tough as nails under that corset

“Ayden,” he called. “Ayden.”

There was no answer, not that Ben really expected one with the tone he was taking right now. His uncle’s ward rarely responded to any voice that suggested a reprimand was on its way.

Sighing to himself, he scrubbed the towel against his head, quickly drying himself off before wrapping it around his waist, holding the two ends together securely. As he opened the bathroom door, he poked his head around the corner to the living room. Ayden was lying on the sofa, thumbs furiously jabbing at his Nintendo Switch, in perfect earshot.

“Ayden, what have we said about using up all the hot water? I don’t know how many times I need to keep telling you this,” he sighed.

“I grew up in the desert, dude. I need heat,” Ayden said, around the string of his hoody that was crammed into his mouth. He didn’t look up from his screen once and all Ben could do was sigh, this time in defeat.

“You really know how to wind me up, don’t you?” he said, although he would be lying if he claimed that his expression wasn’t a little bit fond.

Shaking his head, he straightened up, ready to make his way to his own room when the front door swung open. His Uncle Quentin walked in, carrying two suitcases with him that instantly had Ben wondering if he had forgotten something important, a trip they were supposed to be taking, perhaps. That was altogether ridiculous though. It was right in the middle of the academic year, so there was no way his uncle would see fit to take him and Ayden out of state when he knew Ben’s job required his presence there. But then again, he wasn’t all too sure if Quentin would take note of that caveat, scatter-brained and uncaring of routine as he was. 

“What’s all that then?” he asked, tilting his head to the side.

Quentin looked up, blinking owlishly at him. 

“It’s her stuff,” he said, rather plainly at that.

“Whose stuff?”

Ayden glanced at something over Quentin’s shoulder and then sat bolt upright, hoody string falling from his mouth. 

“Holy shit,” the teenager said.

Benji frowned, craning his neck to see what all the fuss was about, only for the door to open even further and welcome in a rather disgruntled looking Daniela Lopez, another bag in her hand. At once, his eyes widened. He looked between the woman and his uncle, the latter’s expression suggesting that he was completely baffled by his nephew’s apparent confusion.

“I told you Daniela was moving in with us,” Quentin said, with the confidence of someone who truly believed what he was saying.

Mouth falling open, all Ben could do was stare. His grip on the towel tightened when he remembered his state of (damp) undress. Part of him wanted to shy away, perhaps retreat further back into the bathroom, but right now he was worried that he might have accidentally stumbled into some sort of hostage negotiation if everything about Daniela’s demeanour was anything to go by. She looked like their tiny little apartment was the absolute last place she wanted to be.

“Sorry, what?” Ben asked. The mind truly boggled.

Daniela had been well into her 20s when she’d finally been afforded the freedom to live alone. She worshipped the ground her parents walked on and was endlessly proud of their achievements, but she’d never had the same luxuries that most teenagers did. She’d never been a reckless teenager going out and getting drunk, nor had she ever particularly wanted to be. She’d enjoyed working late into the night with her mother on campaign slogans and pulling together punchy statements to scrawl across banners and picket signs. Her weekends were spent going door-to-door canvassing, her mid-term breaks usually occupied with a string of protests that her parents had allowed her to accompany them on. 

She’d grown up happy, educated, and more than content with the life she’d been given. The would never be a reality in which Daniela complained about her upbringing, but she’d also longed for the normal journey into adulthood. She wouldn’t give up the politics and protests for the world, but she wouldn’t have minded being a little more reckless. She’d have kissed more boys and suffered through more hangovers if she could have. 

Of course, by the time she finally managed to make a home for herself, she’d been altogether displeased to learn that she’d be getting a permanent bodyguard. Admittedly, Daniela Lopez was no fool. She understood that her mother’s career placed a certain target on their backs, particularly given the colour of their skin. It was New York, after all, and Trumps America at that. The Lopez family hadn’t ever been foolish enough to believe that they were entirely safe, but Daniela had never thought she’d be subjected to her own personal security detail. 

