01 The One I Want - 3. Does this Count as a Date?

"Ben. Get up."

"Mnnnnno."

Rick sighed. He'd been up for over an hour, since the second trilling of the alarm. He'd had time enough to shower, dress, and walk to his apartment and back. Still Ben lay abed, burrowed under the blankets like a hibernating bear. There was only movement when the alarm went off, and only so much as an arm slipping free to slap the snooze again. For all that Ben had seemed near manic about this trip with Doug, he sure wasn't in any hurry to get started.

"Ben, it's after seven." He heard a rumbling grumble but the lump under the blankets didn't move. "What time is Doug supposed to be here?"

"Hmmnga ...."

"What?" He poked what he thought was a hip. "Ben?"

Ben sighed and rolled onto his back, peeking out to glare sleepily. "I said, 'He's always late.' He'll call when he leaves home. That gives me forty minutes." He yawned. "Plenty of time."

Rick rubbed his head in irritation. "At this rate, it'll be afternoon before you get to the beach," he muttered.

"Why don't you just go home?"

Good question. Why not? It really was none of his business. Sleeping together twice did not make them lovers or even friends howsoever he might wish otherwise. Yes, this was ridiculous, so why the mounting irritation? He should not make another person's problems his own.

Rick blew out a frustrated breath and frowned as he watched Ben duck back out of sight under a pillow.

"Oh, no, you don't," growled Rick. Nabbing blankets in one hand, pillow in the other, he yanked.

"HEY!" Ben curled up, legs and hand going to vital areas, shivering a little and glaring with more heat. "Fucking asshole!"

Rick smirked. "If I have to be up, you have to be up." Quickly, he swiped the remaining pillows. With casual, tormenting grace, he plucked the fitted sheet free and tugged. "Come on, up. I'll even toss these in the wash."

Ben scowled. "You are one sadistic sonuvabitch."

"Funny," Rick replied. "Coming from the guy who set his alarm for five a.m. on a Sunday and yet is still abed. I've got a splitting headache, thank-you very much."

"'Abed?' Who the hell says that? And why didn't you just go home?"

"I said I would stay until Doug got here. Now," he tugged on the sheet again. "Up, or I'll haul you into the bathroom as is."

"You wouldn't ..." Muscles flexed. Ben hopped off the bed on the other side, stalked into the bathroom and slammed the door. Then the other door. "Asshole!"

Rick only smiled, bad mood completely washed away. Ah! That's why he hadn't left. Maybe Jazz had it right after all. Rick was addicted, and its name was Ben. He was still smiling as he started the washing machine. He paused in the hallway to hear a yelp followed by some creative swearing from the bathroom. Then, chuckling evilly to himself, he went in search of something to eat.

Wrapped only in a towel, Ben joined Rick a few minutes later. "You suck," he snarled at Rick, sitting perched on the counter, legs dangling over the dishwasher. "You so fucking suck."

Rick merely raised an eyebrow. "That can be arranged."

Ben blinked. "Huh?" He sniffed suddenly, annoyance turning to a somewhat disgusted alarm. He snatched the bowl out of Rick's hands. "Don't eat that! God! Do you know how old this stuff is?" He scowled down into the grayish-brownish glop.

"It's oatmeal, Ben. It won't kill me."

"You never know." He grimaced and upended the bowl in the sink. "It is instant, after all."

Rick sighed and offered his spoon. "Then just what do you suggest? I'm a growing boy, I need more than toast, and yogurt just doesn't cut it."

Ben considered flicking the partial spoon of quickly-congealing oatmeal at Rick, trying not to think of said goop congealing inside his stomach. A gleam in Rick's eyes dissuaded him and he tossed the spoon into the sink by the bowl, turning away.

"I'll make pancakes. Or, better, omelettes! Yeah, I can digest those before we hit the water. Mmm." He opened the refrigerator, pulling out a partial green pepper, onion, bacon, tomato, and sausage in their individual, ziploc baggies. He piled them on the counter and reached in a drawer for cutting board and knife. "What do you like in your eggs?"

Trying not to drool, Rick braced his arms on the counter, leaning forward to watch. "Oh, whatever you're having, I guess, I'm not picky."

"Okay." Two small frying pans hit the stove with a clatter. Ben tossed sausage in one, bacon in the other, and started chopping vegetables. He hummed quietly to himself as he worked.

A bead of water dripped down from Ben's wet hair down his back. Rick licked his lips, stomach scenting bacon, eyes drinking in the way muscles slid across shoulders and back. He made little sound as he slipped off the counter and padded across the kitchen. Waiting until Ben set the knife down to scoop juicy tomatoes to the side, Rick slipped his hand along ribs to stomach, hugging Ben to him. He breathed in the citrus-y shampoo, mixed with bacon and sausage and the crisp, eye-watering onion.

"Mmmm!"

