Ben felt a little sore after having sat up all night, nursing his guest. He watched in fascination as Michael tossed and turned in his sleep. It wasn't the tossing so much as the graceful line of Michael's body that enthralled Ben. He been held captive by the sleek movement of tendons and muscle underneath the silken skin, by Michael's arms and legs, which were dusted with baby fine, black hair, and by the small adorable patch of hair in the center of Michael's chest. Ben closed his eyes more than once during the night and felt his pulse racing at the thought of really touching Michael and having him respond.
"What time is it?" Michael whispered.
Ben opened his eyes and glanced at his watch. "It's about 10 'o clock."
"Ten?" Michael asked, wiping the sleep out of his eyes.
Ben reached over to place a nervous hand on Michael forehead. "How do you feel?"
"Much better. Thank you, " Michael said, appreciating Ben's gentleness and his concern. "What happened?" he asked, sitting up and feeling a little embarrassed about the whole situation.
"I was hoping you'd tell me. I found you unconscious. I brought you in here and..." Ben stopped short.
"And undressed me." Michael smiled looking down at himself for the first time. "Sorry about all this. I'm not usually this much trouble. Must've been out in the rain too long."
Ben leaned back into the chair. "I think it's more than that Michael."
"I haven't slept much since I was here last and things with my family have been really...stressful. My asthma, which had been dormant for years, has been acting up lately...and I got caught in the rain twice," Michael said, running an anxious hand up and down his chest and abdomen.
"Is there someone we should call? You mentioned someone named Brian once and then during the night you kept talking to someone named David. You kept saying you were scared and you wanted him to hold your hand, " Ben said with his heart pounding in his chest as he waited for the response.
Michael swung his legs off the couch and sat completely up. "The last thing I need is to talk to either of my brothers."
"Maybe you should call your brothers," Ben said with an inward sigh of relief.
"Where are my clothes?" Michael asked, deliberately changing the subject.
"In the dryer. I washed them. They're kind of wrecked, Michael, " Ben said, getting up. His legs were stiff and aching and his back was in knots.
"I'm so fucked up right now, it's not even funny," Michael blurted out before he could stop himself. He wiped at the tears forming in his eyes. "I'm sorry...I don't know where that came from."
"It's okay. I know the feeling," Ben said. "Why don't you go upstairs and take a shower? I went to the guesthouse last night and got a few things out of your bag. I laid them out on the bed in the room you and your mother shared the last time you were here. While you clean up a little, I'll make us some breakfast." Ben started hobbling towards the kitchen.
"Thank you," was all Michael managed to say.
"No need, Michael," Ben said over his shoulder.
After Ben walked out of the room, Michael let his worry run rampant. What the hell is wrong with me? In spite of what he'd said to Ben about his brothers, he wouldn't mind talking to David for a minute. Under extreme circumstances his older brother could sometimes be a source of support. Maybe David would have some idea about the sudden return of the asthma or whatever it was that was making him so sick. Michael reached for his pants to get his cell out and came up empty. Damn. Giving it some thought, he could visualize the cell phone where it sat on the breakfast nook table in the guesthouse. It wouldn't take long to run out and get it.
Before he got to his feet, Michael took a deep breath. The tightness was gone. The fire in his throat had become a manageable, dull throb. He was shaky but otherwise okay. He didn't need to run helter-skelter to David or anyone else. He would call a little later; it was no emergency, after all. Everything was under control and he was fine.
He was fine, thanks to the enigmatic Ben Bruckner. Michael leaned back on the sofa with a sudden and disappointing realization. He touched me and I wasn't even awake to enjoy it. Fuck. He looked down at himself. He was no gym bunny but he did work out regularly. As a result, he was in good shape--not rippling with muscle, but not a slouch either. If only his mother's family had come from swarthier stock. Her Northern Italian background combined with the good old Novotny genes left him as pale as a ghost. And it would have been nice if he had been wearing something sexier than his functional white boxers. At least I didn't go commando, he thought. He rubbed the patch of hair on his chest. Maybe I should have shaved it or waxed it off. He twisted a few of the strands and shuddered with distaste at the thought of painful hair removal. A soft footstep and the sound of a throat being cleared intruded on Michael's thoughts.
"I'd leave it alone if I were you. Some people like a little body hair," said Ben from the doorway.
Michael hoped against hope that the flush he was feeling was invisible to the outside world. He grabbed at one of the large bath towels that covered his lower half, pulled it up his body, and tried not to look like a Victorian Age virgin. "People?" he asked dumbly.
"Yeah...Anyway, I came to ask if you'd prefer pancakes or French toast."
Michael was still trying to process the meaning of Ben's previous statement. "What did you mean by what you just said?"
Ben spoke slowly as if to someone who might have trouble with the language. "There are two choices. I'm not up to making both pancakes and--"
"No...Before that."
Ben frowned quizzically. "The chest hair? You looked like you were going to yank it out with your bare hands. About breakfast--which is it?"
"Pancakes," said Michael absently while looking at Ben and trying to figure him out.
"Great. That's what I wanted too. They should be ready by the time you get cleaned up and dressed." Ben turned to leave.
"Wait!" cried Michael. He wasn't quite ready to give up the subject. "What people?"
Ben turned back, looked Michael up and down, smiled without answering, and turned to go.
Michael felt a little bubble of happiness that burst into a small smile. This little stint might not be bad at all--not if Ben followed up on the promise of that smile. Michael might have kicked up his heels if, as he stood, a wave of weakness and a bone-rattling shiver hadn't passed through him. It was over in seconds, but it made him proceed with some caution.
David opened the door to his house. Half a day and twenty-plus patients after waking up with a bitch of a headache, he was wiped out and ready to sleep for days. In the living room, he dropped his briefcase and threw himself into an armchair. For a moment, he wondered if Michael hadn't had the right idea about getting away from it all. His mother was driving him crazy. She was logging so much phone time calling him and Brian that it was a wonder she had time to sleep or eat. Brian had been scarce this week, burying himself in his work and his 'extracurricular activities.'
David glanced towards the answering machine next to him. The message light was blinking. He hit the button and let the messages play. Besides the ones from his friends, there was only one from his mother. Gradually she was accepting that Michael wasn't going to call. He got to the fifth message and sat up abruptly.
"Hi, David. It's me. I...uh...I got your message. I'm gonna keep this short. I don't need to be picked up. I'm really sorry I took the car. It was sort of an emergency and I knew you'd say yes. I'll have to figure out a way to get it back to you. Anyway, I'm fine. I'll be away for a few weeks...uh...God, I hate these answering machines. I always feel like I'm talking to myself. Uh...Sorry for rambling. I've already been through this twice on Mom's machine and Brian's and I can't remember what I said or didn't say."
There was a long pause during which David reached for the rewind button. Before he pressed it, Michael's voice started again.
"I don't hate you, you know. I just thought I should tell you that. To tell the truth, I almost called you a couple of days ago when I...uh...something reminded me of when I was a kid and you were always there...I miss the way you used to hold my hand even though I understand why you had to toughen up. I mean, every one knows I was a perfect child, but Brian was a huge pain in the ass. I'm surprised you didn't strangle him for all the stunts he used to pull."
David chuckled and pictured the mischievous twinkle in Michael's eye. "I nearly did," he replied to his absent brother. Somehow, just hearing Michael make a joke instead of talking in that distant way he'd been doing before he left seemed to make things feel a little less out of whack.
"I gotta go before the boss catches me slacking off. I only wanted everyone to know that I wasn't standing on the ledge of a tall building preparing for my final exit. Sorry about leaving a message, but I can't do more than that right now. I'll probably call again in about--"
The loud beep of the answering machine cut off Michael's voice and moved on to the next message.
Hold his hand? David thought. He didn't remember much of that from their childhood. He turned the machine off and reclined on the couch. It wasn't exactly a grand reunion, but at least he knew Michael was okay. But who was the boss he had mentioned?
"Absolutely not, Michael. I won't have you working so soon after being sick." Ben stabbed his piece of pancake so hard that his fork clicked loudly against the plate.
"But I feel fine. I can't just sit around."
"Read a book."
"Ben--"
"Do you realize how sick you were?"
"Yes, I realize. It's weird, actually. It came and went much faster than I would have thought."
"Because you were resting, which is what you should still be doing."
"I've been sleeping all morning and part of the afternoon! I can't take it anymore. Besides, the longer I wait to start, the longer I'll be in your hair."
Ben was slicing a pancake into nearly microscopic bits to give his hands something to do. As he focused on his decimated breakfast, he said, "I don't mind you being 'in my hair' that much."
"But--"
"In fact," he said, talking louder to drown out Michael's protest, "I like it." He risked a look at Michael to see if his meaning had been understood. By the sparkle in Michael's eyes, it had. Ben stood, picked up his plate, and reached for Michael's. "Well, I'll just get these dishes while you--" He stopped when Michael circled his wrist in a loose grip.
"I'll help. I think I can do the dishes without collapsing into an unconscious heap."
Ben nodded slowly, prolonging his contact with Michael. When, at last, Michael's hand slid way, Ben regretted the loss. "Thanks."
Ben puttered around, finding excuses to stay in the kitchen. His reward was the numerous times in which they brushed against each other. He could have waited until Michael had stepped away from the sink before reaching for that cabinet. Ben was sure that Michael could have walked a few inches to the left and avoided their hips brushing against each other.
By the time their silent dance was done, Ben felt as if he'd swum a few laps in the pool. He was hot and it wasn't explained by the clammy weather. Moisture trickled under his turtleneck shirt. Thank goodness for the thick denim of his pants. Otherwise, he might have embarrassed himself.
Finally, unable to take the torture of being so close to what he wanted without reaching out and grabbing it, he gave in to Michael's requests for something to do. After a frantic search through the disarray of Paul's old files, Ben offered his new temporary employee Paul's records. "These are pretty much a shambles. Paul was never big on organization. It will help you to figure out what's what if you can sort these out. Fair warning--his handwriting was for shit, so it might take you a while."
"That's okay, Ben. I want to put in the time. I was afraid that this project wouldn't really make up for what I owe you."
"Don't worry. I'll work you as hard as I can." When Michael's eyebrows shot up, Ben coughed to cover his embarrassment at his unintended double entendre and left the room before Michael could comment or notice that Ben's jeans had suddenly shrunk two sizes.
Michael was painstakingly typing up Paul's records on the laptop computer that Ben had retrieved from the library. To say that Paul's handwriting had been bad was a vast understatement. From a distance it was smooth and neat, but deciphering the actual words and letters was a monumental task that would probably break the most skilled linguist. Michael could feel his head throbbing from the effort of concentrating. He had chosen to work in the studio since the other rooms were so dusty that it would only be a matter of time before he coughed up a lung. He considered running out to buy a mask so that the dust wouldn't trigger another attack, but it would be difficult to explain that to Ben without being impolite. Instead, he picked the cleanest room and hoped for the best.
Squinting at the illegible scrawl and basking in the sunshine beating down on him through the large windows only made him feel lethargic. His thoughts began to drift. I could go find him, offer to repay my debts in other ways, and start stripping. He shook his head. As fun as it was to imagine, he wasn't quite ready to whore himself for his mother's blunder. I could complain about the heat in the house and strip off my shirt. His involuntary shiver reminded him that he could use a sweater to combat the dank coldness pervading Ben's home. Wherever they started, all of Michael's thoughts ended up with him out of his clothes and Ben on top of him. I could just stroll up to him and tell him that I want him to f--
"Michael?"
"What?" said Michael, overly loud in his surprised state.
"Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you," Ben said. "How's it coming?"
"Great. I'm getting a cramp in my hand, though." Michael didn't mention the other parts of his body that were also cramping.
Vic stood by patiently while his sister danced circles around him in the family kitchen. "I think you should tell them."
Debbie scrubbed furiously at an imaginary stain on the counter. "No way."
"It's obviously eating at you. Just tell them. Michael flew off the handle but David and Brian are a different breed. Maybe if everything's out in the open, you can deal with it and move on. You've been a basket case lately and I know it's not only about Michael."
Debbie paused in her cleaning. Every surface in the kitchen gleamed and twinkled with cleanliness and she had nothing left to do but face her brother. "I'm sick of apologizing!"
Vic shrugged. "Who the hell asked you to apologize? They're grown men. They can deal with it."
"But what if they blame me?" Debbie asked with a small voice. The dishtowel's woven threads were stretched to the snapping point in her tight grip.
"I'm not saying that I would have done what you did, but like you told me back then, I wasn't in your shoes. Tell them. They might get angry but they'll recover."
"What if they do like Michael did and shut me out?" Debbie tossed the dishtowel on the counter and opened the fridge. "You want some?" she asked with agitation.
Before Vic could refuse, he was holding a small ice cream container in one hand and a spoon in the other. He put both down and continued to argue with his sister. "Just do what you always do. Keep after them until they talk to you."
"It didn't work with Michael."
"Michael's like you in that way--always with the dramatic reactions. Just give him time to calm down, Sis. He'll come around."
Debbie picked up the ice cream and started eating it herself, though she didn't seem to be enjoying it in the least. "I wish I could believe that, Vic. I really do."
The water sluiced over Ben's body and he felt a pleasant burn in his arms and legs. While his body was occupied in the buoyant, warm pool, his mind was free to dwell on the past week.
One week. Only one week of seeing Michael. One week of hearing Michael's laugh that seemed to come from deep inside. He had looked for such laughter within himself and, miracle of miracles, had discovered it huddling in a dark corner, weak from lack of use. In Michael's presence and under his unconscious tutelage, Ben had exercised his laughter until it almost felt natural again.
There were other parts of himself that he was rediscovering. He had rebelled, at first, hiding when Michael was around by taking walks or cloistering himself in the long unused corners of his home. Somehow Michael always found him. No matter how much Ben wanted to bury himself--no matter how much he told himself that he had no right to expect more--he always felt relieved and happy when he heard Michael's voice approaching to drag him out of his isolation.