Quentin was quite alright, she supposed. He was scatty and had absolutely no interest in taking in a word that she said, but she knew he was only doing his job. It was impossible to get the slip on him, meaning her Wine Nights with the girls (featuring Dawsey) were often accompanied by an additional party of One, in all his semi-menacing glory. If he was ever around on her days over at Spectre, she would give him a very stern talking to upon insisting that he wait outside. The last thing she needed was for Quentin and Ravi to be nose-to-nose. She was a healthy young woman, but even her blood pressure had its limits. 

She’d lost much of her freedom all those many months ago, and in the process had been subjected to the irritating whims of one Benjamin Kent. Had she met him under any other circumstances, she might have been foolish enough to find him charming. As it was, she hadn’t, and she didn’t. She could just about stomach him in small doses on her best days, so long as the two of them kept a polite and respectable distance. 

So, of course, it was only natural that some absolute maniac had decided to plant a tracker in her apartment, no less than three days after her mother had increased her own security detail. It had taken Quentin no less than 38 seconds to find the device in her home, and a further 4 minutes and 52 seconds for her mother to decide, over facetime, that she should be moved to a safe house. The request had not gone down favourably with her as it was, and you can only imagine her surprise when she found out the full extent of Quentin’s dreadful plan. 

Daniela Lopez was far from being a brat, but she’d certainly done her fair share of stomping her feet in the 24 hours that had followed. By the time she found herself standing firmly on Quentin’s doorstep, she thought she might wallop the older man with her luggage. Furthermore, when she stepped inside his apartment, it seemed everything she already so desperately loathed about this situation had just amplified tenfold as her gaze landed on none other than Benjamin Kent. 

Wet. 

Shirtless. 

Naked, if you will. 

His usually golden locks spilled out around his face, his ringlets unkempt and spilling water droplets onto his – rather surprisingly broad – shoulders. 

“Oh, holy shit, indeed,” Daniela lamented, echoing the sentiments of new young, hooded roommate. 

She stared across at Benjamin, gaze travelling from his face down to his torso, before her eyes landed squarely on the dip of his hips, his (admittedly pale) v-lines leaving very little to the imagination. She swallowed back the rather unwelcome lump that was forming in her throat, absently noting that she suddenly felt incredibly parched. Perhaps Quentin would fetch her a glass of water, since he’d decided to ever so kindly uproot her life. 

Tearing her gaze away from the rather flimsy towel that was preserving Benjamin’s modesty, she finally let her eyes meet his. 

“If you must know, your uncle has decided to make my already tedious week altogether more difficult by kidnapping me,” she informed him. 

Of course, Elena had a key, meaning she could come and go whenever she pleased. But it was common knowledge that Arturo's landlord was also a piece of shit, and the lock on his front door been broken since Arturo moved in. If you pushed the handle up and leaned all your weight on the door, it more or less gave. Arturo had tried the trick once or twice himself when he'd misplaced his key.

All of this to say, he was a little startled when he heard somebody knocking. He lifted his head from underneath the den of blankets he'd crawled under, cocking his head to the side, as though he'd imagined the rap on his door.

He considered ignoring it. He'd already made up his mind about not going to work today. Ravi never noticed when his desk sat empty, and anyway, he'd try and draw something later in the day, when his head felt clearer. Sometimes it helped, to draw a little.

But the knocking continued. It was a polite little sound, persistent, spiking his curiosity.

"Alright, I'm coming." he tried to raise his voice to no avail. His throat was thick and his tongue sat heavy in his mouth, a bitter taste in the back of his throat. His head stung a little too. He kicked back the blankets - he'd just about managed to strip to his boxers before falling asleep - and pushed his messy mane of hair off of his face.

It was exactly four strides from his bedroom to his front door (he'd counted, in his aimless, unemployed day) so he cleared it in no time, hand fumbling for the doorknob - he had forgotten to lock the door last night! - and letting the light from the hallway flood in.

His features softened, a smile breaking out across his face when he saw the woman standing there.

"Beautiful Daniela." he beamed, opening his door a little wider. "I'm not dressed for company."

For one, anybody with a brain could deduce that the name littered across each and every arrest report was of some sort of Spanish descent. If, like herself, he was latino, she could only assume that the severe lack in documentation was a result of some incredibly biased policing. 

