Lavender & Gold - 10. The Curious Incident of the Mail in the Night Time

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The Curious Incident of the Mail in the Night Time

Ben couldn’t think how he could possibly have foregone this sort of treatment for all these years. He lay on his back, trying to control his breathing, while Mark worked his magic with his tongue and fingers. He was every bit as good at this as he was at blow jobs, teasing and prodding Ben in just the right way until he felt fit to burst.

‘Is it good?’

‘Oh god yes!’ The words tumbled from Ben’s lips. ‘It’s so, so good! Oh, fuck, Mark . . . Please, I need more!’

‘Like this?’

Ben didn’t know what the younger man had done, but it sent a new wave of sensation through him. ‘Nnngh!’ he said, nodding vigorously. ‘Just like—uh!’ He squirmed. ‘Just don’t let me come, I don’t want to yet . . .’

He was in no great danger of that, however, as Mark entirely ignored his cock, focusing all his attention on his arse. Whatever Mark was doing down there, it felt amazing. He was setting fire to every nerve in Ben’s body, causing all of him to burn and tighten, and just when Ben thought he couldn’t take any more, Mark upped the intensity and showed him that, yes, he could.

‘Didn’t realise that orgasm denial was on your list of kinks,’ said Mark.

‘Neither . . . did I . . .’

Keeping a finger in, Mark moved from between Ben’s legs to his side, from where he could more easily attack Ben’s neck with his mouth.

‘Careful!’ Ben panted. ‘Hickeys are a bitch to hide in make-up.’

Mark scraped his teeth over Ben’s adam’s apple. ‘What about further down?’ he murmured, bringing his lips down to Ben’s collarbone.

‘That . . . should be okay . . . Oh, fuck!’

Mark had eased another finger inside him. Ben grasped at the sheets and swore again, gritting his teeth and throwing his head back.

‘Mark!’ The name came out as a drawn out whine. ‘Oh, God . . . Please, fuck me!’

Mark lifted his head to look at him, eyes shining. ‘Ask me again.’

‘Fuck me, Mark. Please, I need it! I need you!’

‘Ask and you shall receive.’ Mark pulled his fingers out and reached for the lube. Ben grabbed hold of his wrist and looked at him.

‘Don’t use too much. I want the friction.’

‘I don’t want to hurt you.’

‘You won’t.’ Ben took a deep breath and smiled. ‘I trust you.’

Mark started slow, but quickly answered Ben’s requests of, ‘Faster!’ or ‘Harder!’ as they came. Ben felt lost, dazed, now floating, now drowning in sensation. Every touch, every kiss, sent shocks through his body, like electricity, the feeling spreading like wildfire through him.

And then, when he felt like he was properly losing control, leaping, falling into nothingness, he gasped, ‘Now!’ and Mark’s hands closed around his throat.

There was something like an eruption, an explosion, something bursting, somewhere, and Ben forgot everything else, moving his hips, thrusting back against Mark, and then he came, and then Mark came, and Ben’s mind, body and sensations spiralled down into darkness.

Mark collapsed on top of him, letting go of his throat, and Ben drew several gasping breaths, trying to calm his heart rate. He carded his fingers through Mark’s hair. It was damp with sweat. Mark looked down at him, eyes wide. He looked a little bit scared.

‘You all right?’ Ben murmured.

‘I—’ Mark cleared his throat, ‘I feel like I should be asking you that. I didn’t hurt you, did I?’

Ben shook his head and smiled. ‘No. Not at all. That was . . . amazing. You are amazing, Mark. God, I love you!’

‘I love you too,’ Mark whispered, resting his forehead on Ben’s. ‘You sure you’re all right?’

‘I’m sure.’ Ben kissed Mark softly. Then he hesitated a bit. ‘Did it freak you out?’

‘Maybe a bit? I’m sorry . . .’

‘No, that’s quite all right.’ Ben shifted a bit and Mark slid out of him. The boy sat up and disposed of the condom, before reaching over to the nightstand for tissues. Ben watched him, leaning back onto his elbows, head cocked to one side. ‘What about you?’ he asked after a moment.

