01 The One I Want - 2. Chapter 2

Ben's searching hand smacked his alarm clock. Blinking and groaning when the sound didn't quit, he cracked open his eyes. Next to the small, black box was his cell phone. He grabbed it and flipped it open.

"Fuck off, I'm not working today!"

"Ben?"

"... Shelly?" He sat up in bed, wincing and groaning with the sudden movement. "Everything okay? The baby?"

"Is fine, I'm fine, everything's fine."

"Then what're you bugging me for?"

"Are ... are you hung-over?"

"No! Ugh, okay, maybe a little." His eyes fell on the glass of water and aspirin on his bedside table. "Just a sec." Tossing back the pills, Ben forced down the water. "Bleagh!" He put the phone back to his ear. "Now, what's up?"

"Nothing, I just wanted to make sure you were okay. You always call if you're not coming in, and what with the dinner, I thought I'd better check on you."

"Oh." Looking around, all he saw was the orange ... whatever -- Rick, he remembered, called it 'Sherbert' -- propped up on the pillows.

"So?" Shelly prompted on the other end. "How'd it go?"

"I'm alone," he grunted, leaning over. He unclipped the safety pin from one of Sherbert's horns and unfolded the note.

"What? Are you holding out on me? When'd you get a boyfriend?"

"I just slept with the man!" he retorted. "That doesn't mean I have a relationship."

"Oooh! Who? I want details! Name? What's he look like? Does he work? Is he married?"

"Shit, Shelly! Want his social security number, too, while we're at it?"

"That would make it easier, yes."

"That's not funny."

"Who says I'm kidding?"

He rubbed his eyes, frowning at the slanted script of Rick's handwriting, scrawled on a piece of stationery from Ben's desk: Ben, had a great night, food was excellent, company memorable. Hope you don't mind I saw myself out. See you at 7. Rick.

"Ben?"

"Huh?"

"You just went all silent on me. You okay?"

"Gotta piss. Call you later."

He snapped the phone shut, dropping the note to rub his head. "Ugh, crap, I know I didn't drink that much, what the hell?" A quick glance at the clock showed the time as after noon. "And I never sleep this late. Ahh-ghh, maybe a bath is in order, urgh. Yeah, hot, really hot water ...."

Managing his morning routine without coming to further harm, he dressed and wandered into the kitchen. He felt better, less sore, certainly. Must remember to have sex more often ... huh. All the remnants of the day before had been cleared away, the few left-overs stored in the refrigerator. There were pots in the rack, dry, and the dishwasher had been run. Even the stove-top had been wiped down.

Ben scratched his head, shrugged, and fixed some tea. He stared at the yogurt in the fridge for a long minute, sighed, and pulled some out. He wasn't in the mood to cook, but he needed to get something in his stomach so that the aspirin had something to work with. He spooned up the orangy glop trying not to think about it and wandered upstairs to flip on the tv. Without anything to do, he wasn't sure what to do with himself. He thought, but only for a minute, about going to work anyway, but he didn't want Shelly turning her newly-discovered maternal instincts on him and he was in no mood to deal with other love-lost singles. Sitting down on the sofa, he opened the semi-secret drawer in the coffee table and stared down at his limited collection of trashy novels.

"Definitely a hang-over," he sighed as he fished out a paperback that had seen better days. Stretching out, he flipped to his favorite section, and settled in to wait for seven o'clock. He'd do his chores and check his email when his head stopped throbbing.

It was only six-fifty and Ben was still buttoning up his shirt when he pulled open his front door to reveal ...

"What the fuck happened to you and what are you wearing?"

"Had a match today," answered Rick. He stared down at his worn, loose-fitting, cut-off jeans, sandals, and wife-beater and then up at Ben as if to say, 'What?' He completely ignored the black eye, oozy, skinned cheek, taped-together eyebrow, and black-and-blue bruises on his legs and arms. "I told you we're going to Murphy's, didn't I?"

"Yes, but I thought you meant some kind of restaurant."

Rick grinned. "It's a bar, Ben."

"Oh." He glanced over his own chinos and button-up shirt to disguise his unease. "I'm kinda over-dressed, then. Come in," he sighed, stepping back. "Just a minute," he called back, but Rick had followed him and Ben hastily gathered up the clothes strewn over his bed to throw them in the closet.

"Don't tell me you're shy?" laughed Rick as Ben continued to frown at him from across the room.

"Of course not!" snapped Ben. His eyes fell on Sherbert as a distraction. He pointed. "You forgot that."

"Didn't." He'd made sure to gather up everything else.

"It's not mine," Ben said, unaccountably perturbed.

"It is now. I don't want it."

"Well, I don't want it, either."

"Aww, you'll hurt his feelings." Rick crossed over to the still-unmade bed and patted the critter on the top of its head. He gave Ben the hurt-puppy look that almost always got him his way. The only one immune seemed to be his mother and that, she swore, was because the last person who'd givn her that look had been Rick's father and she'd ended up pregnant, which was far more information than he'd ever wanted to know about his parents.

"Asshole!" growled Ben, scowling, knowing he'd been had, but unable to put up more of a fuss when faced with that look.

"You know," said Rick, perching on the edge of the bed, "we've really got to work on your terms of endearment."

"Go to hell." Pointedly turning his back, Ben pulled of his slacks and pulled an older pair of jeans out of his dresser. The shirt likewise joined the heap on the floor of the closet and Ben pulled on his favorite AC/DC shirt.

Rick eyed the change with appreciation. "Nice, let's go."

Grabbing wallet, keys, and phone, Ben followed Rick back to the front door. He stuffed socked feet into boots, locked the door, and halted abruptly as he rounded the corner of the garage.

"Oh, hell no! I am not going anywhere in that!"

Keys in hand, standing by the door, Rick frowned. "What's wrong with my car?"

"It's ... it's ...."

"Red and a convertible?"

"That is not a sports car! It's a bug! You know, like Herbie? How the fuck do you not get beaten up for being such a -- such a ... uh ...."

"A fag?" Rick supplied, grinning.

Ben blushed, gesturing a little in embarassment. "A little more crude than I was going for, but, yeah."

Rick laughed. "Chicks love my car."

"Uh-huh. Fuck that, we're taking the bike." He spun around and started back up the walk.

"Fine," Rick agreed, rolling his eyes. "Don't get your knickers in a twist." But Ben was already out of earshot. Shutting the car door, Rick leaned against a fender and patted the side. "Don't worry, Baby, he didn't mean it."

Moments later, the garage door cranked itself upwards with a whine and Ben called, "Do you have pants? Steel-toed shoes?"

"What do I need those for?" Wandering inside, Rick saw Ben rooting through an open, aluminum cabinet. He'd set a flashy, red, black and yellow-patterned helmet and jacket on the workbench by the motorcycle.

"You're not riding with me in shorts. It's dangerous."

"Depends on how you drive."

"Hmm, you've never seen what pavement can do to bare legs, have you?" He thrust a plain black helmet at Rick. "Try that on."

"No good," grunted Rick.

"You have a big head," murmured Ben, eyeing the helmet before reaching back in the cabinet.

Rick smirked. "You weren't complaining last night, as I recall."

"Huh?"

"Never mind. Hey," he fingered the sticker-label on the toolbox. "Is this Braille?"

