3
Friday night, Ben parks in the only free spot in the street and sends a text as he gets out.
‘Right outside the door.’
Leaning against the car, he smooths a crease out of his brown linen pants and adjusted the knot in his tie. The tie is a deep, forest green, two shades darker than his shirt and the combination highlights the green of his eyes, which is precisely why he chose them. The screen of his phone flashes.
‘Give me ten mins? Just got out of the shower.’
Ben shakes his head.
‘You have ten minutes and counting. I’ll just stand here and think about you in the shower.’
Smirks and presses send. Less than a minute later his screen flashes again.
‘You have a shower kink, don’t you?’
‘Stop texting and get your ass down here. I’m hungry.’
He opens his email app but before he can do more than scroll through the emails that have come in since leaving the office, the building door bangs. When he looks up Alex is hurrying down the steps, rolling back the sleeves of a white shirt, tucked into black jeans. There is no watch on either of his bare forearms – which could explain a lot about his time keeping Ben thinks – but he notices the leather cuff on the left wrist again.
“Sorry,” Alex says, grinning, and out of breath.
Jesus, those dimples. How often has he caught himself thinking about those damned things this week? Over his morning coffee on the way to the office. During his lunch break. At least once in the shower, panting and desperate.
“You know,” Ben says unlocking the doors, “I’m starting to think you like that rower way too much.”
“Yeah, sorry, but it wasn’t the rower this time,” Alex says. “I had to help with a teenager who’s struggling to come to terms with an amputation. He was giving one of the therapists a rough time. I meant to call but figured the time was better spent in the shower – you know all things considered.”
Ben laughs and lifts his middle finger from the steering wheel. He glances at Alex and is surprised to see him blushing; desire sparks in his belly and he forces his eyes back to the road.
As he hands the keys to the restaurant valet, Ben decides Alex is possibly the sexiest man he’s ever met.
Overhead fans push warm air around the restaurant, adding a regular whomp - whomp beat to the low buzz of conversation. At the far end of the grill, French doors open onto a patio where a guy in his twenties, with a long blonde ponytail and a pleasant, if not startling voice, covers what Alex thinks of as Top Forty Elevator music. He nods when Ben asks if a table inside is okay – close enough to the doors to feel the light breeze but far enough from the music to be able to have a conversation. The waiter leaves them with menus, takes Ben’s wine order, and for a moment they study the pages in silence.
When the wine waiter returns, Ben defers to Alex who takes a sip, rolls it around his tongue and nods in approval. Their glasses filled, the waiter once more retreats, and Ben waits for Alex to make a choice.
“I know what I’d like,” Alex says, lifting his glass, aware Ben is watching him.
“So do I,” Ben says, green eyes on Alex’s mouth.
Alex flushes a deep red and lifts his menu again.
“You do that a lot,” Ben says, sipping his wine as he leans back in his seat.
Lowering the menu, Alex frowns.
“Do what?”
“Blush,” Ben says. “I’ve noticed you do it a lot.”
Oh God. That doesn’t help; his face flames even more.
“It’s kind of hot,” Ben adds with a lopsided grin.
“Oh, shut up.” Alex pretends to study the menu again, painfully aware of his scarlet cheeks.
By the end of the meal the Merlot is finished, and Alex has a mild, pleasant buzz happening. They order coffee and when it arrives, Ben asks for the bill.
“I thought this was a date?” he says, smacking Alex’s credit card away when it’s offered.
“Uh –”
“Exactly,” Ben says, tone firm despite his smirk. “And I repeat, it’s hot when you blush.”
#
Alex hangs his keys on the hook just inside the door and flicks on the lights.
“Red or white?” he asks going into the kitchen. “Unless you’d like something stronger.”
“Red’s fine,” Ben says, loosening his tie. An oversized burgundy rug fills the center of the hardwood floor and Ben is standing on it, studying three large, framed, Humphrey Bogart prints when Alex returns and hands him a glass.
“Fan?” he asks, smiling and nodding at the posters.