Ben jumped, giving a quick, inhaled, "Eep!" of surprise. His fist closed reflexively, squishing the tomatoes. He squirmed, trying to frown at the mess, but Rick was already nibbling at an ear and Ben's knees went weak, eyes fluttering shut.

"Wha ...? Wh -- oh, fuck ... nnmnnh ...!"

Hands ghosted over towel-covered hips and Ben leaned backwards, head lolling to the side to give Rick better access. The bacon, however, took that minute to spit.

"Ow!" cried Rick, jerking. "Ow!" he said again, and pulled away, rubbing at bare arms.

Ben tried not to snicker, but grinned anyway, turning around. "Lesson one: never cook bacon naked," he teased.

There was another crackle and Rick flinched. "I'm not naked." He frowned. "Why would I want to cook? Let alone be naked while doing it. I can't even boil eggs."

"How can you screw that up? Anyone can make hard-boiled eggs. Boiling water, eggs, thirteen minutes. Done."

"Yeah, okay."

Ben raised his eyebrows. "You seriously can't boil an egg?"

"I'm a guy."

Ben snorted, but had to turn away to tend the bacon. He flipped the strips and stirred the sausage, adjustng the heat slightly. He chopped more tomato to replace the smooshed bits and set everything carefully aside before dumping knife and board into the sink. Rinsing his hands, he got out bowl, whisk, eggs, and milk, tossing in a selection of herbs as he beat the mixture together. Eggs and milk went into a large, low-walled, non-stick pan, preheated. Cheese was quickly sliced and added, the bacon drained and crumbled, sausage, too, and then it was a simple matter of tossing in the rest of the ingredients.

Rick hovered, stomach growling. His hands itched to be doing something, but he was too fascinated by watching Ben turn individual eggs and vegetables into a mouth-watering feast. If he wanted a home-cooked meal, he ate out. Wendy's little cafe was the closest he could get.

Every time Ben turned, he seemed to run smack into Rick, whether he was reaching for peppers or hot pans, spatula or just rinsing his hands. They weren't too far off, height-wise, but Rick took up an enormous amount of space. The kitchen was way too small for the both of them.

In a way, the behavior was endearing; Ben had never been around someone so amazed by the simple process of cooking before, but it was also irritating. Rick was so close he could practically feel his stomach growling, imagining drool running down his chin like a starving mongrel.

"Plates!" he snapped, smacking Rick on the arm with his spatula. "Almost done. Do you want toast? Or English muffins?"

"Muffins," Rick replied. With one last deep inhalation, he braced himself for the dash across the kitchen to the dining room and the china cabinet.

Ben rolled his eyes. Sawing apart the halves of two muffins, he slid them in the toast-r-oven, setting butter and marmalade on the counter. When Rick took his plate, he hopped back up on the counter, leaning over to inhale, closing his eyes in pleasure. Ben licked marmalade from his fingers.

"There is a table, you know."

"T'mmnghformignibibble."

Ben paused, eyes fastened on Rick. "What?"

Rick swallowed. "Too formal. Oh, this is so good!"

He sat, plate held up under his chin, in the same plain, worn, old cut-off jeans as the previous afternoon, with the same sleevless, white t-shirt, untucked, casual, feet dangling bare. At each bite, he closed his eyes, chewing slowly and making soft, groaning, grunting noises of enjoyment. It was deliriously sinful to watch. No one had ever eaten Ben's cooking like that. No complaints after a meal was the best compliment he ever got out of his Gran, silence from Genny while she shoveled in food like she hadn't eaten in a week was her way of showing appreciation, and happy faces and sporadic thanks were what he got from his friends. Watching Rick eat would make a Thanksgiving turkey-stuffed diner hungry.

Plate and fork left Ben's hands without further thought. He slid between Rick's naturally spread knees, fingers whispering over thighs, face tilted up. "That good, hmm?"

Looking up at the first, brief touch, Rick saw Ben's blue eyes glittering up at him from around the rim of his plate. "Oh, yeah," he breathed. Hot food in his stomach, Ben's fingers along his waist, bright eyes locked with his, Rick's mouth went dry. The fork he held reversed.

Ben accepted the mouthful, licking his lips hungrily. Silently, he pushed the plate aside, pressing against Rick's chest to push him backwards, into a reclining position.

Rick held the plate a moment longer, torn between the most amazing food he'd had in ... well, ages, and the surprising level of desire emanating from his host. Tugs on his beltloops as Ben slid Rick along the counter decided him. He carefully set the food aside, not without a few, longing glances, and leaned back on his elbows. The smell of perfectly crispy bacon still filled his nose as hands pushed his shirt up, lips sizzling against skin. Rick groaned.

The button turned easily in Ben's fingers, zipper too, and then there was nothing but skin. "Mmm," he murmured. "This G.I. Joe goes commando."