"Yeah," answered Ben, pulling insulation out of another helmet. "Had a blind boyfriend a few years back. He was hot, but he also labeled everything. And I mean, everything. Drove Shelly nuts. Here, try this."

This one fit, tight, but Rick figured he could manage. "Better. You got helmets for all your boyfriends, then?"

Ben smirked, nodding at the one in Rick's hands. "That's Gran's. You didn't answer me, do you have pants and boots, or not?"

"I think I have jeans in the trunk." He'd just done his laundry. "Might have some tennis shoes."

Ben sighed. "Guess that will have to do."

"He-ey!" called a cheerful, familiar, and not-exactly welcome voice. "Cool car!"

"See?" Rick gave Ben a teasing smirk.

Ben wasn't smiling. "What're you doing here?"

"Figured I'd ride up with you," said Genny, coming into the garage. She grinned at her scowling brother, then turned the wattage up to beam at Rick. "But if you're taking the bike, can I drive the bug?"

"Sure," Rick replied. "Just let me get some things out."

"Yes!" She did an impromtu little dance and followed Rick out of the garage. Hidden by the car, Genny slapped a plastic case into Rick's hand. "Here."

He lifted an eyebrow. "Is my breath that bad?"

The smile fell. "I knew it!" hissed Genny. "I knew there was something fishy going on. How much is he paying you?"

"Uh, excuse me?"

"You may look like Mister All-American, but don't think I can't mess you up if you hurt my brother!"

Rick took a step back, palms up. "I surrender!" he laughed, but Genny didn't look like she was fooling around. Puzzled, Rick took a closer look at the square-ish, clear-plastic package of breath mints. The worn label disguised the shape of the pills that he now recognized as being too large for tic-tacs. "What are these?"

Genny glanced at Ben, beginning to wheel his Victory out of the garage. "Anti-anxiety meds," she said quietly, blue eyes clouding in worry. "How long have you two known each other?"

"Not long," Rick answered honestly.

"I figured that," Genny retorted. She glanced towards Ben again and nibbled her lip. As badly as she wanted to say something, it really wasn't her place, and it did seem as if Ben was trying to turn over a new leaf. "Look, I know what Murphy's is, even if he doesn't." She cocked her head towards her brother. "This is my emergency stash, keep them in my purse." She gave the small bag slung over her shoulder a proprietary pat. "But don't let him have more than two beers, just in case." She ran a hand through her hair, a gesture so completely like her brother's that Rick grinned, a tease coming to his lips, a tease that went unsaid.

"I can't fucking believe he's doing this."

"Doing what?" Ben asked, coming over and giving his sister a suspicious glare.

Rick pocketed the pills. He lied with ease, "The motorcycle. We were discussing who was going to be DD. Can't be me, I've never even been on a motorcycle before, and it is my birthday."

"Not me, either," continued Genny innocently. "I fully intend to get laid tonight."

Ben rolled his eyes. "Have you forgotten that you're going to be hanging out with a bunch of gay guys?"

"Not all my friends are gay," Rick protested, not sure if he should be offended or not. "Most aren't, actually, though I guess I should warn you about the guys from the club."

"Club?"

"That's what we call our league. It's called a club, rugby club, most of the team will be there, the ladies, too, plus some colleagues, my boss, and some friends from my former life."

"Neat-o!" said Genny. "Guys in uniforms are so hot!" She laughed at Ben's blank look, then lifted a brow at Rick behind her brother's back. He just shrugged and popped open the trunk.

Grabbing laundry basket, detergent, and a small, leather case that looked like a shaving kit, Rick stepped away, going inside to change. Ben snagged the holey sneakers with a sniff.

"What're you playing at?" Genny demanded, giving her older brother a stern look. "And don't tell me you don't know what I'm talking about."

"Mind your own business."

"Ben --" she stopped when he glared, and then shrugged. "It's your funeral." She resigned herself to keeping a close eye on him and not just disappearing as soon as it was polite. Tossing her purse on the vee-dub's passenger seat, Genny walked over to the small visitor's lot to grab her motorcycle gear from out of her battered Ford.

"Head for the Pier," said Rick, pulling on his borrowed helmet a few minutes later. "Manhattan Beach."

Nodding, Ben fastened his own helmet and pulled out of the drive. Mindful of Genny, following behind, he stayed between the lines, tapping his fingers on the handlebars in annoyance as they were, inevitably, caught in traffic. The fumes and noise and driver frustration were all reasons why he'd never particularly liked cars. He could have made it down PCH in less than half the time if he were alone. If they were alone. Then again, he hadn't had a person behind him in quite a while and he was out of practice. The additional weight threw the usual balance off. You couldn't react the same with a passenger as alone, and the unfamiliar presence was distraction enough.

Rick sat comfortably, jacket open and flapping, fingers curled around Ben's waistband. Being on a motorcycle wasn't half as traumatizing as he'd thought it would be. Hot, and noisy, but the helmet helped with that. Pity they couldn't talk, though. He had to give directions by patting on Ben's shoulder and pointing. Traffic wasn't overly bad, for a Saturday night, and they were parking in an semi-underground lot by the beach by eight. Tossing helmets and jackets in the bug, the three made their way along the busy, crowded sidewalks to the little bar their rugby club frequented. Owned by a former player, they would have the entire place to themselves, which would make it a bit cramped with the potential of close to forty guys, if they all came, their girlfriends, dates, or wives, plus the women's side, another twenty and their respective dates, and however many of Rick's other friends decided to come.

Even though there were only five gay men on the team, and slightly more lesbians on the women's side, they'd hardly batted a collective eye when he came out to them. Too bad that not everyone else had been as accepting of the change in life-style; those still around tended to be wary of the crowd Rick hung out with now. Those from the college didn't care, but they'd also known from the start that he was gay. This was going to be a very interesting second 'date.'

"C'mon, slow-pokes!" Genny turned around to walk backwards, heedless of the people she bumped into.

"The party doesn't start until the guest of honor arrives," Rick pointed out.

"But they might drink all the beer!"

"Not likely," Rick replied, laughing.

"Isn't ruby, like, one of those sports that're, like, 'drinking with a rugy problem' or some such?" she called back.

"Rick." Ben grabbed Rick's wrist when Genny turned back around and scampered ahead. He stared up at the other man. "I need to tell you something."

Rick stopped, smiling gently. "It's okay. Genny told me."

Mouth dropping open in surprise, Ben shoved his hands in his pockets. "Fuck her," he muttered, scuffing the sidewalk with a toe.

"It's not a big deal," said Rick. He continued on towards the bar. "There's the roof, if you need space, or I can just get someone to take me home if you want to cut out. I've warned the guys not to be too hard on you, so just let me know if I need to bust some heads, okay?"

"Uh, sure." Ben blinked, totally taken aback, his mind whirling between Bust some heads? What are we, in middle school or something? and Wow, he'd totally 'bust heads' for me? Seriously? Awesome! and Dude, don't ever say that to me again. I can look after myself, asshole.

He never really figured out which opinion he wanted to have as Rick continued, "By the way, they're going to call you Gilligan, just thought you might like a heads-up."

"Er, what? Why?"

"We all have nick-names," said Rick with a shrug. "I'm Skipper, which automatically makes you Gilligan."

"That's fucked up."

