01 The One I Want - 15. Dance with Me

When his phone went off during the meeting, Rick jumped, hand slapping the buzzing vibrator in his pocket. Several pairs of eyes glared at him.

"Rick!" hissed Alice.

Blushing, he fished the cell out of his pocket. His face paled when he saw the caller ID. He jumped up immediately, almost knocking over his chair in his haste.

"Hello?" he asked breathlessly, striding quickly towards the door and out into the hallway.

"Rick, it's Doug," he said unnecessarily, voice strained.

Rick slapped a hand against the wall outside the conference room. "Doug? Where's Ben? What's happened?" After their last words, it had to be something dire. Visions of Ben in a pool of blood filled his head.

"Haven't you seen him?" Doug's voice cracked.

Rick's fingers dug into his phone's plastic case. "Should I have?"

"Damn it, Rick!" snapped Doug. "Quit being a stubborn ass for one second and tell me where he is!"

"I don't know!" he howled, thumping his fist against the wall. He turned his back to lean there, running a hand through his hair. "I swear to God I haven't seen him. Not for weeks." Sixteen days and eleven hours, forty-three minutes, but who was counting?

"Shit!" Doug slumped forward over his desk, posture alone telling Shelly the bad news. Rick was their last hope. If Ben wasn't with Rick, then where was he?

Rick waited through a half-dozen forcibly calm breaths before he trusted his voice not to shake. "What's happened, Doug?"

"Genny went to pick him up for his doctor's appointment yesterday, and he wasn't there. The motorcycle is gone, too ...."

"What doctor's appointment?" Rick didn't recall anything of the sort.

"He's seeing a psychiatrist."

"Oh? That's great." About time, too. He wondered who'd managed to convince him of that. He certainly hadn't gotten anywhere.

"Well, sort of."

He trailed off and Rick had to prompt, "And? I can tell there's something you're not telling me. What is it?"

"Well." How did one explain? "He -- there was -- He broke his phone ... and, there was this ... mess." He hadn't wanted to believe Genny's panicked phone call, but when he'd gotten there and seen the mess of water, glass, and pharmaceuticals, he couldn't be sure what to think. There was no telling if Ben had actually swallowed any of that poison, though his history made that a distinct possibility.

They had called hospitals first and then the police, but they weren't sure when Ben had left. The last person he'd had any contact with had been an email sent to Riley several days ago. Lance's reminders about court had gone unanswered.

"Doug," Rick growled, jumping as a couple of small hands wrapped around his own. He smiled weakly at Alice's concerned look.

"You haven't seen him?" Doug begged, hoping Rick was only lying to him out of spite.

"No," Rick's calm facade cracked. "I'm ... not -- I'm back East. He, he doesn't even know I'm gone."

"Oh." There was a slight pause. "Well, shit."

They held onto their respective phones in silence for several minutes.

"Doug?" Rick ventured. "I'll swear, on anything you believe, that I had nothing to do with this. Any of it."

He had officially moved to cancel the suit on Tuesday, though his mother and uncle were fighting him every step of the way. They'd even gone so far as to hire a psychologist to declare him mentally unfit and, when that didn't work -- "I'm gay, not unbalanced!" -- were threatening to cut off his inheritance, but Grandpa Henry had left money specifically to Rick in his will. Though he'd let his mother handle the investments, neither she nor the family had any legal claim to the funds. Even if they did, it wouldn't matter. Ben was worth more than money.

Still, he'd been forced to hire his own lawyer, the attorney that Alice worked for, actually. They'd postponed the court hearing in Los Angeles; Rick was frustrated that what should have been as easy as a simple phone call to Ben's lawyer was turning into a legal obstacle course.

"Rick," Alice whispered, tugging on his hand. They couldn't keep the judge waiting too long. Judges were finicky like that.

"Is he hurt?" Rick asked, when Doug remained silent.

"We don't know," was the response.

Rick closed his eyes, biting his lip.

"He hasn't been taking his medicines," Doug went on. "We think he ... might have ... swallowed some sleeping pills. A lot of them." If he had, and managed to drive off on his motorcycle, they could only hope Ben wasn't dead at the bottom of a cliff somewhere, or scraped off somebody's fender.

"Oh, God." As bad as the mood swings had been, that had been with the antidepressants. Rick could only imagine how bad they'd be without them. "I never should have left." They didn't know, Rick hadn't thought to tell them how bad Ben had gotten, that had seemed like something private, between the two of them. Doug and Shelly, and Genny and their friends, wouldn't have known to watch him, to not leave him alone. Ben could be such a good actor when he chose.

The thought that Ben might have lost it enough to consider suicide made Rick's blood run cold. Ben might never admit it, but Rick knew that the older man reciprocated his feelings. No one else got that smile, like the sun peeking out behind clouds on a rainy day.

There was no fight left in Doug, and only the worst left to think. "Where are you, then?" he asked Rick.

"Home. My mother, she, and my family, they ..." How did he explain the ramifications of what he'd done to a man who hadn't even seen his family in the last ten years? A man whose family had not yet even met the new addition? There was no apparent animosity on either side, that was simply how they were, but Rick was rather at a loss. Doug found Shelly's family overwhelming, and they were tame compared to Rick's.

But being around Ben for so long let Doug guess what wasn't said. "They didn't know, did they?"

"No."

He whistled softly. "And this was their reaction?"

"Yeah."

"Damn." Doug might not talk to his family often, but he knew they loved him and would support him no matter what.