"Sometimes," Rick agreed, shivering as Ben cupped him, easing his half-hard length free of his jeans.

A questing hand plucked bacon free of his omelette while the other fondled. Ben leaned over to breathe on the imprisoned flesh, teasing with just the barest touch of teeth and lip. He crunched the bacon loudly, making Rick moan.

"Evil ... Evil," gasped Rick. He turned his head so he could no longer ogle his breakfast.

"But so fun!" Ben laughed. He dipped a finger in his marmelade-coated muffin, then dragged the orange-flavored substance over the head of Rick's cock. "Open up!" he teased.

Rick had never had a lover tease him like this. Jokes about not being circumcised, sure, but no one touched him like this, so absolutely unfazed, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Neck limp, back bowed enough to dangle hair on the counter, he felt powerless under Ben's sticky, lumpy touch, the graze of tongue enough to send his thoughts scattering to the hills. Normally, he hated this feeling. He always tried to arrange it so that he was on the giving end, the one in charge, but, right then, receiving, his muscles a sort of quivering goo ... oh ... protesting was too much like work just then.

Ben worked Rick's shorts the rest of the way off. They dangled for a moment around one ankle before dropping to the floor. Wrapping one hand loosely around the shaft, Ben took the tip in his mouth, and cupped the sac in his other hand. The counter was the perfect height for this. Rick was completely, effortlessly exposed, butt right on the edge, and Ben didn't have to strain or kneel to reach either.

Rick was surprisingly responsive, the skin quivering over the exposed, flat planes of his stomach at each lick and stroke, moaning deeply with want as Ben lightly massaged his balls, brushing against the sensitive skin beneath. Tongue and lips danced seduction over the head of his cock and Rick wanted to beg, and Rick never begged. Never. Fire zipped in races up and down his sides, making him lightheaded with want, lost.

They both about jumped out of their skins when the phone rang.

"Ouch!"

"Sorry," Ben apologized, kissing the accidental nip.

Rick felt Ben frown, distracted by the ringing. Letting himself down flat, he stretched out and plucked the phone free from its cradle. "H-hello?"

Doug frowned at the near-breathy greeting on the other end. "Why haven't you been answering your phone?" he demanded.

"Who-whom-m-mmm may I say is calliming?" asked Rick, trying not to moan or gasp into the receiver.

"What the fuck?" hissed the person on the other end. Rick could feel his ear burning from the force of the glare in that voice. "Who-ever the fuck you are, you put Ben on the phone right now!"

He held out the cordless phone. "F-for you."

"Told you," Ben teased, giving Rick a last, lingering lick before accepting the phone. He tucked the plastic device under his ear and wiped his hands on the towel, partially slipped from his hips. He re-wrapped the fabric automatically. "Hey, Doug! What's kept you?"

"Ben! Dammit, where've you been?"

Brows furrowing in immediate concern, Ben straightened up. "Doug? Is something wrong?" He glanced at the phone, but didn't recognize the number on the caller ID. "Where are you?"

"Where am I? Where am I? Fucking A, man! Where are you? I've been calling you all morning!"

"What do you mean, 'all morning?' It's barely morning. Doug! What's happened? Where's Shelly?" If anyone had kept their head, it'd be Shelly.

"The baby's coming!" Doug wailed.

"What? It's too early!" protested Ben.

"YOU'RE DAMN STRAIGHT IT'S TOO EARLY!" hollered Doug. Harsh breathing could be heard on the other end.

"Doug, you're hyperventilating."

Ben made the mistake of glancing at Rick. An eyebrow had lurched its way up his forehead, but an amused smile perched on his lips. He lounged there -- because there really was no other word for it -- he lounged on the countertop, looking all decadent and semi-de-flowered, and he'd taken advantage of the lull to snarf down more of his omelette. For a moment, Ben lost track of what Doug was gasping into his ear. Then he turned his back on Rick, running a trembling hand through his hair as he tried to concentrate.

"Doug, calm down."

"You know I don't do well with blood!"

"I'm sure everything's fine."

"She's been in there for three goddamn hours!" howled Doug. Quieter, but no less panicked. "I can't go in there, Ben, I tried, I passed out. Twice. Ben! You gotta help me!"

"Have you called Caroline?" That was Shelly's mother.

"Of course I did, right after I called you the first time." Doug harumphed into the receiver. "She laughed at me."

"I'm sure she did." Ben was also sure that Rick was crunching his muffin extra loud. "When's she coming?"

"They're in San Diego, Ben!" Doug all but screamed. "Who knows? Could be any minute, could be hours!"

"Okay, okay, get a grip. We'll be there as soon as we can."

"'We?'" echoed Doug, but he spoke only to a dialtone.

Feeling eyes on him once more, Rick looked up. The unguarded lust in Ben's gaze almost caused him to choke on a particularly large piece of pepper. "So?"

