#crossbearers

  Miles and Ben hadn’t been in the neighbourhood for even a year, and yet their presence had been felt, not just in their own home, but in a multitude of others. Ben had half-joked that Miles couldn’t go anywhere without leaving a piece of his heart there to make even the most distant house feel like home to Ben. It was in the way their next-door neighbour, Steven, always had a can of Coke next to Ben’s cheap Pabst, chilled and ready to go for when they came over to watch the Mets game. It was in how Miles’s closest friend and colleague at school, Amelia, had gratefully inherited a copy of Miles’s Nana’s recipe cards to make even her fussy, elitist, in-laws impressed. And it was how Ben could barely sit on a sofa now without it being draped in something Miles had made. But it was all thanks to Mark that Gladys and Theresa’s home was awash with homemade knitted blankets, crocheted toys for the grandkids, and a signed copy of ‘Conway’s Daughter’ made out to Ben’s biggest fan, Theresa. It was scuffed at the corners from how many times Gladys had saved it from the trash before the garbage men had seen it off to what her wife had called its ‘rightful resting place amongst its own kind’. They always insisted they never needed anything for looking after Mark, that he was a good kid, welcome any time, for any reason. However, Miles especially had always been grateful for the easy, accepting way they’d never press for the why behind the favour, even when he knew they could see it clearly written across his open face. Whether it was the dark bags under his even darker baby blue eyes, the tremble of his lower lip as he worried about Ben, and, ever increasingly, the ruddy blush that soaked his skin when he’d dance around the simplest reason of them all.

That Miles Miller really wanted an evening alone with his boyfriend. 

  It was the week after they granted his request to let Mark sleep over that Gladys and Theresa welcomed a beautiful, if slightly amateurish and damaged, vase into their home as a thanks for their kindness. Years later, Miles found himself struck dumb as he saw it shine once again after their annual spring clean. Theresa thought she saw him blushing. Gladys could have sworn she saw him blink away the tears.

The evening of Mark's sleepover had been something Miles and Ben had talked about for weeks, although it had been on their minds since almost the beginning. The shameful desire reared its ugly head whenever Miles was held in a loving, almost too-tight bear hug, or he twisted the bedsheets tight around his wrists as they made love. Seeking those moments out wherever he could, never letting the implications linger long enough to make room in his mind, Miles was only ever left with the sinking feeling that whatever it was that he was doing, it was disgusting. The former concierge couldn’t admit to himself that what he secretly desired was the same thing he saw performed by the worst of the El Royale’s clientele. The very thing that had been done to him by the most uncaring of guests, and worst of all, the cult that had almost killed him.

He wanted to be tied down. No matter how hard Miles tried to ignore it, he longed for nothing more than to give up control of his body to the man he had sworn it to, but his body still didn’t feel like his to give. Not when it still haunted the corridors of the El Royale, trapped in the chair he swore he’d die in. Ben had helped to save his soul from Jerusalem’s Lot, but the fiery, blistering sensation of the rope against his wrists still burned with an inferno hotter than the sun. The feeling kept him bound to that place even years later, struggling to free himself against the invisible tether that sometimes felt more real than his beloved’s touch. But therein lay his problem; he couldn’t move on, not without giving in to the monstrous sinner that died that day instead of the true him.

  He wasn’t that dammed person anymore; he was a new Miles. One that would have to find another way to exorcise that side of himself. Alone.

 However, despite Miles’s best attempts to conceal that side of himself, Ben had spotted it almost every time, lurking just below the surface, waiting to be set free. He knew exactly what it was that Miles was craving. Hell, how could he not? After all, once upon a time, that desire had haunted him, too. But where Miles had found only the calloused hands of another paying stranger, Ben had found Miranda. She had looked after him during their first time venturing into the world of BDSM and encouraged all his subsequent ideas and fantasies. Afterwards, the skin he spent his life chafing against sat more easily over his frame than it had ever done before. There was nothing Ben wanted to do more for his love than to pass on that precious gift to him.

 That is, if he could find the bravery to ask Miles if he wanted to try. Where Miranda hadn’t hesitated, Ben couldn’t bring himself to ask that one simple question. It encircled Ben like a vulture, just waiting to feed on the carcass of the hard-won trust he thought he could so easily annihilate. What if?

What if Miles really didn’t want to go far enough to try bondage? What if Ben was selfishly seeing what he wanted to? And if Ben was wrong, what if Miles thought it was disgusting? That Ben was disgusting? Or worse, what if he could inadvertently trigger yet another panic attack in Miles? Miles certainly seemed to be searching for those sensations of being restrained, and Miles had at least told Ben he loved their first, tentative, planned forays into giving up control. But that wasn't the same as ropes and toys, especially to his timid Catholic mouse, whose creative and (hopefully) devious mind was only just starting to be unleashed. While their progress had been nothing short of miraculous to him, he couldn’t bear to see it spooked back into hiding, especially when Miles’s recovery and comfort were worth more to him than anything. There were still moments when Ben saw Miles hesitate; a revelation, a piece of his past, something he wanted to tell Ben but couldn't yet say. However, the fear of overstepping held him back from reaching out. He had lost so many people in his life already. There was no way on this godforsaken planet he would do anything to jeopardize his new life with Miles.

So instead of asking, Ben pushed the suggestion deep down, until it was just another addition in a long line of unspoken questions.

  In the end, they had taken that plunge together. 

Ben’s large hands held Miles’s firm above his head. Ben hadn’t even realized he had done it. Fingers woven together into a lover’s tie, the writer had been grasping for anything that could tether them together as he poured all the stress of the long week into his deep, open-mouthed kisses. When their conjoined hands hit the soft mattress with an even softer ‘thump’, they both felt the way Miles suddenly went still beneath him. “Miles, sweetheart, you okay?”

  There was a quick clench of strong muscle under Ben’s grip. Not trying to get away, just a gentle, barely there test. Ben shivered as the needy whine warmed his neck before his brain could play catch-up and decipher it. “Please. Don’t stop.” 

If it hadn’t been for the fact that Mark lay asleep down the corridor, Ben could have happily complied and stayed there for hours, soaking up the way Miles full-bodied groaned when he plunged his way into his tight hole, knees coming up to hold him, as if Ben could ever want to be anywhere else. Lying so close, his stomach squished Miles’ suddenly engorged cock between them, each thrust rolled the swell of his belly over that silky, hardened length with delicious friction. It had taken record time to get Miles’ eyes to glaze over, as hazy-looking as his mind felt. All the while, each twist of his wrists against Ben’s hold sank him deeper and deeper into that void that turned all thoughts inside out until he was nothing more than a vessel for his boyfriend to break in for his own pleasure.

“B’n. S’good. More- need- ah! M-more.”

Oh, how it did wonders for Ben’s heart to hear him cry for more. He knew what was coming. Once, Miles would try to pull away as he got close to this point. He used to protest that it was too much. Now it wasn’t enough. Ben’s whole being braced itself, bringing Miles’s hands closer to the halo of fiery curls that fanned out across the bed, fingers still clutched together, so Ben could push himself up just enough for his eyes to feast on the display tabled before him.

“Come on. Let go for me, baby. Just let go.”

He went still, hovering over Miles like an eagle watching its tiring prey, barely blinking lest he miss his favourite moment in the world. He waited a beat, just long enough for his boyfriend to stir, blinking his confusion, before he plunged back into him with a wet, filthy squelch. It was a teasing swipe of air against his ribs that literally hit him first, followed by the sound of a surprised, broken yelp. Miles was close, but not close enough. So Ben pulled back and thrusted again, slapping his hips against the cushion of Miles’s plush thighs. The veteran’s body bowed to welcome it, but he couldn’t hold himself up with his hands entrapped. Before he could try again, Ben pounded into him furiously, long and hard, shoving him back into his rightful place, buried into the mattress below. It was when Miles could only grind his head back and forth under the onslaught that Ben fully let go, ramming the tip of his cock right on the smooth button buried deep within his core. He beat it into submission with each thunderous clap of their bodies. With nowhere to go, Miles tried to hold on; instead, he could only squirm like a trapped bug under Ben’s grip. The reaction was instantaneous. Miles kicked a leg against the air like a dog scratching its ear. The muscles of his left leg quaked in the aftershocks as though he could shoot the excess pleasure from his limb to stop it from leaking out of his open, kiss-swollen lips as easily as the drool pooling at his chin. He lost control of his lower half as the toes of his other leg curled, unable to stop it from seizing as the other drummed against Ben’s side like a wind-up toy pushed past its limits and sprung. Ben never lasted more than a few seconds after that.

“Fuck”, Ben groaned, swallowing Miles’s hands with his own and bringing them up one at a time to place a tender kiss on each knuckle. “Incredible. Absolutely incredible, Thumper.”

Miles’s body reacted without conscious thought, chest rising in the motion of giggles as he intimated ‘gimmie’ hands, beckoning Ben back onto him. Ben knew Miles always got extra clingy after one of their more intense sessions. He noted, with just a slightly smug curl of his lips, that Miles’s tummy was a pearlescent, sticky mess. It didn’t appear Miles could feel it yet, but he knew how much he hated it if left unattended, and coupled with the way his body had seized, he was likely going to be sore in the morning. Without breaking contact, Ben scooped him up, bringing Miles’s arms around his neck and carrying him the short distance into the en-suite bathroom, thanking the good architects of Ashford, Minnesota, for their contribution to keeping their young ward (relatively) unscarred.

By the time Miles started to stir again, Ben had managed to run a hot bath, pouring in a few shakes of scented oils for good measure. Cradled in Ben's arms, Miles lay back against his boyfriend's chest, head burrowed within the nest of his neck as Ben massaged the soap into his biceps. Ben could see the faint pinkish marks where he’d shoved Miles's hands firmly to the bed.

The sight hit him as though it had physical weight.

Oh, was that why Miles had gotten so worked up so quickly? 

It couldn't be… could it? Before he could get the cogs working in his tired mind, he felt warm air groaned into his throat that sounded suspiciously like a swear word. Boy, Ben couldn’t wait to lord it over him in the morning. He placed a barely-there kiss to the crown of curls at his chin. “Welcome back, sweetheart.” Miles blinked against the dim light as he reluctantly extracted himself from the protective haven of the neck. He wriggled his digits, restoring feeling to his extremities to prove to himself that his body still listened to him. “Did… Did I do that thing again?” Ben squeezed him tighter. “That you did, Thumper”, he tittered affectionately. Even just the memory infected his voice with an awe normally reserved for the saints as he whispered into Miles's ear. “God, you looked so beautiful, too. I needed that today, so thank you… For trusting me.” And Ben meant it; he never took for granted what it meant for Miles to let him take charge, and to trust that he’d look after him when he did. Especially when the last person he trusted had done everything to betray it.

 “Think that should be my line.” Ben feigned consideration, tilting Miles’ chin up to meet him. Taking in the still glassy tint to his slate blue eyes, he brushed his thumb over the lazy crease of his dewy lips, coaxing it into a satisfied smile. “Don’t seem like you’re capable of many lines right now.” “Pride is a sin, Benjamin.” “So were those skin coloured shorts you wore today. Shaking that fine ass of yours like you really did have a bunny tail.” Ben suddenly stopped himself with a gulp… Now wasn’t the time to be picturing that. Instead, he all but growled into the remains of Miles’s cheek scars. “A rabbit and a minx. Think that makes us even.”