‘What about me, what?’

‘Have you got any kinks I don’t know about?’

‘Oh.’ Mark finished cleaning semen off his stomach and offered the tissues to Ben, who took them. Then he lay down on his back next to him, pillowing his head on his arms. ‘I used to really get off on being used. You know, held down and fucked hard, no thought being given to my pleasure.’ He paused, licking his lips. ‘But with you I don’t need any of that. You’re firm, but gentle and just a touch from you is . . .’ He trailed off, looking away and swallowing. ‘It’s not that I’ve never been loved. But I’ve never felt it as acutely before. So now . . . you’re my kink. The way you make me feel, you’re . . . I don’t really know how to phrase it. Everything you do feels right, and I trust you in a way I haven’t trusted anyone before. You’re just, you’re perfect for me. All I want. Ever.’

Dropping the used tissues carelessly on the floor, Ben lay down on top of Mark and captured his lips in a deep and lasting kiss. ‘My beautiful, beautiful boy,’ he whispered. ‘I love you. I adore you! You are the most amazing, gorgeous, kind, incredible, fantastic, brilliant, luminous, and I’m running out of adjectives, but you’re all of them. And you’re mine!’ He kissed Mark again. ‘You’re all mine . . .’

Mark’s eyes were closed, his lips parted, face flushed. He drew a shuddering breath. ‘Yes. I am. Always.’

* * *

‘The Mail Online writes about “shocking revelations” and fears for your career. The Sun is basically just repeating itself. The Telegraph is running a feature on drug use among film stars that mentions you briefly. An opinion piece in The Guardian is calling for people to leave you the hell alone. Stateside, a few columnists have picked up on it and are basically repeating what’s already been said. The blogosphere is divided. Some are applauding you and condemning Lambert, others worry about what else you’ve been hiding. Fans seem to be, on the whole, remaining unfazed by most of this. Forum debates are civil, Tumblr is one big snuggle-fest with everyone who cares entirely on your side.’

‘Thank you, Harry.’ Ben ran a hand through his hair and looked out the window of the cab. He was on his way home, where Mark was waiting for him. It occurred to Ben that Mark had hardly been back to his basement flat in Camden since Ben had returned from America. This made him feel, somehow, very happy. ‘This is nowhere near as bad as I thought it might be.’

‘Not yet, anyway. That tweet last night was a nice touch. You’ve got several hundred retweets and lots of people wishing you well.’

Ben smiled. He had written, Not going to let bad press ruin a good thing. Spending a cozy night in with my sweetheart. He would have used a clever hashtag, but he hadn’t quite got the hang of those yet and didn’t know what would be appropriate, so had decided against it.

‘The Sun and The Daily Mail are both hinting at some new sources, though. With any luck they’re just trying to raise sales, but . . . Best keep our eyes open.’

* * *

Ben woke up on Saturday morning to the phone ringing. This was becoming a common occurrence, he thought as he answered.

‘Hullo?’

‘It’s Harry.’

‘Harry? Jesus, what time is it?’

‘Nearly seven. Look, I’m sorry to call so early, but we have a situation. It’s about Mark.’

Ben sat up. ‘What is it? What’s happened?’

‘Go to your computer. I’ve e-mailed you a link.’

Mark stirred next to Ben and reached for him sleepily. ‘Whattisit?’ he mumbled.

‘Nothing. Go back to sleep, love.’ Ben ran a hand over Mark’s hair. Then he got out of bed and padded off to use the computer in the study, phone still at his ear. ’What’s going on, Harry?’

‘It’s the Mail, this time. Don’t ask me how they’ve done it, but they’ve managed to dig up a lot of dirt on Mark. Photos, records, statements, you name it.’

‘Shit!’ Ben sat down and turned on his laptop. He logged into his e-mail and clicked the link Harry had sent him.

The first thing he saw was a large photo of a young man in cargo trousers and a Palestine scarf, sporting a multi-coloured mohawk. On the front of his faded t-shirt was printed the red and black flag logo of Anti-Fascist Action. It appeared to be a cut-out of a larger photo, and the picture was slightly blurry, but it was clearly and unmistakably a picture of Mark, though he looked younger. His mouth was wide open as though he were shouting, and in his raised fist he held a large brick.

