
That was all it took. He came hard, thick spurts landing in the toilet and smearing along his hand. It was only after he came down from his orgasm that he realized his lip was bleeding from where he’d bitten it to keep from crying out. Slumping against the vanity, he took a few deep breaths, then stepped out of his jeans and boxers, pulled his shirt over his head, and stepped into the shower to wash off.