"Yeah, well, notice I didn't say anything about them being good nick-names. Don't be so pissy, all my boyfriends're called Gilligan." He thought it better his other nick-names. He wanted to make a good impression on Ben. He seemed like a sweetheart; a little naive, but Rick could deal with that. He hoped to get a real date out of this whole fiasco. Last night had been a favor to Ben (and definitely not a hardship). This was for him, and so they'd be equal afterwards. His mouth curved up at the thought.

"That's hardly reassuring. And, for the record, you don't look anything like Skipper."

"And you look more like Butt-head, so let's just not go there, okay? I can always tell them you'd prefer 'Doc.'"

"Don't you fucking dare!" Ben scowled, but inside was appalled. Maybe he hadn't said it was a secret, but only a dumbass would humilate someone like that. He hadn't misread this guy, had he? Oh, God, what if he had? This could turn into a huge fiasco. Worse, what if someone there knew him? That would be interesting to explain. No, no, why was he making such a big deal of this? It wasn't like he was a slut. Exactly. It wasn't like he hadn't done this before ... but ... ugh! What was it about Rick that got under his skin so fast?

"Are you two arguing already?" Genny broke in. She leaned against a waist-high black-painted, iron fence, waiting for them. She thumbed behind her. "We're here, so cheer up. This is a party!"

"Get lost," Ben growled at her.

"Kiss my ass," she retorted, sticking her tongue out at him.

Rick laughed and swung open the gate. This was going to be a great night! He just had a feeling.

Murphy's was an Irish-styled pub nestled in-between a cluster of others right beside the pier. The bars faced a couple actual restaurants on the other side, an ice-cream parlor, and a bank before breaking on a street and continuing up Manhattan Beach Blvd as a line of small shops and touristy boutiques. That was looking East. Turning to the West, all one saw was the huge, wooden structure of the pier, and water. Lots and lots of the Pacific Ocean and the remains of a magnificent sunset. The scent of salt was strong, the cries of seagulls and the crashing of waves ever-present, even above the riot of music that spilled out of any open window or doorway.

The place was packed, Rick saw as soon as he opened the door and stepped inside. Evidently, word of his new 'Gilligan' had spead. He sighed quietly to himself and muscled his way over to the bar. He pushed Drake off a stool and climbed up.

"The birthday boy has arrived!" he shouted.

Ben hovered in the corner by the door, trying not to breathe in too deep. The place reeked of booze and cigarettes, despite California's strick no-smoking law. Genny had vanished and everywhere he looked, all he saw were hordes of what looked like body-builders and football players. And most of them looked to have battled the same kind of monster that Rick had. Even the women he saw had tattoos and piercings galore and shoved each other around while smoking and drinking like fish. The music was so loud that only the bass beat could be identified, and people shouted at each other from every direction. It was a madhouse!

He reached for the door handle as memories he'd tried his best to expunge gave his pulse a huge jolt of adrenaline.

Suddenly everyone was staring at him, the silence of even the stereo making Ben's ears throb. Up at the bar, Rick was beckoning.

"He's just a kid," said someone lost in the dark towards the back, a comment way too loud for the shushed atmosphere. Ben's face flushed with color.

"Robbin' the cradle, Skipper!" shouted a bolder voice, and laughter filled the place again.

Ben recoiled from grasping hands, but there was nowhere to go, he already had his back to a wall, and they dragged him forward, pushing him off to the tight mob by the bar. Memories assaulted him and he stumbled. A hand on his shoulder caused him to jerk in the opposite direction, his face burning as more laughter hounded him all the way to the bar. A drink was placed in his shaking hands and he gulped for air in the close, stifling atmosphere, unable to focus on any one person or thing.

Rick threw an arm around Ben's shoulders, giving him a worried look. "It's a toast," he whispered.

A "Fuck you!" caught in his dry throat as sweat dribbled down the back of his neck and he had to grab his drink in both hands, wanting desperately to back away, but the counter bit into his back.

A black man in dreds stood up on the bar, holding up his beer. "A toast, ladies 'n gents, to today's Man of the Match --"

"Bitch of the Pitch!" chorused a gaggle of women from the back.

Jazz flashed a grin at Rick. "Yes, that, too." He lifted his beer. "To our birthday boy, Skipper, who celebrates the big three-O today of no one yet managing to off his scrawny ass!"

"Who you calling scrawny, short-stuff?" bellowed Rick. There was more laughter and cheers, and Rick slammed back his shot, tapping the glass upside-down on the bar.

Everyone else followed suit, even Ben managing to take a swallow. He almost gagged. "Bleagh! What is this?"

"No idea," said Rick. "Something virgin that looks alcoholic." That's what he'd asked for, anyway.

"What the hell?" Where did the guy get off? Just because he didn't care for hard liquor, he was being treated like some underage punk?

Anger gave Ben back some of the color he'd lost and Rick smiled to see a familiar, spitting-cat expression cross Ben's face. It was a simple matter, from there, having Ben captive in the crook of an elbow, to lean across the last few inches and kiss him soundly. Hoots and hollers filled the room.

Putting all of his weight into it, Ben stomped a heel down onto un-protected toes. Rick swore and let go. Ben kicked him in the shins for good measure and threw whatever the pansy-assed drink was at him before shoving a path away through the throng. Only the closest few were even aware that anything had happened and Ben was around the bar and down the narrow corridor before anyone knew differently.

Glass shattered, thankfully hidden by the return of the music as the guests resumed the interrupted party. Many of them were well on to being drunk and wouldn't have cared, but there was one man who wasn't and he stepped away from his wife to shout into Rick's ear, "What was that about?"

"No idea, Jazz," he answered, wiping his face on a profferred towel.

The black man gestured with his beer. "That was your new boyfriend, wasn't it?" Ha! That would be a funny story if it was just some random guy.

Rick shrugged and frowned, but his thoughts were on the tension he'd felt in that lanky frame. He had the feeling he'd missed something and if there was one thing Rick did well it was worry. But if this had been what Genny had sort of warned him of, then where was she?

"That sucks, man. C'mon, let me get you a fresh drink."

The tic-tac container rubbed against Rick's leg when he turned. He pushed at it thoughtfully, and shook his head at Jazz's offer. Images of Ben bouncing around his kitchen brandishing a spoon flashed across his mind. "Maybe in a minute."

"Oh, no, I know that look on your face. What're you thinking?"

"I messed up, and I'm going to fix it."

"Whatever, man." So the guy was a loser, what else was new. "Just forget about him. This is your party."

Rick shook his head stubbornly. "Cover for me, okay?"

"Oh, good grief. Fine." Why had he even bothered? Rick never listened, anyway.

"Great, Jazz, thanks."

"Yo, Jim-bo!" called Jazz to the bartender as Rick slipped away. "Crank that music back up, this's a party!"

Rick found Ben hunched over a carton of paper napkins in a corner of the dark, cluttered storeroom. His quick breathing seemed loud in the comparative quiet. The rubber door whickered back and forth as Rick let it shut behind him. Fingers laced behind his head, elbows on his knees, Rick caught the shine in Ben's eyes as he turned to look at him.

"Go the fuck away."

"Can't do that," Rick replied, only slightly joking. "Your sister will have my balls."