The only retort Miles could muster came in the form of a languid yawn. Stretching out like a cat in the sun, even as the moonlight reflected in the ripples of water, Miles’s heavy head nodded along Ben’s clavicle as he sank slightly lower into the soothing abyss. He trusted in the sturdiness of his love’s arms to keep him afloat as he drifted along with it, unable to think of a witty rejoinder when every sense and every shattered, jagged piece of him was being held together, secure and moored to the safe harbour of what was his Ben. Whereas evenings like this often gave Miles the much-needed emotional release he was still learning to accept that he adored, this night felt different; he just couldn’t say why, not when his thoughts were as elusive as the water surrounding him. 

Skimming along the edges, he could only catch fragments before they disappeared. There was something his mind was trying to tell him. It was somewhere in the faraway sound of Ben murmuring ‘oh bother’ in his best Pooh Bear impression, the first time Miles had stripped in front of him and gotten his red shirt stuck over his head. But the memory dissolved as quickly as it came. In its stead was the quiet afternoon months ago, interrupted by a spluttered apology when Ben felt the telltale stirring of Miles’s cock pressed into his lower spine as they lay snuggled on the sofa watching monster movies. Miles had been so sure Ben would pull away, only to find himself on his back moments later as Ben enthusiastically played the damsel in distress with aplomb. 

  However, the memory that filled his mind’s eye the longest was their first weekend away together, when Ben took his time learning his new partner as though he contained more hidden treasures than the Smithsonian. Snapshots flicked in and out of view, the way Ben smoothed over any mistake by turning it back on himself, the way he made Miles’s body feel sanctified with just a look of lust and a schoolboy glimmer of mischief, and how, on the final evening, he had first called him ‘Thumper’ after milking the final drops of bone-trembling pleasure from his boyfriend’s bullied prostate. Even Ben had expected a tut or a smack for that one; instead, he found himself bouncing lightly up and down as his partner crushed him to his chest and laughed more freely than he had ever done in his adult life.

  Before Miles could follow the thread to the end, Ben’s voice reverberated with a low hum. Even half asleep, Miles could hear the anxiety that kept his lips pursed together. whenever he was fishing for something. “Did you enjoy it? Anything that was too much? I didn’t make you uncomfortable at all…?”

  “-No! S’was great”, Miles slurred. “You always make me feel good, Ben…” Miles mouthed at the bicep next to his face in an approximation of a kiss. He could feel how tense he was under him, hugging him even tighter lest he disappear for good. Pushing himself up Ben’s chest, nearly headbutting him in the chin, Miles tried to wake himself up to discern the source of Ben’s hesitation. But then he felt it. Two hands cradled around his, tying them together, lightly tracing the lines of his veins like he was trying to smooth out a bruise that wasn’t there. Ben rested his chin on Miles’s shoulder, looking at them with an intensity that made his jaw clench. He didn’t know it, but he held Miles like the chair and ropes at the final stand-off at the hotel’s casino. 

Bracing himself for the old burning sensation to start, instead Miles felt only a calmness breeze over his skin, followed by the surprisingly soothing memory of how Ben had held him down. How could that be? He was too exhausted to think straight. All he knew was that he was here, in his house, with his Ben, and with his son sleeping peacefully down the hall. Every one of them, safe. His mind went through the breathing exercises his new therapist had taught him. I’m not at the El Royale, I’m in Minnesota, I’m home. And for once, it worked. He couldn’t believe it-

It was then that the realization finally hit him of what his mind had been trying to make him understand. Within those moments, just like that very evening, Ben had taken him apart, piece by piece, orgasm by orgasm, with a sixth sense for when to put Miles back together again, greater than before. All with just his easy charm and a knowing grin. Never patronizing or cruel, just with a gentle, loving humour that kick-started those first steps towards Miles’s accepting the parts of his sexuality he hated most. Maybe bondage could be the same. Just another one of Ben’s tiny miracles on his life?

Giving into the body behind him, melding into him like they were one being, Miles suddenly felt all his shattered parts start to slip into place for the first time in his life. However, emboldened by the care Ben showed his wrists, Miles Miller wanted to go one better. He wanted to be more than the sum of all the broken pieces of himself, and to do that, he needed to face all of them. Daring to put all his love and confidence in the man who held him in his totality, Miles’s body finally started to feel like his own again. Now all he had to do was hand over control to the only man he trusted it with.  

  Unable to bear the nerves radiating off his devoted writer any longer, Miles raised Ben’s knuckles to his lips, kissing them as Ben had done to him not half an hour earlier. Ben’s own hands were weightless, moving with rather than against him. The air hitched against Miles’s ear, both in surprise and something approaching wonder. “It was nice… When you, um, did that” said Miles, bunting his head against Ben’s still flexing sideburns. Ben was silent, but Miles didn’t push. He swore he could hear his boyfriend’s thoughts screaming whatever warning was still bothering him, but eventually the author leaned into his touch with a slow exhale. He squeezed Miles tighter and braved it. “Is that something you want to try again? Me… holding you down?” “Yes”, came the harried response. It was so quick Ben barely heard it over his own voice. Embarrassed, Miles suddenly sounded much more alert as he amended, “So long as you don’t mind! It’s okay if you don’t-”

  He didn't even finish before Ben assured, with barely contained glee, that he didn’t mind in the slightest. Looking at the way his shimmering eyes gleamed, Ben knew his love felt just as relieved as he did. He kissed the button of Miles’s nose, and the deal was sealed.

Ben just hoped he had learned enough from his too-short time with Miranda that he could do Miles justice.

The morning sun cut its way through the cracks in the curtains, a thousand tiny daggers all pointed right at the writer’s still sleep-sodden eyes. The beginning of summer energized the room while Ben remained motionless under its stubborn insistence that it was time to wake up and face the day. In a feeble ‘fuck you’ to the universe, Ben turned his face into the pillow, but the puddle of chilled drool drove him back, the jerk of his head triggering a gentle laugh in front of him that felt warmer than the blazing sun. The sound did more to trick him back into the land of the living than the light ever could. How fucking dare they. “You’re breathing too loudly. M’trying to sleep”, Ben groaned.

  The sound rudely kept going, but the fingers that threaded his hair and massaged his scalp were an acceptable apology.

  The alarm clock beeped once before the kind, saintly, definitely heaven-bound man next to him switched it off before it could disturb him more. It was then, when the hand returned and continued along the line of his neck and over the rise of his bare shoulder, that Ben realized he hadn’t even gotten under the covers last night. He hurriedly replayed the evening in his head, praying to the god Miles interceded with on his behalf that he hadn’t gotten drunk last night and made an ass out of himself. 

  The memories were fuzzy, like a worn-out VHS tape, but with each recollection, it slowly cleared - Ben’s heated meeting with his editor. The even more heated argument with his car that wouldn’t start. A withering look from his son as he couldn’t help even a twelve-year-old with his math homework. But then, none of that had mattered after Mark had asked for a bedtime story for the first time. It all flowed quickly after that: the impromptu slow dancing in the kitchen with his boyfriend, who told him how good a dad he was, the ill-advised opening of the expensive scotch that Miles sucked from his lips, and not to mention the mind-melting orgasm that dragged the most embarrassing sounds from deep within his gut. Then came the memory of the bath. It was like he’d applied jumper cables to his heart, shocking himself to life. His arm suddenly stretched out before him, slapping against a thigh just inches away from his face. Surprised, Ben’s hand didn’t retreat as he realized Miles must have been sitting against the headboard. That was normally the position reserved for big, important conversations. The kind Ben Mears had spent over thirty years expertly avoiding, but grew to gratefully, if nervously, anticipate now that Miles had finally started to open up.

The revelations of Miles’s past had been slowly drip-fed over the last few months. While Ben knew the broad, horrifying strokes of what had happened, Miles’s most trusted confidante hadn’t been his partner, or even his therapist, but their black and white cat, Dot. Ben had overheard him on several occasions, tearily whispering his secrets into the softness of her fur as she lay curled up, snug on his lap. Even with their beloved pet, he often waited for her to fall asleep first. 

Ben had always fought the urge to lean in and eavesdrop. As hard as it was, he quickly realized those one-sided conversations were just a necessary rehearsal, preparing Miles to work up the courage to tell Ben himself in the form of a shakily written letter, left on the bedside table when he was sure he wouldn’t be there to see Ben read it.

It was only in the last couple of months that Miles had finally started to feel secure enough to tell Ben directly, either during their joint therapy sessions or more often than not, here in the very bed they shared. Ben didn’t know what it meant. That Miles felt safest of all in a place that often symbolized some of his most shameful memories. But he was going to do everything he could to keep it that way. “My eyes are up here”, he huffed into the covers, lids still held shut as he gave his butt a little playful wiggle. Miles sounded as distant as Ben anticipated, but he reassuringly felt him move his leg closer to his touch as he breathed out a quiet laugh. “How’d you guess?” “How could you resist?”

  Miles snorted. Against his will, Ben finally opened his eyes, blinking rapidly to dispel the fog. He thought he would have gotten used to it by now, but if ever he would, today wasn’t the day. God, he is so fucking beautiful. 

Miles was still his quiet, woodland Fae all these months later. Dust and gossamer danced around him, catching the rays and turning into a blizzard of rainbow specks that all moved to encircle and caress the creature who housed his heart. At the beginning of their relationship, Miles had always slept clothed, no matter the weather; now he wore his nudity with a casualness that Ben thought was the sexiest thing in the world, scars and all. All he needed to do was ease the worry that lined his face to complete the picture. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” Ben asked.

  Miles took a deep breath, steadying himself before softly nudging Ben to sit up. He took the hint, still completely naked, giving Miles the space to think but allowing himself to keep a watchful eye. When he was settled, Miles brought his knees up, covered by the duvet that cushioned his folded arms as he rested them on top. He looked defensive, almost afraid, while he did all he could to stay present. “About last night… I need to tell you something.” Ben’s stomach dropped. Shit. Had Miles changed his mind? Had he woken up and realized Ben had, in fact, pushed him too far? Ben moved to apologize, but Miles shot him a look as he leaned forward. “-And I need you to listen.” 

His boyfriend stopped dead in his tracks. Miles regretted the harsh words before they even left his mouth, but he couldn’t stop the adrenaline that only ever needed the smallest excuse to set him on edge. “S-Sorry- that was rude- I didn’t mean-”

“Miles”, Ben interrupted, quiet but firm. “You’re fine. Fire away.”

Relaxing slightly, Miles’s gaze lingered a moment to check he wasn’t lying, before he turned to stare out the window. He had gotten better at this, but it was never easy. Legs hugged tighter against his chest, Ben could see him attempt to slow down his breathing as he watched the birds prepare their new, spring homes in the garden. For a moment, their song was the only noise in the room as Ben held his breath, listening intently in case he missed any sign that Miles needed him. Finally, the man spoke. He sounded robotic, cold, as he read from the script he had prepared all morning. He always did when he spoke about his past again.

  “It’s about what happened at the El Royale. On that last day, when the cult came… Once I came round after this happened”. He motioned to the scars of his face, “They… They had me tied to a chair. One of them said they were going to k-kill me and-… All I can remember is how much it cut into my skin when I tried to get away. I kept struggling, and nothing happened, an- and-”. His mouth moved frantically, feebly. The ‘I thought I was going to die there’, lodged painfully in his throat. Miles tried to continue and push on, but his voice came out as only a shuddering sigh. When he went to try again, he was struck strangely dumb. A single goldfinch landed softly on their windowsill. He watched it for a while as it twisted its head, just as interested in Miles as he was in it. He never saw birds that beautiful in the desert; he had only ever dreamt of being as free as they were. Maybe even as free as he was starting to feel with his new, impossible family. When it eventually flew off, Miles looked down at his calloused hands. They tingled, but they weren’t trembling anymore. “T-There ain't any marks left”, he said, sounding more present. “But I can still feel the rope burning sometimes when it’s real hot or if it's been a bad day… Then last night, even though I couldn’t move… They felt fine. I felt fine.”