Only when darkness had fallen and Michael had made his way to the guesthouse did Ben's old doubts set in.
"What about me?" Paul would whisper in his ear. "How can you forget about me? You don't care that I'm gone, do you?" Rather than the malevolent joy Paul used to take in egging him on, there was a new aura of sadness. Ben hadn't quite figured out if this was better or worse.
They were sorting through a box of rare documents. Ben knew he didn't need to be there. He should leave Michael to his work and let him earn his keep. Every time Ben told himself that he wouldn't interfere, he would eventually make his way to the studio--ostensibly to check on Michael's progress, but really just to see him. Once he was in the room, he could hardly just stand there and chatter while Michael worked. Hours later when the afternoon sun was in the sky, he would wonder how the time could have passed so quickly.
They had developed the habit of sharing coffee on the veranda while the sun set. They did little talking but it never felt awkward. It only felt...right. The orange sun was dipping below the horizon when Michael turned to him and spoke.
"Do you ever leave this house?"
Ben continued to stare at the glowing ribbons of sunlight fading into the darkening sky while he tried to formulate an answer. He couldn't do it.
"I'm sorry," Michael said. "I shouldn't pry."
Ben suddenly worried that he would lose his last chance to do something he'd wanted to do for so long--to talk to someone--to really talk. "It's okay. It's a fair question."
Michael looked at Ben earnestly. "I didn't notice at first because I was sick, but I just realized that you go for walks around your property but you don't go anywhere, not even to the grocery store--"
"I have it delivered every week. They'll be here tomorrow."
"You have no phones."
"I don't like phones."
"And no one ever comes here."
Ben turned away. "I prefer to keep to myself."
"Is it the scars?"
Ben said with hesitation, "Michael, I'm not sure that we should--"
"They're not that bad," Michael said in a rush.
"Michael--"
"I barely notice them."
"Michael--"
"You're still very attractive."
"Michael..." Ben whispered. This time, there were no words from Michael to interrupt him. He swallowed hard around the dryness in his mouth.
Michael stared ahead. "I just thought I should tell you that. You don't have to say anything."
They continued to sit in companionable silence until dusk was fully upon them. Still, it wasn't enough time for Ben to respond in any coherent way. When the last remnants of light began to fade and the sky was turning a purplish hue, Ben stood.
"I think--" He wasn't sure what he thought. He stood and waited for the right words to take shape upon his lips. He was still thinking when Michael came and stood before him.
"Good night," Michael whispered and stood on tiptoe to brush a brief kiss on Ben's lips. He leaned back and looked up.
Ben's lips tingled and burned from the contact. The feeling spread across his face and swept across his body as if it had jumped a million nerve endings in a split second. He raised a hand to his mouth to capture the feeling before it dissipated. In the dark, he could hardly see Michael, but he could sense him waiting. What words were there for someone who touched him when no one else could? Blindly, he reached out and his fingertips touched Michael's shoulder.
"Michael," he said, practicing the name because it fit across his tongue better than it ever had before. Michael stepped towards him and their lips met.
Ben had kissed and been kissed before numerous times, but never had he poured his heart and soul into it like he did now. With Michael's silent permission, his hands caressed Michael's face, finally touching again the velvety, pale skin that had tempted him so often. Michael's lean form pressed into him and Ben forgot how to breathe until the ache in his lungs and the swimming feeling in his head reminded him to inhale. They parted and it was like tearing off a vital body part, so much did it ache. Ben was gasping and trying to understand how such a simple thing could affect him so strongly.
"This isn't right. How can you do this to me?" said Paul's disembodied voice.
Ben dropped his hands from Michael and was about to step away when Michael spoke out of the darkness.
"Did you hear that?" Michael asked with worry.
For the first time in a while, Ben thought that he might not be insane after all. "What did you hear?"
"Uh...never mind. It must have been the wind." Michael took another step back. "I guess I should go to bed. I'll see you tomorrow morning?"
"Yes," replied Ben. "Yes, of course."
"Maybe we could talk some more?"
"Uh...Sure, Michael." While Ben agreed, his mind worked out how he could avoid the conversation. Tomorrow might be a good day for one of his long walks in the wood. As much as he wanted to share his burden, he wasn't sure that Michael was ready for the heaviness of the load. How could anyone be? Michael couldn't possibly know where his curiosity might lead him.
"Good night, Ben."
Ben was startled when Michael stepped forward and hugged him. Like a thirsty plant, he drank in the sensation, finally realizing that as much as he wanted the kiss, he wanted this too. As much as he shouldn't have it, he needed the feeling of warmth and acceptance. He craved the feeling of loving arms around him. He wanted so much that it was impossible to list it all. All too soon, the hug was over and Michael was walking away towards the guesthouse. Ben followed the disappearing figure until it became one with the night shadows. He wrapped his arms around himself and felt good for a little while.
A cold hand touched his shoulder and he spun around. Paul's face was a mask of grief. "You can't do this to me. You can't," Paul whimpered, a shadow of his former self.
"Ben!" Paul shouted at Ben's departing back when his lover rushed back into the house. "Where are you going?"
From his position behind the tree, Michael watched. The lights from inside the house leaked through the window and framed Ben's body as he spun and faced the empty air. He was hugging himself as if to let go would risk his body flying into pieces. After a moment of staring, Ben hurriedly entered the house. What had seemed like empty air, seemed full for a moment. Michael had the briefest impression of a man standing there. It was gone in a flash and he chastised himself for letting his imagination get the best of him.
Michael's body ached at the touch of Ben tracing and retracing the lines of his body. Ben rained down wet, hungry, whisper soft angel kisses on Michael's face, neck, chest, and stomach. Michael lay beneath Ben, surrounded by him, filled with him, absorbed by him, and deeply penetrated by him. Michael tilted his hips up slightly so that Ben could penetrate him deeper as he wrapped his legs tightly around Ben's waist. Ben let out a low deep moan that reverberated through the room. Michael licked his bottom lip and then sucked on it as he bit back his moans. They turned to low pitched groans, then reached the level of actual screams of pleasure, delight, hunger, and pent up emotion.
Ben let out an audible gasp as he watched in utter fascination while Michael reveled in the pleasure being generated by their bodies. Ben looked down at him and Michael could see that Ben was on the verge of tears. His eyes brimmed with them, but they were held back by the shaking of his body as he glided effortlessly in and out of Michael.
Ben closed his eyes as Michael reached up and laced his fingers through the damp softness of Ben's hair, gently tugging as he reached the nape, exposing the tender flesh of Ben's neck. Michael rose up ever so slightly and devoured the soft, sensitive skin he found there, biting, sucking, and licking every inch of it, even the scars that traversed their way down one side. Ben buried his face in Michael's shoulder and moaned greedily as he drove himself ever deeper into Michael's tight, hungry, clenching ass.
Michael lay back, pulling Ben down. At first the kiss was shallow like a hand skimming the surface of cool water, and then, by inches, the kiss became deeper as their tongues danced an excruciatingly slow tango in each other's mouths. Michael could feel the hammering of Ben's heart. Their bodies were covered in an ever increasing misting of sweat. Their bodies practically glowed in the glare of the fireplace.
Michael could feel himself being pulled closer and closer to the edge of his control. His body was an inferno and still he felt himself being scalded by Ben's touch as the other man explored his body, and by Ben's kisses which covered his face and mouth with wet warmth. Ben's body was covered with sweat showing off the muscles beneath his skin to full effect; Michael's moans kept getting louder and louder.
Finally Michael could hold back no longer. His toes curled, his back arched, and his head was buried deeply in the soft, down pillow underneath it. His body was one gigantic raw nerve. He felt everything as he came all over Ben's stomach and chest. So explosive was his release that some of it even landed on the corner of his mouth...
Michael woke up to one of the hardest orgasms he'd experienced in his life. His head was thrown back, his hands clutched fists full of bed sheet, and his breath came to him in quick, audible gasps mixed with loud, quaking moans. His whole body shook with desire and memory. He lay there for a good ten minutes afterward, a shivering mass of satisfied flesh. He found it completely unbelievable that he could come this hard without ever having touched himself.
As he fumbled around in the dark for the lamp next to the bed, he could have sworn he saw the silhouette of someone in his room. After his hand found the lamp switch, he realized he was alone and attributed it to the dream he'd just ha. Michael looked down at his sweaty, naked body and laughed softly to himself at the mess he'd just made. If Ben could see me now, he thought to himself as he got out of bed and headed to the bathroom to take a much-needed cold shower.
Even while the cold water shocked his sensitive skin, Michael was still trying to recover from the effects of the dream. He could still taste Ben's tongue in his mouth; he could still feel Ben's greedy hands traveling the length of his body as they explored, traced, and claimed every inch of him. He could still feel Ben's long, thick, cock pulsing inside him, filling him up.
Michael closed his eyes and traced with his trembling hands the route Ben's had taken in his dream. He licked his lips, still savoring the sensation of the real thing--the kiss they'd shared tonight, when the sun was setting and the world was covered in the orange-gold it has right before darkness descends, creating a new night of possibilities.
Michael's eyes snapped open when what felt like light fingers traced the line up his spine to the nape of his neck. He shook his head and the feeling was gone. You're so pathetic Mikey, get a hold of yourself...It was only a kiss...One, absolutely fan-fucking-tasic kiss.
Ben woke up the next morning not dreading the rising of the sun. This was happening to him more often as time passed and Michael was near. It wasn't a dream. He'd actually kissed Michael last night, had actually held him in his arms and felt the smaller man's body respond with a resounding yes to his every touch. Those lips, which had tortured him in his dreams since they met, had finally been his to claim as his own, if only for a moment in time. He had been consumed as he never had been before. He'd been touched in a way no one had ever touched him before and as much as it thrilled him, it also scared the living shit out of him.
"Good morning baby," Ben heard Paul say from across the room.
Ben sat up and asked, "What're you doing here?" though he knew the answer.
Paul spoke in a low, menacing voice. "I paid a visit to our house guest last night."
"Why?" Ben asked.
"Because I can," Paul said, the sadness in his voice unbearable.
"Leave him out of it!"
"How can I, when I see you two all over each other? You want him and he wants you but you're mine, damn it. Mine," Paul said before fading away.
Brian had played the message from Michael repeatedly. He smiled to himself because Michael sounded more like himself than he had in a long time. Actually, he sounded like he used to before their father had taken off. It wasn't so much what Michael had said but the way in which he'd said it. Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea. Maybe all Michael really needed was some time to himself, where he didn't have to worry about hurting someone's feelings or disappointing someone all the fucking time.
For the first time since he found that note in Michael's apartment, Brian actually held out hope that his brother would come back--that this was just something Michael needed to in order to move past whatever it was that had laid claim to him since their father left. Brian's own feelings for his father were deeply rooted in the effect his father's leaving had on the other people in his life--his mother and David, but especially Michael. Something had died in Michael when their father walked out--something that time and distance had never been able to repair in his brother--something which caused Michael to shrink into himself in away no one had ever been able to pull him out of before.
After listening to the message one last time, Brian erased it. Michael would be fine, and if Michael were fine then everything was going to be fine. Maybe even him.
Debbie let Vic listen to the message just to make sure she was hearing correctly. She was worried her judgment was a bit off.
"He sounds fine. Actually he sounds great," Vic told his sister.
"Yeah, I know, but he didn't give us any details about how he's doing and why he's been gone so long," Debbie said, worried.
"Sis, at least he called. What more do you want from him?" Vic asked, getting frustrated with her.
"I want him to come home where he belongs."
"He's not ready to come home yet and he seems happy where he is. Let him get himself together and when he's ready, he'll come home, " Vic replied.
"He's my baby, Vic, and I want him home," Debbie said, getting pissed.
"He's not a fucking baby. He's a grown man and it's about time you started treating like one," Vic said, walking out before his sister had a chance to respond.
Ben came downstairs to the smell of coffee, bacon, and eggs. The delivery from the grocery must have come already as he couldn't remember having any eggs or bacon in the house. When he walked into the kitchen, he was greeted by the sight of Michael in a pair of baggy shorts and a tight, white wife beater. His jaw nearly hit the floor when Michael turned around and Ben saw that the shorts were open in the front and folded down while the wife beater had ridden up in the front, exposing a flash of creamy, decadent flesh.
"Your breakfast is ready, Mr. Bruckner," Michael chimed, smiling from ear to ear as he registered the effect his outfit was having on Ben.
Ben blinked hard a few times to stop himself from staring. "Huh?" was all he managed to get out.
"I said your breakfast is ready. Sit down." Michael walked over to the table and placed Ben's plate and cup of coffee down on the place mat.
"You didn't have to do this Michael," Ben said softly, trying to remember where the table was.
"I know, but a dream I had last night inspired me and I woke up with all this energy," Michael replied, walking back over to the stove and making his plate.
"Must have been some dream," Ben said, taking in Michael's rear view as he sat down. "Tell me about it."
Michael blushed and smiled to himself before answering. "Let's just say it was informative and leave it at that," Michael hedged, turning around with a wicked smile on his face.
"You just can't say something like that and then leave it there," Ben insisted, taking a sip of his coffee.
Michael took a seat across from Ben. "Yeah, I kinda think I can."
"Michael, come on. Now you've really got my interest piqued." Ben grinned, glad to be sitting down. Michael looked sexy as hell with that devilish smile on his face.
"Good. There's something to be said for anticipation," Michael said, blatantly flirting.
"Michael--" Ben stopped short, his voice silenced by the desire to reach across the table, pull Michael over it, and kiss him until their lips were raw.
"I forgot the juice. Orange or apple?" Michael asked, getting up and walking over to the fridge.