"Shit," muttered Ben, huddling over his knees again. Heels scraped on cardboard where he'd propped his feet against the carton, toes digging into the concrete floor. "Damn her, she'll tell Gran, and she'll make me go back to that shrink."

"I'm not sure what happened, but --"

"I have a thing. With, uh, with stuff. I thought you said Genny told you?"

"Um, look, it doesn't matter. Are you okay? She gave me these." He rattled the pills.

"Dammit, I hate those. They make me feel so wasted." Ben sighed and looked away. "Give me one?"

"Sure. Can I ask?"

Popping back the pill, dry, and grimacing with distaste, Ben shrugged a little. "Guess I did sorta flip out back there. F-fuck," he whispered, curling up tighter. He no longer felt like screaming, but the shakes were setting in and he was getting cold. "I'm a double-major, you know, I've studied psychology, I know it's st-stupid, but I just c-can't help it sometimes." Lies, lies, lies! But he couldn't tell the truth, and it was the truth, sort of. Why did Rick have to look at him like that? Genny! This was all her fault for dragging him into this! It was only supposed to be one dinner. One! Just to get everyone off his case! Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Rick sat down on the carton, leaning against a shelf and pocketing the pills again. Talking seemed to be helping and he could do that. "You don't like bars?" he asked. "Or was it my kissing you?" Had he just made some social faux pas he wasn't aware of? But, no, that couldn't be it. He wasn't that out of touch with reality.

"I-I've never seen the point of going to a bar and getting drunk. Or dr-drinking at all, really, and the smoke just really gets to me." Ben clenched his teeth so they didn't chatter. His jaw ached and his stomach twisted, leaving a bad taste in his mouth. He just had to stay focused, that was all. Focus on the plan, and everything would get back to normal.

"Ex-smoker?"

Ben shrugged, shaking his head. "My mom. Genny was too young to remember much, thank god, there's eight years between us, you know, but Mom was an addict, smoked, drank, you name it. I just ... the smell ... Hell, I tried it, in high school, doesn't everybody? Thought I was going to throw up." He turned his head away, grateful to the semi-darkness for hiding his expression. Shock at least took the edge off his anxiety attack. What the hell? Why did he have to say that? He didn't owe this guy anything, let alone something so personal.

Cautiously, ready to jerk back if touch was unwelcome, Rick rubbed his palm up and down Ben's spine. He hated seeing, even half-hidden in the dark, the other man looking so broken. It was the Boy Scout in him, he'd always figured, that hated seeing a damsel in distress, even if it was just an old lady who needed a door held open. Ben was hardly a damsel, he wasn't even feminine-looking, but the distress was real, and Rick was just honest enough with himself to acknowledge the ego boost he got by being someone that others could draw strength from. It was why he didn't go for guys more macho than himself.

"That makes sense," he said quietly, bringing himself back to the moment. "I don't see how that's anything to be ashamed of."

"You obviously didn't get beat up enough in school."

"Well, no, can't say that I did." He decided to deliberately misunderstand. "But I didn't tell anyone I was gay until only a couple years ago."

"Wait, that's not what I -- huh, so you must be a real fast learner, then."

"Just making up for lost time."

"Whatever."

"Seriously, I put myself so far into the closet that not even my closest friends ever suspected."

"Huh?" Ben frowned, irriated with himself, but the damage was done. He just knew he was about to hear this guy's whole life story....

"I wanted to fly fighter planes like my dad, he was in the Navy, go figure that, and everyone knows you can't be gay in the military."

Counselor mode, engaged. "So how'd that work?" Despite his best efforts, Ben was actually interested. This was something new. He'd never had the chance to grill a military guy before.

"See, thing is, you can be gay, you just can never admit it, or act like it. I was the straightest-straight boy out there. I even got accepted to the Academy, the Air Force Academy, that is."

"Oh, my god, you're a real, live G.I. Joe."

"I was a Boy Scout, too, if that helps."

Ben burst out laughing. "Are you for real? God! Talk about a 'Real American Hero'!"

"I don't know if I'd exactly put it that way," Rick defended himself. "I did lie to everyone for ten years."

"About being gay?"

"Yeah, cost me a security clearance, but at pilot training I found out I get horrible motion sickness, so there went my dreams of flying, anyway. Still, I stuck it out through two tours in Iraq, but there's something about coming face-to-face with your own mortality day after day that really makes you re-think what you want in life."

"Hmm, you think?" snorted Ben.

"Yeah, well, I'd worked for a long, long time to get where I was, it was hard to give it up, but, when I did, well, guess I kinda went a little wild."

"That's one way to put it," said Ben. Most of the coming out stories he'd heard (and he'd heard thousands) had some element of the steps for dealing with grief: denial, anger, acceptance, etc. For a lot of gays, there was certainly something mourned. What, exactly, varied, but many times it revolved around broken dreams. It certainly put pink shirts, cats, and volkswagons into a better perspective.

"So, do you have pictures?"

"Of what?"

"You in uniform, what else?"

Rick laughed. "Yeah. Put my graduation photo on your dresser last night."

"Oh, so that's what -- hey!" Ben sat up. "Genny got to see it, but I didn't? C'mon, that's so not fair."

"I'll share, but only if I get one of you in a speedo."

Ben's mouth dropped open. Thank God for the darkness to hide his blush! "How did you know I ...?"

"What else would you wear under a wetsuit? Besides," he added with a wink as Ben just gaped at him, "it's not like you don't have the body for it." And wasn't it just too cute the way Ben tried to cover himself, as if Rick had some sort of x-ray vision? Rick ruffled the short hair, grinning. "Ready to go back?"

"You want me to?"

"Yeah, why not?"

Ben pulled his brows down into a contemplative frown. "Are you, like, some kind of serial killer or something?"

"Uh, no."

"Psycho stalker? Into weird fetishes?"

"Not that I'm aware of." He scratched his head. Did having a thing for geeks qualify as a fetish? "Is there a point to this?"

"What's wrong with you, then?"

"Does there have to be something wrong with me?"

"Real people aren't this nice, or, like, normal, and stuff."

Rick chuckled. "I'm mentally and physically sound, thank you very much." The military was pretty thorough about that these days. "You?"

"I'm a mess."

"That's such a crock."

Damn. Had he said that aloud? "Huh?"

Rick clarified, "A crock of shit. So what if you don't like bars? It's not like it's the end of the world. People are afraid of weirder things."

"Oh, right. Like what?"

"Spiders."

"You're kidding, right?"

"Nope. Definitely scared of spiders, they make me squeal like a little girl."

Ben snorted, lips twitching despite his on-again, off-again irritation. The accompanying mental picture of Rick on a stool, like Shelly the time there'd been a mouse in the pantry, tickled out actual chuckles, and then he was laughing, laughing fit to split his ribs, the laughter bleeding away the remaining tension.

"Thanks," he wheezed. "I needed that."

"Anything to help," said Rick, smiling but resisting the urge to puff out his chest and bang on it. "But it's not just the bar, is it?"

"No, it's not." Ben sighed. "Of course, the one concert I went to in college, there happened to be an earthquake, and an electrical fire, and I went down in the mosh pit." He snorted in irritation, the meds keeping the fluttery panic at bay. "Probably the only one in the place not stoned or drunk and I'm the one that gets trampled."

"That is irony for you."