Ben swallowed and began to read.

Who is Mark Harrison?

BEN CONNOR’S new lover has been a mystery to many. Who is the man who has captured the film star’s heart?

LONDON, 19^th Oct.—Benjamin Connor (35) and his people have kept a tight lid on all information regarding Mark Harrison (23) (depicted above protesting tuition fees during the Student Riots of 2010), the actor’s new male lover.

Harrison was raised in the borough of Camden by a single mother, Rose Harrison, a secondary school teacher.

“He was always causing trouble,” one elderly neighbour recalls. “His poor mother had her hands full with that one. And always so noisy!”

His interest for music began at a young age. Harrison started out with the drums, but ended up choosing the guitar. He played in several bands in his teens.

He also developed a keen interest in politics, and, according to a school friend, went through several ideologies, including Communism, Revolutionary Socialism, Maoism and Anarcho–Syndicalism before landing firmly in Anarchism. The Student Riots was far from the first time he engaged in a violent protest.

By his online presence it’s clear that Harrison is deeply sympathetic with the Occupy movement. It is also possible that he has ties to the hacker collective Anonymous. His Twitter account is @Hark_Marrison90, and he mostly follows musicians and political activists.

Harrison went for A-levels in Music, History, English Literature and Social Sciences, but only ever completed English Literature and did not go to university.

“Mark really knows how to party,” says Simon O’Donnell, one of Harrison’s closest friends. “Doesn’t do a lot of drugs or nothing, but he can down a bottle of vodka easy. And he gets horny at parties. He’s shagged lots of blokes, sometimes in pretty public places. He’s great fun!”

Harrison came out of the closet quite early on and, if rumours are to be believed, became sexually active already at 14. Is it, perhaps, this sense of sexual adventure that drew Ben Connor to a man 12 years his junior? Or has he drawn him in some other way?

One might wonder whether the actor is aware of his lover’s past and, if so, whether it’s part of the attraction. Either way, it seems obvious that Benjamin Connor is far from the man we thought he was.

(This is a summary; full story with additional pictures in today’s paper edition.)

Ben read through the article several times. He still had Harry on the line and when he felt certain he hadn’t missed anything he asked, ‘Have you got hold of the paper?’

‘Yes. There are a few more quotes, one from an old teacher, one from some kid named Alex Fisher, a couple of school photos and some records from noteworthy protests. Oh, and a quote from some interview with a minor publication during the Student Protests in which Mark is quoted as saying, “Tories haven’t a clue what they’ve unleashed. David Cameron can kiss my arse!” Eloquent, no?’

’Sounds like Mark.’ Ben sighed. ‘I guess I should show him this . . . So what do we do now?’

‘Not much to do. Just sit tight. We’ll try and do some damage control, but . . . Cat’s out of the bag.’

‘Right. Well, keep me posted. Thanks for calling.’

Ben picked up his laptop and returned to the bedroom with it. He set it on his nightstand and lay down on the bed next to Mark. He ran his fingers softly through his lover’s hair and kissed the back of his neck. Mark made a soft sound and stirred. Ben kissed a trail to his ear and took his earlobe into his mouth. Mark moaned and turned around to deliver a sleepy kiss to Ben’s lips.

‘Morning,’ Ben whispered.

‘Mm . . . Morning.’ Mark stretched like a cat and sat up a bit. ‘What did Harry want?’

‘Something’s happened.’ Ben retrieved the laptop and handed it to Mark.

Mark’s eyes moved across the screen as he read, and his eyebrows retreated further up into his hairline with each sentence. A couple of times he uttered an incredulous laugh. Ben just watched him, waiting for him to finish.

Mark shook his head and closed the lid. Then he looked at Ben with a half-smile.

‘Well?’ Ben prompted.