"Orange," Ben replied, his voice coming back to him momentarily.
Ben watched in silent admiration as Michael walked over to retrieve the juice. The tightness of his pants was getting uncomfortable and he was trying to adjust himself when Michael turned around and caught him. He was sure his face must have been at least fifteen shades of red. He felt his scars tighten as he blushed uncontrollably. In a way, it was funny because he hadn't blushed in years. He almost thought he'd lost the ability to do so. He was about to try and explain when Michael placed the juice on the table and took a seat without saying a word, as if he hadn't seen a thing. Ben gave an inward sigh of relief that Michael was just going to let it slide.
Michael was trying with all of his might not to burst out laughing at Ben's misery. He sat down and started toying with his food in an effort to avoid looking at Ben and losing his composure. "So, Ben, what's up with you this morning?" Michael asked, bursting out laughing.
Ben found the laughter was contagious and he laughed as well. It felt so good to laugh like this with someone again. It felt so good Ben found tears rolling down his face.
Michael reached over and rubbed the back of Ben's hand lightly, tracing one of the scars with his forefinger as the laughter abated. Ben closed his eyes and absorbed the warmth of Michael's hand. He drank it in as a man deprived of water would drink it in--with greedy gulps. Ben opened his eyes when Michael took that warmth away.
His eyes opened in time to see Michael get up and walk the short distance to the back of Ben's chair. Michael placed his hands on Ben's shoulders and began to massage him slowly.
"God, your shoulders are in knots," Michael whispered in Ben's ear.
Ben stiffened as he felt the moist air next to his ear. "God, that feels great," Ben said slowly, barely able to move now, for fear Michael would stop.
David arrived at his mother's house a little harried. He'd been with a patient when his mother had called his office. He hurried through the exam and left the office as soon as he could. He hated these cryptic calls from his mother. She always made it sound as if the world were about to end. Most of the time she just wanted to get her sons together for a sit down dinner or something. There were even times she'd called him, sounding all mysterious, but when he arrived it would be nothing more than a new addition to the menu she wanted to test on him or some wine she wanted him to approve for her, because he liked that kind of thing. Even so, he always found himself rushing over after one of her calls. The last two calls he'd gotten from her were, in fact, life-changing events in all of their lives--first the news about his father and then the news about Michael leaving.
David wasn't really up to listening to any more bad news but there he was in the living room, his briefcase in hand, waiting for the arrival of his baby brother. It struck David as odd; he hadn't seen or really talked to Brian since Michael had left. Standing there, he heard Uncle Vic's voice telling him that for all these years, Michael, and not their mother, had been the buffer between them. He hadn't wanted to believe it then, but, standing there, he finally understood what his uncle had been saying.
He knew with a certainty that scared him, that he and Brian were too much alike to ever really get along. David let out a small laugh as he felt his baby brother bump into him on his way into the house.
Brian had listened with a sort of deafness he'd acquired over the years when it came to practically everyone in his family save Michael and, on the rare occasion, his Uncle Vic. So when his mother insisted that he come over after work, he said yes without really having listened to her, but having heard.
He wasn't looking forward to seeing, let alone having to talk to, David. He loved his big brother but could only really stomach him in small doses and Michael wasn't going to be there to take the edge off the rest of the family. Brian looked in his desk drawer to see if he had anything handy to take the edge off chemically, but came up empty. He knew he'd have to stop at home first. There was no way he'd be able to deal with his family completely sober. He was going to need some kind of buzz to deal with whatever new catastrophe had raised its ugly head.
Maybe Michael had the right idea after all--just make up his mind to pick the fuck up and leave. But then he'd never been as brave as Michael. None of them had.
Debbie came downstairs, wringing her hands. She didn't know if this was the right thing to do, but it was long overdue. She'd been thinking about it ever since Vic had brought it up a few weeks ago. Even though she'd been defensive about it, she knew he was right.
She looked and saw her sons sitting at opposite ends of the sofa. She took a deep breath and went into the living room to do what she knew she had to do.
"So, Ma, we're here. What happened now?" Brian asked after spying his mother.
Debbie took a seat in one of the overstuffed chairs. "I have something I need to tell you boys."
"If it's bad news, I think I'm gonna need a drink first," David said, trying to lighten the mood.
"David, please, this is hard enough as it is," Debbie argued. "It's the reason Michael left."
"What the fuck are you talking about?" Brian asked, paying attention now. "You know why he left and you're just now telling us?"
"Give her a chance to explain," David interrupted, leaning forward and touching Brian's knee.
Debbie started slowly, already regretting what she was about to say. "It was those letters your father left Michael. He told him something I didn't want you boys to know...Your father told Michael that I stopped him from seeing you boys."
"Was he lying?" David asked, with a glimmer of hope in his voice.
"No. It was a few months after he left. He called a few times and asked to see you boys. At first I didn't answer his calls or return any of his letters. When I finally did, I told him it would be better if he didn't see you boys and he agreed," Debbie said, tears welling in her eyes.
"And Michael confronted you about this?" Brian asked, deadpan, his buzz effectively gone.
"Kind of," Debbie replied. "He was angry and then he closed himself off. When I couldn't take it anymore I did something stupid to kinda win him over again. I stole something valuable, although I didn't know it was valuable at the time. I thought it was garbage but it was Captain Astro so I knew Michael would love it."
"I gotta get outta here." Brian got up to leave, but David stopped him.
David was pissed, but it was a controlled anger. "I don't give a fuck about what you and Dad decided to do all those years ago even though it might have been easier on us if he had been around for some of the hard shit. What I'm pissed about is that you and Dad laid all this shit on Michael. No wonder he left."
"Why tell us now?" Brian hissed.
"I thought you should know," Debbie replied, trying to steel herself against their anger.
"You thought we should know?" Brian laughed. "Maybe we should have known before Michael took off. Maybe, just maybe we could have helped him deal with it. Maybe he might still be here. Maybe..." Brian tailed off when he saw Vic standing in the doorway.
"That's enough you two. No need to beat her up about it. She's been doing enough of that herself," Vic told them, going over to his sister.
"Of course it's all about her. Right, Uncle Vic? Fuck me. Fuck David. And especially fuck Michael. As long as she's not upset," Brian complained, turning to David now. "Let go. I'm fucking outta here."
"Yeah, let's get outta here. I need a drink," David agreed, getting his things.
"So that's it. I lose all my boys over this?" Debbie cried, bursting into tears.
"You don't get it, Ma. This has nothing to do with Dad and everything to do with Michael," David explained, turning around looking at his mother and uncle. "Michael's out there somewhere trying to make up for something you did to get brownie points with him. He might never come back because you were too selfish to let him be pissed off at you for a little while until he could figure things out. I love you, Ma, but sometimes you don't see. He's not a little fucking boy anymore. Captain Astro can't fix everything."
"She's not the only one who doesn't see," Vic said in defense of his sister. "You two are just as guilty of not seeing Michael."
"Yeah, but we're not his fucking mother," Brian retorted and left.
"David..." Debbie started weakly. "I know it was wrong. I'm paying for it, aren't I?"
"No, Ma. Michael's paying for it," David disagreed and followed Brian out the door.
Michael massaged Ben slowly until he could feel the knots one by one release their hold over Ben. The other man moaned softly in his throat just the way he had in Michael's dream. Michael stepped back a little because his shorts were now a giant sized tent and he needed to relieve some of the pressure before something occurred that he'd rather not. Well, he wanted it to happen but he wanted Ben's actual participation for it to happen this time.
"You should stop now, Michael," Ben said rather breathlessly.
"Why?" Michael asked, bending down and whispering the word slowly into Ben's ear.
"Oh, God..." Ben uttered under his stilled breath.
"Sounds like you don't want me to stop," Michael said before licking the outside rim of Ben's ear.
Ben willed himself to move but couldn't. "It's not that I want you to...It's that you have to."
"I'm sorry." Michael removed his hands and stepped back further from the chair. "I thought...I'm an idiot...I'm sorry..."
"Michael...Please. Don't. It's not you. I swear--" Ben stopped short.
"I took too much for granted after...last night. It's not your fault...This happens to me all the time...It won't happen again," Michael said as he left the kitchen and headed for the studio.
How fucking pathetic can you be? Always leading with your fucking heart instead of your head. The kiss meant nothing...it was just a kiss. Do your fucking job and leave the man to his house and his life. Go back home to the same old shit and...and...
The words thundered in Michael's head as his practically ran into the studio. He closed the door and started working. He'd taken too much for granted again. He took politeness for attraction. He'd taken a physical response for something more. Ben didn't want him in that way. He wanted...Michael didn't know what the hell Ben wanted, but from what just happened in the kitchen it was obvious Ben didn't want him.
Ben sat in the kitchen with his eyes closed, listening to the quickening pace as Michael retreated into the studio. When he heard the door close, he jumped a little. He wanted to scream. He wanted to throw something, anything. He wanted to rush in there, take Michael in his arms, and hold him and kiss him until he kissed it all better. Instead, he just sat there, eyes closed, seeing nothing but Paul's face.
Later in the afternoon, Ben ventured into the studio under the guise of offering lunch but really to see if Michael was all right. When he opened the door, he saw Michael fast at work. He had his shirt off while moving boxes and Ben's breath caught once again at just how beautiful Michael was.
Michael stopped on his way to the other side of the room once he felt Ben's presence. He dropped the box, walked over to the little love seat, and put on his shirt. He looked across the room at Ben and then walked over to him.
"Something you need?" Michael asked, his face blank.
"I wanted to know if you wanted lunch," Ben replied, trying to read Michael's expression but coming up empty. Maybe if he knew Michael better this wouldn't be so fucking hard.
"I'm not hungry. Anything else I can help you with?" Michael asked blandly.
"Michael...Please..." Ben started.
"If there's nothing else, I should get back to work," Michael turned to get back to his task.
"Could you stop please?" Ben asked in frustration. "I want to talk to you."
"There's no need. You made things perfectly clear this morning," Michael responded, turning back to face Ben.
"That's just the point. I didn't," Ben confessed. He walked past Michael and took a seat on the stool in front of Paul's drafting table.
"I made a mistake. I told you it won't happen again," Michael said, moving so that he could keep Ben in sight.
"Would you please shut up for a minute and just come here," Ben growled, holding out his hand for Michael to take.
Michael walked over to Ben, took the other man's hand, and moved until he was standing between Ben's legs. Ben reached up and traced the line of Michael's jaw with his finger, his brilliant blue eyes staring for what felt like forever. Then he moved in slowly and kissed Michael softly on the lips. So soft, in fact, that Michael almost thought it another dream, this time a waking one. That thought soon faded as Michael felt Ben's tongue tracing the lines of his lips. Michael opened his mouth to receive it and then felt himself melting into the larger man. He slowly brought his arms up and put them around Ben's neck.
Ben wrapped his arms around Michael's waist. He could feel Michael's erection rubbing against his stomach and repositioned himself slightly so that Michael could feel his erection against his leg. Michael moaned hungrily into Ben's mouth.
Suddenly there was a crash so loud that it brought them out of the spell being cast. Michael looked over in amazement at what had fallen. He was sure he had placed that box near the back of the shelf. There was no way it should have fallen. And yet, there it lay on the floor, its contents all over the place.
"Come have a drink with me little brother?" David offered, leading Brian to his car.
"Why?" Brian didn't look at David, but allowed himself to be led.
"Because I need one and I don't want to drink alone," David said, releasing his brother's arm.
"I don't want to talk about what just happened in there," Brian insisted after considering David for a minute.
"Good, because neither do I," David assured his brother while opening his car door.
Brian opened the passenger's door and asked, "So, are you looking to get buzzed or shit faced?"
David responded with a smile, "I think the occasion calls for getting knock down drunk, don't you?"
"Then let's go back to my place," Brian suggested.
"Why your place?" David asked.
"Less shit to break than in that museum you live in," Brian said with a laugh.
"Your place it is," David agreed, getting in.
Debbie looked spitefully at her brother. It was all his fault she'd said anything in the first fucking place. Now all of her sons were pissed at her and she could do nothing to fix it. She wanted to get up and strangle Vic, but she stayed where she was and glared at him.
"I told you," Debbie said through clenched teeth.
"So the choices you made are all suddenly my fault? How convenient," Vic said unwilling to play the scapegoat in this little drama.
"You told me to tell them," Debbie whined.
"I suggested you tell them...and, as I recall, you said you weren't going to. If I'm not mistaken, I'm also the one who suggested you tell them when Charles started calling, wanting to see them all those years ago. You didn't listen to me then, so don't blame me for this shit now." Vic got up and went into the kitchen.
"They hate me," Debbie cried, tearing up again.
"Didn't you listen to them at all? It's not about Charles. They're pissed about Michael...and they have a right to be," Vic said, taking a sip of the beer he grabbed from the fridge. "You made some hard choices when they were growing up. They get that and Michael would have too if you had given the kid half a chance. What they're all pissed about are the shitty choices you make now. You're still treating them like boys, but they're all men."
"Maybe your house is haunted," joked Michael while he picked up the contents of the fallen box. He looked up at the bookshelf. It seemed to be leaning slightly forward. Fortunately, none of the spilled items were breakable. He repacked them, set the box aside, and examined the shelf a little more closely. "This could probably use some more bracing in the back." He turned to look at Ben for confirmation and was appalled to find the man looking a sickly shade of green.
"Michael, get away from the shelf," said Ben. His voice grated like sharp rocks rubbing against each other.
Michael looked at the shelf unit. "Really, it's not that bad. I can see where the bracket is a little loose. This shelf is a little shaky." Michael jiggled the wood to demonstrate. "When the shelf leaned forward, the box must have slid to the front until it fell. I don't know how I didn't notice before."