"I've always had this thing about crowds, but that kinda sealed the deal." He'd gotten over it, a long time ago, but .... Rick's voice kept those memories at bay and Ben unconsciously leaned into his soothing presence.

"Well, I've got no reason to be scared shitless of little creepy-crawlies, but, there you go. I went to Knott's for Halloween with some friends one year and there was this one maze filled with giant spiders, fake ones, of course, but I thought I was going to wet myself by the time we got out of there."

"I know that maze. Why'd you even go in?" Idiot.

Rick just gave him a look.

"Oh, right, real men have no fear, or some such. Fuck, thank God I never had to worry about any of that shit. I can break down in hysterics and no one cares."

"Really?"

"What, your gaydar broke or something?"

"It's not like it's tattooed on your forehead. Make it easier if it was, wouldn't it?" He rolled his eyes. "It's a joke, Ben. Please tell me you've read the Scarlet Letter?"

"Sounds vaguely familiar."

"Hopeless."

"I try." Grinning, Ben leaned back against Rick's comfortable bulk. The meds were really starting to sink in now, making the world seem like a very peaceful, happy place. Reaching up to trace the line of Rick's jaw, he sighed a little, happy murmur.

Rick's arm went around Ben's chest seemingly of its own accord. Was it just the light, or did Ben have that same, seemingly blitzed look of the previous night? "Are you stalling?" he whispered, leaning down.

"Maybe." Arching his neck, Ben could just graze Rick's lips with his own. His fingers went from jaw to neck, pulling Rick down. Little nibbles grew into a deep, probing kiss. Rick gave and took equally, and the sensation of advance and retreat was mind-nubbingly good. Fingers grazed exposed skin and Ben arched into the contact.

There were few simpler pleasures that could equal a good make-out session. Ben tasted good, a hint of strawberries and juice and a tang of mint, mixed with the spicy cologne like an addicting elixer. Ben was more demanding than any of the stolen kisses of before, reminding Rick of the not-exactly passive Ben moaning on his bed. The image went straight to his groin and he groaned.

Ben wriggled to make access easier. Rick had just about managed to slip his hands inside the hastily fumbled-open jeans when the overhead light flicked on. They jumped in unison, Ben cracking his skull on Rick's chin.

"Ow!"

"Jesus Christ!" exclaimed Genny. She covered her eyes and backed away, speaking through a crack in the door. "Can't you two keep your hands off each other for more than ten minutes? Get your asses out here, cake's arrived."

Ben giggled, pouting when Rick pushed at him. "Aw!"

"Sounds like the natives are getting restless," said Rick. "Bad manners to hide out during my own party. C'mon, shake a leg."

"I'll shake more than that."

"Down, boy."

"When can we leave?"

Rick paused halfway around the corner and looked back. Ben still half-sprawled over the cardboard box, pants open, face rosy and mischievious. He definitely couldn't be as old as he'd admitted to, could he? Genny looked twenty-five or so ... but women in their twenties could be hard to judge.

"I tell you what," he said. "You behave, and I'll get some alone time in the bathroom later."

Ben raised an eyebrow. "Kinky."

"Deal?"

"Um, let me think about it. Uh, yeah, like hell no." He was NOT getting any further involved. He was going to leave. Right now.

"At least stay for the party?"

Oh, God, not that Look again. "Aw, hell." He had to learn to say no to this guy. Seriously.

Rick grinned. "Good." Grabbing Ben's hand, Rick hauled the blonde to his feet and back to the party.

The birthday cake turned out to be a sheet cake of gargantuan proportions, tart and lemony, but light and fluffy. The filling was an almost-bitter, dark chocolate pudding, and the frosting was boring, white vanilla, all sugary sweet like liquid marshmallows. The confectioner was a Hispanic woman with gray in her hair who kissed Rick's cheeks and spouted swift Spanish that he obviously didn't understand but made most everybody else hoot with laughter. There were candles, thirty of them, the fake kind that didn't go out until soaked in a cup of water.

Grimacing, but laughing, Rick sucked on burnt fingers and made the first cut, a large piece he slid over to Ben to keep safe before relinquishing knife and cake-cutting to others. When he turned back around with two, much smaller, serving-size pieces, it was to witness the last of the first chunk vanishing into Ben's frosting-smeared face.

Rick stared. Ben stared back. Slowly, his eyes went from the fingers he was licking frosting from to the now-empty plate to the ones Rick held, and, lastly, up to Rick's face. Then he blushed, darkly, from forehead to neck and probably lower.

The corner of Rick's mouth twitched and he gave in, laughing heartily and handing off the extra plate.

Ben relaxed at once, grinning up at Rick and delighting in his beautiful laughter. He'd been surprised to be handed such a big piece, especially without a fork, or two, but one, inquisitive swipe of inviting frosting had turned into whole, finger-sized bites. He must have been hungrier than he'd thought, because he'd inhaled the cake before his mind had fully caught up to what he was doing. Still a little guilty, but glad that Rick wasn't angry, Ben returned to licking his fingers clean. Catching Rick's eye, Ben lifted a brow with a small grin, giving his fingers a longer swipe.

Rick stiffened, fork forgotten halfway to his mouth. He watched as Ben slid the finger in to his knuckle and slowly rotated, first one direction, and then another. He hadn't even really done anything and already this was better than any porn Rick had ever seen. He'd read about such things turning people on, but he'd only ever scoffed at such nonsense. Now, as his cheeks warmed, his gaze flitted about nervously, to see everyone intent on the cake still being passed around, and then lurched across the remaining space to grab Ben's hand.

The finger popped out of his mouth with a slick slurp and a frown from Ben.

"Stop that!" hissed Rick. The irony of their positions being reversed was not lost on him, but he wasn't sure that Ben really knew what he was doing. His pupils were dilated, face relaxed. If Rick didn't know better, he'd have said the man was high. Which, he supposed as Ben gave him a coy wink and grin, he was, but there was no way Rick wanted this night spoiled by any regrets. If that meant keeping Ben from actively seducing him in public, well, sacrifices could be made. It sure made him wonder, though, how much from before was Ben and how much was the scotch and wine talking?

"Hey, Ben." He pulled the plate away, tugging Ben off the bar stool. "Let's mingle."

With a finger hooked around a belt-loop, Ben clung to Rick's back like a burr, gliding through the crowd in the other man's wake. The nervous panic being surrounded by strangers evoked was held at bay by the rosy fog the pills surrounded him with. It wasn't that the anxiety disappeared, it was just held off at a distance, so long as he stayed close to the familiar form that was Rick. He was an anchor of calm, at least until he could find Genny and get the hell out of there.

He did try to pay attention when Rick introduced him to people, but the faces blended into one another, bleeding together after awhile as even the music and chatter blended into an indecipherable mish-mash of sound. He could have been surrounded by crying seagulls; it would have made as much sense. Ben moved when Rick moved, stood still when he stopped, and tried to stay alert, but he was about as successful as trying to scoop up salad with two, plastic spoons rather than tongs. Eventually, he just gave up, smiling and nodding whenever anyone seemed to stare at him overlong.

Rick quickly got used to Ben huddling against his back and he even found the sensation pleasant; however, efforts to shake him off on someone for a while were unsuccessful. He only clung tighter and gave Rick blank, trusting looks. So, with a deep sigh, Rick turned and locked the bathroom behind them both.