"Shelly's having her baby." Ben followed the path of Rick's fork with his eyes.

"I figured that. And?"

"We're going."

"Are you just going to leave me like this?" asked Rick, startled.

Ben licked his lips. "I should. You certainly look like you're enjoying my cooking more than -- m-mmphf!"

Grabbing Ben and dragging him over for an eye-watering kiss was easy for Rick in his current position. Ben sagged against the countertop, fingers scrambling for purchase. He pulled away with a slick smack of lips, breathing heavily.

"I hate when you do that!" he snapped.

Rick smirked. "It's the only way I've found to shut you up."

"Fuck you, I really am going to just leave you like that. Serve you right." He frowned, watching Rick nonchalantly take another bite of his rapidly disappearing breakfast. "And I'm never cooking for you again."

"Oh?" The eyebrow again, raised in polite disbelief. "And why's that?"

"Because I'm never going to be able to ... to cook without ... without ..." He snatched the plate from Rick's hands, groaning into a fresh kiss as he tasted onion and peppers. His mind continued, Without remembering -- wanting -- this.

Hands pushed Rick back and he almost stuck his elbow in Ben's plate as fingers tickled along his sides. Teeth nipped a hip and Rick yelped. Ben took up right where he'd left off, making Rick sag back on his elbows, legs spread, head hanging off the edge of the bar, his world narrowing to only the electric shocks sparking up his body from the expert attack on his cock. Evaluation of technique faltered. What was mouth, what was hand, what did it matter? The palm around his balls extended to slide a finger along the crack of his ass, and Rick moaned. The millions of nerve endings there lit up in ignored amazement as Ben sucked him deep.

"Oh, Mother of Mercy! Oh!"

The sudden climax took both men by surprise. Ben choked, backing off hastily to cough, and remember how to breathe. Rick collapsed on the counter, gasping.

"S-sorry," he groaned.

"That was so not cool," gasped Ben, dragging his towel off his hips and wiping face and hands.

"Consider it a compliment," Rick murmured, shivering a little in remaining reaction. His stomach felt deliciously full and warm, and not just from the food. He grinned, tired. "That was amazing!"

"Hmm, you're welcome, I guess." Ben dragged an edge of the towel over Rick, making the other man moan a little.

"You don't have to be so rough."

"Baby." Flipping the towel over his shoulder, Ben turned on the burner under his teapot and wandered back down the hall. He dumped the towel on top of the washer and grabbed a couple fresh ones.

"What about your breakfast?" Rick called after him.

"You can have it," answered Ben. He stepped back in the shower. Turning the water on cold, Ben lathered up again quickly. Rinsing his face, he turned around to get his back, opening his eyes -- "Aaaugh!"

Ben jumped about a foot when he saw Rick. Landing in the corner of the stall, he cracked his elbow on the knob, cursing, lurching, and jerking away from Rick's hand as he steadied him to keep him from falling.

"You can fucking knock, can't you?" shrieked Ben, heart racing.

Rick slid the door shut behind him. "I did. Guess you didn't hear me." He hissed as the water hit him. "This is cold! What're you trying to do, freeze your balls off?"

Ben's cheeks flushed darker, hands moving to cover his groin. "Get out!"

Instead Rick moved closer, shivering under the spray and leaning one hand against the tile. He let the fingers of his other hand trace lightly over Ben's protective ones. "I could help with that."

Feeling his cock twitch, Ben bit his lip and glared. "Go away! I'm in here!"

"Be faster if we share," Rick replied. "Thought you weren't shy?"

"This is my fucking shower!"

Rick smiled, unfazed. He leaned in further, pressing Ben back into the wall, but he only stole a quick kiss before turning away. "Your loss," he said lightly, watching Ben out of the corner of his eye. He turned up the heat and quickly soaped and rinsed before stepping out.

By the time he'd re-dressed and gathered up his school papers back into his satchel, Ben was also out of the shower, dressed, and bundling some things into a small, green gym bag. Rick watched as he came into the kitchen and threw some granola bars, bottled water, and apples into a plastic bag. He poured boiling water into a travel mug and dropped in two tea bags. His blue eyes reflected beautifully in the blue of the shirt, untucked over khaki pants. He regarded Rick coolly.

"Well? Are we going or not?"

"You want me to go with you?"

"Is that not what I said?" snapped Ben.

Rick found himself nodding dumbly. Grabbing his satchel, he threw a backwards, disapproving glance at the remaining mess in the kitchen (and the abandoned omelette) before following Ben down the hall to the front door. He slid his feet into his sandals, noting Ben going into his office, to return with a slim CD binder and one of those folder-sized manilla envelopes.

"Where are we going?" asked Rick, settling himself into the driver's seat of the bug. He tossed his satchel onto the backseat. Ben stuffed the manilla envelope into his green bag and then they, too, joined the satchel in the back.

"Anaheim."