Ben closed the distance between them and took Michael by the arm. He seemed to be quivering with tension. "I'd really feel much better if you were a few feet away from there." He pulled on Michael a bit hastily.
Michael stumbled, but he made no attempt to free himself. "Why? The other shelves seem fine. Most of the books are small and light. They aren't likely to come flying--" Before he finished his prediction, Ben yanked his arm unceremoniously and their chests collided with a thud. Michael caught his breath and looked up into Ben's blue eyes. "If you wanted to get closer, all you had to do was ask..." He was confused when Ben pushed him away and turned him by the shoulders. Two heavy books lay on the floor where he'd just been standing. "What the--?" Michael stepped back, directly into Ben's chest. "Forget what I just said. I think it's time to clean one of the other rooms and start working there, instead."
Ben circled Michael's waist and leaned his face into Michael's hair. His heart was pounding like a racehorse and his hands were shaking. His voice, however, was clear and decisive. "I'll have to get a contractor to take a look at it to secure it."
Michael turned in Ben's arms. "You don't have to do that. If you have a ladder--"
"No way. With your luck, the ladder will split into three pieces."
"But if I fall, you can come rescue me," Michael said teasingly. His hand crept up Ben's chest in a hesitant caress when a faint smile creased the man's face. He would do anything to erase the look of concern from Ben's face--if only he knew what had caused it. A minor household accident hardly seemed enough to explain the level of Ben's anxiety. "You can sweep me up in your arms," Michael added, willing away the frown lines on Ben's brow.
"Not with my limp, I won't."
"How about if I sweep you up in MY arms?"
"I'd like that," Ben said, all joking aside. He bent his head to kiss Michael's lips when the shelf rattled and shook. "Not in here, though."
"Where?" asked Michael with eagerness. The pull towards Ben was growing stronger by the minute and he was starting to get impatient with all the interruptions.
"Later. Tonight. I'll fix up one of the bedrooms."
"Tonight?" Michael questioned. "What about right now? What's wrong with your room or the guest house? I'm not picky." Every instinct told him that this moment could be now or never.
Ben's lips tightened and he dug in his heels. "Tonight will be better. I promise. Meanwhile, why don't you leave?"
Michael thought he had misheard. "You're kicking me out of your house?"
Ben brushed Michael's cheek with gentle fingers. His hand slipped down Michael's back in one smooth movement. "Not a chance. Paul's store has more of his ledgers and more inventory there. You can sort through that. While you're in town, maybe you can call the contractor."
Michael was barely keeping track of the conversation because he was so wrapped up in the feel of Ben touching him. He leaned forward and quietly said, "I can call from here. I do have a cell phone, you know," as if he were whispering sweet nothings.
"Oh, sure. I almost forgot. Anyway, you can bring the stuff you finished with down to the store. It's been closed for a month, since the last manager quit. There are still open orders that need to be dealt with. Before he quit, the manager sent out letters informing the customers of the delay, but I'm sure that none of them expected it to be this long." Ben took Michael by the shoulders and set him back firmly. "You go and we'll continue this later on."
"But--"
"Tonight. I promise."
Michael's suspicions were still hovering in his mind. He couldn't let go of the notion that Ben was placating him. "How do I know you won't change your mind?"
Ben drank in Michael's big brown eyes, so open and filled with emotion that he could get lost in them. "There's no way I'm changing my mind." He kissed Michael again, keeping it brief and maintaining his resolve. "Now go."
"Okay," said Michael, all doubt tucked away. He hurried to change and run his errands. He wished the day away so that evening would come faster.
"To dear old Dad," said Brian. His tongue tripped over almost all of the words, but his meaning was as clear as muddied water. Luckily, his companion was just as drunk.
"To Dad," David agreed before clinking glasses with his brother. "You're a bad influence, Bri."
"Who me?" asked Brian while pouring another finger of scotch in each of their glasses.
"Getting drunk in the middle of the day is not my usual thing. Unlike you, I actually like to be sober and in control most of the time."
"Fucking boring," Brian pronounced.
"Fuck you," said David amiably.
"Besides, I'm capable of being perfectly sober when I need to and being sloshed at high noon isn't my style either."
David looked across the room at the window. "It's a little past noon."
"Really?" said Brian, while squinting at the sun and trying to measure its position to the sky. "I think that deserves a toast." He clinked glasses with David and took another swallow. "She's a pain in the ass, isn't she?"
David nodded. They needed no further words to know that they were talking about their mother. "Uncle Vic had a point, though."
"Please," Brian sneered. "You always take her side. Why don't you stop acting like a martyr, stop blaming yourself for everything and assuming that you're the only one who can fix it. Act like the rest of us and blame it on the other guy."
David shook his head in remembrance. "Did you see her face before we left? She looked awful."
Brian shrugged. "Everyone in this family likes to act like the world is caving in." He smirked. "The sky is falling! The sky is falling!" he said in a mock falsetto. "Give me a fucking break. I wish the sky would fucking fall. Maybe people would stop bitching for a while. Ma will forgive and forget that we made her cry. Michael will forget that we disappointed him. I'll forget that you're a pompous ass."
David ignored Brian's usual volley of insults. "You don't really believe that she'll forget it." He poured himself a third drink. When some of it missed the glass, he decided to put a cap on his drinking. "No matter how much of a bad-ass you try to be, you know that you care if she's upset--just like me. You think the sky is falling, too. You just try to act like it doesn't hurt when it smacks you on your hard head. You're emotionally barred."
"So, what do you propose I do about these deep-seated emotional barriers, O Wise One?"
David leaned back against the sofa. "I don't give a shit. I plan on not thinking about anyone but myself for today. Then I'll go talk to Mom. You're free to come along if you'd like. For now, I'm going to enjoy being hammered out of my skull." His voice drifted off and he closed his eyes.
"What a cheap drunk," Brian said to his sleeping brother. He nursed the drink in his hand and thought about his brother's words. Maybe David was right about him caring. Talking about it didn't really solve anything, though. All those people out there who spilled their feelings were like the equivalent of crashed oil tankers. Their emotions tainted everything around them, complicating everything. After the spill, their load was lighter, but everyone else was left with the nasty job of cleaning up. And what happened to the one who did the spilling? They patched up the holes and collected even more of their messy emotions until the next disaster.
"What bullshit," Brian said out loud before finishing the rest of his drink.
Michael wrestled with the storeroom lock until it popped open. "Wow," he exclaimed when a flip of the light switch revealed the contents of the room. The storeroom was a total contrast to the one at Ben's house. Every item was placed carefully on broad shelves. They were sorted and tagged with relentless organization. "Not much for me to do here," Michael said to himself. He placed the first box of several that he had packed in the car and left to bring in the next.
A few hours later, long after Michael had figured out Paul's system, he had been able to store many of the items in their proper place. Ben would need to hire someone who was knowledgeable about restoring some of the pieces that were damaged, but at least they'd be able to figure out what was what and if anyone owned the item. He'd had a little experience doing the books for his mother's restaurant. From the information he had gathered from Paul's accounts, this had been a profitable business. It was a shame that it had been closed for so long. Once Michael had done everything he could do, he started wandering around the large shop. Here and there he found collectibles that interested him--a handmade train set from 19th century France, a wind-up, mechanical dog that barked and walked, several books about the art of drawing. Every topic that he could imagine was represented. He sat behind the counter and looked around. He could imagine what it was like when the store was open and bustling with customers. It would be a kid's dream to look at some of the antique toys that dotted the shelves.
As he had done several times before, Michael wondered what Paul was like. He knew that Paul had been attractive, from the few pictures around the house, but his curiosity wasn't nearly satisfied. Who was the man who found all these rare or old things and restored them to their former glory? Paul must have been wonderful to leave Ben so devastated by his death.
Rather than give himself a headache by dwelling on all these questions for which he had no answer, Michael grabbed his jacket and the accounting books and walked out of the store. He had just locked the door when a twittering voice spoke to him. Behind him stood a middle-aged woman accompanied by a down-trodden man. The woman did all the talking.
"Oh, I'm so glad that someone is taking this place over. The boarded up windows have been quite an eyesore on an otherwise lovely street. Welcome to the neighborhood, young man. My name is Livinia Price and this is my husband Donald Price."
"Hello," said Michael. He would have loved to just walk away, but Livinia seemed ready and willing to chatter for a while.
"The previous owner did run a wonderful business. Why, I did all the shopping for my grandchildren, right here! Isn't that right, Donald?"
The down-trodden Donald nodded and made a grunt of assent.
Livinia babbled on, oblivious to the fact that she was the sole participant in the conversation. "It was quite a scandal when the last owner met his demise. Have you heard?"
Michael shook his head and waited for Livinia's inevitable telling of the tale.
She leaned close to him and whispered, "They say it was murder." She looked at Michael and smiled with victory. "Ah, yes. I see I've surprised you." Her voice dropped even lower. "They say that his lover intentionally drove them off the side of the road in a fit of drunken jealousy. Not only that, but the murdering lover got away with it because he was so badly injured. They say that his face was burned off when the car caught on fire and that he's so grotesque, one can barely look at him. Isn't that right, Donald?"
Donald nodded and mumbled a word or two in support of his wife while he stared at the sidewalk.
Livinia plumped herself up. "I hope he rots in that old house of his. I say he only got what he deserved."
Michael attempted to choose his words carefully, but in the end, his temper took over. "I think you're a vicious gossip who shouldn't spread her shit when she knows nothing. Isn't that right, Donald?"
Donald murmured in agreement and looked away while Livinia turned a nice shade of pale.
Michael waited for her outraged response, but the woman seemed so angry that her bitter words were stuck in her craw. He walked to the car and got in. No wonder Ben doesn't want to come out. If this was what he had to deal with, the judgment of people who didn't even know him on top of his own self-judgment about whatever really happened, it was no surprise that he kept to himself.
Michael started the car. A thump on the hood made him look to the right. Livinia was purple-faced and yelling while waving around an umbrella. Donald stood behind her with a smile on his face. He gave Michael a thumbs up, which Michael returned with a wave. Livinia whipped around to face her husband, but by then Donald had resumed his humble pose.
Ben took one last look around the room. It was spotless and clean smelling. The sheets were fresh after having the musty odor laundered out with a hefty helping of detergent. He had set out a few candles. When they were lit, he started worrying that it looked like the inside of a vampire's crypt or a church, so he removed some of them. He changed the sheets because the first set looked too ordinary. By the time he was done with the room, he was ready to burn it down and go with Michael's suggestion of the guest house.
Then he paced and wished he hadn't been so quick to send Michael away. Who knew that job might take? What if Michael got sick again? All the other what if's vied for attention while his stress level and his blood pressure climbed. He busied himself by starting dinner even though it was a little early. In less time than it took for him to calm down, a roast chicken, sweet peas, baby carrots, and baked potatoes were ready and waiting. All he needed was Michael.
An hour later, Ben's worry was at a fever pitch. He considered walking into town to find Michael, but it was a six-mile hike. Despite not wanting to look overeager, he went out to the front porch and waited there. Paul followed.
"He probably left. He probably had enough of your emotional shit and went home."
Ben ignored the taunting, even when Paul got louder.
"What is there here for him? He'll never love you like I did. You should tell him to go."
Ben sighed with tiredness. When would it all end?
Paul gleefully answered Ben's unspoken question. "Never. I already told you but you won't listen."
Ben turned to Paul. "What is it that you want from me?"
Paul looked surprised by the question. "What do you mean?"
"What do you want? I was alone and miserable and that didn't make you happy. Now I'm not alone and you're even less happy. What the fuck do you want? What do I have to do to make you give me some peace?"
Paul's face transformed into something ugly with his fury. "You want peace? You want to be happy? Well, you know what? So do I! You know what else? You can't do a damn thing about it because I--am--dead. Fix that and then I'll be happy and leave you alone!"
Ben felt the cold that was freezing him fade. He watched the road and continued to wait.
Michael pulled up to the house and saw Ben sitting on the porch with a woebegone expression on his face. He hopped out of the car and walked up the steps. "Were you waiting for me?" He was startled when Ben grabbed him around the waist and leaned his head against Michael's stomach. Ben felt ice cold. "We better go inside before we both turn into ice cubes." He pulled away from Ben and tugged him up. "Come on."
Inside, they headed to the dining room. Michael longed to take a shower and wash away the dust and sweat, but he was reluctant to leave Ben in his withdrawn state. They had shared many a quiet moment, but tonight it lacked the feeling of peaceful comfort and felt more like a gaping hole. The smells wafting from the kitchen were delicious, but neither of them was in a rush to eat. Instead, Michael kept up a running monologue to fill the empty spaces while Ben sat at the dining room table in silence.
"Paul must have had two personalities. His store was super organized. I guess he liked to be a little loose at home."
Ben nodded. "Yeah, he always said that he liked to let his hair down here." He propped his head against his hand and fiddled with the table cloth.
It had only been a few minutes, but Michael couldn't take it anymore. "May I use your shower?"
"Sure. You know where it is."
"I don't remember. Maybe you could come with me."
Ben looked up at Michael and he seemed a bit dazed. "Come with you?"
"Yes." Michael took Ben by the hand and pulled him out of the chair. "Let's go."
Upstairs, Michael headed to the guest room. Ben stopped him. "No. Let's go in here." He led Michael into an empty room. Unlike some of the other rooms, this one smelled fresh and clean. A light breeze stirred the curtains.
"You've been busy," Michael said.
"I wanted somewhere...new, without any baggage."
"Okay," Michael said gently. "I have no problem with leaving baggage behind. Is that a bathroom through there?" he asked, pointing at a closed door.
"Yes."
Michael ran his hand up Ben's arm in a coaxing manner. "I could use someone to wash my back...and all those other hard to reach places."
Ben shook his head slowly. "I think I'll just wait for you in here."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure."