"You could say that," Rick agreed sadly. After the shouting match with his mother on Tuesday, Rick had left, not looking back. Reading through the suit and supporting documents left him cold and weak, frightened and very, very angry. To think that he might already be too late ....

Alice tugged on his arm again, pointedly looking at her watch and Rick grimaced, but nodded. "Doug, I have to go. Want I should come back?"

Doug shook his head. "No. We've reported the bike as stolen, and Shelly's tracing his credit cards, but it's a slow process. We've got enough help, looking. Stay where you are, Rick, you'll do more good in the long run if we can get this suit dismissed." He wasn't just saying that to protect his company; Doug had to believe Ben was alive. If he stopped to consider the possibility that he wasn't, Doug would dissolve into a panic, and there was too much of that already.

Rick nodded and let out a soft sigh. On one hand, he was extraordinarily happy, and relieved, to have Doug's forgiveness. The last thing he wanted was to come between Ben and his family. But on the other hand, he didn't like doing nothing, denied the opportunity to help search for his missing lover.

"This isn't like him."

"No, it's not," Doug agreed heavily.

A handful of awkward exchanges later, they hung up. Rick lowered his phone and stared at it a moment before looking at Alice.

"He ran away," he murmured, swallowing hard. "He ...."

"I know, Rick," she filled in earnestly. "I overheard enough to get the gist. I'm so sorry."

"I really don't know what I'm going to do without him."

"Can't do much without credit cards these days." Alice tried to be reassuring. "They'll find him."

"Or his body."

"Hey." She chucked his chin, frowning disapprovingly. "You can't think like that. Buck up. We've got a fight to win, remember? Fall apart later. For now? Game faces on. You ready?"

"No."

"Rick."

He patted her head. "I know, I know." He sighed, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. "Okay. Let's do this." Fuck them. If they'd cost him Ben's life, not just his love, Rick would never forgive them. Never.

Ben got off the bus and stood for a moment rubbing his neck and looking around. God it was hot. The humid air just settled around him, not doing a thing to whick away the sweat which popped up instantly in response to the heat. He wiped his arm against his forehead and just felt worse. Gah! Three days on a series of Greyhound buses; he felt disgusting.

He was as far inside Raliegh, North Carolina, as the buses seemed to go; however, the terminal appeared to be attached to a public transit hub. Ben walked to that side of the flat, bus-covered lot, and stared at the map. The muscles in his back and legs complained and his side was one mass of agony. Ben ignored the aches and pains as his mind went blank. He'd been so focused on just getting there ... now he hadn't a clue what to do next. Where did he start looking?

Well, first things first, he reminded himself, forcing a little calm down over the panic. He needed clean clothes and a place to stay. All he had on him was a backpack with his motorcycle helmet, a stuffed animal that he'd die before admitting was really his, about a hundred bucks in cash, and his wallet. Plus the clothes on his back and a couple other odds and ends that were in his backpack.

According to the map, there was a mall fairly close by. Ben checked his pockets for change and wandered over to the bench to wait, feeling awkward and uncertain under the unfriendly stares of the other bus patrons. With some relief, Ben stepped into the welcome coolness of a mall's air conditioning about an hour later. It was a standard type of mall, shocking to see something so ordinary in the back woods of nowhere. The styles were even the same, in stores with the same names.

He stopped outside a storefront Ben recognized as something akin to a Hot Topic, or at least how the store had been when they first appeared. These were club clothes, and the first inkling of a plan popped into his head. He stepped inside. He felt the eyes at once, smiling a little to himself as he added a little extra sashay to his walk.

Wes kept his attention ostensibly on the magazine flopped on the counter, but his eyes kept wandering, all on their own, to the tall, leggy blonde perusing a rack of jeans. He firmly told himself to get a grip. He had a beautiful girlfriend, with no reason to be checking out some total stranger. Not to mention a guy at that ....

The stranger looked rumpled, as if he'd slept in his clothes, and his eyes looked sunken, bruised, but Wes forgot all that as soon as the man smiled. He looked up, right at Wes, as if he'd been conscious the entire time of the other's stare, and just grinned. Wes blushed, glancing quickly back to his magazine.

Then he was there, leaning against the counter, grinning wickedly and making Wes' mind think bad, bad things.

A finger tapped the catalogue. "For you?"

Wes yanked his hands away, sitting back precariously on the stool. "No!" he yelped. "For my girlfriend. I -- we -- it's our anniversary. Soon."

The man shrugged. "Wouldn't make a difference if it was," he said while Wes gawked. Few people, let alone a man, would be so nonchalant regarding ... what was it, cross-dressing?

"I'm Ben, and you are?"

"Wes." He eyed Ben warily a moment before accepting the quick handshake. "Can I help you with something?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," Ben replied, respecting the clerk's business facade by stepping back from the counter to put space between them. "I'm new around here and I'm wondering where's the best place to go for a party?" And hoping, desperately, that it wouldn't have country or western in the title. He'd still go, regardless, but he'd enjoy himself so much more with some real club tunes, something loud and with a good beat. He was a little unsure about his tactics, but he had to get to Rick on his level. The idea was both exciting and daunting.

"Well, I go to the Hop," said Wes. "It's a local place, not a touristy club, not that we get too much of that anyway."

Ben nodded. "When's it open?"

"Nine, but ...."

Ben caught that not so subtle once-over and raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"It's going to be packed," Wes explained. "There's a rave tonight."