When he stepped away from the urinal, finished, he saw Ben sitting morosely on the toilet, chin in hands. He looked absolutely worn out. Rick washed his hands, taking his time and watching Ben in the mirror. Ben didn't move, eyes fastened on a spot of the floor a few feet away.

"Hey, there," said Rick softly, still leaning against the sink. Ben turned slightly to throw a glance his way. "Want I should call a cab?"

Ben shrugged, too tired, too guilty, and too caught up in his own head to coordinate a response.

Rick frowned, worried. There was something about Ben that he resonated with, and unfortunately he knew what it was. He knew he could pull Ben's strings as surely as any puppet. Ben needed. He'd never been able to explain that more clearly. Rick liked playing the hero, and Ben was all too obviously in need of some kind of protection.

Frankly, Rick wasn't even sure that Ben was aware of it, but that need was so deep, so strong, that it was no wonder the man was still single. He really ought to be more freaked out by it than he was. Most guys would be, but, Rick liked to be needed. The trouble was, he wasn't sure he was strong enough to resist the temptation. He could easily make Ben fall in love with him, because he could give what Ben so desperately desired, and in so doing could get Ben to do whatever he wanted, be whomever he wanted. He was sure of it.

"I'm sorry." Ben dropped his face into his hands, took a deep breath, and told himself to stop being such a whiny little bitch. "I really should go."

"Well, at least eat something first," Rick said into the silence that fell between them.

Ben didn't want to argue and just nodded. Rubbing his face, he moved to the door. He flipped the lock easily, but his hand shook, for a moment, until he gritted his teeth and shoved the handle down, pulling the door open. He almost slammed it shut again. Inside, the noise was muffled and everything seemed less than it was. Taking that first step into the maelstrom was like pushing against something tangible, waiting to pounce and devour him whole.

"Shit," he swore, dropping the door and lurching sideways as someone waiting for the bathroom surged forward. A heavy hand settled on Ben's shoulder and he started, darting away, but an arm followed that hand to snake around his torso, pulling Ben back, snug, against a broad chest. He didn't think, couldn't hardly see or hear, struggling, squirming to be free, panicked by the sudden move, surrounded by too many people in too little space.

"Ben. Ben, you don't have to prove anything to me," whispered Rick, easily countering the uncoordinated thrashing. "Settle. I've got you."

"D-d-damn-dammit ...!" gasped Ben. Rick's words gave him something to grasp onto, something real, calm, quiet, and he stopped, held still a moment, and then shrugged free. "Let go. Let go, dammit!" Rick released him and Ben wiped his face. "Shit. Shit ... Shit-shit."

"Ben?"

He looked up, rubbing his hands along the seams of his pants and forcing a smile. "I'm okay."

"Sure." Rick stuffed his hands into his back pockets to keep his inappropriate thoughts to nothing more than fantasies. "So, food, then?"

"Yeah, thanks."

They maneuvered into a large, circular booth whose occupants slid out to let them sit down. Within minutes, they had heavily-cheesed french fries, iced tea for Ben, and a fresh beer for Rick. After watching Ben suck the cheese off a couple of fries, Rick was more than ready for the distraction provided as other friends sat down two or three at a time to chat. Ben leaned against his shoulder, mooched a couple swallows of beer, and promptly passed out, like a toy whose batteries had just run out. A few minutes after that, Rick wiggled to ease blood back into his arm, and Ben slid down to pillow his head on Rick's thigh. It was oddly comfortable, if awkward and a little weird. Rick stroked Ben's cheek briefly and leaned back in his seat, one arm over the back of the booth.

Jazz was the next person to sit down. He slid another beer across the table and gave Rick a serious look. "He out?"

"Yep, just crashed."

"Hey, Skipper, I know it's none of my business, but I've been elected ... that is to say, we -- the team's worried about you, man."

"About me? Why?"

"Just answer me one thing: are you using?"

"What? No!"

Jazz sighed, relaxing a little. "Well, that's something, at least. How long do you think that will last?"

"What are you talking about?" Rick frowned.

The black man tipped his beer at the empty space where the new boyfriend was curled up under the table. "Kid's a junkie, man, you shouldn't be tangled up with someone like that, no matter how cute you think he is."

"Jazz --"

"Especially right now. You've just graduated to A-side! This is your chance, I'd hate to see you screw it up over some punk-ass kid."

"He doesn't use," Rick stated, frowning and curling his fingers around his beer bottle.

Jazz didn't back down at the subtle warning. "As one speaking from experience here, Skipper, that's what they all say, at first. Next thing you know, he'll be --"

"Okay, stop it!" he hissed, leaning over the table, angry, but he also didn't want Ben's secret splashed around as gossip. He slipped the pills out of his pocket and across to his friend. "It's anxiety, Jazz. I appreciate the sentiment, but you've got it all wrong." He watched Jazz study the pills, then glanced at Ben, caressing a shoulder absently. "He's a real light-weight, couple glasses of wine and he's done. Cut the guy some slack. Had a panic attack, for pete's sake!"

"I still say this is a mistake." Jazz gave Rick back the pills, shaking his head. He took a long pull from his beer.

"Probably," sighed Rick. "He's too good for me."

Jazz snorted.

"Really, you're not seeing him at his best. He was overwhelmed when we first arrived. I didn't think to warn him, and he freaked. That's all."

Jazz stared at Rick over the lip of his beer. He sighed and decided to hold his tongue.

"So, what are his good qualities, then?"

"He cooks." Rick smiled, relieved that his closest friend at least seemed willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

"Yeah, so?"

"So? It was fantastic!" Rick leaned forward to lean his chin in the hand not fingering Ben's short locks. "I could kiss him for hours, he'd let me do that, and he cuddles. He actually cuddles, Jazz."

"He's not just some stray you can adopt and take home on a whim."

"I know that."

He cocked his head, watching Rick from over the rim of his bottle. "You really like him, don't you?"

"Yeah, the sex was amazing."

Jazz grimaced. "Stop right there, man, I do not need the mental trauma." He took another swig, eying his friend. "I thought you weren't looking to settle down?"

"I'm not." Which was another reason he should've just let the man go. Why hadn't he? He didn't want to string Ben along for nothing, when Ben was so obviously looking for more than just a brief entanglement.

"Hmm, well, I've said my piece." He slid out of the booth. "Just, Skipper, be careful, man, okay?"

"He's clean."

"Okay."

He'd agreed far too easily for Rick's peace of mind, but he shrugged it off with a smile as someone else came by. He and another teammate were trying to explain rugby to the mysteriously re-appeared Genny when Ben sat up, blinking owlishly.

"What the? Did I fall asleep?"

"Yeah, big brother, out for the last forty-five minutes, cold."

"Fuck." Ben rubbed his face with the back of one hand and yawned. "It's still so noisy in here."

"It's not even one o'clock yet," said Pickles, shutting off the video camera he'd been using to show Genny clips of the game. He eyed Ben with enough open curiosity and interest that Rick kicked him under the table. Pickles grinned, unfazed.

Ben turned his wrist over and looked at his watch. "Oh, God, it's so late. How'd it get so late? I've got to go home." He stared at Rick, who didn't seem inclined to move.

Rick stared back.