He turned back to Ben, searching for some reassurance that Ben understood, that he could make sense of what it all meant. That he wasn’t irrevocably broken for wanting this. However, when he saw Ben’s wet, wide eyes, full of love and concern, staring back at him, he shattered. Miles’s chin scrunched up, sucking in his lower lip before it let out a sob. He tried to straighten it back out before he worried Ben even more, but it was too late; his whole jaw quivered like a leaf, dragging his shoulders with it. Miles tried to get a hold of himself, but it was no use, not once the dam had broken. 

Yet, he refused to look away again - They had backed out of this conversation too many times before to give up now. So, for once, he allowed the tears to fall unimpeded.

The sight broke Ben’s heart, but at the same time, he felt so goddamm proud. As much as Ben wanted to kiss it all away, he knew they had to face it, too. So instead of fussing over him as he used to do, Ben moved a couple of inches closer, the side of their legs not quite meeting through the barrier of the duvet, remaining present but not intruding while Miles rode out the wave of emotions until it finally ebbed. It was just a quick double tap of the foot, their sign that Miles was ready to be touched, that allowed Ben to finally close the gap. With a deft touch, Ben lightly coaxed Miles’s legs forward so he could place the side of his forehead on top of his bent knees. Instantly, Miles made room, carding his fingers through his sleep-tussled hair, straightening it out around the curve of his writer’s ear, causing Ben’s lashes to flutter when blunt nails scratched along his scalp. 

  Miles giggled softly when Ben pressed a kiss to his palm. He looked so… goofy, sat next to him. Like a lazy hound at his feet, silently waiting for his master’s order- Oh. Right.

Miles looked abashed, wiping the tears from his face. “Oh, sorry…! Um, Y-you can talk now.”

A small, fond smile tugged at Ben’s lips. “Thank you for telling me, sweetheart. Just to check, do you still want to try using restraints? There’s no shame if you change your mind. We can drop it or talk about it another time.”   

To Ben’s relief, Miles stopped to really consider it. Head tilted like an owl, he muttered, “No… I want to. Really, I do. I’m just worried I’m going to freak out on you and make it miserable for both of us.” “Okay. That’s something we can work on then.” Ben’s voice dulled an octave, “Can I ask, where was it they tied you?” “Um, elbows to my sides and wrists together on my lap”, responded Miles. He felt strangely lighter putting it into words already. Ben raised himself up slightly, crossing his arms over Miles’s knees with his chin resting on top like a curious schoolboy. The significance of what they were about to undertake should have scared him, but knowing why Miles had been so afraid gave him a plan of action, something, thank God, he could do. “Alright, then we’ll work around it - try something new, make sure it's different. I’ll have a chat with Gladys and see if she can look after Mark for an evening. Then we can take it as slow as we need.” “And if I still mess it up?” Miles blushed. “Then we mess it up, we move on, or we keep trying until we get it right. Same as we do everything else”, said Ben confidently. “And if it all goes to hell? We’ll order in, we’ll watch the Mets game, and then I'll tell you how much I love you while you tell me off for speaking with my mouth full.”

  Ben expected a laugh, but Miles looked at him like he’d been visited by an angel who had just graced him with a divine revelation. He sounded like he was talking to himself as he slowly whispered, “You really don’t mind, do you?”

 “Be a hypocrite if I said I did.”  “You…” Miles’s forehead crinkled as he struggled to process his words and the sly grin plastered all over Ben’s face. It took just a moment, and then his eyebrows shot up, “... Y-You’ve done this before?” Ben nodded. His dimples deepened as he teased, “Uh-huh. Either way, I get to tie up my incredible, handsome boyfriend, or I get to eat Pizza and watch the Mets with my incredible, handsome boyfriend. Either way? I’m the luckiest man alive.”

It was then that Ben got the smile he had wanted to see since he had woken up. Miles beamed brighter than the mid-morning sun, disbelief still playing along the trail of his laugh lines, perfecting them against the pink, mottled canvas of his blushing cheeks. “Remember”, Ben continued. “We have time now. Nothing needs to be perfect on the first go unless you’re my good-for-nothing editor.”

Miles nodded softly. It took only a quick tug, but he lowered his legs and brought Ben to straddle his lap over the duvet. For just a second, he looked, really looked at his partner above him. Ben wasn’t Richard Straker. He wasn’t going to take his confession and use it to hurt him. He could do this. They could do this. Taking a scruff of long hair within his hands, he pulled Ben onto his lips, hoping, praying, it contained everything he wanted to say. It didn’t take long before Ben cupped Miles’s face and deepened it, giving his everything back into that open, pliant mouth. He sang his response down to the very core of his love. Each hum and moan filled his lungs until they overflowed, warming the space between cells until Miles felt himself unfurling under Ben’s kiss like a flower finally blooming in the morning glow. With just a drift of his lips, Ben traced a line of kisses along the face he knew better than his own. Miles tried to follow, as though their lips were magnetized to each other, but Ben remained undeterred, following his predetermined path, luxuriating in the stretch of the skin under his touch and drying the trails of his tears with his thumbs. When he got to his destination, he bowed Miles’s head to knight him with a chaste kiss to the centre of his brow. Inching his way closer, Ben nuzzled his forehead into the spot, swaying in Miles’s arms as they came up to envelope him in a lazy, loose hug. He waited for Miles to make the first move, if he wanted to continue or call it a morning. Instead, Miles let the moment stretch on, allowing it to breathe as he himself found his again. He wanted to live in it for as long as he could with Ben draped over him, shielding him from the very passage of time as he sat as comfortably in his lap as he did in the silence Miles needed. 

It was only when they were interrupted by the sound of padded, soft feet, followed by four even lighter ones, walking past their door that they finally broke apart.

Miles opened his mouth and closed it again, thinking better of it. He looked half in a daze, as though the gentle rhythm of their rocking had hypnotized him, until the sound of their son’s knocking snapped him out of it with a bang. “Guys! Dot’s getting hungry, d’you need me to feed her?” “Give us a minute! It’s a Saturday, jeez”, shouted Ben. They could practically hear Mark’s eyes roll in his skull as he sighed, “It’s a Friday, and I have school in thirty minutes.”

  Ben looked to Miles to check he was correct. “....Shit. Okay, get your stuff. Be there in a moment.”

  But Ben didn’t move away, not when Miles kept him locked in place. The cute pout to his lips was irresistible, not to mention a low blow. “You said we have time now. Don’t suppose there’s still time for pancakes?”   “With you? Always.” Ben brushed Miles’s curl from his eyes, “I luff you, Miles Miller. I need you to know, nothing is going to change that.” It seemed to take a few seconds for the words to soak in, but Ben could feel the exact moment they took root. The repetition, the constant assurances, the unfailing attempts to always be there, even if he sometimes stumbled. It was finally chipping its way through the last of Miles’s defences, until it finally shattered, and with it, Miles threw himself into Ben’s arms to catch him. It came out of nowhere, the words punching their way out of Miles’s subconscious, the end of his scripted confession he’d woken up early to compose. He couldn’t remember how he was supposed to get to the closer, but it still felt true, even as it came out as a jumbled, inarticulate mess. “I luff you too... It scares me, sometimes. What would have happened if I never met you. I-I never dreamt… I mean, I thought, in a movie or for someone else… But I just…”. He sighed, unable to put into words everything his very soul was filled with. But as he looked up at Ben, it came pouring out like a drunken, sober confession. “There was never anyone like you, not even in my wildest dreams.” Ben crushed him into his chest, kissing anywhere and everywhere he could reach. He didn’t try to hide the quiver in his voice. “I’m so glad you survived, Miles. Now all we have to do is work on living. Every day. Starting with pancakes.”  

As the first batch of pancake mix burnt, Ben called the school and informed them that Mark was sick and wasn't going to be in today. Their son didn’t question it when he saw the tiredness etched across his Dads’ faces, and Miles, despite his half-hearted lecture to the both of them on the importance of school, couldn't help but feel relieved when Mark promised there weren't any important deadlines that day. 

Just the knowledge that they were all safe at home was an indulgence he would allow himself this once. After nights like that, his anxiety would always play havoc with his mind as the old words of Straker's came bubbling back to the surface, twisting his thoughts around until he believed the very worst of them. Sometimes he was still the hopeless addict, the pervert criminal, the cold-blooded killer. Today, he was simply the burden. 

It had been one of Miles's biggest challenges, to accept that seeking help didn't make him a liability, certainly never to them. He knew it intellectually, but that didn't mean he believed it. However, as Mark plastered himself to Miles's side at the table, and his boyfriend remeasured the flour according to Ms. Winters's recipe as though his life depended on it… The voice was quieter than normal. Quieter, but still there, rumbling under the blanket of gentle, lazy morning conversation that energized the kitchen. Guilt still burned his ears as Miles saw the concern in his young ward’s face when he picked at the once forbidden food. Miles would figure out how to let Mark in eventually, but for now, just being together was enough to live through the day.

The distorting, magnifying effects of time caused that day to become borderline mythical within the Miller-Mears household. However, despite Ben’s stubborn insistence, the heavens hadn’t opened up and rained their heavenly light upon them, declaring Ben to be ‘The Best Boyfriend Ever™’. Nor had the planet quaked as the seismic shift in the lives moved the plates of the earth’s crust. Instead, life carried on much the same. The school runs took precedence, as did Miles’s application for community college, and in the evenings, they ran the gamut of B to Z movies as Mark steadfastly loved them all with an infectiousness that even Ben was slowly succumbing to. Not that it ever stopped his running commentary of scathing critiques. 

It was once Mark was tucked up and comfy in bed that the planning could begin. Sensing the energy shift as soon as the bedroom door was closed, Ben insisted that they take it slow. Miles insisted they get it over and done with, which only made Ben more certain. Eventually, Miles ceded to Ben’s point after he spent the whole session a nervous wreck, agreeing to every suggestion without listening, including inviting the neighbourhood knitting group over to watch. 

So they broke it up piecemeal, one day at a time. It started with quiet mornings spent in bed discussing the practicalities - which position would feel best, morning or afternoon, sexual or non-sexual. Followed by not-so-quiet evenings, feeling out what worked - allowing Miles to experience different parts of his body being held down with just hands, and then doing the same to Ben in turn. Letting him familiarise himself to the sensations without associating it with Straker or Billy Lee. After a while, it became a part of their routine, casual, sometimes even easy. And with each conversation, Ben swore Miles's eyes glowed brighter, his back straighter. Even his voice grew louder.

One year ago, Miles had little care for his own boundaries. Now, his timid Catholic mouse was telling him what he wanted to try and what to avoid. He still blushed, but Ben could see the simmering arousal hiding in plain sight. It was challenging. They felt silly, scared and elated in equal measure. But it deepened their bond in ways that years later they were still only just beginning to comprehend. And every step of the way, Ben guided Miles through it, until they both agreed they were ready.

Miles casually asked Gladys over lunch when she could next take Mark, and the date was set for a week on Friday. He put it in the calendar. Looking at it, seeing it was real, feeling the countdown in the ticking of the clock... It hit him.

He was still terrified.