"Oh, don't worry," Ben replied, giving Wes a mischievious grin and wink. "I can get in."

"Like that?" Wes blurted, blushing again and hating himself for his reaction. Damn it, he had a girlfriend. He liked girls!

Ben looked over his T-shirt and jeans as if seeing them for the first time. "Well," he drawled, looking back at Wes with an entirely too-innocent gleam in his eye. "What would you suggest?"

"Middle aisle," said Wes, pointing at the display. He'd picked out the pants as soon as Ben had walked in. The black leather would hug those long legs and even an okay butt would look amazing.

Ben's eyebrows rose and he nodded in approval. "Nice. What else?" The style certainly did much to raise his expectations regarding the club.

"Uh, a shirt?" Wes suggested. The store sold a variety of classic and designer tees, most displayed on the far wall.

Reining in a mocking grin, Ben asked, "Shoes? Accessories?"

"Umm." Wes shrugged.

Ben smirked. "I'll just take a look around, shall I?"

He ended up with pants two sizes smaller than what he usually wore, partly because he'd lost weight since the accident, but mostly because he wanted them extra snug. He knew he'd hit the right combination when Wes' eyes about popped out of his head and he started drooling. Ben picked a chain belt, hooked to hang low, a pair of wide, studded bracelets, and an artistically-slashed designer tee to go with them, which left him peering uneasily at the make-up display.

Only a couple of Ben's boyfriends had really been into the whole make-up thing, for which he was profoundly grateful. On the other hand, Ben wanted every last advantage he could manage. He wanted Rick to piss himself over what he was missing. The man was gay, and there wasn't a gay man alive that Ben couldn't seduce, but if he'd come all the way out here for nothing, if he was wrong about this ... Well, just because he liked to help people didn't make him a saint.

He wanted to be irresistable; thing was, he'd never applied this crap himself.

"Here." Wes set a handful of items on the counter: lipstick, concealer, blush, eyeliner, mascara, and a couple different hair products.

"You know make-up?" Ben inquired, picking up the mascara doubtfully. At least he recognized that one. The rest was a mystery.

"I do work here," Wes replied. It paid to dress like the clientel.

"Right." Ben behaved and didn't tease.

"Oh, and here, smell." Spraying a sample of cologne on his wrist, Wes extended his hand.

"Ick. No."

"Then this one."

Ben shrugged. "Better, but still too sweet. Like wine, cologne should be understated, but the taste should linger."

"Huh, okay. How about this one?"

"Mm, that's nice." Rick would like that. With his boots, he was set. He'd stop by one of the department stores on the way out for some fresh clothes. Be nice to be in something clean. "Guess that's it, then." He fished a credit card out of his wallet. "So, where's this club again?"

"Franklin and Dempsey," said Wes, beginning to ring up the purchases. "But, um, do you have anywhere to stay? You said you were new here."

Ben lifted an eyebrow. He'd figured, if he couldn't find Rick the first night, or even if he did, he'd go to a hotel. He'd worry about the details later.

"Well, um, if you want," Wes offered, "you're welcome to crash on my couch. You look like you could use some sleep. And I'd be happy to, uh, to take you there. To the club, I mean. Tonight."

Ordinarily, Ben would have leaped at the chance, having always been drawn to the handsome and confused, but he was a man on a mission. He hesitated.

"Not like that!" said Wes quickly. Why did everyone assume he was gay? "My roommate, he would love to meet you. He'd never forgive me if I didn't at least offer and he's good at that stuff." He gestured to the cosmetics, adding, "I'm off in a couple hours."

"You have a gay roommate?" Ben asked in disbelief. The idea that someone as much in denial as Wes would actually allow himself to have a homosexual roommate was a little too much of a coincidence.

Wes blushed. "Uh, yeah. My old one left on short notice, I didn't really have much options." He folded the clothes into bags, mentally adding, And now I can't seem to get rid of him.

Ben sighed. He was tired, but he was too wired to rest, and he didn't much care to wander around the city by himself until dark. The only reason he'd picked this mall was because it was in walking distance from the bus depot. He was tired and smelly, and it would be good to hang out with someone; Ben had a lot of practice at making friends. Plus, this would give him a chance to work on Wes.

"Okay," he agreed. "That sounds great. Can I leave my stuff here? I need to go pick up some things."

"Sure. I can take your jacket, too, if you like."

In the end, Ben walked out of the store with just his wallet. He felt a bit awkward, not having his backpack and jacket, but that certainly made browsing more convenient.

He met up with Wes at six o'clock, piling into his Saturn for the ride back to Wes' apartment. Wes drummed on the steering wheel as they crossed town, and Ben had to laugh when the young man groused about the traffic. In comparison to L.A., there wasn't much at all.

The apartment turned out to be a big, blocky building, with parking underneath, though Wes said that during heavy rains and especially hurricanes, they had to park their cars elsewhere or risk flooding, and then he went off into an amusing rant about the logic of building underground parking in a flood zone.

They rode up the elevator to the sixth floor and Wes bit the pad of his thumb in nervousness. Robbi was ... odd. They'd been roommates for a year and Wes still wasn't used to him. He made that guy from Queer Eye seem straight. Honestly, Wes didn't know any girls as girlish as Robbi. For God's sake, the man shaved! Shaved! Wes couldn't think about getting a razor that close to his dick without wanting to squeeze his legs shut. Did no one remember that Bobbitt woman??