Michael hid his disappointment rather well, he thought. He entered the bathroom, careful to leave the door partially open. If Ben wasn't going to come in, he would still get an eyeful as a preamble for later.
Paul stood in the corner, out of view of the bathroom door. "You're going to regret this. It's not too late to stop it."
"Go away Paul. I don't want to listen," Ben sat down after lighting the candles. He craned his neck to catch a glimpse of Michael through the open doorway. Each time a piece of clothing hit the floor, he renewed his efforts. The flashes of bare skin whet his appetite for more. He wanted desperately to join Michael in the shower, but he didn't want to see Michael's face when he realized how extensive the scarring was. The sun was almost gone and it was getting dark. Soon the worst would be hidden by the forgiving dark.
"He's hot, you know."
"Shut up."
Paul smirked and continued, "His cute little ass is practically perfect."
Ben scowled at Paul. "How would you know?"
Paul smile was crooked and thin. "I told you I visited him. He was moaning and groaning...and that body. You haven't seen him when he's hard. I was very impressed."
"You haven't seen him either. You're lying to upset me."
"Would I do that? Believe what you want to believe, Benny. I'll just stand here and think about how good he felt."
Ben sighed with relief. "Now I know you're lying. You can't touch him."
"Oh yeah?" Paul stalked across the room until he was standing directly in front of Ben. His eyebrows knit together and he bit his lip while he reached for Ben's face.
Ben felt a shock of ice and then a tingle. He jerked back with a shocked yelp.
Paul smiled and cocked an eyebrow. "I told you."
"What did you do to him?"
"A gentlemen doesn't tell all his secrets. I will tell you this, though. When he comes...whew. Watch out!" Paul was gone in the blink of an eye.
Ben sat there feeling worse for the wear. Forget about him. Michael is so close you can touch him. Nothing and no one can take that away from you...nothing and no one but you.
Michael hopped out of the shower and peeked through the door. Good. Ben was still there. Michael picked up his clothes, but then tossed them aside in favor of a towel. Taking a bracing breath, he walked out to the bedroom. Ben had an odd look on his face. It was a mix of fear and desire. Michael only hoped that the desire would win out.
"I'm done," he said unnecessarily. When Ben didn't reply, Michael started to have last minute doubts. "Are you hungry? The dinner you made smelled great. We could go eat."
"Maybe later," said Ben. He stood and walked to Michael. "I think we both know what we want." He reached for the towel knotted around Michael's waist.
David opened his eyes and immediately shut them again. At some point, while he'd been sleeping, the light had turned to liquid acid that burned his eyes. The burning pain shot straight to his head, made a sharp turn downwards, and zoomed to toss the contents of his stomach. Though the world was spinning, he could tell that he was in a horizontal position. He had yet to figure out where he was.
"Drink this. You'll feel better."
Brian's loft. How could he have forgotten? David reached out a hand towards Brian's voice and accepted the remedy gladly. After one sip, he debated whether to thank Brian or dump the crap over his head. "What is this? It tastes like malted garbage."
Brian's voice came from farther away. "It's better that you don't know. Just be grateful that Uncle Vic gave me that recipe. It'll cure your hangover and put hair on your chest."
"Vic should have his chef's hat taken away if this is his recipe."
Brian chuckled. "You're too hung over to appreciate fine cuisine anyway."
David polished off the rest of the noxious-tasting brew. His stomach heaved in rebellion, but it stayed down. "Oh, shit. What time is it? I have to get back to the office! I had a few late patients," he said, doubting that he'd ever be able to make it through an evening at the office. "Why the hell didn't you wake me?"
"No worries, Doc. I called your office. They reshuffled your patients. Your partners will cover for anyone whose appointment couldn't be changed. You have the evening off."
"Terrific," said David with a groan. "To what do I owe this inexplicable act of kindness?" He opened his eyes to see Brian dressed in tight jeans and a silky burgundy shirt. He was freshly shaven and his hair was still wet. "You're going out to party?"
"Yes, dear brother. Our family may be fucked up, but we can't have all our lives coming to a grinding halt. Lock the door on the way out." He jingled his keys and started walking out. "Or you can sleep here...on the couch, not in my bed."
"Why are you being so nice?" Nice for Brian, anyway.
"Consider it my good deed for the day," Brian said before he slid the loft door closed.
What the fuck does Brian know about good deeds? thought David. He sat and tried to puzzle it out, but it was impossible to understand his brother. Brian's self-centered philosophy had served him well over the years. It tended to slip a little when it came to Michael, their mother, and their uncle--not usually with David though. How did we grow so far apart?
As children, they had been inseparable though it had never been an easy relationship. On the outside, it might have seemed that they were enemies--always competing and pushing each other's buttons. Michael had been a little different--head in the clouds, more likely to live in his imagination. David was a bit ashamed to remember how often he and Brian had ganged up on Michael. Where Brian was likely to respond to a challenge with his quick fists or quicker mouth, Michael would act hurt and would withdraw. To everyone else, they presented a united front, but at home it was each boy for himself and Michael was too often the weakest link.
Things hadn't changed drastically except that the united front wasn't quite so united. David had found himself pulling further and further from childish antics in his need to fill parental shoes. He didn't regret doing it--not if it meant that he made his family's life easier in any way. What he regretted was the distance between him and the other boys. Brother and father figure were two very different hats and it wasn't always possible to wear both at the same time.
Still, there had been the rewards. Every time Michael came home with a good grade on a school project or Brian had another good soccer season, or either of them came home with stories of how they had fought off this or that bully or the other million victories of adolescence, David had felt a small swell of pride. He wasn't so full of himself that he would take credit for their successes, but he knew that he helped contribute to an environment where they had flourished.
That's why this thing with Michael was all the more vexing. Try as he might, he couldn't find an easy fix. He had chastised his mother, but immediately understood the urge to slap a Band-Aid on the boo boo, kiss it, and make it feel better. The only problem was that he had to accept that there were some wounds that only time and inner resources could heal. All he could do was be there for Michael, Brian, or his mother if they needed him. For once, he was going to take Brian's advice and he wasn't going to push.
Michael's towel hit the floor with a dull, soft thump against the rug on the floor. He shivered when the air hit his wet skin. He looked up at Ben, expectation drawn across every feature. The clock ticking in the background struck like hammer blows while Ben looked and looked. Paul hadn't lied. Michael's body was delightful, from head to toe.
Michael's lowered lids shadowed his eyes. When he looked up, Ben held his breath at the welcome he found there. It was mixed with desire that reflected his own building need. With new courage, Ben took another step until he was standing so close to Michael that they nearly touched. "Are you sure?"
Michael smiled and the sun and stars seemed to enter his face and eyes. "I've been sure for a long time." He stepped backwards to lie on the bed. When Ben didn't move, he held out his hand. "Come closer."
Ben climbed onto the bed and covered Michael's smaller body with his own. When their bodies made contact, it was as if a flash of lightning had struck inside, so intense and sudden was the heat. Slowly, deliciously, he let his body sink onto Michael's until they were molded together from chest to feet. Michael wrestled with the remaining barriers between them, but Ben put a stop to the gentle assault on his clothing. His moment of courage had been fleeting. He couldn't expose himself until he had ensured Michael's pleasure. Apparently, Michael got the silent hint. He stopped trying to undress Ben and focused on caressing through Ben's thin, cotton shirt and linen pants.
Hands roamed and Ben hissed with pleasure. Over his back, down his hips, around his thighs--Michael's eager hands touched every part of him, stirring a growing need for more. He tasted Michael's lips and was instantly drunk on the fullness of his lips and the moistness of his mouth. Michael tasted of sweetness and freshness--like cool, autumn air tinged with a hint of mint. Even Michael's skin was delectable, like plush velvet against Ben's tongue, the slightly salty taste a pleasant counterpoint to the earlier sweetness. Ben laved that soft spot in the crook of Michael's neck until it was red and raised. He paid the same worshipful attention to Michael's nipples--tasting and sucking until Michael was writhing beneath him.
In the soft glow of candles, Michael's desire was beautiful. Eyes shut, nostrils flaring, the tip of his tongue sweeping over his plump, pink lips--even the hands that clutched and released the sheets so desperately spoke of his passion. When Michael was ready and panting, "Please, please," Ben slid down the bed, took Michael's brick hard erection into his mouth and swallowed deeply. When Michael groaned, Ben paused his actions and pulled away.
"Do you want me to stop?" he asked, while pleading with every god under the sun that the answer would be no.
A pained look crossed Michael's face. "Stop? Never." With both hands, he drew Ben back up for a kiss--a hot, wet, messy kiss that left Ben breathless. He whispered hoarsely, "I can't wait. Do it."
Ben closed his eyes, said his silent thanks, and captured Michael again. And then it struck--the awful goodness of this moment. Awful only because at some point it had to end. Good in too many ways to count. Ben listened to the wordless pleas of his lover, the cries that drove him to move his lips faster and to take Michael deeper into his throat, to slow down, to hold the smaller body tightly between his hands, lest Michael slip away like a dream.
That moment when it all crystallized burned into Ben's brain. The musky scent of Michael filled his nostrils. The flickering candles painted a dancing, golden wash over Michael's pale skin and made the blue-black highlights of his hair glisten. Ben felt topsy-turvy when Michael gasped and shuddered endlessly with the force of his climax. The hot, salty-sweet release filled his mouth and he swallowed it with a moan of satisfaction.
Later on, Ben was wide awake. He couldn't remember the last time that he'd done this--watched while his lover slept.
"Three months, two weeks, five days, and sixteen hours ago...not that I'm keeping track," said Paul as he sat on Michael's side of the bed.
"Go away!" whispered Ben, terrified that Michael would wake up.
"No. I don't think I will," said Paul with little attention to Ben. His eyes were fixed squarely on Michael's sleeping figure. "Did he taste good? I couldn't quite swing that part."
Ben felt a tic start to pulse in his cheek. "I want you to leave!"
"Nope. I was here first...with you and him. Then again, I might be willing to share, having enjoyed watching you both a great deal. Why are you still dressed, though? Don't tell me you're still being shy? Silly man." Paul reached for Michael.
Ben swatted at the apparition, but his hand passed through a cold nothingness and didn't halt Paul's progress.
Paul traced his hand over Michael's back and elicited a small shudder from his target. "I think he likes that."
"I want you to stop," said Ben. His anger grew beyond his ability to modulate his voice. Michael stirred at the noise. "Stop trying to hurt him. He did nothing to you."
"Who says it hurts? I think he liked it last time." Paul's ghostly arm seemed to disappear into Michael's back. "But if I squeeze like so..."
Michael's body arched into a tight bow of agony and his face turned blue and then pale. When Paul withdrew his arm, Michael's breath returned and he seemed to recover, though he didn't wake.
Paul looked at Ben. "I've been practicing and I'm getting pretty good at it. I changed my mind. I want him to stay. I haven't had this much fun in ages."
Ben pulled Michael towards him. He was helpless to stop the shivering that shook the smaller frame in his arms or the shivering that shook his own body. This time it wasn't the cold room or Paul's otherworldly touch to blame. It was fear in its purest form.
Michael burrowed under the blankets before he realized he was sweating under the heavy swaths of fleece and down. He pushed them off and reached out for Ben, but found empty air. He opened his eyes and, for a moment, wondered why his face was covered. When his sleepy mind caught up to him, he realized that he was looking at Ben's broad back as far from him as Ben could get without falling off the bed. It was still dark. All of the candles except one had burnt down to the bottom. He slid closer to Ben, puzzled at the ache he felt in his back and chest. It felt like someone had punched him on the inside. The first few breaths had felt like sandpaper scraped across his lungs, but the feeling was almost gone.
He ignored the newest ache along with all the other ones that he'd been waking to every morning for the last couple of weeks. Now, all he wanted to do was strip Ben naked and lick him all over. His hand snaked around the other man's waist and had done quick work on half the buttons of Ben's shirt before Ben's grip stopped him.
"I want to touch you," Michael murmured into Ben's back.
"I can't let you do that," said Ben. His voice was wearier than it had ever been.
"After what happened earlier tonight you must see that we're compatible." Michael pressed his forehead into Ben's warm back, trying to recapture Ben's warmth. "You were spectacular. I could return the favor or we could--"
"Earlier was probably not a good idea."
"Are you kidding?" Michael growled as he slipped his hand under Ben's shirt and stroked his side. "It was a great idea--so great that I think that we should continue it."
Ben pushed Michael's hand away and sat up. "I'm serious. I think you should leave."
"Do I get a nicer surprise when I come back? I've been hoping that you had a hot tub hidden somewhere in this place."
Ben gripped the edge of the bed with bloodless fingers, but he refused to face Michael. "Can you be serious for a minute? I want you to go. I don't want you to come back."
Michael stared, astounded, at Ben's back. He pulled roughly at Ben's shoulder, but the man wouldn't budge. He started swearing.
The string of colorful words got louder and more creative until Ben finally turned and glared at Michael. "What is your problem? I'm giving you a chance to get out now while you still can. Leave before this goes too far."
Now that Ben was facing him, Michael felt easier about screaming at him. "How far is too fucking far exactly? You sucking me off is okay, but fucking me is crossing the line? How about if I jerk you off? Is that on the line or over? Get out while I can? Do you realize how that sounds? I didn't ask you to fucking marry me! Just talk to me! Tell me what's going on! You're locked up in this damn house like you're under house arrest! Why?" After his brief tirade, Michael felt winded. He wished he could take it all back when he saw the shattered expression in Ben's eyes. He touched Ben's arm in solace. "Please say something," he whispered.
"You don't want to know."
"I do. Trust me."
"You might get hurt. Everything I touch..." Ben's eyes glazed over as if his soul had taken flight from his body, leaving behind an empty shell.