After everything that had happened, he would always be terrified. How could he ever think he could leave his past behind, when that was all he was? All he would ever be? 

Alone in the house, Miles could feel himself spiralling, as it all came flooding back.  

It boomed against the ringing in his ears that blared like a danger siren. Miles tried to outrun the shadow of Richard Straker, pacing around his studio like a caged animal in an unending marathon. But he couldn’t hide from himself. The speeches got stuck on repeat, assuring him, in no uncertain terms, how sick and abhorrent his perverted desires were. How he needed to give up control to him if he was ever going to have any hope of moving on. Turning the radio up loud, Miles forced the thunderous drawl into the background, adding to the taunting Greek chorus that followed him around the tiny enclosure. But with each step, the chorus welcomed its old members. The indifferent teasing of men who had only used him for their pleasure, the Major who fashioned him down into a weapon, threatening him if he ever questioned it, and the letter from management, attached to his blackmail tape, stating simply that he was their property now.

Wearing the carpet down beneath his stomping feet, Miles did as his therapist had suggested and got to work instead. With trembling hands, he set about making them useful and started on the finishing touches of the gift he had planned for Gladys and Theresa. It was a small vase, a still beginner's attempt, but it shone with the character and promise only a passionate novice could achieve. He tried to focus on painting it, a sparkly emerald green to signify their neighbours' soon-to-be 35 years together. It was slow going, having to apply coat after coat as he lost focus under the barrage, uneven lines ruining what had to be perfect. But how could they be, when everything he touched turned to shit? Useless. Unloveable. Hopeless. 

“Miles. Sweetheart. Honey.” Unable to hear him over the torrent of abuse, Miles came back to earth with a soft thud as Ben hugged him to his chest. He swayed with him, led into a stationary waltz as Ben held those frayed edges together in the security of his arms. Even as his vase lay shattered and broken at their feet. When he saw all his work was for nothing, Miles wanted to call the whole thing off and run… But feeling Ben around him, he didn’t know why. But he stayed. Ben gave him a knowing look, and asked if he was having second thoughts. Not wanting to pressure him, he kept any disappointment from his tone. Chewing the cuticle of his thumb, Miles sounded only slightly more confident than he looked as he spoke.  “I… I want to do this still. I know I can do this.” “Are you sure?” Ben asked warily. “You don’t have to prove anything to me.” Miles’s voice was soft as he looked up at Ben, “It’s not that, I promise. I just… panicked.” His face fell. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” “Do you want to talk about it? Could be we’re missing something, and we need to fine-tune it some more.” And to Ben’s relief and delight, he did. They sat in their kitchen, warm cup of tea in hand, and Miles told him what the voices had said. Of all the ways he had conceded power and control, and had that trust abused. Where they had previously only discussed the practicalities, they realized they had only seen the tip of the iceberg. 

For once, Miles didn’t sound so robotic as he explained it all off the cuff. No prepared speech, just two weathered hands laced together on the tabletop. Where previously he spoke as if the only way to survive was to gut himself of all feeling, now he sounded unguarded, raw. Like they’d opened up a nerve, poking and prodding at it until they knew as much as they could bear for one day. He hadn’t even needed the shelter of their bedroom.

So instead of calling their attempt at BDSM off, they recalibrated. Knowing Miles’s need to feel useful, they planned to make a full day of it, something to bring them ever closer, something they could treasure no matter what happened after. It had been weeks since their last proper date. It sounded nearly perfect, but Ben still anxiously fussed with the sleeve of his shirt. Seeing the doubt that still lingered behind Ben’s countenance, Miles’s voice barely registered through the quiet ambience.

“You know I trust you, Ben? Know I aint always good at showin’ it, but I promise. I do.”

  Ben took a moment, taken aback by the question. His first instinct was to protest and tell him he knew. Of course, he knew… Didn’t he? Suddenly, he wasn’t so sure.

In those first few months of their relationship, they were supposed to build the foundations that set them up to tackle the rest of their lives together head-on. Instead, it had been a blur of FBI interviews, hospital visits and moving halfway across the country to build their stitched-together home. In their attempt to give Mark stability, they had to forego normal relationship milestones, a fact Ben Mears was all too aware of. While other couples looked to build timeshares and retirement plans, they were still rediscovering what it felt like to be human again. To be loved unconditionally. To heal, and most of all, to trust the other would be there when they couldn’t. It wasn’t a trait that came easily to either of them anymore, but they were trying. The fact that they were still sitting here discussing it was proof enough.

“Yeah… I know,” Ben said solemnly. The affirmation hung in the air, the silence suspending them between the couple as Ben let it rest, to see if it felt true. It certainly felt as true as the hand that squeezed his in surprise, softening into something Ben had spent his writing career trying to put into words. “But I don’t need you to prove you trust me enough. I need you to want this.”

Miles considered it until the man who replied sounded more confident than he had all week. “I want it… I want you to tie me up.” Beaming, the words rolled out by themselves. “Then I trust you, too.”

It was only then, as Miles kissed Ben’s nose to finalize the deal, that he realized it was the first time Miles had explicitly said he wanted to be tied up. Armed with a new plan and energized by a flash of giddy inspiration, Miles left Ben to make dinner while he got to work putting the broken vase back together again.

  He was going to jinx it. Ben Mears jinxed everything, ever since he bragged to his best friend in kindergarten that he was going to win best story at the school fair. He should know better after almost 30 years of experience. But fuck it.   Today was going better than he expected.

  Shit, Miranda, is this how you felt the first time? 

  Ben bit his nail as he waited. Just as he had done years earlier, when he anxiously awaited Miranda to call him in. It had been just another lazy Sunday morning, but Ben had refused to let the treasured memory dull with time. He still remembered how it set his nerves alight, not to touch his future wife, simply because her luscious voice had commanded it. Instead, he had rolled onto his back like a trusting puppy, legs spread wide in their restraints, an unspoken invitation to keep them there for as long as she wanted. To his undying amazement and gratitude, it had taken her only a few weeks to spot the hidden side of himself he never knew existed. Even at the beginning, she had loved him enough to see the whole of Ben Mears, coaxing him out into the asylum of their bedroom, where his other self was accepted, celebrated. 

  It had taken them months rather than weeks to reach this point, but they’d made it eventually. Now, Ben was finally going to pass his wife’s gift onto his dearest Miles… 

  … Just as soon as he worked up the courage to open the bedroom door to where his boyfriend was waiting for him. 

  It was the basis of all human desires, he thought. An open door, thrown shut. He sent a quick prayer up for her to wish them luck.

  He rapped his knuckles against the wood, “Miles, can I come in?”   “Just a minute!”   Ben could hear him patter around the bedroom, putting his clothes away after his quick shower. He had thought they’d be more nervous, but barring the piss poor performance by the Mets ball pen, the day had gone off without a hitch. Mark was at Gladys and Thersas. Miles had cooked his favourite beef casserole with homemade apple and cinnamon pie, and they had sat at a pristinely decorated candle-lit table, listening to Miles’s favourite album, just like the dates Ben had first promised him before life (and a few vampires) derailed their best-laid plans. 

  It felt like stepping back in time, into a different reality altogether. The silver screen version of their romance that they’d dreamt of in their wildest, early fantasies. But it was more than that; it was the accumulation of months together, working on themselves and supporting each other through the highs and lows. Between setting the table, preparing the food and cleaning the dishes, they worked as a well-oiled machine, honed through the long days spent by each other's side. Where they’d feared the day would be awkwardly spent in silent dread, the couple’s chatter had been surprisingly easy, even when Miles admitted that he had been nervous, or when Ben confessed that he’d worried about inadvertently taking on the mantle of Straker. Each time, the other had responded with a confidence that came only from having asked the same question of themselves a hundred times before.

   Ben still stood outside the threshold, anxiously brushing his hair back like he was waiting to greet his prom date, but he didn’t think there would ever come a time when he didn’t desperately want to impress the man on the other side.

  “Okay, m’ready!” Miles called.   Ben went to open the door, but in his nervous excitement, Miles got there first and flung it wide. He was standing before him in just his softest, black boxers, deliciously framing his neatly trimmed happy trail that burrowed its way under the enticing fabric. His hastily slicked back curl was still slightly wet, fighting to return to its rightful home along his brow. With nowhere to hide, the scars of his chest and stomach were laid bare against his pale skin, reminding Ben just how precious this… Miles… everything was.

   How dare Miles’s thumb not understand just how truly incredible he looked right then, allowing itself to be nibbled by worried teeth as though it could ever be a question.

  He had wanted to tell him that and so much more. Instead, all that came out was a high-pitched, strained, “Hi”.   Forgetting to close his mouth, Ben figured he must have looked ridiculous. But how could he care about any of that when Miles was on him before he could even bat his eyelashes?   Miles hiked himself up onto his tiptoes to gain leverage, grabbing Ben by the sideburns as he cupped his face to his. Ben could still taste the cinnamon coating his lips, but it was Miles who was devouring him as he pulled his love by the shirt and into the bedroom. With a quick spin, Ben waved his arm blindly behind him, just about managing to swat the door closed. Before it could waft open again, he slammed it shut with his back when Miles barrelled into him. Ben had no idea how Miles managed to move his hand to cushion his head in time. Not that he had any time to think when that greedy, conniving tongue was plundering him, stealing the confidence it needed with each press of their spit-slick mouths.

  “Today’s been amazing, thank you, Ben.” Miles kissed him again, lips magnetized to each other. “Thank you,” he mumbled. “Thank you, thank you.”

  Straining between the door and Miles’s thigh that had planted itself into its home between his legs, Ben bear hugged his love’s naked chest into the coarse thread of his jumper. Miles gasped into the kiss, allowing Ben to deepen it. He didn’t know if he was crushing him, or if he was just that good a kisser, but Miles went limp in his arms like his strings had been cut. 

  Good, he was trying to get into the headspace already. Encouraging him on, Ben wrapped him up that bit tighter, clamping his thigh in place so he could roll his hips and lightly relieve the strain that had been building all day. It was just a moment, but he felt Miles squirm in his grasp. He made the split decision and held firm. Wriggling harder, but feeling no give, Miles’s whole body shivered with a moan, letting himself be held up by just those strong arms.   “Good?” Ben asked simply.   He sounded like a dream, “So good.”

  Ben let go to give Miles space to think as he brought his boyfriend’s gaze to meet his. Checking for any sign of hesitation, he asked carefully, “Think you’re ready to get the rope for me?”

  Miles nodded eagerly.   “Words, sweetheart. Gotta use our words today, like we said.”   Seeing him relax a bit at the insistence, Ben pressed a quick, chaste kiss to his forehead.   “I’m ready, Ben”, he whispered. His teeth flashed their brilliant white, a shy smile pulling his lips like he couldn’t quite believe it either.   “Okay, get it out for us. Did you decide how you want me?”

  “U-um, could… could you be in your underwear too? I think, if I can feel your skin… It would help keep it different.”

  “You just want an eyeful of my ankles,” Ben winked.    Miles clucked his tongue out of habit. Without Ben to lean on, he looked unsteady a moment before regaining his balance and bounding to the chest of drawers that hid the long-awaited rope under a mountain of clothes, just in case Mark forgot his self-preservation skills and went rooting around where he shouldn’t. Undressing quickly, Ben stripped down to his briefs, throwing his clothes into the hamper lest the mess distract his boyfriend. Making sure Miles didn’t see, he subtly readjusted himself in his underwear - despite how quickly the kiss had escalated, he didn’t want Miles to feel pressured to go further than he wanted.