He'd at least called to let Robbi know they were having company. Robbi liked to cook, so that was another reason Wes had invited Ben. Robbi tended to go all out for guests. Chances were good they'd have at least three courses. Why Robbi was studying to be an architect and not a professional chef was anyone's guess.

The door was unlocked so Wes pushed the door wide open, breathing deeply the scent of fried rice and garlic and a myriad of other things that had his stomach roaring.

"Oh, yeah!" he sighed, grinning happily.

Ben also breathed in heavily, dissecting the odors into their constituent parts. "Ah," he said as Wes paused, closing his eyes in obvious enjoyment. "I see."

"Huh?"

"Who wouldn't want a boyfriend who cooks?" Ben winked.

"Oh! We're not ...!" Wes made a strange, rather comical gesture. "We, uh, I just, we have an agreement." Wes knocked off a portion of rent to accommodate Robbi's grocery bill, provided he cooked for both of them.

"Uh-huh," Ben said agreeably. "What I meant was that cooking is an underappreciated skill. Too many people rely on frozen dinners and fast food. I'm merely surprised that your friend remains single."

"He's too busy, with school and working full-time and stuff."

"Okay." Ben cocked his head inside. "Shall we go in?"

"Yeah. Yeah, come on in." He lifted his voice to call, "Hey, Robbi! We're here!"

"Right on time, Babe." The yet unseen Robbi replied in a sing-song voice with a Jamaican lilt that made Wes blush, babbling something about 'that being his way, it doesn't mean anything.'

Ben smiled affably and shrugged, following Wes into the apartment's main room. The furniture was all second-hand, but well kept-up and looked very comfortable. A drafting table in the corner by the window had paper dangling all over it, but the rest was remarkably tidy for two college-aged kids. Ben dropped his bags by the couch, following behind Wes as he turned the corner into the dining room and adjoining kitchen.

Robbi turned out to be a skinny black man with a personality that oozed out of his small frame. He grinned widely at Ben as they were introduced and gave him a big hug. Then he threw an arm around Wes.

"Doesn't Wes, here, have just the bestest taste in men?" he inquired of Ben as the thoroughly mortified Wes scrambled to get free.

Ben grinned, holding up his hands in a placating gesture that would hopefully convey his romantic disinterest in Wes. "He was kind enough to help me out of a tight spot," Ben told Robbi. He laughed a little. "Didn't think too hard about what I was going to do once I got here, just looking for my boyfriend."

"Ah!" Robbi relaxed at once. "Hence the Hop tonight. Can I come?" he asked Wes, not noticing the interested, scheming lift to Ben's eyebrows.

"Um, sure, but --"

"I know, not usually my thing -- I like jazz," he tossed over to Ben.

"At least it's not country," Ben replied mildly.

Robbi laughed. "I agree, but Wes likes it. He only goes to the Hop 'cause Stacy always wants to go. She's not coming, is she?"

Wes gulped around his can of pop. "I dunno, didn't ask. Prob'ly, it's Friday night."

Robbi turned around, muttering, "Bitch," under his breath.

Ben eased closer, lifting a pot or two to peer inside and sniff. "Smells great," he said in a conversational tone. "I think you should get him drunk."

Robbi frowned, spoon halfway to parted lips. "Excuse me?"

"Anyone can see you want him," said Ben, rolling his eyes. He turned his back to lean on the counter, watching Wes fiddle about in the dining room.

"I don't," Robbi whispered in denial, though his face turned him into a liar. "And he's not gay."

"Like hell he's not. Well," he conceded. "He might be Bi."

Robbi gave him a doubtful look.

Ben held up two fingers. "I had him this close to melting into a puddle of lust this afternoon. Just to see if I could," he added as Robbi's brows drew down into an unhappy frown. "That boy's practically thrumming with frustration. Fuck him senseless. He'll come around." And if not, well, Ben wasn't above taking matters into his own hands. What was the point of dating an exotic dancer if you didn't learn a trick or two?

The cluelessness of both boys had Ben so wound up by the time they got to the club that he was this close from taking one or both into an alley. He didn't want to have to deal with this right now, but he forced himself to use a little decorum, only teasing with innuendo, and keeping his hands to himself. They were both kind of cute, the way Wes blushed and wrung his hands and did this little, fidgity dance and Robbi's downcast eyes, shuffling ever closer then darting away from Wes like a yo-yo.

They moved to enter the line, having arrived fashionably late, around ten-thirty, but Ben walked boldly up to the door guard. He'd fallen asleep after dinner, and the boys had let him sleep right up until nine, when they realized that he might not actually wake up on his own. With the rest, new clothes, and Robbi's deft hand with the face-paint, Ben almost felt like a new person. The shirt rode up a little, baring his stomach as Ben put that extra little sexy sashay into his walk.

He could feel the music from here, pounding in time to the rapid beat of his own heart. He winked at the bouncer, held his gaze a moment longer than was strictly proper, and walked right past. Ben was a skilled practitioner of the superstar method: act like you belong, that you expect a certain kind of treatment and, more likely than not, people assumed you deserved whatever you demanded.

"Oh." He turned around slightly, striking his best teenage heart-throb pose. "And they're with me." They were not asked for ID.

Ben laughed to himself, enjoying the moment far more than he'd thought he would. Wes and Robbi looked dazed, shocked by the sudden good-fortune.

Robbi held onto Wes' arm. "We've never not had to pay the cover charge!" he whispered.