“Yeah, The Maltese Falcon is my favorite film.”
Nervousness claws at Alex’s belly. He has never brought a man to his apartment before; on the rare occasions he sees someone, he never brings them home. Ever. He’s not sure why he asked Ben up.
He snatches up the remote from the coffee table and presses a button to turn the sound system on. Leonard Cohen’s voice murmurs about being a drunk in a midnight choir as Alex pulls the drapes closed.
When he turns back, Ben is on the couch, pulling his tie off. It lands on the coffee table next to his wine glass and cell phone, with a soft, silky rustle. Alex hesitates before crossing the room and sitting down next to him. The wine glass is heavy in the palm of his hand and he stares into it, trying to stop his heart from racing. When he feels Ben’s hand on the small of his back he turns to face him.
The kiss is gentle and warm. Then Ben draws away and carefully, as if it is the most important thing to be done right now, takes Alex’s glass from him. Places it next to his own on the coffee table. Alex settles back against the cushions and, Ben leans closer, sliding a hand around his waist to pull him closer. The tip of Ben’s tongue plays across Alex’s bottom lip and his eyes flutter shut as he opens his mouth, fingers twisting in Ben’s shirt. He can taste the wine on Ben’s tongue, smell the rich, woodsy scent of his cologne.
When the kiss finally breaks, they’re both fighting for breath and Alex can see the flush in Ben’s cheeks, feels it echoed in his own.
“So hot,” Ben growls, eyes flashing, and dips his head again, right hand cupping Alex’s face. This time Alex presses into the kiss, and when Ben eases him down on the couch, doesn’t resist. Excitement ripples through him and he moans against Ben’s mouth. Hands flat on Ben’s back, fingers splayed, Alex pulls him closer until he feels Ben’s erection rub against his own and moans again.
Desperation replaces nerves and he tugs at Ben’s shirt until he has his hand on warm skin and when he digs his fingers into the tender flesh just above Ben’s belt, the lawyer makes a sound in his throat that goes straight to Alex’s cock. He wants to hear that sound again. Sooner rather than later.
There is barely room on the couch for one man over six feet tall to stretch out, let alone two of them. Alex braces himself with one foot on the ground, the other hooked around Ben’s ankle as Ben yanks his belt buckle open and flicks open the button of the black jeans. He hisses when the zipper is dragged down and rolls his hips up, looking for friction.
“Oh God,” he groans. Finally, Ben is touching him. Fingers wrap around him, cool skin on hard heat. Slow, firm strokes trace the length of his cock.
“Wanted to touch you all evening,” Ben says against his throat, nipping and biting the tender skin between words. Alex groans and digs his fingers into the skin of Ben’s back; for a fleeting moment, he worries about leaving marks. Then Ben drags the pad of his thumb back and forth over the head of Alex’s cock until the only thing he is worried about is the fact that he isn’t going to last much longer if Ben keeps doing that. It’s been too long and he’s too wound up. His head drops back on to the arm of the couch and he bucks up into Ben’s hand as Ben kisses him again, rough and hard, tongue taking control, matching the pace of the strokes; free hand pulling at Alex’s hair.
“Ben!” is all Alex manages as a warning as he falls apart, orgasm rocketing through him in an explosion of wet warmth. Still holding him, Ben buries his face in the hollow of Alex’s neck, breathing ragged and hot as he rubs against his thigh.
“Oh...fuck!” Ben bites out the curse as his body stiffens and his fingers, still wound in Alex’s hair, tighten hard enough to hurt. They lay without speaking, silence broken only by heavy breathing, and the sound of lazy kisses against a cheek.
Eventually Ben shifts, grimacing, and laughing at Alex’s look of discomfort.
“I think that took the edge off at least,” he says, before laying another line of light kisses along the length of Alex’s jaw. “Feel like I’m fifteen again.”
Alex snorts.
“Maybe we should move to the bedroom.”
“Your bed had better be bigger than your couch.”
#