By 11:30am, a lightbulb had exploded into a glorious beam of light just above her head as the pieces fell into place. Roberto Silva, ex-law student. He’d been a classmate of hers, though she’d hardly known him at all. She’d racked her brain trying to remember what his major had been when it dawned on her that he hadn’t graduated at all and instead had dropped out. Well, if the endless string of arrests and stints in prison were anything to go by, that appeared to make perfect sense. The vast majority of his arrests appeared to vary between criminal trespass, criminal damage and, most seriously, assault of an officer. His most recent charge appeared to include assault with intent to resist arrest. Daniela had sighed as she’d studied his case, knowing almost immediately that he didn’t deserve the charges being carried out against him. Everybody deserved the right to a peaceful protest, and even the briefest of glances had told her that was exactly what he’d been taken in for. It was just like the New York Police Department to try and twist his actions into something more vulgar and sinister. 

It didn’t take long at all for Daniela to decide her next course of action, and no sooner than she’d recalled just how she knew his name, she’d hoisted her handbag onto her shoulder, blown Geoffrey a kiss and a 4-fingered wave across the office, and headed for the subway. It had taken her a solid 25 minutes to arrive at her destination, and she’d only stopped off once to acquire two coffees and a box of donuts. By the time she arrived outside of Arturo Flores’ apartment, the dingy hallway looking like it required more than just a fresh lick of paint, she had the coffees poised precariously – though, she liked to think they were steady – atop the box of donuts and balanced in her left palm. With her right hand, she was knocking politely on his door, awaiting his response. 

She hadn’t texted or phoned ahead. Daniela Lopez rather imagined she knew the Spectre schedule better than most of its full-time employees. She liked to keep on top of things, just as she knew the ins and outs of Benjamin’s rota, even going so far as to have memorised the days his students had exams. It was in her best interest to keep him as caffeinated as possible, if only to ensure he didn’t drive her complete batty with his flouncing. That was really all there was to it. 

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” Daniela noted, a smirk twisting at the corners of her lips. Her friend was devilishly handsome and he knew it, but she was also acutely aware of the fact that he was devastatingly hungover. Not to mention, looking as though he’d gone ten rounds with Satan himself and lost. If she knew Arturo well at all – which she liked to believe she did – then she thought it was safe to assume that, in that beautiful head of his, he likely had. 

“On the contrary, I think you’re dressed exactly to my liking, dearest!” Daniela teased, before stepping around him, expertly balancing the coffee and the donuts without even the slightest tremor. 

With his back still turned to her, she quickly scanned his apartment, quite content that it wasn’t in total disarray. There was an easel sitting slightly askew in the corner of his living room, pencils and paintbrushes littered across the coffee table and onto the floor, with what looked like an empty bottle of wine wedged between the sofa cushions. All the same, she’d seen his apartment looking worse, and she knew Elena had pulled him free of worse ruts than this one. 

“I won’t bother popping the kettle on, since I’ve come duly prepared!” she informed him, so effortlessly comfortable as though it was her own apartment she’d entered and not his. 

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Honestly, if he’d just jumped Dawsey long ago during one of their nights together, PlayStation controllers abandoned on the coffee table as they lamented the latest Knicks score, things might have been clearer. If Sidney had made a move without Dawsey ever asking, then he might be able to believe that there was something deeper when it came to the other man’s apparent attraction to him.

All this time, he’d been with the likes of Keegan. And Dale. God, Dawsey hoped Dexter never found out about that one - although those two hadn’t exactly been subtle lately. Dawsey knew he couldn’t measure up to guys like that - guys who oozed charisma and went to the gym to go to the gym, not just because it was a convenient escape for the mundanity of family life.

His forehead creased as he pondered Daniela’s question, seriously thinking about it.

“I don’t know,” he admitted eventually, looking down while still keeping his head tipped towards Daniela’s warm hand.

“Maybe he’s just fussy. He can afford to be fussy. You’ve seen him and you’ve seen how everyone looks at him,” he said, quietly. He thought about all the times they’d been in a sports bar or a nightclub and they’d laughed off the way some men gave Sidney longing stares, labelling them unlucky. When really, Sidney had probably had his way with them when Dawsey had gone home to his wife, playing the dutiful husband. The thought made his stomach roll uneasily.