Wes shook Robbi off, frowning at him. The lights of the entranceway faded abruptly with the smaller, dimmer lights of the stairs down to the floor level. The converted warehouse rocked and pulsed to the DJ up on his balcony on the far side. The bars did steady business, and the floor gyrated with hundreds or even thousands of moving bodies, lit by the dancing strobes and neon lights to resemble nothing less than magic.

Ben halted so suddenly at the bottom of the stairs that Wes ran right into him. "Oh! Sorry, I --" Robbi stopped him with a hand on his arm. From his perspective, he could see the white's of Ben's eyes and the way he gasped for breath. He had seemed so confident before, like he did this sort of thing every day, that Robbi briefly wondered if the man they'd entered with had switched places with someone else.

"Ben?" he asked, cautiously reaching towards him.

What was I thinking? Ben asked himself. He hadn't thought so far ahead to what he would do once he was actually there. For some reason, he'd thought that the backwater town Rick had painted for him wouldn't have clubs like this. This place was too much like the clubs Will had dragged him to. Too many people in too little space! Gone were the memories he had of the fun times, of dancing until dawn. Just as if he'd had Will to talk him out of it, Ben didn't have his medicine, and all he could think of was Will pulling him into the heart of the throng, spinning him about until the panic spilled over and Ben would do anything, absolutely anything, to get away.

"Fuck!" He darted from Robbi's touch, looking for a way out, too spooked to realize he stood less than ten feet from the entrance. All he knew was that he didn't want to go out there! He wouldn't be forced!

How long he was out on the floor before he found a dimly-lit door, Ben couldn't say, but he staggered inside with a moan of relief. His body dripped sweat, ears and insides pulsing to the beat, breath coming so rapidly he staggered and almost passed out. Where normally the activities that occurred within the bathroom embarrassed him, now Ben rushed into one of the stalls with single-minded determination, dropping into the corner by the wall and shivering.

"Shit!" he gasped. "Shit!" How was he going to do this? He couldn't go back out there! He couldn't!

Wes and Robbi looked at each other. They'd followed Ben in his erratic path across the club, concerned for their new friend, texting each other when they lost track of him.

"Go," Wes mouthed at Robbi, motioning towards the stall.

Robbi frowned back. Why me? Wes waggled his eyebrows meaningfully and, with a put-upon sigh, Robbi pushed open the unlatched door and stepped inside. He barely made out Ben's blonde hair in the dark. Robbi kneeled beside him, wrinkling his nose at the toilet, and lightly touched Ben where his arms wrapped around his legs.

"No!" yelped Ben, flinching. "Fuck off!" He drew back even further into the corner, but his head popped up, wide eyes staring at Robbi without recognition. He couldn't catch his breath! He couldn't catch his breath! Oh God! Oh god oh god oh god --

"Ben?" asked Robbi. "Are you okay?"

He frowned a little, confused, attempting to reboot his brain. Dark skin, white teeth, very white teeth, an accent?

"Robbi?"

"Yeah, man."

That's right. Not Jamaican at all, but from the Virgin Islands, Robin Innis, of course, Wes' friend, the roommate. Ben pressed the heels of his hands to his forehead. He was here to find Rick. Right. Raleigh, North Carolina, not Los Angeles. He didn't have time for this. He had to find Rick.

"Jesus," muttered Ben, uncoiling a little. "I'm okay."

"Sure?"

Ben rubbed his face with the back of one hand. "No. But, yeah."

"Well, here, come on out of there and let me fix you up. You've gone and smudged your make-up."

Bracing himself, Ben slowly got to his feet. He washed his hands, leaning on the sink while Robbi fussed over him. Now the reason for the cargo pants became clear. Robbi pulled a dozen different things out of as many pockets, touching up his own make-up as well. With all that weight, it was amazing his pants didn't just fall off.

"Why don't you use a purse?" asked Ben, curiosity bringing him out of his melancholy.

"Makes Wes uncomfortable." Robbi shrugged. "Figure, being out, the two of us, why push it, ya know?"

Ben nodded. "I understand, I -- Hey!" He pulled his head back. "Don't mess with the gecko."

Robbi grinned. "I haven't forgotten."

"But I'm serious, too," Ben continued, checking out his face in one of the mirrors. "You like him, he likes you --"

Robbi shook his head, frowning. "We're just friends. He would not be happy with me."

"Bullshit. And what are you going to do if he marries this woman of his?"

"Don't know." Robbi shrugged. "Go home, I guess."

Ben rolled his eyes, but didn't say anything further. Wes met them outside with drinks and Ben let the two men shield him from the chaos that was the dance floor. There was time now to study the dancers, the movement of the club's patrons. The main entranceway led down into the heart of the club, with a second story built on wide cat-walks and a couple of judiciously placed stairwells. In the center of the club was a square-shaped bar, with barely-clad women dancing on the wide counter. Two smaller bars were wedged into opposite corners, and a third up on the catwalks. For the most part, the crowd stayed in one place, but there was a slight swirl of movement in a counter-clockwise pattern around the bar. As he watched, two of the dancing women hopped down, to be replaced by others from the floor.

He still breathed hard, heart thumping with an irregular pulse against his ribs, and sweat dripped down his back, but his devious mind clicked back into action. Grabbing Robbi's wrist in one hand and Wes with the other, Ben dragged them out into the heart of the dance floor.