Michael clambered to his knees, took Ben by the shoulders, and shook gently. "I'm not leaving until you give me a good reason. So far, you've only given me reasons to stay. I never told you how stubborn I can be, did I?"
Ben shook his head no, the emptiness receding.
"Very."
Ben looked up at Michael with alarm. "You won't like what you hear. It was my fault."
"Believe me, I've had enough of blame being served like a dessert. Tell me and I'll listen. No matter what you say, it won't change how I feel. I care about you and I can handle it. I'm a lot tougher than I look."
There were only so many moments in his life that Michael could pinpoint and say, "Here, this was a turning point." He could never see them coming. He could only be bowled over when the moments hit him and knocked him for a loop. The first had been that moment when his mother said those awful words, "You're father isn't coming back." It had taken him years to wrap his mind around that. All the platitudes in the world couldn't convince him that it wasn't something about him that had driven Charles Novotny away. He could talk the talk and convince his mother and his brothers, his uncle, and even that therapist that they'd dragged him to before he refused to go anymore.
He had come to some sort of grudging acceptance until the world turned on its head and down was up, up was down, and all the truths he had clung to had been transformed into lies. That was the second moment. If there was a third moment, this was it. Ben reached up and took Michael's hands in his own. Michael winced at the tightness of Ben's hold, but he didn't complain while Ben spoke.
"We were invited to a garden party at Janet and Steve's house. There was no particular occasion--just a chance to get together with friends. Paul tried to convince me to stay home, but I guilted him into going..."
The confession went on long into the night until the early hours of the morning. So many times, Michael wanted to stop Ben from heaping more and more blame onto his head. That intermingled with the moments when he wished for Superman's ability to reverse the spin of the earth and turn back time to fix what should never have been broken. But even after Ben had laid out his pain and his inner demons for Michael to see, even when Michael knew that a sensible man would walk--no, run away from this barrage of darkness, it only made him want to cling to Ben more tightly.
It was like a dam bursting from the enormous pressure forever building behind it, biding its time while waiting for one crack to form, one flaw to announce itself--the one flaw that spelled disaster. One crack led to another and another until the dam gave way, the force of nature warring eternally with the will of Man. Nature always won out in the end because Nature has always had the upper hand.
The story poured from Ben with such force that it frightened him and with such fluidity that it seemed effortless, which was far from the case. The words appeared to flow smoothly and yet they felt thick and tasted like ashes in his throat.
He was helpless against the deluge of emotion emanating from him. The expanse of his loss mixed with equal parts longing, anticipation, and fear: fear of what might happen once he was finished telling his tale; fear of Michael not being able to look at him in the same way; fear of what Paul might do in retaliation; longing because Ben wanted so very much to have Michael touch him in the way lovers do. He laid it all out for Michael and waited with the same horrified anticipation that a man on death row must feel. He'd been dreading telling anyone what happened that day, but to tell Michael was like knives reopening his scars.
He spoke with a finality in his voice that represented all the months of recriminations he'd heaped on himself: the guilt he felt for not being strong enough to save Paul; for not being conscious at the end when Paul took his last breath; of not being able to go to the funeral or to make himself go to the grave site; of still being alive; of waking up every morning and going to bed every night; of eating and sleeping, showering and breathing; of wanting Michael so desperately.
David lay on Brian's couch with his eyes closed and his stomach settling in fits and starts. Whatever Brian had given him earlier was doing its job. The room had mercifully stopped spinning about an hour after Brian left and his tongue didn't feel like carpet anymore. He was drifting off to sleep again when the intercom buzzer went off. David grabbed a pillow and put it over his head. Maybe if I ignore it they'll go away, he thought hopefully, but he was wrong. Whoever it was downstairs redoubled their efforts to get someone to buzz them in.
Finally, when he just couldn't take it any longer, David got up and staggered to the intercom, cursing the whole time. "Brian's not here!" he yelled into the small box.
"Buzz me in, David."
David's hazy mind started to clear. "Uncle Vic?"
"Don't make me tell you twice."
David buzzed Vic in and slid the loft door open. It only took a few minutes for Vic's head to appear in the elevator shaft. David stepped to the side to let his uncle walk past him. Vic didn't look pissed, but he was serious as hell and that couldn't be a good thing. David slid the door shut. "Can I get you something to drink?"
"This place look like shit," Vic said.
David replied, "I'll tell Brian you said so." He moved slowly towards the sofa.
Vic took a seat on one of the bar stools. "Where is Brian?"
"Out. You know Brian--any excuse to have a party." David leaned back and closed his eyes again.
Vic spoke slowly and deliberately. "I wanted to talk to both of you, but I think this is better. You've always had the most level head and that's what we're going to need now."
"Is it?" David asked, laughing softly to himself.
"Look, David, I know you boys are upset."
David opened his eyes and sat up. "You know that do you?"
"Don't be flip," Vic said, getting a little agitated.
"I'm not. I'm just sick of this conversation. It never ends. The context changes but not the content--not really. Something happens and you feel the need to come find me and tell me how level headed I am, which is code for 'go fix it.' Frankly, I'm tired of it."
"So, what? You're just going to let this family fall apart?" Vic asked sarcastically.
David laughed and placed his throbbing head in his hands. "Okay. This is the part of this evening entertainment when you try and make me feel guilty."
"Your mother is still crying and you think it's funny?"
"I think it's fucking hilarious. Ma's upset, so she's crying. Michael's mad, so he ran. Brian's...well...Brian is Brian, so he's probably out self-medicating and getting his dick sucked, lucky bastard. And me? Well, I can't even enjoy a hangover in peace." David leaned back into the plushness of the sofa again. "Look, Uncle Vic, Ma will get over it. So will Michael, so will Brian, and so will you...But this time you're all going to do it without me. Brian was right," David laughed again, this time in earnest. "The sky is not fucking falling. This isn't the end of the world."
"You have no idea what a parent goes through. You have no idea about the sacrifices she made for you boys. You have no right to judge her. None of you do. She did what she thought was right at the time," Vic said, his voice raised.
"I have some idea of what she went through, Uncle Vic--more so than you. Whether you believe it or not, we do appreciate what she gave up for us. I know she did what she thought was best at the time. But guess what? She was wrong. I'm not judging her, but I'm not going to just forgive her because you think I should. She lied to me, Vic, and it stings a little. I need a fucking minute to recover."
"She's your mother, for Christ's sake." Vic got up and moved towards the door.
"Yes, she's my mother. And they're my brothers, not my fucking sons. I want my brothers back. Can you give them back to me? Can she? You have no idea how much it's cost me with them to take her side in things--to always be the responsible one, to always have to make them do homework or do chores or come to fucking dinner because she wants us all there." David was yelling and paying for it with each word because his head felt as if it would burst.
"Grow up." Vic opened the door and stepped out, bumping into Brian.
David walked over to the door and shouted, "I did the day my father walked out!"
Brian walked inside. "What the fuck was that about?"
"Me not pushing," David said, closing the door behind his brother.
Ben sat with his back to Michael. He clutched the edge of the bed as if he'd fall off if he dared let go. He was sure Michael was going to go running for the hills and Ben couldn't really blame him if he did. Hell, he wanted to go running for the hills himself.
When it happened, he barely noticed it at first. Michael was kneeling behind him, the front of his well-defined body pressed gently against Ben's back, his arms draped loosely around Ben's neck. Then Ben felt the sweetest, softest kisses he'd ever felt in his life covering the side of his face and neck. The sensation they produced was like a breeze in summer, bringing with it the lilting scent of jasmine and magnolia and mixing delicately with the sensation of cool morning dew. So enthralled was he that it took him a moment to realize he was being kissed on the damaged side of his face. He was about to move when he was held in place--not by force, but by Michael's gentle coaxing.
Michael began slowly to unbutton Ben's shirt. When Ben moved his hand to stop him, Michael patiently and lovingly removed Ben's hand and continued. When he finished opening the shirt, he slid it off of Ben's broad shoulders. Dispensing light, wet kisses all over the newly exposed skin, Michael pulled Ben backward and lay him down on the bed.
Ben closed his eyes, unsure of what was going to happen. He found that he had to continually tell himself to breathe. He felt the bed shift as Michael got off the bed and stood in front of him. Ben opened his eyes and drank in the sight of Michael's flawless skin as it was kissed by the dying light of the flickering candles. His breath caught in the back of his throat, allowing nothing but a small moan to escape.
Ben watched as Michael knelt down in front of him and started taking off Ben's shoes and socks. Michael's fingers felt as light as feathers against Ben's increasingly sensitive skin and started to give Ben goose bumps. When Michael was done he moved to undo Ben's belt buckle, then slowly and gently undid the pants. Ben helped by lifting his hips as Michael reached up and began pulling down the pants and underwear until he finally got them off and discarded them. Ben's whole body shuddered violently when Michael parted his legs and kissed the tender flesh of Ben's inner thighs. Michael kissed, bit, and sucked on the skin until Ben's deep, quaking moans filled the room.
Ben felt Michael's hand reach up and take hold of his pulsing erection. His hips nearly jerked off the bed as Michael stroked him slowly, tightening his grip and adjusting where he applied pressure with every upward stroke to maximize and prolong Ben's delicious agony. As he was doing this, he continued to lavish kisses over Ben's thighs. Michael took time to kiss, lick and massage every scar on Ben's damaged thigh. It sent Ben into fits of uncontrollable spasms as pleasure overruled his mind's limited objections and lingering doubts about the functionality of his own body.
Ben heard himself moaning Michael's name, telling him not to stop, then begging Michael to take him in his mouth. Ben nearly screamed out in joy when he felt the soft wetness of Michael's mouth on the head of his throbbing cock. Michael played with the sensitive head the way a master conducts his orchestra. Ben trembled, shook, and thrashed his head from side to side. He looked down and watched as his penis disappeared into the welcoming warmth at the back of Michael's throat. Ben nearly cried out when Michael buried his face in Ben's lap and contracted the muscles in his throat so that it applied the most fantastic pressure. Michael slowly drew back, creating a delicious friction and nearly causing Ben to come flying off the bed as he exploded in Michael's mouth.
For a few minutes, Ben was deaf, dumb, and blind. His whole body was consumed by the orgasm. He couldn't move. He couldn't think. All he could do was feel. He felt Michael's mouth finally release him after he'd taken in every drop of Ben's cum. He felt shattering disappointment at being released. He felt the air as it hit his sweaty body and sent a marvelous chill up and down his spine. He felt Michael still in front of him, rubbing his thighs as he tried to quiet Ben's shuddering.
Ben looked up just in time to see Michael stand and look down at his naked body. Ben's chest was heaving and he felt the sudden urge to cover himself. He was about to when Michael spoke.
"You're beautiful," Michael whispered more to himself than to Ben.
"I'm damaged goods." Ben was shocked to hear his own voice and how hoarse and distant it sounded.
"We're all damaged goods...Anyway, I've got no complaints." Michael moved to lay next to Ben on the bed.
"I didn't want you to see me. The scars, they're so--" Ben stopped short when Michael kissed him.
Michael kissed Ben gently, deeply, and long. He penetrated Ben with his tongue. He tried his best to devour Ben's pain, shame, and guilt whole. "You didn't want me to see you, but now I have and I'm still here."
"I don't want you feeling sorry for me," Ben said, regretting it instantly.
"After what just happened you still have no idea, do you?" Michael asked gently, smiling as he stroked Ben's hair and gathered the larger man into his arms. "I could never feel sorry you. I'm falling in love with you."
David turned around a little too quickly and nearly fell into his brother's arms. He righted himself and walked haltingly to the couch to retrieve his shoes. He wanted to go home, take a long, hot shower, and go to bed. He was about to reach for the phone to call a cab when Brian grabbed him by the wrist.
"Where the hell do you thing you're going?" Brian asked, releasing his brother's wrist when he saw the surprised look on David's face.
"Home, little brother. You get too many unwelcome visitors for my taste."
Brian plopped down on the couch. "You gonna be all right?"
"You keep this up, Bri, and people are gonna think you have a heart."
"Yeah, and we wouldn't want, that would we?" Brian replied, actually smiling back.
"Where the fuck have you been?" Debbie shouted as her brother closed the front door.
"Taking care of some business." Vic headed for the stairs.
"And how are my boys?"
Vic stopped midway up the stairs. "I only saw one and, from what I could tell, he was hung over."
"They were drinking?"
"They were just letting off some steam."
"Did Brian make sure David got home all right?" Debbie asked, trying to conceal her worry.
Vic came back down the stairs. "David's the one I spoke to."
"I thought you said you heard them say they were going to back to Brian's place?" Debbie asked, her voice shaking a little.
Vic walked into the living room and sat down next to his sister on the couch. "They did, but when I got there Brian had gone out and David was trying to sleep off a hangover."
"Is he still angry?" Debbie asked with hesitation.
"I don't think either of them were ever really angry, I think they were more hurt than anything."
"Is that what David said?"
"That was the gist of it yeah." Vic took her hand as he stood up. "Time for you to get some sleep."
"How can I?" Debbie asked, allowing herself to be moved.
"Because you have to. We can't have you passing out from exhaustion. The boys will be fine. You just have to give then some time to get over the sting of it."
Debbie walked side by side with her brother up the stairs. "I could sleep forever."
"Or at least late afternoon." Vic said teasingly, trying to make his sister smile.
Ben looked up at Michael with his eyes misting. Michael had said it. Ben was deciding whether or not to acknowledge it. If he did, then he'd have to acknowledge that he felt the same way--that he was falling hopelessly in love with Michael Charles Novotny. It was something he never thought he'd hear said to him again, let alone something he'd ever feel again.