Rick sighed, started the car, and backed out of the compound.

Ben popped out the CD and slid another in.

"What's that?"

"The Killers, now shut up and drive fast."

Thirty minutes in the car with a pissy Ben seemed like an eternity, but the music really wasn't that bad and Rick eventually found visitors' parking at Anaheim Memorial Hospital. Ben walked like he knew where he was going, so Rick just followed.

The maternity ward was dazzling with color, light, and cheery staff, rather like stepping into Oz. The musak was some combination of pop and soft rock, and a giggling crowd pressed against a nearby wall of glass. They were obvious relatives of someone, all holding balloons or flowers or small children. Ben walked straight past them and towards the main desk, politely inquiring after Shelly's room.

The nurse directed them towards a waiting room with a single occupant. He was shorter than Ben, only about five-foot-six, pudgy around the middle, with thinning, red-blonde hair, glasses, and freckles. He stopped his pacing as they came in.

"Ben!" They embraced, slapping each other on the back. "Who's that?" asked Doug, eyeing Rick suspiciously.

"That's Rick," answered Ben. "I'll go see how Shelly's doing." So said, he turned and left, crossing the large open area to knock on a closed door.

Left to themselves, Doug and Rick stared at one another.

"Hi," he offered a hand. "I'm Rick."

"Doug."

More silence. Rick stuffed his hands in his pockets.

"So ... Rick, how do you know Ben?"

"We're friends."

That earned him a frown. "Ben doesn't have friends that I don't know about."

"Technically, since we were just introduced, you know me now."

"Cute." The tone definitely indicated the exact opposite. "What are your intentions?"

"Can you be more specific?"

When Doug flushed, the color was easily seen under his pale, freckled skin-tone. "Don't fuck with me," he warned quietly. He pushed up his glasses. "If you're just in this for a quick fuck --"

"How do you know I'm even gay? Maybe I'm not interested in him at all."

"Then you wouldn't be here," Doug retorted, crossing his arms over his chest, somehow managing to look down on Rick despite the height deficit.

"Oh." Rick rubbed his head. Pushed aside earlier, his headache was returning. He really didn't feel like being interrogated, especially not this early in the morning, and he didn't appreciate being grilled like some high school kid, but manners wouldn't let him be rude.

"Hey, look, I think we got off on the wrong foot here."

"You think?"

"O-kay, we did get off on the wrong foot." He sighed, and offered his hand again. "Hi, my name is Rick Wengstrom. I think I'm dating your, ah, friend. Nice to meet you."

Eyebrows disappearing into his hairline, Doug said, "You 'think?'" He accepted the handshake. "Doug Harper. Have a seat." He sat, fussing again with a deck of cards laid out for solitaire. "Why don't you tell me a little about yourself?"

Rick slumped down on the sofa across from Doug, resisting rolling his eyes by only the smallest of margins. "Well, I'm thirty years old, as of yesterday, born and raised in a little town outside Raleigh, North Carolina, and came out here with the military in oh-two. I'm out, now, working on a Ph.D. in English Lit. at USC. I probably drink too much, but I'm clean. Literally and figuratively." He gave Doug a small smirk. "These," he gestured at his face, "are from rugby. Anything else you want to know?"

Rick tried not to fidget and answered all Doug's questions honestly. In short order, he had all of Rick's history exposed to be picked over and he sank a little lower in his seat as Doug dissected his life into smaller and smaller pieces. He didn't remember being grilled this intimately even when he picked up his prom date.

"Well," Doug said toward the end. "You don't seem like a total scumbag."

While not a dismissal, that didn't sound like approval, either. Rick frowned, unsure which irritated him more. "Disappointed?" he asked, unable to keep the harsh edge of anger out of his voice.

Doug ignored the question. He'd barely looked at Rick at all, messing with his cards. "You know, all three of us, Shelly, Ben, and me, spent six years in college. I have an associates, pretty pitiful, huh? But I was never a good student, didn't know what I wanted to do with my life. Shelly, she was driven, wanted to be some corporate businesswoman. Ben? He had a plan. You wouldn't think computer science and psychology would mix very well, would you? Six years, two undergrad degrees. Should've stayed that extra semester and got the master's, but he wouldn't listen." He flipped the stack over and looked up. "Stubborn."

"I get that."

"He could've been a good counselor, could've spent the time and been the next Dr. Phil or Dr. Laura or something." Doug shook his head and went back to the cards. "But that wasn't in the plan."

"What was it? The plan."

"It started out as a friendly group, a branch of the local GBL -- no, GLB -- whatever, I can never keep the damn letters straight, but it was a way for other college kids to organize social events. Ben was forever adopting little heartbreakers, trying to save them from themselves." Doug tapped a card on its edge, staring off the end of the table. "The club was a way to reach out to those folks."

"That's why he's called Doc." That made sense, now, with what Ben had mentioned the other night.