"It's Saturday." Nothing. "Tomorrow's Sunday." Still no response. "Move, dumbass! Doug's picking me up in just a few hours. He wants to catch the waves off San Juan Capistrano."

"You're a surfer." Pickles licked his lips. He ignored Rick's glare.

Rick leaned towards Ben, not away as the other pushed at him. "You want me to move? Pay the toll."

"What?"

Rick lifted his eyebrows. "There's a toll, and I'm the troll. Now pay up."

"You've got to be kidding me."

"I'm not moving until you kiss me."

"Fuck your 'toll.' Now let me out."

Pickles snickered. He held up both hands, palms out, as both men turned to scowl at him. "Oh, don't mind me, just enjoying the show."

Rick turned back to Ben. "You still have marks from my jeans on your face. I think I should get something for my pains."

Ben's hand flew to his face, fingers flitting over the cloth impressions. He flushed darkly, his voice dropping slightly as he rasped, "You don't fucking get out of my way I'll --" Oh! his mind continued as Rick swooped forward, cutting the threat short. Oh, fucking God, it's so not fair!

Ben, rosy-cheeked, panted below him where he'd been pinned to the seat. He smiled and gave Ben another quick kiss before backing away. "I'll walk you to the car. Coming, Genny?"

"Asshole!" snarled Ben as he slid past.

Rick just smiled. "I think we've established that. 'Night, Pickles."

"G'night, Skipper. See you Tuesday?"

"I'll be there."

Ben didn't hear, shoving his way out through the wall-to-wall bodies. There was no rhyme or reason to it; one minute he was on streets he knew, the next he stood on a corner in unfamiliar territory and had no idea how he'd come to be there. He had never meant to stay so late at that stupid party, or fall asleep, or any of the other half-dozen crazy-assed things he'd done that night, but wasn't that usually the case?

"Oh, fucking hell!" he burst out, kicking a post office box. So, not only did Rick now think he was a whacko, but so did all his friends. And now he was lost. "Okay, Ben, calm down, try to think about this rationally. As long as I go North, I'm headed in the right direction." After the oppressive heat of the bar, the night was downright chilly.

Finding the ocean was easy, finding a way down to the strand not so much. He'd somehow wandered down into the more residential areas. They all had gates and hills and walls separating them from the beach, but he eventually found a small park-like area, with steps and a path. He clomped along the pavement of the bike trail and sulked. This late, there were few people about, a couple or two enjoying a midnight stroll along the beach, a few friends hanging out on a balcony, too drunk to go inside, a lone sailboat off the coast a bit, a man on a bike pedaling hell-bent for where-ever, even the incessant birds were quiet, leaving Ben alone with his thoughts and the surf.

His eyes still felt pretty gritty, as if he'd let Genny put mascara on him again and then slept in it, he had the strange cotton ball feel of drugs in the back of his mouth, and, now that he was up and about and moving, he needed to find a bathroom.

"Fucking perfect," he muttered darkly, thumbs hooked in his pockets, staring at his boots and the sand crunching underfoot.

He reached the pier and turned towards the street, re-tracing their earlier route back to the parking garage. The lot was not empty, but there were many open spots. Rick waited for him, leaning against his stupid red car. He'd put the top up, but there was no Genny, and no motorcycle. Pausing, Ben set his foot down a little too hard, but then forced himself to continue.

"Where's my bike?" he asked, frowning.

"Genny took it," said Rick. "I didn't want to give you the option of leaving me behind."

Dammit, thought Ben, but what he said was, "And what makes you think I'd do that?"

Rick actually laughed. Ben flipped him the bird. He opened the passenger-side door and slouched down on the seat. He'd been ready to have a little, private mini-melt-down, and here Rick still was, as even-tempered and irresistible as ever, like a rock he couldn't get out of his shoe. Crossing his arms over his chest, Ben waited while Rick climbed in, closed his door, and started up the car.

The haunting strains of violins and flutes filled the interior. "Ah!" gasped Ben, slapping hands over his ears. "What the fuck are you listening to?"

Rick turned down the volume. "It's Celtic, Ben."

"Only chicks listen to that crap."

"You sister obviously liked it."

"She's a chick."

"True." Rick spared Ben a sideways look, chuckling, as he wheeled them out of the garage and back onto the main streets. He'd thought maybe twenty-six, but thirty-six? No way, right? But Genny had said she was twenty-eight ... Took a special kind of finesse to coax out a girl's true age, but Rick had been curious, and relentless, and now thoroughly conflicted. Ben was the shy, geeky type that Rick liked. He was obviously intelligent, if Rick could manage to get him to have an actual conversation, and he was masculine without being a queen or a total fop. But, there was no denying that Ben was a little psycho. In a good way, right?

Without traffic, they made their way back to Ben's apartment in less than half the time it'd taken to reach the pier. Ben wasn't inclined to talk, and Rick remained silent as well, letting the soft music linger between them. When they pulled into the complex's entrance way, Rick pulled down the visor.

"Wait, Ben," he called, as the other man released his belt and reached for the door. "Just a second."

With a pen from the mileage book stashed in the door and a card from the small hoard in the visor, Rick wrote down his address. Then he flipped the card around in his fingers and offered it to Ben. "Here. If you ever need a good fuck, or just someone to see a movie with, give me a call. And that's my address on the back. Come by anytime."

Ben stared at the business card as contemplating some poisonous snake. The card was pink, with a little, cut-out heart in the right-hand corner. The rest was blank except for two phone numbers, an email address, and, yes, on the back was an address only a few blocks away.

"You have business cards?"

Rick shrugged, ignoring the sarcasm. "Those are special. I've given out two. Now three. I'm sorry tonight was so horrible for you, but if you'll let me, I'd like to see you again."

"You're crazy." Ben tried to hand the card back.

"'But it just might be a lunatic you're looking for.'"

Ben stared. He felt a surprised smile tug at his mouth ... and sighed, shaking his head. "Fuck. Come in, I'll make some tea. I can't believe you know that song." Still shaking his head, Ben climbed out and went over to the keypad. The gate slowly rolled itself open and they continued on to the actual condo. The motorcycle was parked in the drive, but there was no Genny. Her car was gone. A few more minutes of now companionable silence saw the motorcycle safely in the garage and the gear stowed away.

"How do you like your tea?" asked Ben, putting water on to boil.

"Plain, weak, and with lots of honey."

"Gross."

"You asked."

"You know," said Ben, leaning against a counter to survey his guest, "I'm not sure I like you."

"Oh? And why's that?"

He ticked them off on his fingers. "Well, for starters, you've already admitted to being a really good liar, you don't like tea, you like Celtic music, for God's sake. You drive a bug, you, ah, y-you -- oh, fuck," the last moaned against soft, full lips, a whisper of sound.

Rick kissed him. Slow, gentle, but consistently, hands braced on the counter, leaving Ben to grab his waist and pull him closer. Every time he'd kissed Ben, it'd been a completely new experience, and this time was no different. There was no fight, he just surrendered, wholly and completely. His hands stayed lightly against Rick's sides, and he tipped his head back, just accepting whatever it was that Rick wanted to offer. When he drew back, Ben looked more flustered than ever. He opened his mouth, no doubt to start cussing him out again, and Rick placed a finger across those lips.

"I'll go, if you want me to. You'll never have to see me again, if you want that, too. But, Ben, I'd like to stay the night, if you'll let me."