   But boy, did Ben hope he wanted with the ferocity that he did.

   This isn’t about you, Ben. Focus.   The weight of the responsibility started to dawn on him. The picture-perfect date was over; now the true test of their relationship was just beginning. 

  He caught Miles out of the corner of his eye, squatting next to the bottom drawer. He held the pearly white, jute rope in his hands, weighing it up, getting used to the feel. They had spent that extra few dollars to get the softest one in the store, making sure to stay away from colours he had used before, as well as ones so bright that Miles could potentially feel self-conscious and silly. Just before he could ask if he was okay, he saw Miles clench it within his hand and nod to himself, steadily exhaling.   “Alright, get comfy on the bed for me, sweetheart.” Ben came over and held his hand out. Taking it, Miles got to his feet, stealing a quick peck to Ben’s cheek as he leapt up. Grinning like a mischievous school boy, his face slowly scrunched in concern as Ben was slow to respond.   “Nervous?” Miles asked.   Ben bit his tongue. He wanted to deny it, to ensure Miles had the utmost confidence in him now that they were nearing the scene. But Miles was watching him steadily in the way Ben had done. He was a good liar, but this evening was about trust; he couldn’t start it by not returning it.  “Yeah, I am, but it’s a good nervous. You?”   “A good terrified”, Miles giggled softly. Ben raised an eyebrow, but Miles cupped his jaw before he could respond. “Promise. M’excited, just my heart’s going so fast it feels like it's gonna leap out of my chest.”

  Without thinking, he placed his open palm over Miles’s smooth, sweating chest. He was right. It beat like a galloping gazelle against the prison bars of his ribs, picking up speed under Ben’s touch, like it was trying to fight its way into his hands. Ben realized it wasn’t Miles who was sweating. Before he could pull away, fingers entwined with his own and squeezed softly. He always forgot how calloused those fingers were when they treated him so gently. They weren’t the hands of someone who broke easily. 

 “We got the prep to go through first, then we’ll go from there”, Ben assured both of them. Expecting Miles to let go, instead, he led Ben by the hand towards the bed, walking backwards until he felt the king-size mattress against his thighs. Ben followed his bewitching nymph like he was in a trance, right into his domain of the bed. Amusement danced along the pools of Miles’s eyes as he pushed himself along the sheet and into the headboard, leaving Ben to stare at him dumbly, hand still suspended where Miles had left it.   Returning to the present, Ben followed his path across the quilt. He took the rope from Miles’s hand and placed it on the bedside table next to the balm and snacks he had ready for after. Sitting halfway down the bed to give Miles space, it occurred to him how alike they were to that morning just a couple of weeks ago, when Miles had been so nervous in telling him of the El Royale. Now Miles looked ever more like the patient teacher he wanted to go to college to become… which would make Ben his- Fuck, get it together, Mears. He’s relying on you to take charge.   

  However, despite Ben’s gnawing concern that he was messing it up, Miles seemed to grow ever more confident.   The silence stretched on, but Miles waited serenely until Ben finally managed to gather up his scattered thoughts into something approaching coherence. 

  “Alright - So, I’m going to tie up one arm first. We’ll take a moment, let you get used to it a bit. Then, we’ll move on to the second arm. We’ll see then if you want me to touch you first, or myself.”   “You spoil me, Benjamin”, Miles hummed.   It looked like Miles had chucked a glass of wine at him as his cheeks blushed a rosy hue. “Only what you deserve, love. Can you tell me your safe word?”   “Yankees”, Miles said confidently. “And red for stop, yellow for slow down, green for go.”   “You’re an expert already”, Ben lightly grinned. “And if you can’t speak, either kick the bed twice to stop, or squeeze my hand twice if you can reach. Got it?”   Without having to ask, Miles repeated it back.   “Good. And remember, we stop at any time, for any reason. Just because you’re tied up, doesn’t mean you’re not the one in control here”, Ben implored. He had lost count of how many times he had said it over the last two weeks. 

  It had taken a while for Miles to see their precautions as a necessity, always assuring Ben he would be okay with whatever he did to him. It had taken more than a few missteps and tough conversations before Ben was confident that Miles would actually use them. But in recent months, Miles had started to say them readily, even unprompted. Always checking in with a ‘green’ and quickly using ‘yellow’ when he thought he was getting close to needing his safeword. As much as Ben regretted not braving the conversation on bondage sooner, seeing Miles hang on his every word as they went through their briefing made him wonder if it had all come at exactly the right time.

  “You know that goes for you, too, right?” Miles asked suddenly.   Ben’s eyes widened as he gave a half-hearted nod.   But Miles followed his gaze, like a keen bird, ducking his head when Ben tried to weave away. “Hey. Words, remember? This is for you as well. Us. I don’t have fun if you don’t.”

  Even when riddled with nerves, Ben couldn’t help himself. “Seemed like you were enjoying yourself when the Twins got a grand slam earlier”.       “You’re helpin’ me with this, so it seemed only fair I indulged whatever humiliation thing you got goin’ on, baby.”   Ben laughed. Miles looked borderline smug as he watched some of the nervous energy release its grip on Ben’s shoulders.   “Okay, yeah, you’re right. I’ll stop if I need to.”   Miles smiled, the apples of his cheeks ripening as he leaned over to pick up the rope from the table. He held it out upon his two open palms like it was an offering. Ben hesitated for just a moment before clasping his hands around Miles instead. He raised his knuckles to his lips and kissed them, one hand at a time, before taking the cord. He mouthed an almost shy ‘I love you’ to his partner as he got comfortable. Head tilted back as he got a feel for the bed, Miles drew a heart in the air before mouthing the words back. Ben wasn’t entirely sure what the extra words were, but he was pretty sure it was ‘my jackass’.  

  “Comfy?” Ben asked. Miles said yes. “Okay, let’s go. Left hand, please.”   Miles stretched his arm out straight away. Scooching closer on his knees, Ben gently held it as he started to tie the single-column knot, bringing it against the bars of their headboard, far enough away that it gave a slight stretch, but near enough that it didn’t strain. He looped the rope with shaky hands, trying to remember how he had done this a dozen times before in the last few days. Those wide eyes stared back at him, like he was doing something incredible- beautiful, even as Ben dropped the rope for the second time. It was like a spotlight had been shone on him. It was hard to keep Miles still as the hand that was being tied kept stealing touches, brushing the hairs of Ben’s arm, flexing to meet trembling finger tips like a rabid fan desperate to touch just a sliver of their idol. So deep in his own thoughts, Ben didn’t realize Miles was doing it to keep Ben with him.   Despite his best attempts to look confident, as he struggled to loop the rope back under itself, all Ben could think of was how he didn’t need to be Richard Straker to betray Miles’s faith in him. The thought cut like a knife. Suddenly, the connection between brain and body severed as the wires became as mangled as the knot that lay loose across the bar. He stared at it blankly, unable to comprehend how useless he was being, even after all his practice. He knew on some level he didn’t have to be perfect, but to not even be able to do one knot? How did he always manage to fuck over everyone he loved?

But before he could spiral, the rope appeared before his very eyes to magically fix itself as a foreign hand guided his to pinch the rope back into place. 

  “Ben, get out of that handsome head of yours. You’re not ruinin’ anythin’”.   Shit, so much for his poker face. Had he said anything out loud? He didn’t think so, but his dearest Miles often didn’t need his writer to say anything to read him like a book these days.   “I’m sorry. I don't know what's got into me… I…” Ben faltered. What had gotten into him? He had been so sure of himself in the build-up, but just the prospect of failure had sent him veering wildly off course. He searched Miles’s eyes for any hint that he was saving face; however, Miles didn’t look disappointed, especially not when he weaved his legs with Ben’s calves like he couldn’t get enough of him. He looked… Ben wasn’t sure how he looked. Scanning between his tied wrist and Miles’s face, he didn’t think his love had ever looked like this before.   Unable to process the way Miles seemed to melt into the headboard, Ben muttered limply, “I just wanted to make this good for you.” “You are”.

  It wasn’t often Miles sounded so sure of himself.   Ben did his best to believe him as Miles gestured with his tied hand towards him. Despite Miles beckoning him closer, Ben could only see it writhe like a trapped mouse, pleading to be set free. The power didn’t rest easily on Ben’s head, nor did the responsibility. He had done this a couple of times with Miranda, but he was younger then. Had been too drunk on youth to let something as insignificant as anxiety phase him as he bound her to his desk. He had lost so much since then, discovered more about himself than he ever wanted to. He still hadn’t learnt how to be this new Ben Mears, but he thought he knew a bit about the man he wanted to be. The one that Miles saw as he asked him to kiss him. 

  Leaning in, Ben finally took Miles’s hand in his, and instead of freeing him, he held him tight. As if nothing could ever tear them apart. Miles’s lips welcomed him in before Ben got there, willing himself to stay still so Ben could drink from him like he was his and his alone. Ben felt the hand strain and relax under him, while the other groped at the air, attempting to resist the urge to touch. But they weren’t there yet, so Ben took his other hand and brought it to the nape of his neck, ceding his body to Miles as he let him lead the kiss. He scooped Miles from under the shoulder, drawing him in like an octopus, melding them together into an array of moving limbs. Ben wasn’t sure when he had moved into his lap, but the soft laugh against his lips signalled Miles knew precisely the moment.   

  Breaking away for air, Ben could only see the mess of auburn hair burrowing into his chest as he hovered above him. Suddenly, his captured mouse didn’t feel like the one who was the helpless prey, not when he felt wolflike teeth smiling against his clammy skin.  Miles had him exactly where he wanted him. 

  Pressing a quick kiss into the valley of his chest, Miles looked up. Hand still clawing at the loose strands of hair, he waited until he knew for certain that Ben was paying attention.

  It came out as the scariest and most wondrous confession. “No one else ever cared enough to be nervous. Take your time, m’not goin’ anywhere. Just need you here with me.”

  And Miles gave it to him. While Ben struggled to find the words to respond, Miles gazed at him like he was at the feet of something divine, memorizing every worried line and wrinkle until it was burned into his memory, rewriting all those that came before.

  Ben pressed his forehead into Miles', as though he could psychically show him everything he meant to him if he just thought hard enough. Thankfully, they’d already found their own way of saying it, through months of shared in-jokes and history, the origin which no longer mattered as much as all the utterances that were adding to it every time.   “I luff you, Miles Miller.”   “I luff you too, Ben Mears.”   It was then that it started to click into place. This wasn't the grand test of their relationship. It was just them, together. He didn’t need Ben to take sole charge as others had done before; he didn’t need him to be anything other than his Ben. His partner in everything, even this.

  Nodding against the head below his like a butting cat, Ben thought for a second as he collected himself. “Show me you can get out?”   Miles wasted no time in latching onto the quick-release thread and pulling at it with his bound hand. It took just a couple of tugs, but it undid itself, letting Miles go free.   “Ta-da!” he tittered with a flourish of his wrist.   Happy that Miles knew what he was doing and that the knot worked, Ben’s hands worked steadier as Miles talked him through it. He sat back in Miles’s lap and admired his handy work. Much better. He asked if Miles was ready for the other arm, and after a quick tug of the first, he agreed. The second was easier, but Ben took his time, recognizing how vulnerable Miles could feel. He motioned to leave Miles’s lap to give him room, but he stopped him with a jolt, lifting his knees behind Ben’s back to keep them close together. Settling back down with a squeeze of his thighs, Ben then ensured the quick release was within his reach as he leant over to finish the knot. Putting two fingers between the material and skin, Ben asked, “Rope not too tight? Nothing hurting?”   Miles tested it lightly, not wanting to fully struggle against it. He closed his eyes, blocking himself off from all other stimulation in the room, keeping his breathing steady. 