Michael could hardly believe the words had come out. He'd been feeling them for a while now but was unsure of how Ben felt about him. In fact, he was still unsure. He'd wanted to tell Ben so many times but something always stopped him. What if Ben didn't feel the same? What if Ben laughed at him? What if Ben only wanted to fuck him? All those questions kept looping themselves in his brain like a needle stuck in a groove.
Then he'd catch a glimmer of something in Ben's eyes or catch Ben watching him. He'd get this feeling that he could just open up and tell Ben anything, everything, the most important thing and it would be all right. Michael would take hold of himself and the feeling would recede into the dark place in his mind where all of his insecurities lay. He'd feel stupid for ever even thinking Ben could feel that way about him...especially so soon after having lost someone he loved as much as he obviously loved Paul. He'd start thinking about Paul and feel guilty for even being there, but he couldn't make himself leave. There was something about Ben that had captivated him. Maybe it was his sadness or the way his eyes danced a little at times, like he was remembering something wonderful. Maybe it was his loneliness--the way he shadowed himself, kept himself at a distance while sending out his magnetic energy that kept bringing Michael closer to him. Maybe it was the way he'd try to hide his face even though it had never bothered Michael.
No. While all of that was endearing, it was the way Ben said his name that sent orgasmic chills up and down Michael's body. The first time Ben said his name, Michael's dick twitched and he was going, going, gone...He'd been infatuated many times before. He'd even thought he'd been in love once, but nothing he'd ever felt before even remotely compared to this. While he still missed his father terribly, the dull ache that had been tightening up his chest was gone. He felt lighter when he was with Ben, as if nothing could touch him, as if nothing would dare.
"You don't have to say anything," Michael said softly.
"It's just that..." Ben stopped when he felt the cold, menacing presence of Paul a little too near Michael.
"I didn't say it to hear it back. I just thought you should know is all," Michael said, feeling a chill in the air that hadn't been there before.
Ben spoke to Michael while looking at Paul who was standing at the end of the bed. "I don't want to hurt you and I think if you stay you will get hurt."
"I'm not afraid of him," Michael said, staring down the bloody and angry apparition.
Ben turned his attention from Paul to Michael once more. "What did you say?"
"I said I'm not afraid of him."
"Of who?" Ben asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Paul," Michael replied, his eyes riveted to the apparition glaring at him.
Ben reeled in shock. "You see him?"
"Yes. I see him. He won't hurt me and I'm not going to let him hurt you anymore," Michael said directly to Paul.
"You think cause he's in bed with you he's yours?" Paul hissed, blood dripping from the corners of his mouth. "You think I can't get rid of you because you love him?"
Michael held Ben closer to him. "Ben's his own man and you can't get rid of me."
"I'm losing my fucking mind," Ben muttered to himself.
"Make him go, Benny boy, before I do more then give him a hand job!"
"You thought that was you? It had nothing to do with you. I was dreaming about him. He was fucking me, kissing me, loving me."
Michael spoke so calmly that it scared the shit out of Ben and confused Paul enough so that he left. "How long have you been able to see him?" Ben asked, a little shell-shocked.
"I saw him last night with you after you kissed me. I felt him a few times--when I was sleeping a while ago and once in the shower. A few weeks ago, when I fell in the bathroom, I heard his voice. I thought I was losing my mind until I saw you talking to him."
The words almost stuck in Ben's throat. "He's going to hurt you, Michael. You have to go."
"He's not going to hurt me and I'm not going anywhere."
"But--"
"But nothing," Michael said, placing a soft kiss on Ben's forehead. "Go to sleep. Don't worry. I've got you. I promise..."
"Michael..." Ben whispered into Michael's chest, "I love you too."
Michael watched as Ben drifted off to sleep. Once he was reassured by Ben's deep, regular breathing and still form, Michael's heart started pounding in his chest and his breath froze in his chest. He didn't know how he'd stayed so fucking calm while talking to a ghost--an actual, honest-to-God ghost--one that wanted him gone--one that Ben thought was actually capable of hurting him.
Michael had seen the blood-soaked shirt, he had smelled the decay, and yet he hadn't been scared when Paul was standing there spewing his venom and wanting to scare him. Actually, Michael felt kind of sorry for Paul. He was lost and confused holding on to his only link to this world--Ben.
Ben watched the madman laying a siege on his kitchen with caution and mild amusement. Fruit, beverages, leftovers--no container was safe from invasion and conquer. Already, the kitchen table was littered with the remnants of Michael's hyperactive snacking. However, it wasn't the binge eating that worried Ben. He figured Michael had the metabolism to take it and whatever was extra would be burned off by his ceaseless pacing and hand waving.
No. What worried Ben was the mumbling. Michael had been having a conversation with himself for quite some time now. It had started off as a joint brainstorming session to see what they could do to get rid of Paul. Hampered by the unbearably short list of options, they had retreated to the comfort of the kitchen. Their brainstorming/refueling period had since devolved into a long, one-person ramble, punctuated by Michael's need to chew on something while he thought out loud.
At some point, silence filled the room. Miraculously, Michael had stopped talking. Ben raised his eyes and gave thanks to the powers that be for that moment of respite. Michael was standing with a peach halfway to his mouth, looking as if he'd been pole-axed. "Michael?" asked Ben tentatively. When the response he received was a mute stare, he walked to Michael and touched his cheek to catch his attention. Michael gnawed on his lip and stared ahead with blank eyes. His expression cleared and he looked up, seemingly unaffected by the light caress of Ben's fingers.
"Is there a library nearby?"
"Yes, but it's closed."
Michael looked dismayed. "Closed? How can it be closed? It's the middle of the morning."
Ben rubbed gently at Michael's jaw, the pads of his fingers rasping against Michael's shadowy stubble. "It's Sunday." Putting a name to the day of the week surprised him and made time feel so much more tangible. Had yesterday really happened? Was he still standing here, touching Michael casually as if those words that had dropped like stealth bombs on his consciousness had been no more than a casual term of endearment--a throwaway statement? Ben recognized the danger of trusting too quickly, too deeply, but his heart was deaf to caution. The only words he could hear right now: I'm falling in love with you.
"Oh." Michael took a bite of his fruit and chewed with vigor, blissfully unaware of Ben's newest inner turmoil. He talked around a mouthful of peach. "How about a bookstore? There's got to be a bookstore somewhere around here."
"Sure. There's one in the shopping center in the closest town. It's only a few blocks from Paul's store." Ben wondered what Michael's plan might be, but it wasn't foremost in his thoughts. Standing so close to Michael, he was immobilized by his own disbelief. He's falling in love with me. What an inconceivable revelation--impossible in the way that mortal men treading on water without sinking was impossible. He'd slept in Michael's arms and dreamed of those fairy tale words and of the look in Michael's eyes when he'd shared them. In the morning, Ben convinced himself that the entire thing had been a fantasy--a cruel lucid dream meant to add to his torment. He had woken up, ready to greet his tiny world with his practiced solitude, only to find that he wasn't alone. Michael's warm body had been pressed against him. Not only had he not run away from all that had been revealed, he seemed to desire more closeness than before.
It had to be a dream. Even now, Ben wasn't quite sure if he was awake or not.
Michael's mouth glistened with juice from his half-eaten peach. Ben was helplessly drawn to the plump, pink flesh. He leaned down and licked at the moisture, drawing an indistinct sound of surprise from Michael. Moans of satisfaction formed in Ben's throat at the taste of sweetness and something nameless and indescribably delicious. Perhaps it was the taste of Michael himself. Perhaps it was something else. Before he could retreat, Michael returned the kiss with passion. He felt Michael's hands slide up his chest and around his neck. One advantage to being so much taller than his lover was that when they stood like this, Ben had the perfect excuse to hold Michael. On the surface, it was to bring them level with each other, but really it was so that he could hug Michael tightly to him and lose himself in the press of their bodies and the shared warmth that reached to the chilled corners of Ben's soul.
Ben growled with regret when Michael pushed away and spoke with a fierce light in his eye and resolve in his voice. "How do I get to the bookstore?"
Ben wanted to swear. He wanted to shout, "Who gives a fuck about a damn bookstore?" but he was tired of the negative emotions that had been consuming him for so long. The earnestness in Michael's big, brown eyes sucked all his anger out, leaving him weak at the knees. With his answer, his hope for daytime seduction was thwarted.
Michael pulled away and hurried from the kitchen, shouting behind him, "I'll be back as soon as I can!" before he swept outside with the force of a spring storm.
To break up the quiet left in the vacuum of Michael's departure, Ben turned on the television. It had been days since he'd sat, eyes firmly fixed on the mindless flickering of the screen. He only used it now because he no longer liked the emptiness around him. The sound of self-important talking heads discussing the latest political hot topic played in the background while he cleaned up after Michael's feast. The pundits had moved on to a heated debate about some environmental issue when Ben started smiling. By the time the closing music was playing, Ben felt the new bounce in his step. He flicked the TV off because he wanted to concentrate on his own thoughts and not someone else's. He was glad that he was alone and Paul seemed to be hiding. It gave him the chance to repeat the words, to say them out loud, to examine how they made him feel--so good that he wasn't sure he'd ever known what feeling good meant before today. He's falling in love with me.
The items with which Michael had returned were scattered on the floor of the studio--various books, candles, incense wands, crystals...even a Ouija board, of all things. The last had been the first item attempted and tossed aside after being deemed a useless game board. The crystals quickly followed as they seemed to do nothing to realign the spiritual forces in the room. Now, incense was burning and filling the studio with its blue-white smoke and the strong scent of sandalwood. Every door, window, and drawer was open. The room was lit by enough candles to compete with the afternoon sun. Ben watched with bemusement while Michael walked around the room, chanting weighty words from one of the books. It was difficult to keep his skepticism under wraps and he gave up trying. "This is supposed to do what, exactly?"
Michael frowned at the careless interruption, but paused to answer. "It cleanses the room and..." He referred to the book in his hand. "...invokes protection. Then this room will be a safe haven."
"He's not even in here."
"Maybe it's working already?" The nuances of Michael's expression revealed even more doubt than the unsure timbre of his voice.
"What about the rest of the house?" Not that being locked in a room with Michael would be a bad thing. In fact, the idea was very alluring to Ben. His mind catalogued the many things they could do while alone to keep each other occupied. Each possibility he devised was more outrageously erotic than the next. "Do we stay in this room forever?" Hope battled with bitter sarcasm in his question.
"We'd have to do this in every room. Then the house will be clean."
Ben rubbed his arms when a cold draft blew across him and raised the tiny hairs on his body. It's only the breeze through the open window, he told himself. No matter that the sunlight filling the room should have made the space as warm as fresh toast. No matter that the curtains at the open windows had not stirred one iota. Frigid dampness tiptoed up Ben's spine and across the nape of his neck and he had to admit the truth. "It's not working, Michael. I can still feel Paul in the house."
Michael stubbed out the incense stick he'd been waving in an ashtray. "I don't know what else to try." He tossed the book on the floor, pouring a considerable amount of frustration into the action. "Do you know a good priest?"
"I'm not Catholic. Are you?"
"No, but it shouldn't matter, should it? Maybe we should call an exorcist. Paul needs to go. He's starting to piss me off." Michael ran his hands through his hair, making the thick, inky black waves stand on end. The frazzled look was a perfect accompaniment to his inner tension. "This is going to take longer than I thought. You want some coffee? I need some coffee. I'll be right back." He left the room with a nervous, heavy step and a slouch in his shoulders.
Alone again, Ben started to feel a little bereft. How had everything come to this? The outside world had become his enemy and the one haven he'd always treasured, this home that had once been filled with love, was little more than a trap--and a deadly one at that. He should walk out and leave it all behind, but some core of stubbornness hidden in the recesses of his personality refused to cave in to the pressure. He walked to the loveseat and sat down.
It never used to be like this. It used to be so easy. He closed his eyes and immediately lost himself in a time just a few years ago...
Paul's eyes were alive with excitement. "Isn't your family going to have a fit when they find out that you tore up the family legacy and dared to add a room to it?" There were wood scraps, power tools, and burly workmen everywhere the eye could see. The contractors were busy placing the frame for the large picture window while Ben and Paul enjoyed the view.
Ben pulled Paul into his arms. "It's just a house and this was just some extra sitting room that no one ever sat in. I want you to have somewhere to work--a place to collect all your projects and work on them to your heart's content."
Paul smiled happily while still protesting. "I could do that at the store. I don't need a room for that."
"What about your painting?"
"Oh, that? That's just a hobby," Paul said, ducking his head to hide reddening cheeks.
"Baloney. You're really good. One of these days, you're going to stop fixing up other people's creations and concentrate on your own. When you do, I want you to have a place to do it."
Paul's smile had disappeared, but he didn't look unhappy. His solemn expression was lightened by the warm spark in his eyes. He circled Ben's waist and leaned his head against Ben's shoulder. "You're such a good catch that I'm never going to give you up. You're stuck with me forever."
Ben smiled and pressed a kiss into Paul's hair. "I wouldn't have it any other way."
Paul's hands stroked lazily up and down Ben's back. "You're going to be my first portrait--as a thank you for all this."
"The only thanks I need is you being here."
Ben turned to Paul who had joined him on the loveseat. This was a different Paul than the others he'd seen. There were no wounds, no blood...nothing off-putting at all. The dark, angry aura that usually shrouded Paul was now a subtle halo. Paul looked more as he had appeared on any one of many days before the accident--younger, more carefree...alive. It didn't seem possible that a shadow was all that was left--that and all Ben's fading memories. Mixed with sweet recollection was the bitterness of regret. "You never got a chance to do any of the painting you wanted to do," Ben whispered. This final regret seemed the worst of all--that he had robbed Paul of any type of legacy other than his own diminishing recollections. The memories had faded despite his best efforts to cling to them and with that was the growing fear that there would be nothing left of Paul but a few old clothes and books tucked in a box in a musty attic. He hadn't even been able to say it to Michael because it seemed so ridiculous. Paul's life was lost and here Ben sat, missing globs of color on a piece of cloth that had never existed. Nevertheless, it had grown in importance until he had to say it out loud. Though the words had burst forth like fluid from a ruptured blister, Ben had no sense of relief.