Wes froze, glancing around in horror, sure that everyone stared and mocked him for being caught with two men, dancing. His ears blocked out the throbbing music and -- and, oh holy fuck!

Cocking an eyebrow at Robbi, Ben deliberately backed into Wes, rubbing his ass into the other's crotch. Moving forward again, he slithered sinuously along Robbi's front, moving the two inexorably closer to the bar. Conscious of the people around them, Ben reminded himself why he was there, struggling to narrow his focus to just Robbi and Wes. They were his protection, keeping away the nameless, faceless horrors pressing so close to him. He never could have made it to the edge of the bar without their help.

He applied every trick he knew to bring them closer, get them turned on enough to forget their natural predilections. Robbi bumped and grinded right along with him; Wes kept trying to wiggle back out into the crowd. Spinning around to Wes again, Ben took his hands and held them against his hips until he was sure the young man wouldn't run away. Then he reached for Robbi, hooking his hands in the front of Robbi's pants to pull him closer. After a few minutes, he felt Wes' hands creep upwards and Ben smiled to himself, almost forgetting where he was.

Tentative hands flitted up Ben's sides, darting across his stomach and chest, Wes flush with his back, groaning into his neck. Ben moaned, feeling something hard pressing against the too-thin barrier of his pants. He lifted his arms, turned to face Wes, and kissed him full on the lips.

Wes moaned, more unbelieveably turned on than he'd ever been in his life, but reality reared its ugly head.

Instantly stiff, Wes shoved Ben, skillfully spun to hit Robbi as soon as Ben let go. Ben grinned at the two of them, entangled in each other, so delightfully aroused, and yet, so confused, and slipped away the last few feet to the bar. Nodding to one of the tenders, Ben tapped on the foot of the nearest dancer. She looked down and frowned. Ben just grinned, high on success, and gave her the signal.

There was no one place more exposed in the entirety of the club. They weren't quite go-go dancers, but each corner had its own spotlight, and more subdued lighting from below. From what Ben had observed, anyone could claim a spot on the bar.

Ben gave the signal again. The woman glanced to the bartender. He shrugged. With a deeper frown, the woman dropped off her circular pedestle and Ben climbed up in her place. His feet were about level with an average person's shoulders, making him feel bigger than life. Closing his eyes, Ben listened to the music and began to sway.

Alice, Lousia, Jeanie-Marie, and a half-dozen of their friends, significant others, or spouses, managed to get Rick to the club, but they were having a difficult time keeping him there. Rick had no interest in getting drunk, and he didn't care to dance, but Alice knew that if she let him go, then Rick would just sit about her apartment, moping.

"This is a party!" she shouted in his ear, handing him a fresh drink. "Loosen up!"

"I'm too old for this!" Rick protested, glancing around. The Hop was just as he remembered it from his college days, summers spent at home away from the strict rules of the Academy. He'd gone there purposefully to unwind, but still conscious of the image he had to portray. Of his old high school buddies, only Alice and Louisa knew his secret, and Alex, but he wasn't there. He'd moved away to New York for school, and there he remained.

He and Jazz used to go to clubs like this, but after Rick came out, he stuck to clubs that advertised for the gay and lesbian crowd. This place felt too much like going back into hiding.

"Why are we here again?" he whined, holding the drink but not indulging.

"To celebrate!" said Louisa from his other side. "You're Mister Doctor Wengstrom now!"

"Not to mention we won a significant battle today," said Howie. The club wasn't his cup of tea, either, but it wasn't often that such a virile, intelligent man -- gay man -- hired him as his lawyer. He'd hoped that by being out with Rick he'd manage to get him to notice him. Okay, so he knew that Rick was totally wrapped up in this other guy, but that didn't mean Howie wouldn't turn down some entanglement-free fun. His wife didn't care if he dallied; they'd both brought home strangers more than once, but, so far, Rick had proved impervious to his charms.

"Hey, Rick," he dared. "Dance with me?"

Heads turned in their small group, those who didn't know about Rick staring and those who knew Howie staring more. Rick sighed but was spared the necessity of answering by one of their number returning. The brunette vixen that was Kate looked extremely put out.

"Imagine that!" she announced, grabbing Rick's glass to drink deeply. "Kicked off stage by some snot-nosed brat!"

They all glanced across the club and down to the center stage and made various sounds of surprise or awe or dismay. Only Rick didn't make a sound at all. He pressed against the upper floor's railing, knuckles white from the force of his grip.

"Rick?" Alice questioned, concerned with how still Rick was, and how pale under the lights. He didn't stir and she glanced back to the stunning display below.

Ben was transformed into a creature of sleek sensuality and lust. Hips, legs, and torso moved separately to the music, but together forged the opening of some porn director's wet dream. The lights glanced off the sharp black of his pants, pants that clung like a second skin. The rips in the shirt gave tantalizing glimpses of the bronzed flesh underneath. His head was back, eyes closed, dancing for one man and one man only. Tonight, the hundreds of eyes on him meant nothing, lost in a dreamworld where everything was perfect and homey and safe and only one pair of eyes watched him.

Ben loved to dance, but rarely found a place where he was able to spin away and just be free, with clear space around him and nobody hemming him in. Elevated above the crowd, he was free to let go, running a hand down his chest and across a nipple, or back over his ass, down his thighs, or up his sides. He wanted to strip off his shirt, but although he bowed into the movment, refrained from carrying it out, still too self-conscious about his scar.