“Fuck, I really need to talk to him,” he sighed, pushing his face into his hands.

She allowed him all the time in the world to think over the state of his affairs, patiently waiting as her thumb stroked lazy, gentle strokes into his skin. He seemed at a loss for words, hopeless and completely wrung out as he tried to answer her honestly. Of course, Daniela knew the answer already. Sidney had had the very person that he wanted the most in the world, and that very man was sitting across from her now looking as though he hadn’t slept all night, dark bags under his eyes deepening as he fretted over the current instability of his most valuable friendship. 

“Maybe you’re right, sweetheart. But don’t you think you both deserve to find out the truth once and for all?” 

She smiled sadly at her darling friend, not looking to coddle him, but not wanting to overwhelm him either. This situation wasn’t one she imagined was easy to manage. While her own dating history was fairly vanilla by comparison, she didn’t think she would ever want to be stuck in the position that Dawsey had found himself in. Aside from the obvious perils of his failing marriage, she couldn’t even begin to imagine what it must feel like to uncover such vast and complicated feelings for your best friend. Skye would likely run a mile, Arturo dutifully in tow, if she thought Daniela was harbouring such immense feelings for her. It was no wonder Dawsey appeared so wrecked right now. 

“I think that would be a good idea, chicken,” Daniela nodded, a soft titter spilling from her lips, immediately followed by resigned eyeroll. Benjamin and his ridiculous terms of endearments. She really could do without his looming presence. “Take whatever time you need, alright? A day, a week. Sit with it, process it, but do talk to him, darling.” 

Truth be told, things had sort of clicked into place for Dawsey the moment Sidney had shoved his hand down his pants.

It felt refreshing to know that he’d been granted permission to take some time though. Just because he knew how he felt about Sidney, it didn’t automatically mean he knew what to do with all those feelings. It was a complete headfuck. Not only had his epiphany threatened to rewrite every memory he had with the other man, but everything else in his life suddenly needed recalibrating as well.

Did he even love Lauren? His wife? Even attempting to unpack that felt like running headfirst into a brick wall. He didn’t want to think about what it would mean for Evie. And, although he hadn’t wanted to think about this too deeply, if he had never loved Lauren like he was sure he did all this time, what the hell did that mean for him and Jace? Had he lost his brother for nothing?

It felt like he’d bitten off more than he could chew and it was too overwhelming to deal with all at once. That was why he’d needed to talk to someone. Not just anyone though - Daniela.

Even if he was convinced she was pulling his leg right now.

“Huh?” He let out a confused noise, wrinkling his nose. Quickly, he began shaking his head.

“I don’t think that’s true.”

The idea of someone like Sidney, the most confident person Dawsey had ever met, trying to make him jealous was…

The word that first sprung to mind was unthinkable, and then he felt a sick sense of… flattery? Pink all the way to the tips of his ears, he lifted his head to look at Daniela again.

“No. Sidney could have anyone. Everyone likes him. He just did me a favour and now he’s happy that he knows I won’t judge him for liking guys.” He quickly corrected himself. “That I can’t judge him for liking guys.”

Right now, the same could possibly be said for her friendship with Dawsey. 

Because, as perceptive as Daniela thought she was, she had still certainly been wrong before. And as she looked at her lovely friend now, features crumpled into a look of utter misery and humiliation, she couldn’t quite believe that he wasn’t seeing the very thing she was seeing. From where she stood, with every puzzle piece neatly slotting into place now that Dawsey had come to her with this new information, it seemed perfectly reasonable to believe that Sidney was in love with the other man. As far as she was concerned, he’d likely been shielding himself from the possibility of being rejected by his best – and, ultimately, married – friend by also outright lying about his sexuality. But with the two having slept together, it seemed only logical that he didn’t need to hide his sexuality anymore. Dawsey had been given a front row seat to Sidney’s experience with men, and it appeared he’d reciprocated every last kiss and touch and, not to be crass, orgasm too. It seemed obvious to Daniela that Sidney was trying to encourage Dawsey to make the next move, using a string of pretty men to help him make a point. 