Doug smiled a little. "Yeah, the Love Doc, we called him, forever fixing broken hearts, whether they knew it or not." He gave up on the current game, tossing the remainder of the draw pile on top of the rest. He sat back in his chair. "So, tell me, Rick, what kind of broken heart are you?"

"There's nothing wrong with me."

Doug smirked, but it was a tired smile. "Sure."

"I don't appreciate people making assumptions about me." Gone was the polite, friendly banter. Rick let his anger show. The shorter, older man just stared back at him until, uncomfortable, Rick looked away.

They sat in silence.

"Are you in love with him?" Rick asked quietly.

The plastic couch crunched a little as Doug sat back, shifting against the cushions. His gaze was level, calm. "Yes. He's like a brother to me and Shelly both. Shelly's my wife."

"I know. Ben told me." His brow wrinkled. "But if you've been together so long, why only get married recently?"

His answer started with a soft, amused snort. Doug's face eased a little, and Rick could sort of begin to see a more comfortable personality emerge. Part of him really wanted to like this other man.

"Let's just say we were happy living in sin." Doug pushed his glasses back up his face as his lips quirked into an unwilling smile. This was surely some private joke, but Rick forgot his annoyance as Doug continued, "We figured there was no point in getting married unless -- until -- kids entered the picture. We had our hands full, with the agency, with the buy-out, with Ben." He frowned. "It never seemed like a good time."

Once again those piercing eyes stared right into Rick. "I need to know what your intentions are. Regarding Ben."

Warning bells went off in Rick's mind. His mouth went dry and he swallowed. Why did he get the feeling he was treading very thin waters? First Genny, now Doug, it was like they wanted Ben single and lonely, and what was the mystery baggage that was making everyone so suspicious of him? People loved him!

"I like him," Rick replied, perhaps more honestly than he'd meant to. "A lot." His heart beat a quick rythym against his ribs. "Am I in love with him? I don't know, but I think I'd like to find out," he answered his own question firmly, matching Doug's intense gaze and watching for his reaction. "A fool could see he's been burned in the past."

A wince. True! Oh, hell.

"You don't need to worry about your brother. I won't hurt him."

"Well," said Doug with an odd, sad sort of smile. "Let's hope that neither of you get hurt."

Head slightly cocked to one side, Rick wondered if that meant he'd passed the test. He bit back further questions as the man who was no doubt Ben's best friend rose and started to pace furiously back and forth across the room.

Rick stretched out on a couch with his student's papers, chewing idly on the end of his red, marking pen. It was hard to concentrate; Doug's pacing was making Rick aware of how tired he was. His only saving grace was the arrival of Shelly's mother and family. Two brothers, three sisters, assorted aunts and uncles and in-laws, they filled the waiting room with merry chatter. Mama Caroline was a small, plump woman, with the same brown-black hair as her children, even darker eyes which twinkled, and a welcome smile. She wore a crucifix, but greeted Rick as warmly as she'd hugged her son-in-law. There were balloons and flowers and stuffed animals, and a healthy assortment of rugrats running around, the oldest propping his feet up on the table with one of those portable game things, the youngest still in diapers.

Doug introduced Rick as a friend of Ben's, which was answered by knowing winks and lewd smirks, but not much in the way of conversation. With a resigned sigh, he retreated again to the couch and tried to get back to work.

A gentle voice broke into his thoughts. "What are you working on all by yourself over here?"

"Hmm?" When he looked up, Lena, one of the sisters, sat perched on the sofa-arm, baby in her arms. The rest of the room had fallen silent, the male members and the other children gone.

"Oh, they've gone dragged Doug off to find food," said Lena, easily following Rick's questioning look at the room. "Mama came out to say that things are going well, but we've some time left, and Jose was joking he could hear Doug's stomach rumbling from across the room."

"Hardly surprising with all the pacing he was doing."

She smiled, laughing softly. "I think Carlos was more nervous than I was for our first. It's lucky Shelly's got Ben."

"You know," said Rick, settling the now-smaller stack of papers against his knees, "I thought I understood that Ben's known Shelly since high school?"

"We have. They were both on the cheer squad."

"Cheerleading? Ben?"

Lena nodded, joining Rick's chuckles with laughter of her own, laughter that twinkled, just like her mom's eyes. "Yeah. We had a competitive team, even made it to nationals once. Shelly used to say it was the only thing that kept Ben going after the attack. They were together so much for practice and stuff that we all just became family. Ah, don't mind me, I talk too much, everyone's always saying so."

"That's okay."

"No," she shook her head. "No, it isn't really, I'm terrible with secrets." She looked down at the sleeping baby, jiggling him in her arms.

Rick didn't pry, uncertain that he even wanted to know about that; his mind was all too good at jumping to its own conclusions. He could imagine how hard Ben's life must have been during high school.