The crowd around the bar had come to a screeching halt, staring upwards, and Rick had to push roughly to get people to move out of his way. Several couples were making out, but the majority were mesmerized. Rick set his hands on the bar and jumped, pulling himself up.

He knew the instant Ben saw him, because he started, and then completely stilled, aside from the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. Wide eyes settled, and then fell down to his toes in the shy, embarrassed look that Rick loved so much.

"Ben," he sighed the name, too afraid to step forward for fear that this was some dream. Ben looked like some kind of sex kitten, painted eyes impossibly large, extra ruddiness on his cheeks, and hair styled to look like he'd just tumbled out of bed after having the hottest sex on Earth.

Sweat dribbled down the side of Ben's face, breaking the spell as he reached up to brush the moisture away. "Rick," he said, holding out his hands, holding his heart out on a platter and hoping the man would accept. So much had passed between them that he couldn't be sure and as much as he'd told himself that he could be firm and sexy and out of reach should Rick prove to be the dickwad he'd seemed on paper, but faced with the real thing, Ben knew he couldn't. He wanted too much, like he'd never, ever, wanted anything in his life.

"Dance with me?"

"God, Ben!" Rick muttered, and then he had him in his arms, hugging and kissing and holding on for dear life. Ben's hands went to his waist, but Rick hardly noticed. He tilted Ben's head back in both hands and kissed him deeply, kissed him with every ounce of his will and desperate, needy love, swallowing the little moans and sighs, and trying to show Ben, with touch if he wouldn't listen to words, just how glad he was to see him.

When he finished, Ben had his arms around Rick's neck and he tipped his head back again, trusting Rick to hold him upright, and laughed for pure happiness.

A mix of cheers, catcalls, and rude sounds chased them from the bar, Rick's arm protectingly around Ben's shoulders as they walked, unfazed, out of the club. Only then did Rick remember that he didn't have a car or any real place to stay.

Fuck it, he thought. They'd go to a hotel.

"Ben!"

Rick turned with his lover, watching the small black man racing towards them. Alarmed, Rick stepped protectingly in front of Ben plucking the stranger from the ground, a hairsbreadth from cracking his skull open.

Ben stepped forward and put his hand over Rick's forearm. "Rick," he said softly, looking up into territorial brown eyes. That's for me! he thought, a thrill running through him. "Let him go."

"Thank you," said Robbi, as soon as his feet hit pavement again, but he raised a finger to point at Ben. "Don't you ever do that again."

"No need," Ben replied, smiling. He gave the Islander a friendly kiss. "Take care of him."

Rick followed both men's gaze to a third man, fidgeting uneasily under a streetlight. Why didn't it surprise him that Ben had friends in strange places, places he'd never been before?

Keys jangled as Robbi pushed his keyring into Ben's hands. "Is this him?" he whispered, not bothering to keep his voice low enough not to be overheard.

Ben blushed, staring down at his toes.

Robbi sighed a little, smiling as the two men's eyes connected, their look becoming far more heated. So lost were they that they didn't notice Robbi wishing them well and returning to his roommate.

"Come on," he said, taking Wes by the hand. "Let's go home."

Louisa and Alice shared snarky looks as they watched from the club's entrance. They kept watching until the cab carried Ben and Rick away down the street.

Once he told their destination to the cabbie, Rick had Ben pinned to the seat, kissing with hungry want only deepened by their almost three-week hiatus. If their driver cared, he said nothing, except maybe drove a little faster. Inside of a half-hour, Rick tumbled Ben down onto the rented bed. They didn't bother with the light.

Rick caught Ben's hands as he went to strip off his shirt. "Wait," he said. "Let me?"

Ben's hands fell to his sides and he nodded, still breathing a little hard from their kisses, not sure he was ready for this, despite all he'd done to bring himself to this point.

The sudden vulnerability was surprising, and yet, not. This still felt like a dream to Rick, impossibly hard and high just knowing that Ben had come all the way here for him, just for him. The paperwork had painted a pretty bleak picture of Ben's life, but Rick had read what wasn't said. Each relationship had a positive outcome, serving to help the individual, but leaving Ben alone in the end, and Ben wasn't the one who called for the end. Rick could imagine him standing aside, while his former partner found happiness, and it made Rick's heart ache. He'd been there, but Ben took everything so much more personally. To him, it wasn't just passing time or sharing pleasure, but Rick wasn't broken. He knew exactly what he wanted and what he wanted finally wanted him, too.

Ben reached up to catch the tear that snaked down Rick's cheek. The worry line popped up between his brows. "Rick?"

"I love you!" cried Rick, catching that hand with his own. He closed his eyes, shivering. "I --"

Ben's lips covered Rick's in a quick kiss, stopping his words. He brushed hair out of Rick's face, staring deep into his eyes. "I know," he said.

Rick gasped, then crushed Ben to his chest in a hug, kissing and sucking lightly on any bit of flesh within his reach. He supported Ben's back to lay him back down, teasing him by nipping at his fingers and palm while unclipping each of the bracelets. The shirt went next, with a long lick and kiss along each strategically placed rip before slowly working the shirt up and over Ben's head.

He tongued the upraised, puckered lines of Ben's scars tenderly, kissed his quivering belly, and ran his fingertips lightly over the too-pronounced ribs on his way to sucking at his collarbone, tasting the bitterness of his sweat. And something else, something that had gone unnoticed until now. When Rick reached Ben's neck again, he sniffed, his tongue darting out to lap at the pulse point.