 “Colour, sweetheart?”

 “Green…”, Miles muttered without thinking. He could feel his heart start to pick up steam in his chest, his scars heating up along his face, and the skin under the jute tingling like popping candy. Unsure if it was arousal or the Royale trying to drag him back, he scrunched his lids up tighter. “No, um. Y-Yellow, I think. Just, give me a bit longer to get used to it?”

 Ben sat back on his haunches, keeping his fingers wrapped around Miles’s in case he needed to squeeze them to stop. “Course. Tell me if there’s anything I can do.”

  “Just… talk to me?” he weakly asked, eyes peeking open under the gentle light. Seeing his boyfriend light up, he blinked them twice, just in case they were deceiving him. But if there was anything that could assure him that he was with his dear author, it was hearing him talk uninhibited. The way Ben looked at him right then, as though he’d been heaven-sent, was a good second.   If Ben had a tail, it would be wagging a hundred miles an hour. In its place, the former hotel clerk felt his butt wiggle against his thighs, like a duck about to take to water.  Ben stretched and grabbed something from under the nest of pillows. Miles froze. What had he done?

  “Oh, Miles, Miles, Miles. My sweet, handsome idiot. Remember, you asked for this.”

  “Oh heavens, dare I ask?” Miles sighed, unable to keep the grin from stretching his lips.   Ben pretended to consider as he yanked the object behind his back before Miles could see, “You may, but pleading ain't going to help you, let alone asking.”

  “What about bargainin’?”   Ben flicked Miles’s single, sultry, raised brow. “Down, boy. You’ve already given me my greatest prize.”   Miles was almost touched. Until he saw what he was really referring to. As soon as the corner eased into view, Miles knew. He wanted to marry this man. The jute around his wrists chafed, but they only made him laugh harder when he fought to escape.   “You said you were worried about betrayin’ me! And this is what y’do?”

   “Every time you protest, I read another chapter, Miles.”  

  Ben dramatically opened his manuscript, flicking through the pages as though the 500-page monster didn’t just have a handful of hastily written waffle. It wouldn’t be his worst review, but thankfully, he had the rapt attention of his most generous audience.   Or so he thought. It hurt Ben’s ego, but the headboard lunged along with Miles as he tried and failed to grab the offending pages. He cleared his throat like a Shakespearian ham, ignoring the way Miles tried to buck him off. “Chapter 1. The perfect, sexy, and definitely not a dumbass boyfriend finished writing his masterpiece. He had done it again. Never had money been so well spent as on his prestigious English degree. The soft roadblocks of his breasts bounded down the hall in search of their bosom buddy. Unharnessed, his nipples were as hard as bullets, pointing the way like two divining rods. It didn’t take long to find their owner. Hot and sweaty, lying against the sofa in a picture of complete defeat, the shifting punctuation marks of the lucky man’s nip nops begged for help. ‘Help me!’, they cried. ‘I am but a simple country boy, we are still a millennium away from IKEA furniture.”

  Ben’s laugh at his own joke was punctuated with a thump as Miles whacked his head back with a groan, “They- I did not sound like that!”

  “Shh! Down in front”, he admonished like an angry librarian. He made a point to clear his throat again, but the veteran took his chance. With a burst of force that would make a bronco proud, he toppled Ben over, crashing him into the landing spot of his bare chest. Before he could fight back, Miles raised his knees to stop his retreat and dived into the expanse of skin served up to his wetted lips. His tongue shot out in a rapid fire spray of open-mouthed kisses, as frenzied as they were honed on every weak point. The feel of just Miles’s head taking and taking from him, savouring the sweat that built up between the valley of his pecs, made Ben rear into him, accidentally dragging their clothed dicks against each other. With a breathy, ragged sigh, Ben seized the bucking bull by the horns of his waves and held him at bay.   “C-Colour?” Ben heaved.

Miles thrust in response. “Green- ah! So green-”

  “Sure? Don’t want me to read you the part about the scrotums and the PTA fundraiser?” Ben teased, grinding his hips into the happy trial his love was selfishly trying to hide.   But Miles shook his head so fast he felt dizzy. 

"No? Well, you know i'd do anything for my number 1 fan", Ben pouted. But his voice lowered an octave, turning almost serious. "So tell me, Miles. How do you want me? Just say the word, and i'm yours."

Despite the playful interlude, Ben took measure of Miles, scanning his face for any signs of hesitation. It felt almost intimidating, being studied like that, but with Ben, he didn't find that he minded. Surprising even himself, the words came out before he could second guess them.

“I… I wanna watch you touch yourself. Please, Ben.” He whined like he had been denied all week, not just a few minutes. They had discussed who would go first, leaving it for Miles to decide at the time. In truth, despite his determination to give up control, he was really enjoying Ben losing his. They had barely even touched each other apart from a few kisses, and yet Ben's composure was strained like a rubber band pulled too tight with every flex. Miles had worried over their weeks of planning that Ben was simply humouring him, but even he found it hard to believe when the thick cock twitched against the paunch of his tummy. Ben looked like a kid on Christmas morning, so eager, so… thankful.

  Ben sounded hoarse as he shivered, “Where do you want me?”   “In front, want to see all of you.”

  If irises could turn into love-hearts, Ben’s would have bulged out of their sockets. Not needing to be asked again, Ben pushed himself back in one almighty go, down to Miles’s feet. Sitting on his ass, he spread his legs wide, feet planted parallel to Miles’s knees. Near, but far enough that Miles could enjoy the view. And enjoy it he did as Ben tightly palmed himself over the simple cotton, rolling the straining member against his waist.   “Remember, you’re in control”, assured Ben. Miles nodded, almost drooling at the bulge that was tenting his partner’s briefs. “Oh no, want to hear you say it.”   “I’m in control”, Miles whispered.   Ben shook his head, “louder.”   “I’m in control…” He breathed deep, finding his voice, “I’m in control.”

  Miles almost missed it, but the quiver of Ben’s lips confirmed it. He had whimpered. Oh.

  Each word seemed to push Ben’s legs further apart.

Keeping his tone neutral to see where this was leading, Miles asked, “Talkin’ about your chest get you goin’ that much, honey?”

  “You did- do. Can… Can I..?” Ben gripped himself, hand still as he waited.

  Miles raised a questioning eyebrow. “Can you, what?”   “Can I touch myself… sir?” 

  Ben held his breath, watching intently for any sign he’d misstepped. However, Miles nodded to himself, his tongue protruding against his cheek as though he was testing the word in his own mouth. His eyes bore right into Ben’s soul as he shifted gears.   “Mhmm. That’s it, honey, askin’ so pretty f’me”, he purred. “You took such good care of me today, think you deserve your reward?”

  “Yessir. Please. Oh fuck, it hurts.”

  Despite the begging, a mischievous glint embellished Ben’s face as he slowly… oh so very very slowly, moved his hand, exposing the wet spot that painted the front of his briefs. The material clung to the sticky flesh underneath, and being the kind saint Ben was, he thrust his hips forward to give him a better look, a single barely-there finger outlining it, as though there was any chance Miles could miss it.

  But where Ben knew what Miles needed, so too did Miles. He saw the needy, open face, waiting on tenterhooks to be told again how good a job he had done. So with a mean tilt of his head, appraising him like a bored judge seeing his final plea bargain of the day, he hummed. And he considered. Ben’s eyes narrowed, nibbling on his lower lip in anticipation. He wanted so much to touch his sir, but his eyes pinned him like a butterfly.    “Show me. Let me see just how good you are.”

  God, Ben loved it when Miles got like this. It was so unlike his usual, kind and meek soul. It had taken time to ease him into it, a natural progression for their first steps into power dynamics - at first, it had been to prove to Miles that it could be done with love, so he could let go and submit. But Miles had gotten a taste for the way he could learn the new, needy side to his constant stalwart. Ben blamed the accent. Miles just said he was a slut. It had been the first time he had ever been coarse like that. Even reluctantly stuttering it out again like the polite gentleman he was, Ben would never forget the way it made him cum on the spot, and judging from the evil grin on Miles’s face, he was thinking about it too. 

  Ben dove his thumbs into the band of his underwear before Miles could get any other ideas-   “Ah ah ah”, Miles chided. “Easy does it.”

  With a soft pout, Ben changed course, inch by inch, dragging the briefs lower until the crimson head shyly poked out. He stopped, gliding the foreskin over his bulbous tip between thumb and forefinger, coating it in the copious amounts of pre-cum that had built up. Seeing the fluid glisten over him, Miles sounded just as gone as he did, “Not that kind of easy.”

  Not stopping, Ben smugly smirked, “No? And what are you going to do about it?”

  The slam of the headboard was all the answer he needed as Miles attempted to lunge. Miles flushed in embarrassment as a growl of frustration reverberated through his throat, but to Ben, it felt like toying with a chained, starving pitbull. Laughing, Ben tugged his underwear down a few more inches, exposing the top half of the girthy length. He pumped himself with a tight fist, but Miles looked unperturbed, even as he started to delight in the dangerous persona he was inhabiting.   “Hm, y’know what. I don’t think I need to do much of anythin’. All I’d have to do is tell you to stop, and I think you would. After all, you want to be my good boy, don’t you?”   Fuck. It was a low blow, and he knew it. But by god, it worked.  Ben’s brain went into hard reset, stammering as he moved his hand away, “Y-Yes. I’m sorry, sir, I’ll be good, I’ll be g-good.”   Miles’s voice felt like a caress as he cooed, “I know you will, always are f’me. Now, show me what’s mine.” 

  Unable to disobey, even if he wanted to, Ben pulled himself free of his underwear. But it wasn’t relief that he felt. Loosely gripping the turgid flesh, he paused, holding it up in pious offering towards the altar of his pagan god, that he himself had unleashed. Arms spread wide, Miles’s shadow beared down on him, the ropes creaking, giving away the subtle shift of muscles preparing to strike. To devour him whole if he found his gift wanting. Luckily for him, Miles licked his lips.

  All pretence was forgotten as Miles savoured him, “Mmmhm. Gorgeous. So gorgeous, honey. Go right ahead, nice n’ slow f’me. Give yourself what you deserve.”

  Ben whimpered a measly ‘thank you, sir’, before giving himself a few testing strokes. His thumb came out to run down the thick vein with each pass. It pulsated under the smooth pad, feeding his greedy cock as it transformed into a deep and angry red, engorging itself on the blood that gushed into it. And all the while, it drooled even more than the man who wielded it for his love’s entertainment. If Miles closed his eyes, he could tell exactly what Ben was doing and when with each corresponding grunt. Miles loved it. Loved getting to indulge in watching him perform, to lose himself in his own hand, so confident and uninhibited, so different to his own lingering sense of shame.

  Miles had strived to be more like Ben, to give himself as readily as he did, to make love with the same single-minded focus that he could, separated from all that came before. But he didn’t need to be, not here. Where normally he bristled at the faintest idea that he was being selfish in bed, here it was all for him, and being tied up heightened it all, every squeeze and sound, that bit brighter, that decibel louder. Unable to look away, he couldn’t deny it anymore. Ben was loving it as much as he was. Miles didn’t even need to do anything; just being with him was enough for Ben. The realization felt as heavy as it did freeing. 

  “That’s it”, Miles choked. “Made me feel so special today. Love you, Ben. Love you so much.”