"But don't you all live in San Diego?" he asked instead.

She nodded. "Pops got a promotion and we moved my senior year." Lena grimaced. "I'd say that it was awful, but I did meet my husband, so it turned out okay." Shrugging, she laughed. "And by that time Shelly and Ben were up in San Francisco, so it didn't bother them hardly at all."

"I see. Well ..." and Rick found himself telling his history yet again. Lena made for good company, and her presence made the remaining time pass much quicker. Around two o'clock, Ben emerged at last, to announce the arrival of a little boy. He stepped back as the gang barrelled past, leaning tiredly against a wall.

"Everything okay?" asked Rick, hovering by the couch uncertainly.

"Yeah," sighed Ben, rubbing his eyes. He gave Rick a wan smile. "So, you're still alive, huh?"

Rick nodded.

"Want to get out of here?"

"What about ...?"

"They won't miss me."

"Um, sure, okay. Want to grab something to eat?"

"No, but thank you. Let me pop into the restroom and I'll be back."

They made the drive back as silently as before. Ben leaned against the window, too tired to even bitch about the radio station. He sat in the car even after Rick turned off the ignition.

"You sure everything's okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Well, we're home."

"Yeah."

Suddenly, Ben was fumbling with the seatbelt and lurching out of the car. Grabbing the bags, Rick followed more slowly. He was mildly surprised to find the door ajar. Guessing that still meant he was welcome, he tossed his satchel on the sofa and the gym bag in the bedroom, and moved into the kitchen. The dishwasher hadn't been emptied from before, so he put the dishes away, then bided his time with cleaning up from breakfast until finally there was nothing left to do.

Going out into the hallway, he could hear water running. He knocked on the bathroom door. "Ben?" There was no answer, so he knocked again. "Ben, everything okay?" He frowned and tried the handle. "Ben, I'm coming in. Last chance to tell me to beat it."

He opened the door. Water ran in the sink, that was the first thing he saw, and a hand on the lip. He followed that down an arm to where Ben knelt on the rug, head bowed.

"Ben."

The name was the merest whisper of sound, but Ben still started, glancing up, once, and then away, rubbing furiously at his eyes. "Go away. Please, just go."

Rick shut off the faucet and sank down on one knee beside the blonde. "Hey," he said quietly, running his fingers along the side of his face. Ben jerked away, grabbing the sink again as if to stand, only to lean forward against his arms.

"I'm just tired," he muttered.

"Sure," Rick agreed. "Let me give you a hand up."

Clasping the offered forearm, Ben let himself be hauled to his feet. Rick grabbed the wet washcloth off the floor and rinsed it out. Ben turned and opened the door to the bedroom, but paused, leaning against the doorframe to keep his back to Rick.

"I'm sorry, I'd just rather be alone right now."

"Sure, but let me just get you settled first."

"Huh?"

Rick wrung out the cloth, forcing an easy smile, even when faced with blood-shot, shadowed eyes. "Sofa. Upstairs. Now. I'll make you some tea."

Skepticism brought a bit of a smile back. "You know how to make tea?"

"I am from the South, you know. It's practically a felony if you can't make tea. Go on, change your clothes, pick out a movie, I'll meet you up there." Ben stared at him as if he'd grown a second head.

"I'm not a chick."

"Hence why I didn't suggest chocolate and a bath." He crossed his arms over his chest, smirking. "Or would you rather?"

"I'm fine."

"Oh, yes, you're fine. Now get moving, or you'll force me to carry you."

Ben scowled. "You are such an asshole."

"So you keep reminding me. Get."

They left the bathroom through opposite doors. Rick waited until Ben padded upstairs before going into the bedroom with fresh sheets to make the bed. He pulled on some old sweatpants from his laundry, which still hadn't made it home yet, and returned to the kitchen with the whistling of the teapot.

Blanket over his arm, and tray with cups and tea, Rick made his way upstairs. Setting the tray on the coffee table, he tossed the blanket at a frowning and suspicious Ben who sat curled up in the corner. Rick sat down and poured some tea and honey into a single cup.

"It's weak for you," Rick told Ben. "But just give it a minute or two. So, what've we got?"

Ben hit play on the remote. "Silverado."

"Never heard of it."

"It's a modern Western in the old style, with a very young Kevin Costner. And Kevin Kline."

"Is that sort of like Calvin Klein?"

"Oh, and Danny Glover."

"Danny Glover?"

"Mmm-hmm. Now shut up, or you'll miss the beginning."

"It's just shooting, there's no dialogue. Why're they shooting at him?"

"Just shut up! That's Scott Glenn, and if you pay attention, you'll find out. And, for your information, the soundtrack is amazing."

"No Wayne, though? No Clint Eastwood?"

"Shut up!"

"Okay, okay."

Rick propped his feet up on the table. As the movie progressed, Ben slowly unwound from his cramped position. Rick grabbed the toes when they got closer and dragged Ben's feet into his lap.