But perhaps that was too much too soon, and certainly a little heavy handed for an afternoon in a busy coffee shop. 

“I’m not sure we should insult Sidney by assuming he would fall into bed with anybody as merely a favour,” Daniela pointed out, with a gentle smile.  

She gave his hair another gentle stroke, threading her fingers through his unkempt locks before finally releasing her hold on him. She looked him squarely in the face as she took his hand in her own, tangling their fingers together and giving a quick squeeze for extra measure. 

“If Sidney could have anyone, my darling, have you never wondered why he hasn’t? Why he laments his life on the market, but never goes on serious dates? Haven’t you ever been even a small bit curious?” 

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A good husband might have reprimanded Sidney. Dawsey, the shittest husband to ever negotiate his way onto the planet, had only been relieved. Fuck, he was awful.

“No, not about Sidney and Lauren,” he confirmed, his voice mouse-quiet and trembling.

He knew Daniela was smart enough to reach the right conclusion herself, even if the devastated expression on his face was a pretty big clue. When he heard her say the words aloud, it took everything in him to not burst out crying right then and there in the middle of the coffee shop. He’d had some trouble admitting it to himself, so to hear his best friend put it so bluntly was like a tidal wave of feeling that he didn’t think he was ready for.

“God…” he whimpered, pushing his face into his hands as he tried to remember how to breathe.

He could feel Daniela’s lips against the side of his head. A kindness he didn’t deserve. As soon as she pulled away, he lowered his hands and exhaled shakily.

“I’m not shutting him out, I just…” Well, he hadn’t intentionally shut Sidney out, but he hadn’t exactly been stomping the pavements to approach his best friend either.

“I don’t know what to say to him so I tried to give myself a day and then…” A sick feeling washed over him and he swallowed against it, barely managing to grit out his next words. “He’s been busy.”

His stomach gave another nauseating flip when he thought about the string of men Sidney had posted photos of on his Instagram. And that was to say nothing of all the salacious comments being left in their wake. Sidney, it seemed, was completely at ease with his sexuality, which only made Dawsey wonder if he had been the reason his best friend hadn’t felt safe to talk about it before. But now that Sidney had seen Dawsey at his most vulnerable, had witnessed firsthand the way Dawsey had shamelessly moaned and writhed under the weight of another man, it was like Sidney had nothing to hide anymore. Dawsey didn’t fully understand the logistics, but he did know this: Sidney liked men and Dawsey liked Sidney, but he was no longer sure that his best friend saw him in a different light to any of the other men he’d apparently fucked this week.

“Maybe you’re not shutting him out. Maybe you are, sweetheart. Whatever is happening here, you need to allow yourself time to process it,” she soothed him, with one hand still gently caressing his head. “You don’t need to fully understand your feelings, darling. Things won’t click into place over night.” 

As her fingers tangled in his hair, it occurred to Daniela that she’d never seen Dawsey this passionate about anything. It wasn’t a surprise to say that he didn’t share quite the same level of enthusiasm – or, in this particular instance, heartbreak – over his own wife. She could have told him years ago that the two of them were incompatible, but it had never been her place. Whatever feelings he was harbouring for his best friend now, she desperately hoped the two of them would be able to resolve it soon. Daniela didn’t know if she could take it to see her friend so distraught like this for any longer. 

She flinched at Dawsey’s tone. It hadn’t gone amiss to her that Sidney had been posting rather erratically of late. While his apparent attraction to men had never been out in the open – not until his fumble with Dawsey, it seemed – it appeared it was wildly publicised now. With absolutely no judgement in her heart, it hadn’t gone amiss to her that the other man had been quite open in sharing the details of his sex life, as well as advertising the many men he seemed to be exploring with. It was no surprise that might smart with Dawsey. 

“My love,” Daniela started. She exhaled slowly, readying herself for what she had to say. She wasn’t sure if Dawsey would take this well or not, but she would always be honest with him should he ask it of her. “I think it’s entirely possible that Sidney is trying to... Well, make you jealous.” 

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The thing is, I could answer this question just by telling you to walk into the Spectre office. The sexiest people in New York confined to one office space, really. We wouldn't get anything done if Ravi didn't run such a tight goddamn ship.

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