"Mmm." The cologne was Ben, distilled into a concentrated elixer. Subtle, the scent wound its way into the senses, making Rick's head feel light and his cock stiffen still more. "Oh."

The chuckle vibrated its way from down in Ben's toes, up through his chest, to tickle Rick's ears. It didn't seem fair that Ben was still so self-contained, when Rick's entire being was falling apart. He couldn't know that Ben had reached and found his self-fulfillment some days before, he just knew that he wanted Ben to be as big a puddle of goo as he felt that very minute.

Sliding forward and up, Rick abandoned the careful seduction and attacked the pouty, teasing lips. Ben tugged at him, but Rick kept the kisses light, knowing that Ben had no chance of dislodging him or even rolling them over, not in his weakened state, not if Rick refused to allow it. Rick was setting the pace this time and even if he wasn't as skilled as Ben at breaking a lover down into their constituent parts and making them whole again, Rick had something equally important. He'd tried to share his passion before, but been rejected. This time, he wasn't going to give up until Ben accepted his offer, accepted the need he had to be cared for and protected. Rick could do that, he wanted to, and, more than that, he knew that Ben could do the same for him in return. He was just stubborn and needed to be convinced to accept help.

Rick pulled Ben's hands from his collar and hair, pressing both wrists together up over his head. He felt more than saw the tension spring through his lover's body and instantly released him, but continued the kisses. He petted the unhappy face, brushing his hair back, but when the anxiety refused to abate, dove into one of his deep, soul-searing kisses that melted Ben's brain. Rick wanted to laugh; he'd never met a person with such a weakness for kisses before. So much power with so little a thing was a heady feeling.

Pinned down as he was, Ben didn't so much writhe as tremble. Past training kept his body frozen where placed, but this was Rick perched over him, kissing his mind into insensible soup. There was nothing to fear and everything to love about his current predicament, the contrast between the two throwing him into turmoil.

His hands came off the bed and back to Rick's hair, tugging him away. They panted at each other and Ben stared hard at the puzzled, concerned face above his own. He traced the ridge of a brow with his finger, palmed his cheek, and cupped Rick's jaw. Ben ran his thumb over the parted lips, still moist and slightly puffy from the strength in their kisses. He was so beautiful.

Ben wrapped his arms around the powerful neck and shoulders, hugging Rick to his chest. Ben did not give his loyalty and trust easily; it seemed impossible that all this was his for the taking. He held on tightly, afraid to let go, not wanting this to turn into some kind of dream. Or nightmare.

"Rick," he murmured through the lump in his throat. "Rick!"

Rick got them to their sides so that his greater weight wouldn't crush his lover, cuddling him close as he'd longed to do for ages and feeling tears soaking his shirt.

"Don't leave me?" Ben whispered. "Don't ever leave me again, I can't ... c-can't ...! I need you, I can't -- I just! Oh, God, Rick!"

"Shh," he whispered back, one hand kneading the back of Ben's neck. "I'm not going anywhere. It's okay, I've got you."

"I'm such a wuss." How good it felt to be enveloped by all that strength!

Rick frowned slightly. "No, you're not. Don't say stuff like that."

"But it's true! When I thought you had really ... When you were gone, I wanted ...!"

"Shh, shh, it's okay." Rick's arms tightened, terrified that Ben was really confessing to wanting to commit suicide over this horrible lawsuit. It was all his worst fears brought vividly to life.

"He loved me," sobbed Ben. "He -- James -- he loved me, and he's gone!" The words tumbled out too quick to censor. "A-and Will tortured me, but he said he loved me, too, and you left and I can't do this any more! I can't! I don't want to be alone! I can do it, but I don't want to. I don't want to, I don't." He gasped for a few sobbing breaths. "Fuck! I'm such a fucking fag!"

"Oh, Ben." Rick wasn't sure if Ben would hear him right now, but he held him tighter and kissed the top of his head anyway. "Everyone wants to be loved, Ben. Male, female, white, black, gay, straight, it doesn't matter. It's human nature to want that. I love you, Ben. I think I loved you from the very first moment I saw you. I love your eyes, and your nose. I love your smile. I love that when I say your ears are sensitive like a Ferengi, that you know what I mean."

With both hands, he pried Ben's face up, to meet his teary eyes. "But most of all, I love you. I love you, Benjamin Oliver Blythe, and I'm never leaving your side again. Understand me?"

Ben dropped his head back onto Rick's chest, curling his hands into his shirt. "Yes. Oh, thank God, yes. Yes!"

But instead of the sobs lightening up, they deepened, tumbling from Ben with no control whatsoever. Relief swept through him; he was happy, but he couldn't stop crying. He wanted to say that he liked, maybe even loved the way that Rick could laugh, that Ben admired his big hands, but he couldn't get the words out. For more than three days, most of that spent on a Greyhound bus, he'd thought of little else but finding a way back into Rick's arms, and, now that he was here, he found he couldn't speak at all.

One-armed, Rick fumbled for the comforter, folding the blanket around them to hold in the warmth. He could get them more comfortably situated once Ben fell asleep, but, for now, Rick would hold him as long as Ben wanted held. His cock wasn't thinking so philosophically, but Rick had years' worth of practice bringing that beast to heel. With any luck, he'd have the rest of his life to love Ben the way he should be loved. This was only the beginning, and, with that in mind, one more night wouldn't matter. They had forever.