"Hey!"

"Oh, quit your grousing. Most people would kill for a foot rub."

Really, there wasn't much to complain about. Ben got the majority of the sofa, snug under the old blanket from the closet downstairs, with tea warm in his stomach, and lots and lots of goodness oozing upwards from the bottoms of his feet. About the third time he yawned and shook his head, startled to have dozed off again, the movie settled into a long exposition, with lots of music and little loud noises or gunshots.

Rick looked over when Ben snorted sleepily. He smiled and eased Ben's feet down onto the cushions where he'd been sitting, re-wrapping him in the blanket. He leaned over, perched on the edge of the sofa, cupped Ben's face in both hands, and pressed a kiss to the unresisting lips.

Ben made a suprised, protesting sound, but Rick didn't let him go. Hands scrabbled at his shoulders, not finding any purchase on the t-shirt. Rick draped a leg over the knee that tried to jab him, using his greater weight to pin Ben down.

"Mn ...!" whined Ben, but then Rick was kissing him again and any further protests died as those teasing lips and commanding tongue worked together to short-circuit his brain. Rick was a good lover, he'd never met someone so thoughtful, who seemed to know what Ben wanted even before he did. In fact, the less he tried to think, the better he started to feel.

But that didn't mean he was agreeable to the hand that slipped under the blanket and into his shorts. He squirmed and tried to object, but Ben had never been particularly good at multi-tasking and trying to get feet and hands free, wiggle out of Rick's reach, and manage to kiss, was all just too much when Rick added the stimulation of his touch on Ben's cock. He groaned then, into the kiss, his traitorous body acting completely opposite to what he thought he wanted. The more he tried to convince himself he didn't want this, the less effective it became.

"Ohh ... fuck you!" he gasped. There was more, he almost got his eyes open again, but Rick swooped back in and sucked the words right from him with another kiss. Ben's back arched under Rick's touch, head pressing backwards into the soft sofa, feet likewise struggling for purchase in order to buck into Rick's slow, seductive petting.

Muscles tight with stress and worry relaxed under Rick's hands and he smiled to himself. Every once in a while, Ben seemed to remember where they were and what had happened and he would start to struggle again, but those moments passed quicker the longer they lay together. Rick waited for the gasped moans to change slightly in pitch before speeding up the motion of his hand to bring Ben to his release.

The change was instantaneous, the warm, comforting, gentle kisses turning demanding and lustful. Ben fought to escape, harder this time as pleasure built up and up and up in his stomach. Their teeth clicked together once, twice, and then Rick withdrew. Ben's triumph was short-lived. He tossed his head, pulling futilely with his arms, but Rick's lips stayed stubbornly on his neck, tracking ever closer to his ear.

"No, dammit! You shit!" panted Ben. The hand around his cock tightened, slipping up and over the head before sliding back down and making Ben moan again in unwilling pleasure. "I ... ohhh, you are ... are such ... mmmnngh!"

Rick laughed as he teeth grazed an earlobe and Ben shuddered and came. With careful movements, Rick worked Ben through his orgasm, the loose muscles shivering themselves into a weak, boneless mess. Ben melted into the cushions, eyelids fluttering, opening briefly to glare.

"Dammit," he sighed, already half-asleep. "Sh-mmm ...."

After another quick, stolen kiss to swollen lips, Rick slid from the couch. Kneeling there at the side of the couch, Rick indulged in a gentle caress. Ungelled, Ben's short locks were as soft as silk, tangled together in a tousled mess. He had a small nose for such a strong face. Fingers traced full, often-pouty lips, drifting down to the stubborn chin, catching a little on stubble that Ben hadn't bothered to shave off that morning. Hair that could have been sideburns if left to grow a little longer curled in tiny ringlets by his ears. Rick tugged on them a little, then let his fingers trail along the hairline before bending to brush the backs of his knuckles over the exposed cheek.

It was too late now; Rick knew it. He liked this crazy, stubborn, and demanding blonde, probably too much for his own good. This was going to hurt, really bad, most likely, when they broke up. He let his fingers drift over a scratchy cheek again, fighting back a frown. Casual lovers were fine, but was he really thinking about a real relationship?

Abruptly he stood. He needed to go get laid, like right now. Ben was sweet, but he was needy, and there was far more going on than Rick felt comfortable with. What was he thinking, a relationship with this man? Sure, he was hot in bed, and, sure, Rick could soothe his inner caveman taking care of him, but ...

He sure looks cute sleeping! Sighing, Rick shook his head, eyes drawn to the little pout Ben made in his sleep. He could step away, but that's all he would do, he decided. He would compromise by forcing Ben to make the next overture. He wouldn't chase, but that was all. Even as he walked away and back home, Rick was honest with himself. If Ben called, he wouldn't say no.