"You'll stay?" And damn, if that wasn't what he'd meant to say. Ben frowned.

Rick kissed the little crease that formed between Ben's eyes. "Yes, I'll stay until Doug gets here. I do actually have work I need to do, papers to grade, and all that. But I'll stay."

"Okay." Ben fumbled with the knobs and got the stove turned off.

"No sex."

"What?" Ben wiggled his ear with a finger. Surely, he hadn't heard that right.

"I think it would be nice to just sleep together, don't you?"

Ben blinked. Then he poked a finger into Rick's chest. "You're a pod person." Laughter followed him out of the kitchen. Ben was not smiling. No, of course not. This wasn't funny. Or cute. Or totally endearing.

Damn.

They prepared for bed silently. Ben scrubbed his teeth harder than usual out of nerves, and Rick found a tiny, orangy prescription bottle stashed in a corner of the medicine cabinet. He'd given the tic-tac container back to Genny, but he had to be sure, didn't he? The label said 'Tenormin, 25 mg, take 1 every 4-6 hours as needed.' On the side was a warning, 'May cause drowsiness.' Rick smiled, satisfied, and closed the mirrored door. He tossed his overnight kit on top of his laundry, his clothes on a heap by the basket, and turned to the bed.

On the other side, Ben froze, halfway to climbing in. "You sleep in the nude?"

"It's nothing you haven't seen before."

"Well, no, but --"

"I'll get the light."

Too self-conscious to even admire Rick's backside, Ben crawled into bed, lying on his back as the overhead light flicked off. This guy was NOT getting under his skin. No way.

He listened, heart thumping, as Rick re-crossed the room and slipped under the covers. The bed creaked softly, and a foot brushed against Ben's leg, but when Rick settled, there was a definite space between them. Ben waited until Rick's breathing evened out, and then he rolled over, curling against the warm side. On his back, Rick slept with his hands under his head and Ben squished his pillow into the space between arm and side to support his neck, cautiously draping an arm across Rick's chest. Sighing softly, Ben slowly relaxed, but sleep proved elusive.

Rick let him wriggle a couple of times, but then he said, "If you don't quit wiggling, neither of us is going to get any sleep tonight."

"I -- I thought you were asleep?"

"How can I sleep with all your moving around?" Rick countered. He turned on his side, pulling Ben against him. He whispered, "Thought you were tired."

"I am."

He nuzzled the top of Ben's head. "Then go to sleep."

"I'm not sleepy." Groaning quietly, Ben pressed a palm to his forehead. Oh, yeah, good one! You totally didn't sound like a baby.

"Oh? Well, I can help with that."

"I'm sure, but, Rick, there's more to life than just sex."

"Who said anything about sex? Just shut up."

Matching action to words, Rick pushed up to lean on an elbow, seized the lips below his own in another kiss. Ben's mouth opened, but Rick didn't push for more, pressing tiny, teasing kisses to the corners, nibbling on the pouting, lower lip, then darting away to kiss nose and forehead and cheeks and chin, ears and jaw. His fingers caressed chest and stomach in long, firm strokes.

"God!" sighed Ben, arching under the touch.

"Yes?"

Blue eyes blinked lazily open to give Rick a half-hearted scowl. "Asshole."

"It does seem," Rick replied, punctuating his words with kisses. "That I'm moving up in the world. First Jesus, now God."

"You're such a fucking bastard. Fuck." He took a minute to calm down. "I don't fucking do this, don't fuck on the first date, and we haven't even gone out yet."

"I don't know what else you'd call it."

"What the hell kind of backwater place did you grow up in? Get over yourself! I don't want to have sex with you. I don't even like you!"

"You're the one with sex on the brain." Rick smirked. "Not getting enough?"

Oh, he so did not just go there! "Oh, fuck you! Being gay does not make a person promiscuous or a pervert, or a predator. Okay, so lots of gay men go through a phase where they'll fuck anything that so much as wiggles an ass their way, especially ones that have denied themselves for a long time --"

"Like me."

"Yes, like you. That's not the norm, though. It's a stereotype, from back in the eighties, when being homosexual started to become more accepted. Don't feel like you have to change everything about yourself to be who you are."

Rick flopped over onto his back, throwing an arm over his face. "It's no wonder you don't like shrinks, you are one."

"Shut the fuck up! Did you mess around like this when you were pretending to be straight?"

"No, but --"

"Then what makes you think you need to now? Now that you're dating guys?"

"Well, I ... I guess it's just that I like it so much more." Wait, how did this get turned around to be all about him?

"At least you're honest," grunted Ben. "Do you even know what you like? Like, do you prefer to top or bottom? Myself, I like to switch. I like smaller men, generally, and older men, because I've never been particularly comfortable around my peers, and younger guys are too immature. I'm an ass man, but beyond that I don't really have a type. I like lazing about at home when I don't have to work, and I like cooking, so sue me, most famous chefs have all been men and Gran's a chef. Even Genny can cook, though she hates it, because Gran made sure we learned. I even worked at her restaurant for a couple years in high school."

He took a deep breath, then continued before Rick could butt in. "I was twenty-two when I lost my virginity and I wouldn't trade that moment for anything. I'm fine being alone. I'm happy with the way things are."

"Well, since you're asking, I know I don't look it, but I'm just a nerd at heart, but people expect me to be this big, dumb jock, and I learned early on to give people what they expect. I sneaked Dungeons and Dragons in high school because my mom read somewhere about some guys living down in a sewer somewhere acting it out in real life and it totally freaked her out. My 'type' as you put it, are the guys I wanted to hang out with but never got the chance, other geeks. I like Shakespeare and I like poetry, and I stumbled onto Yaoi because I was too afraid my roommates would discover any porn I managed to get my hands on. I've been so focused on getting to the Academy, and then being the best in order to get to flight training, that everything else came secondary. I'm still a little lost most days because my dreams all came to nothing, and, yes, I'm still bitter about that. Happy? God-damn."

"What does make you happy?"

"Not having this conversation, for one."

"Seriously."

"Well ... I like being the center of attention. I like it that kids who only ever complained before about having to read dull, boring books find my classes interesting. I like getting paid to talk about books all day. I like singing in the shower and I like that it hardly ever rains here."

"But, does it make you happy?" Ben waited, but there was no answer. He rolled over onto his side, leaning into a wide shoulder and flopping a leg over one of Rick's. "Okay," he continued, tugging on the small patch of chest hair, "an easier question: when you pick up a guy, are you picking them because they're what you want or you're what they want? You don't have to answer, just think about it." He continued to comb the bristly hairs and they lay together in contented silence for long minutes.

"Ben?" Rick ventured when he figured he'd 'thought' about that inane question long enough.

"What?"

"Want to have sex?"

"Sure." He grunted as Rick flipped him back over. "Not now, you idiot," he snapped, pushing back. "Jesus, haven't you ever been fucked? I'm a little sore still."

"Ouch, demoted. Sorry."

"Asshole," said Ben, laughing as the tension broke. "Just kiss me, you fuck."

"You sure?" Rick leaned over his bedmate. "Because I can make you come just by kissing you."

"That's impossible."

"Never know 'til you try."

"Shut up and go to sleep." Rolling onto his side, Ben pulled a pillow over his head. He was not smiling. Definitely not.