  Ben’s hand lost its rhythm, clenching to stop him from falling over the edge, “Love… ah fuuck… M’close.”

  Miles was practically panting, like a dog waiting for its treat. “Yeah, already? Bring your underwear down lower, wanna see you cup yourself.”   He did so eagerly, moving them down just enough that he could pull his balls out, letting the underwear snap into place behind them, keeping them on open display. Ben roughly caressed them with one hand, giving them a tug on every other downstroke. At first, he struggled to keep the rhythm, but eventually, he fell into it, speeding up the hand on his dick, punctuating it with a roll of his heavy sack. No longer able to control himself, Ben started to ride his hand like a sleeve, the pre-cum coating the channel of his fingers as he dived inside. If a hundred hands were on him, Miles didn’t think they could take Ben apart as well as he was doing. The sounds being cajoled from him were a filthy, debauched symphony, all produced by a single musician. Each tug of his balls, cant of his hips, swipe of his thumb - all of them harmonized together as sections of an invigorated orchestra. Miles could barely believe his ears as Ben expertly played himself, eliciting slaps of skin that squelched obscenely, whines that would make even a soprano proud, and groans that drummed straight through his bones. 

  And Miles conducted him through all of it.

  He did his best to pitch his voice low, resisting the urge to beg. “Feel good, don’t you? See how good you are?”

  However sultry he had tried to be, must have worked, as Ben’s voice reverberated around the room in a near shout: “Yessir, t-thank you, sir!”

  His knuckles was a blur along the shaft, hard and fast, suddenly stopping to tease and stroke, trying to trick his body to surprise itself. But all Miles could look at was the way Ben’s eyes rolled back into his skull, lashes fluttering as his jaw tightened. Miles didn’t even need to glance down to know Ben must be massaging his perineum; he always sucked his teeth in when he did that. Miles’s hands impotently groped the air, a deceivingly innocent siren’s call, luring him into their claws so he could give his prey the climax it deserved.  “Look at me, Ben, look at me when you come.”

  Trying his best to stay focused, Ben could barely hold his gaze for a second before his neck snapped back to the ceiling. It was all too overwhelming; he should slow down, but Miles wanted him to come, so instead his fist went quicker. His hips recoiled from himself, the friction frying his nerves until he couldn’t tell if it was too much or not enough. His subconscious wouldn’t let him give himself over to the pleasure pooling in his gut; he had to stay present for Miles. Had to make sure he was okay.   “I don't… I can’t... Making me feel crazy… Fuck, sir-” he pleaded, hoping Miles knew what to do.

 “Shh shh, you’re okay. Give me your hand.”

  It took a few beats for the words to compute, but eventually Ben waddled over on his knees. Replanting himself back into his love’s lap. He kept one hand on his member as the other flailed in the direction of Miles’s bound hand. When their fingers passed over each other, Miles grabbed at him, pulling them together and giving his hand one squeeze for go. Ben returned the gesture, relaxing instantly, feeling that connection keeping him tethered to the bed even as his body felt like it was going to float through the roof. 

  “There we go”, Miles hummed. “Now, be a good ‘lil slut and let go.”

   Fuck, it still worked. It was just a flick of the wrist, an accidental touch against the sodden tip, but it was enough. The liquid pleasure shot up his spine, branching out into every nerve and sinew that quaked along with the bed as Ben rode it out, screaming Miles's name like praises to heaven. He had just enough presence of mind to aim his shaft into his own stomach as it erupted - pearly white cum painting him as he coaxed out more with each tug. Miles watched in abject awe as it kept going. He could see his dick pulsate under the gaps in his fingers, weakly dribbling the final spurts from the head until Ben could no longer stand it. He rode out the waves of pleasure until they finally washed him up onto the shore of Miles's waiting embrace. With a final grunt, Ben collapsed into Miles's shoulder, coiling into his side as his body still trembled. Breathing heavily, Ben tried to move, to get back to focusing on Miles even as his eyes were still glued shut. He tried again, but his body ignored his commands and curled up into Miles all the more. His apology died in his throat when all of a sudden the hand that he had been holding wrapped him up and brought him into a one-armed hug. Miles had used the quick release.

  Before Ben could panic, Miles kissed his temple, as reverent as if it were the Lord’s. “Perfect. Absolutely perfect, honey. Catch your breath.” 

  Doing as he was told, knowing Miles was okay, Ben let himself be consumed by the aftershocks, luxuriating in the way his muscles wrung out his soul while Miles held him together. Releasing his other hand, Miles grabbed the box of wet wipes from the side and cleaned Ben up, only lightly touching his over-sensitive cock that was finally beginning to soften. He helped Ben out of his underwear, a complete dead weight next to him. The only signs of life were the hand that kept attached to him as he worked and the reedy nose whistle that pierced the air whenever Miles felt too far away. When he was done, Ben flopped onto him like a beached whale, crushing the laugh out of Miles as he cemented himself to his partner so he could never escape again.  

  Which was just alright with Miles. His wrists still held onto the feel of the rope as he smothered Ben close - but it was okay. It didn’t carry the weight of years past, just the memory of how Ben had looked at him as though his whole world was contained in those gentle restraints. No one had ever taken care of him as Ben had done, and while it was sometimes difficult to accept, this felt different. To be wanted, desired, even when he was at his most vulnerable. The others that came before had either dragged him down to this state or coerced it, under the guise of the love that Ben readily gave him without ever demanding anything in return.  None of them had ever known how his vulnerability could be one of his greatest strengths until Ben.

  Whereas before he’d only been met with looks of pity to downright disgust, now it was just the glazed-over eyes of the man who had saved his life looking back at him. Trusting in Miles of all people to keep him safe. It made him feel powerful. Made him feel ready… 

  Just as soon as his ridiculous, blissed-out Ben could move again.

Ben Mears didn’t know how long he was out, but he came back to the feeling of blunt nails raking their way through his hair. If he had died and gone to heaven, he didn’t think he would feel as good as he did then. His head bounced on Miles’s torso as he laughed at whatever Ben had hummed in his post-orgasmic stupor. It tasted like a ‘fuck’, maybe two.

  “That was… God, Miles. Still my dark horse, aren’t you?” Ben grunted.

  Miles brushed Ben’s hair away, drinking in his flushed expression as he rested his chin on Miles’s sternum. “And you’re still my ‘lil slut, Ben.”

  Ben looked aghast. Sniggering, he chided, “Who are you and what happened to the polite store clerk I first met?”

  He would never get over how Miles's whole face changed when he got smug. “He got a handsome writer to scream his name without even havin’ to touch him.” 

  They fell into a fit of giggles, Ben crawling up Miles to lick along his jaw, making him laugh even harder as the faint suggestion of a stubble grazed along his throat. Their hands entwined as Ben placed a precious kiss to each cheek. 

  “What do you want to do now?” Ben asked.

  “I was thinkin’ maybe you could tie me up again? And you could… Use your hands on me?”

  “You sure?” 

  “Yes”, he said simply. Certain. “Want you. Want to be yours.”   Staring at him straight, leaving no room for doubt, Ben vowed, “You are. For as long as you want to be, it's just you and me. You've given me my family. Now, let me give you this.”

  Watching Miles's eyes turn glassy, Ben threw himself into the kiss, claiming Miles’s tongue with his own as he wrestled it into the submission he would soon earn. Miles raised his hips to meet him, shaking as Ben softly manhandled him, moving him backwards, back to his throne against the wall. 

  It took record time for Ben to get the ropes and restrain Miles into position. He contemplated having his hands in front, but it felt like too much, too quickly. Instead, Ben kissed each wrist and tied them back to the headboard's wooden columns. Miles’s heart started to race under his increasingly confident touch, the significance of which was building in what he hoped was excitement rather than panic. However, if Ben could submit to a broken stooge like him, he could finally hand over his body to the man who plowed the neighbours’ drives and felled the forces of evil, all with the same single-minded determination and open-hearted kindness that saved him from the Lot.

  A few quick taps against his chapped lips broke him out of his reverie. A bottle of Coke was held before him.   “Here, you’re shaking a bit. Get some sugar in you.”

  Miles drank from it gratefully, not even realizing how thirsty he was. Ben wiped the dark fluid from the corner of his mouth before kissing the sticky, sweet stain away. Afterwards, they worked through the checks again until they were good to go. To make sure Miles didn’t feel too overwhelmed, they had agreed in their plan that Ben would stay on his knees between Miles’s open legs so Miles could easily close them to touch him, and move away again if he became too crowded. But even as Ben checked the ropes again, Miles couldn’t help but draw circles on Ben’s calves with his toe.

   With a final kiss and a nod of the head, Ben slowly undid the button of Miles’s boxers. He was still soft. Ben raised an eyebrow and asked if he was okay, but Miles assured him he was, that he was enjoying himself, even if his body was still playing catch-up. It wasn’t uncommon for Miles to take longer to become hard, to get over a mental block he wasn’t always privy to, and to simply feel. So Ben took him at his word and gently brought him out of the confines of his underwear, unwrapping him like he was his favourite birthday present.

  Not wanting to overwhelm him too quickly, he took Miles’s shaft between finger and thumb and slowly coaxed it awake. Cupping Miles’s face, he brought him to look down between the thin rift separating their bodies. If there was one thing Ben knew would get Miles going, it was watching.

  “See how pretty you are? To think you let me have this for myself. M’so lucky,” Ben serenaded, ignoring the way Miles inadvertently winced and shook his head. 

  However, as if hearing its cue, the cute, blushing tip raised its head towards Miles’s gaze like it knew it had an audience to impress. Ben rubbed the sensitive frenulum in encouragement with his thumb, giving it a quick flourish of his hand and leaving it to stand by itself proudly. When Miles gulped, transfixed on how it blindly sought out his love’s grasp, Ben gave his partner in crime a tug well done. Ben could have sworn it gave him a quick bow before blushing the same colour of Miles’s neck.

  Letting out a full-body sigh, Miles reclined back.

  Ben started to speed up, kindling the liquid hot pleasure starting to pool in the pit of his stomach. “That’s it, baby. Just lie back and let me take care of you.” 

  Miles shuddered at how expertly Ben was working him over, like he was trying to compound all of his months of learning into just one hand job to remember him by. The blood plummeted downwards as he sped up again, the tiny little ‘ah ah ah’s cascading from his mouth were as dizzying to Ben's ears as Miles felt. Head heavy on his tired neck, he rolled it from side to side like he was drunk. And when Ben let go to draw him into another kiss, pulling his lower lip between sharp, but careful teeth, he thought maybe he was.

  “Fuck, even sound pretty”, Ben gasped.

  The fire in his belly crackled at the praise. “Ben, don't stop, please -”

  Giving him a moment to steady himself, Ben was back on him before he could completely cool - his open palm came over his tip and polished it like a pool cue. He gave it a few rotations, letting Miles chase his hand with his hips. But he struggled to keep up as his tormentor alternated his speed to drive him wild, stroking him at the same time to keep him in the building throes of ecstasy. When Miles finally started to get a measure of his ploy, Ben changed it up again, gently slapping the head like he was a bombing comedian on his traitorous microphone. Miles tried to slur out how mean he was being, but it came out as a broken gasp, as on the fourth slap, Ben pushed his thumb straight into the slit. It was like he found his secret button. It took just a single press for his twitching cock to instantly spurt out that sweet, cloudy fluid that heightened his touch even more. If Ben thought he had gotten wet quickly, it was nothing compared to Miles. 