Mark shrugged. ‘It’s not as if there’s anything in there I would have felt the need to hide if they’d just asked me. I’m not really bothered. I wonder how they came to the conclusion that I have “ties to Anonymous”, though. Because I follow a few of their Twitter accounts, maybe?’ He put the laptop down on the nightstand. ‘That elderly neighbour must have been Mrs. Carter. I used to call her Mrs. Farter . . . Old bint. And I can’t believe Si had the audacity to refer to himself as one of my closest friends! I haven’t talked to him in months, and he’s a prick anyway.’

Ben pursed his lips and studied Mark’s face thoughtfully. He really didn’t look worried. The look in his eyes was sincere and kind, and his smile was earnest.

Mark reached out and stroked Ben’s cheek with his fingers. ‘Don’t worry,’ he murmured. ‘I know you’ve been trying to protect me from all this but I’m really okay. I knew when I got into this that something like this was bound to happen. I’m prepared for the consequences. It’s a price worth paying for being with you. Okay?’

Ben nodded, leaning into his touch. ‘Okay.’

* * *

Ben didn’t much feel like going anywhere that day, but he had a costume fitting that afternoon, so at two o’clock he reluctantly got dressed and left the flat.

The fitting went blissfully fast. When it was over he checked his mobile to find a text from Mark.

Going home to fetch some things. Having a drink with Robert after. I’ll be back tonight. Won’t be late. M

Ben spent the rest of his afternoon reading scripts, answering e-mails and browsing Twitter. He was getting more into it now, and the fan response was very good. He was pleased to find that many of them had tweeted their support, mentioning both him and Mark.

Around eight in the evening he realised he was hungry, and that Mark still wasn’t back. He texted him, asking when he’d be home and if he wanted dinner. When there was no reply, Ben tried to call him instead.

His call went straight to voicemail.

Ben frowned at his phone. It might not have bothered him so much, but Mark had gone from complete unknown to quite recognisable literally overnight. What if something had happened? What if he had been hurt? Or what if he had been less okay than he had let on, and gone off and hurt himself?

Don’t be stupid, Ben thought to himself. His battery’s flat and he’s still out at the pub.

So he fixed himself some dinner (making sure to leave enough that Mark could have some when he got back, if he was hungry) and settled on the sofa with a book and a cup of tea.

By ten o’clock he could no longer ignore his worries. He left the flat and hailed a cab, heading towards Camden.

Nobody answered the door when he knocked, and the place seemed quiet and dark. Mark was not at home. Ben poked his head into a few nearby pubs, but didn’t find his boyfriend there either, so he returned home, quite agitated now.

He sat down at his computer and began to search for Rose Harrison’s phone number. There were several listed, but only a couple in NW1, and Ben dialled the number of the first.

‘Hello?’

‘Hi, is this Rose Harrison?’

‘Yes.’

‘Mark Harrison’s mother?’

There was a pause.

‘If you’re another journalist, I’ve already told you people I’m not giving any interviews—’

‘I’m not. I’m sorry. I’m Ben Connor.’ He hesitated for a moment, then added, ‘Mark’s boyfriend.’

‘Yes, I . . . I know who you are.’

‘I’m sorry to call so late. I realise we haven’t actually met yet . . . Mark and I have been saying that I should meet you soon, but there hasn’t really been time. I’m sorry about that. And I’m sorry that our relationship has caused so much trouble for him.’

‘No worries. My boy can look after himself, he always could. Mark’s told me a lot about you.’

‘I shudder to think!’ Ben paused again. ‘Actually, I was wondering if you’ve heard from him today. He was going out for a drink with a friend and then he was supposed to come ho—to come to my place, but I haven’t heard from him and his mobile seems to be switched off.’

‘That’s odd . . . He’s usually always reachable. I talked to him a bit earlier, about that dreadful article. As you say, he was going out for a drink with Robert. Don’t know where. Didn’t ask.’

‘I see . . . I’m sure he’s all right, I just worry sometimes. If you do hear from him, could you tell him to call me, please?’

‘Of course. You’ll do the same?’

‘Absolutely. It was nice talking with you.’

‘You too. The three of us will have to have dinner some day.’

‘Definitely.’