Paul looked down at his hands. They were covered with paint stains and in one was a brush dotted and dabbled with dried splotches of green and yellow. "I did. I just never told you."
"You did?" Paul's words sunk in and Ben repeated, "You did? When?"
Paul rubbed at the paint on his hands. It flaked off and vanished in mid air. None of his angry urgency was there to color his words and actions. If he hadn't known better, Ben would have said that it really was Paul and not just an unearthly likeness.
Paul shook his head, "That's where you're wrong. It's not me. It never was."
Ben's throat tightened until he thought he might pass out from lack of air. The pressure eased, allowing his words to grate out. "Of course it was you. It's not my imagination. Even Michael saw you." He clung to that sense of relief he'd felt in discovering that this manifestation wasn't all in his head. There was no way he was giving up that small victory over his inner demons.
"I never said it was your imagination. It's real enough, all right. It just wasn't me."
"Well, who then?" Ben felt hysteria waiting just around the corner, but he held it at bay with an inner reserve he thought he had depleted long ago. "I need to know how to fix it." His voice broke and he waited in hope for any answer that he could rescue him from his growing nightmare.
"Didn't you know? It's always been you."
Ben jumped out of the chair, shaking with rage. "Me? That's bullshit. It's always been you! You hurt Michael and made him sick, not me! You made him have an asthma attack!"
"Are you certain? Didn't he tell you he had asthma before?"
"Which hadn't bothered him in years!"
"How often does he suck in enough dust to cover the Sahara? That was more likely to be the trigger than little old me. I'm only surprised that he didn't have more of those attacks than he did."
"And the head bump?"
"He slipped. You really should put a rug in that bathroom. We were always saying that those tiles were far too slippery."
"And when he got sick again?"
"Like he said himself, he was tired and spent too much time in the rain. It was probably one of those twenty-four hour bugs brought on by stress and a weakened condition."
Ben sneered at Paul. "You've got an answer for everything, don't you? What about what you did when he was sleeping?"
Paul shrugged. "Michael and I seem to have a difference of opinion on that whole incident. Let's just say the jury's still out on what happened that night."
"And all the rest?"
"Does it matter?"
Ben lost all patience. "It matters if you were trying to hurt him, goddamn it! I lo--" His mouth snapped shut and his lips pressed into a thin line.
Paul raised an eyebrow and folded his arms. "You what?"
"Forget it!"
Paul stood and brushed the imaginary wrinkles out of his pants. "If you're going to get all close-mouthed with me, do you want to see the portrait instead? I don't know about you, but I have loads of time to kill."
Ben stepped away, unaccountably nervous by what the ghost might show him. "I'm not sure."
Paul snorted. "Don't be such a wuss. This won't hurt a bit." He took Ben's arm and tried to drag him to the bookshelf in the corner.
Ben shook off the icy grip and gave Paul a baleful look. "Are you going to drop a box on my head too?"
"That wasn't my fault--well, not intentionally. Look behind it."
"Behind what?"
Paul rolled his eyes and pushed Ben towards the shelf.
After Ben recovered from the ice-hot patches on his back where Paul had touched him, he looked behind the shelving unit. There was a wrapped object tucked between the wall and the back of the shelf.
"I didn't want you to see it before I was done. I must have loosened the support bracket when I moved the shelf to hide the canvas. I'm sorry. Friends again?" Paul smiled hopefully.
Ben squinted at Paul's blithe apology. He wasn't ready to forgive and forget yet. He reached behind the shelf and pulled out the object. Now, with it in his hand, he couldn't bring himself to look. This could be one more accusation against him, another finger pointing at him for what he'd taken from the world.
"Stop analyzing. Just unwrap the fucking thing and look," said Paul. He had begun to pace and kick at Michael's books on the floor. The books didn't shift, but their pages fluttered and flipped as if a light breeze blew over them.
Ben brought the canvas to an empty easel and set it down. He reached for the wrapping but an invisible force field stayed his hand. Paul swiped at the wrapping, but was only able to stir the wrapper, not pull it off.
"Damn it, Ben! Just open it!"
Ben snagged a corner of the sheet and drew it off slowly. When he saw the portrait underneath, he was both surprised and not surprised. It was good, of that there was no doubt. It was also unfinished. Paul had only painted half of Ben's face. He smiled and touched the scars on his cheek. "It's as if you knew that it shouldn't ever be finished." His face twitched with unaccustomed sensation when Paul touched him lightly.
"I didn't know how to finish it. I didn't think I could capture how beautiful you are."
Ben laughed. "Even then I was no pretty boy...and now..." Now, pretty was the last word anyone would use to describe him.
Paul continued to stroke Ben's face with one fingertip. "Not pretty, no, but beautiful--inside and out. I didn't have the talent to capture that on a piece of canvas."
Ben's head was pounding. It had to be Paul's touch and not the emotional walls that were disintegrating inside him like soft, dry clay. It had to be guilt making his body tremble. "It's my fault that you'll never finish it."
"An unfinished painting by an amateur is not the end of the world, not even yours."
Ben felt the familiar ache in his side, running from the top of his head to his leg. It had been days since he'd last felt it. It could last for seconds or, on the bad days, for long, bitter hours. It could be a faint twinge or a suite of wrenching cramps that made him feel like he was dying or wish that he was. Paul touched him again. This time, the iciness had a comforting, numbing effect.
"It's not the end unless you choose to wrap it up, hide it, and act like it doesn't belong where people can see it and love it."
Ben stared sightlessly at the painting. "I never got the chance to say goodbye."
"I know," said Paul.
"I never--" Ben choked on the tears that mixed with his words. "I never got to say I'm sorry."
"If it'll make you feel better, say it now."
"I'm sorry." When once wasn't enough, Ben repeated in a toneless litany, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He didn't stop until his voice was gone and then he still didn't stop, but mouthed the words until he was too tired to continue. Defeated by exhaustion, he stopped and put his head down on the drafting table. "It doesn't change anything," he croaked.
"You don't feel any better?"
"How can I? You haven't forgiven me."
"You know I can't do that, Ben. I'm already gone."
"Then what do I do?"
"Forgive yourself."
"I don't have the right."
Paul swore with impatience. His hand swept across the drafting table and pushed an exact-o knife in Ben's direction. "Here, then! Just do it and get it the fuck over with!"
Ben turned his head and looked at the glistening, tiny metal blade. There had been a time when this option might have been attractive, but right now it seemed abhorrent.
"Ask yourself why," Paul insisted. "Ask yourself why you don't just end it all. Stop torturing yourself and stop torturing me."
Ben's vision honed in on the point of the blade. It glistened and begged to cut something, waiting to fulfill its purpose with infinite patience. With only his fingertips and with exaggerated care, Ben pushed the knife away from him. "I don't want to die."
"You're quite sure about that?"
"Yes," Ben replied.
"Then what the fuck have you been doing for the last few months? It sure as shit hasn't been living. I was ready to get you a place right next to mine." Paul patted his pockets. "Unfortunately, I seemed to have misplaced my wallet and credit cards. It's a little difficult to pay for a cemetery plot with invisible money."
Ben barked out a bitter laugh. "You always did have an odd sense of humor. I miss that." His laughter died and the remaining smile dimmed. "I miss you and I really am sorry."
Paul didn't let up for a minute. "Yes, you are sorry if this is how you show how you felt about me. Damn it, I don't want to be here! I want to go the light and to the Pearly gates and all that crap you see on the talk shows and tell-all books and movies of the week. The other night, you asked me what I wanted. Did you ever think that maybe you were asking the wrong person?"
Ben lifted his head from the table. It felt light enough to spin off his shoulders and heavy enough to drag him to the ground. He asked himself the question. "I want--"
"Yes," Paul said with barely leashed eagerness.
"I want..." Ben couldn't believe how hard the words were to say. It was all within reach. Somewhere out there were the friends he'd pushed away. The most faithful ones would forgive his obstinate rejection in time. Out there was the life from which he'd barred himself. Out there had been someone waiting for him--someone who completed him.
No, that wasn't it exactly. Michael wasn't a puzzle piece to complete a picture. Instead, he was the one sitting by his side, pointing out the pieces for him, clapping and cheering when the picture came together, but who wouldn't leave even if it the pieces didn't fit exactly or if it all fell apart. Someone who could see and appreciate him...and love him when he was struggling to remember how to love himself.
Paul waited patiently. "Remember, I've got my whole afterlife ahead of me and no desire to spend it here."
Ben touched his painted image. He didn't see the empty spaces on the canvas. He saw himself, both sides of himself, the good and bad, light and dark, the imperfections that made the whole--as complete as he remembered. He longed to make that a reality. According to Michael, it already was, but Ben had had such a hard time believing it that every doubt and every moment of guilt had become a self-fulfilling prophecy. He didn't deserve a life, so he refused to let himself have one. Before he knew it, he had forgotten how he'd ever lived in the first place. Michael reminded him why he wanted to remember. The numbness, like the feeling you get when a hard edge presses against the back of your leg, had been what he needed for a time--had been all he could tolerate. Standing up and letting the blood circulate and letting the nerves revive themselves hurt like a bitch, but the pins and needles of reawakening only reminded him that it wasn't over yet and he had a long way to travel on these legs of his before it was. His voice was decisive when he made his next statement. "I want to be whole again and I want...I want you gone."
Paul nodded his head courteously. "That wasn't so hard, was it? And it's about time. As you wish," he said and vanished in a wink.
Ben dropped his head to the desk, feeling as tossed and battered as he had after the accident.
Michael reentered the studio a minute after he'd left. He'd only been halfway to the kitchen when he realized that coffee was the last thing his nerves needed. A good sedative would be more in order. He entered the studio and found Ben sleeping at the drafting table. He approached on tip-toe so as not to startle him. "Ben," he said quietly, laying a hand softly on Ben's shoulders. The blue eyes opened too quickly to have truly been asleep. Oddly, Ben seemed relieved and happy.
"Where have you been for so long?" Ben's voice rasped as if he'd been shouting down the rafters.
"So long? I just walked out. You must have fallen asleep."
Ben sat up, bristling with new energy despite the fatigue in his eyes. "I wasn't asleep. It's done."
"What's done?"
"Paul. We had a long talk and--"
"It couldn't have been that long. I didn't even make it to the kitchen before I came back. Are you sure you weren't dreaming?"
"Look, I even have proof..." Ben turned to gesture behind him, but the only thing there was an empty easel. "It was right here. I swear."
"What was right here?" Michael asked gently.
Ben was looking at the table, on the floor, and everywhere, his face a portrait of bewilderment. "It was right here!"
"Look, we're both tired and this doesn't seem to be working. Why don't we take a break? We can go for a swim or for a walk or something. Maybe this kind of thing is better done at night."
"But that's what I'm trying to tell you, baby. It IS done."
"Okay, Ben." Michael was too tired to argue. He had run the full gamut of emotions and was in no shape to try and make sense of Ben's nonsensical pronouncement. "I'm too tired to take a walk and I've been dying to try that pool."
"Sure." Ben walked out with Michael, throwing glances behind him as if he expected his "proof" to appear out of thin air.
Debbie rolled out of bed and squinted against the sunlight pouring through the window. It was late--very late in the afternoon, but she thought it might be nice to stay here for a little while. As getaway spots go, her bedroom wasn't much, but at least it was quiet. Those thoughts had just settled in her mind when her body disobeyed and dragged her out of bed. She simply wasn't designed to roll around in her worries like a pig in a wallow. The last couple of weeks had proven that, if nothing else could.
She walked to the bathroom to shower and brush her teeth, all along ignoring her reflection. That puffy faced, down in the mouth, beaten woman wasn't her. By the time she was done and some of the ravages of her latest crying jag had been repaired or masked by artfully applied makeup, she felt like a new woman, ready to face the day and whatever it might bring.
It was easy enough to think, but stepping out of her room had become a daily expedition fraught with the perils of family tension. If it hadn't been for her brother's support, she felt sure she'd be curled up under the covers, wishing for another life.
After a refreshing cup of coffee, she felt armed and ready to face the day. She had left the restaurant in the hands of the temporary manager for far too long. It was time to get back in the swing of things. She slipped on her coat and grabbed her purse. She threw upon the front door and took a step back. "What the hell do you want?" Nothing else could have soured her mood more than the man standing in the doorway--except maybe his father.
Her pride and joy, her youngest son, stood in the doorway, grinning. "I had some time to think about this and that and I think it's time we had a little chat."
"Just the other day you were ready to rake me over the coals and now you want a heart-to-heart?"
"What can I say, Mom? I'm a fast healer. Got a minute?"
"We can talk while you give me a ride to the restaurant."
"After you." Brian walked his mother to his car and helped her in. "Watch your head," he said kindly.
When Brian climbed into the driver's seat, Debbie grabbed him by the chin and stared into his eyes. Brian pulled away. "What the--"
"Watch it," Debbie cautioned with a glint in her eyes. She released Brian's chin and sat back.
"What's wrong with you?"
Debbie looked Brian over. His eyes seemed clear, he didn't reek of alcohol, but she couldn't be sure. "Are you sober?"
"Yes. Why?"
Debbie made herself comfortable and pulled on her seat belt. "Just checking. You're acting a little strangely."
"Shit. Between you and David, you have me pegged as some kind of crack head or crystal freak. Gimmee a fucking break already."
Debbie smiled with relief. "That's more like it. You were starting to worry me."
"Geez, Ma. How'd you get to be so warped?"
"Lots of practice...and raising the three of you. Get going. I don't have all day."