  “Oh god, Ben- Ben-”, he chanted. The slick sound of the masterful hand punctuated each cry, “right t-there-” 

  “Like it nice and wet, don’t you? Think you can spit on it for me?”

  Miles did as he was asked, struggling to remember how when his mouth went so dry. It took a couple of goes, but he managed to work up enough to weakly slaver some down onto his jittering chin and onto his waiting dick. 

  The reaction was instantaneous. His cock grew longer as it soaked it in, like a flower sprouting towards the sky in the spring rain. Wanting to see it bloom into that beautiful red rose he loved so much, Ben dived at Miles’s wet mouth and chin. He lapped up every remnant of sparkling saliva with his flailing tongue, slapping it against his lips with a sinful slurp. Miles could only whimper, more drool escaping his mouth, held wide in a rapturous ‘O’, for Ben to drink up. When he’d finally had his fill, he pulled back. He waited for Miles to check what the holdup was. Once his eyes widened in barely contained lust, he spat straight onto his swollen member. It hit with such force that it felt like a slap. His cock lurched.   Finally, at full mast, he couldn’t tear his eyes away as Ben took the engorged flesh proudly in hand. It fit him perfectly, like it was made for him. Cock absolutely drenched, it felt better than any lube as Ben took him from root to tip, releasing every time before going back to the base and repeating. When Miles was particularly good and bucked up, Ben would reward him with his other hand, working him in a cruel and brutal tandem. 

  Miles wanted to reach out, to gain the stability he needed from Ben’s frame as he felt himself sink into that sweet abyss where his thoughts drifted into the clouds, and his body descended into the inky depths. He thrust himself towards Ben, but the rope pulled him back. Unable to get the physical grounding he needed himself, he put his faith in Ben to provide. Struggling to control his limbs, Miles dragged his knees to Ben’s sides and tried to pull him forward. He was so uncoordinated that Ben could barely feel it, but it was enough. In a deft movement, Ben came close in a flash. Now sitting, he brought Miles’s legs from outside his own and entwined them over his hips, as he did the same to Miles until they were both locked together in a tight lower-body hug. 

  It did just the trick. He trembled against all that was still holding him together, even as he fell apart. Ben twisted his hand, running his finger pads along Miles’s juicy vein, turning him to putty in his hands. “Oh my- Please, take me, m’yours, all yours. Please, D-.. Be-oh god.”

  Miles wasn’t sure what he was asking for, only that he needed it. He sucked in the air, trying to at least maintain the semblance of his earlier persona. The one that took charge, the one he had been conditioned to see as better than this. It was the version of him that didn’t start to tear up as Ben kissed his bowed head and trailed open-mouthed kisses towards his swollen, waiting lips. But he didn’t want to be that side of him right then. Not really. Instead, he didn’t want to talk, let alone think. He wanted Ben to unburden him of everything, until he was nothing but a vessel for pleasure and the love that was spilling out of Ben’s mouth and into his own. 

  Ben broke away. He sounded wrecked. “Please, who?”

  But Miles couldn’t speak. He tried to hide the word in Ben’s skin, however Ben moved away, the restraints keeping Miles in place. Keeping him honest. With a curled finger, Ben raised his still-wet chin to meet him. “Say it, say who’s making you feel this good. The only one who gets to see you like this.”

  The command forced the truth out of him with a careening cry, “D-D..Daddy!”

  “That’s right,” Ben inhaled, as though the word had physical form that he could suck into his lungs, imbuing him with all the power it contained. “Just Daddy. Daddy gonna make you cum isn’t he?”

  He nodded vigorously as the hand sped up, roughly fisting him, giving him everything he craved. He hid his face in Ben’s shoulder, but Ben laced his fingers in his hair and brought it back, making Miles watch the head of his cock disappear and reappear under his meaty hands as they hammered him like there was no tomorrow. Miles was almost there, he was so close - He could feel the world outside of them melt away into nothing, the way his racing thoughts were starting to slow down like they'd been dunked into molasses. 

  “There we go. So beautiful, isn’t it? Feels so incredible in my hand, in my throat, especially when it’s inside of me. God, you’ve ruined, Daddy. Only ever want you, baby.”

  Ben moved Miles’s head into a dreamy nod. Do it again, he begged. But he didn’t, he couldn’t speak. He felt like he was on a tightrope over a great chasm, Ben and the restraints keeping him from toppling into the pit of his mind. It was exhilarating, knowing he wasn’t going anywhere despite the way he shaked like even a small breeze could topple him. The jute kept him alert, Ben kept him safe - it was a heady mix, something he didn’t dare break with words, something he could grow addicted to… But he had been here before, held over the dark, bottomless precipice where he was stripped of all control. From its depths came the shmoozing, distorted voice of Billy Lee and Daniel Flynn.

  Hm, did you think some writer could just take what’s mine and I wouldn’t come-a-huntin’?

  Miles tried to block it out. When that failed, he tried to argue with it, but all the words lay suspended above him as his mind was sinking further under the relentless motion of Ben’s palm. He shivered, coiling his body like a snake as he tried to sliver away from the voices that chased after him, as well as the hand that took his breath away- The rope suddenly scolded as they chafed at his wrists.   What are you, some kind of pervert?

  The kid can’t answer you, you tied his mouth shut. 

  That mouth opened to prove him wrong, but his tongue felt thick and heavy, clogging his throat. For just a second, he felt the gag from the Royale again. He flexed, trying to get himself to that finish line that would obliterate everything, but he couldn’t; he needed to hold his beloved. Needed him to keep him afloat even as he dived into a freefall. Before it could spiral, Miles kicked his leg twice, squeezed his hand around what he thought was the air - however, Ben had seen ahead and taken it within his. As soon as he felt the second compress, he pulled the quick-release thread. 

 “Miles, are you okay? If you can’t speak, squeeze once for yes, two for no.”

  Miles gave a single squeeze.

 “Thank god”, he sighed, relieved. “I’m going to let you go, and we’ll get you nice and comfy, okay?” Working to keep himself calm and collected, he waited for Miles to nod before he pulled the other rope free and brought Miles into his arms, changing places against the headboard and bringing Miles’s legs over his lap so he could curl the side of his head into Ben’s shoulder.

  “Well done for telling me, sweetheart, so proud of you.”

  “M’sorry… too much”, Miles sniffed.

  Ben pressed a chaste kiss to his head. “There’s nothing to apologize for, you did so well.” 

  They sat together, Ben rocking him gently, exaggerating his breathing to guide Miles to copy him. To Ben’s surprise, Miles’s erection didn’t flag. They’d managed to stop in time before things went too far. Where previously the slightest memory of his old life could be enough to wrench Miles from the safety of his home, back to the depths of the El Royale, Miles had never felt closer to the man keeping him in the present. Ben had always rolled his eyes at the sappy story, but Miles could have sworn he felt the mythical red, unbreakable chord keeping them anchored together, stronger than even Billy’s rope. His thoughts were a jumbled mess, serrated pieces from various points in his life, jammed together as he tried to work out the sense of calm that he shouldn’t be feeling. It was too much for him to piece together by himself, but he saw enough to understand. He didn’t need the ropes to feel like he had given his body over to his soulmate; he knew now he had done it before Ben had ever entered the room. The panic slowly leeching its way out of his body, Miles breathed in time with his beloved’s.

  As Ben nuzzled the now untamed field of hair below him, Miles closed his eyes to block out all the other stimulation, everything that didn’t matter, and reached out his hands freely. Ben gave the one that wasn’t keeping Miles plastered to him, and without hesitation, Miles brought it back onto his crotch.

  Ben hesitated before checking, “Do you want to continue?” 

  Miles nodded as he squeezed. “Just you… No rope.”

  “Okay”, Ben said, kissing the top of Miles’s hair. “Remember, no pressure.”

  Ben’s touch was tentative as he lightly brought his hand back over the base of his cock, checking that it wasn’t too much. But Miles laced their fingers together and brought them up and down in a slow and gentle rhythm. Taking the hint, Ben carried it on, watching Miles’s face for any sign of discomfort. They had a safety measure for when Miles was getting overwhelmed during sex, but wanted to continue. Developed from Miles’s old routine, the one Straker had taught him to keep him from one of his ‘pathetic’ panic attacks, they had reclaimed it into something of their own. Miles continued to follow Ben’s breathing as he kept his eyes closed, and slowly but surely, he reintroduced himself to his senses to keep him grounded. 

  He inhaled through his nose first, taking in the smell of their bedroom. There was still that lingering scent from when they first arrived. New, freshly laid carpeting, and the colourful indoor flowers that had come with the property, making it instantly feel like somewhere they could finally call home. But there was more layered on top of it now, more of them. Cheap ballpark beer still laced the room, the meal he’d lovingly made and the steam from the shower, carrying the shampoo he had stolen from his boyfriend to surround himself in him.

   It had been a long-held, shameful secret, how wild various smells made him, but Ben had worked his easy, accepting magic there too. Now, Ben’s favourite sniffer dog leant forward, resting his head further into the crux of chest and shoulder. With a shuddering breath, Miles took in the heady mix of coffee and whisky, the same as when they’d first met in his antique shop over a year ago. But now it was twinged with the slight suggestion of freshly cut grass that he’d mowed that morning to relax, the more expensive deodorant he used since taking care of himself again, and best of all, the musky sweat building up under Miles’s nose. It was just a quick sniff, but Ben opened his arm just enough to indulge him. His hand sputtered as he heard Miles groan.   Leaning into taste, Ben felt Miles take another deep inhale before he licked his way along the swell of his pecs. His lover’s tongue lazily marked the way, lapping at the soft muscle, saliva glistening as it made its way towards its goal - but as he got close, he couldn’t reach, not without twisting his injured neck muscles, rendered tight from the scars of the buckshot.

  Ben couldn’t help himself; his earlier worry fading from memory, his cock gave a little exhausted twitch. Whimpering against the meat of Ben’s bosom, Ben took pity on him and turned ever so slightly so he could cradle Mile’s head into his nipple. Miles latched on in an instant, sucking the tiny, dusky nub as he pacified himself, dulling the would-be embarrassment of how he drooled and groaned on the intrusion. For as much as he knew it helped Miles, Ben felt his whole being relax into it with a satisfied grunt.  Brushing his fingers through his fringe to keep it out of his eyes, Ben cooed gently, “There ya go, love, you’re alright. S’just me.”  

  Mouth now reassuringly full, Miles tried to move on and focus on the sound of Ben’s voice, but somehow his groans were even prettier as he heaved his chest forward into Miles’s wet and willing maw. Unable to paw at his ample flesh, it made the experience all the more intense as he opened himself up to the delicious cavalcade of sound that was generously falling from Ben’s lips. Deigning it somehow not enough to his greedy ears, Miles scraped his teeth along Ben’s tender nipple, waiting for that delectable hiss before he lathered it like the penitent sinner, desperate to earn his forgiveness, even as he did it again.  

   Miles could hear himself, the rhythmic suckling, the damp moans as he sucked in a hasty breath so he could attach himself again. All other noise in the room was forgotten as he pinpointed his attention on the abused, pebbled nub that seemed just as eager to return to that hot orifice as Miles was. It was filthy, the sounds he (or was it Ben?) was making banged against his eardrums, commanding his libido's attention. He should feel some way about it… The way his mouth suddenly went dry told him it was probably something bad, but he drowned it out when Ben pushed his head in even closer. Miles gave his thanks with a particularly loud smack of his lips as he suckled on him.

  Ben’s voice was barely audible over the heavy squelch of his hand as it kept nursing Miles, as he nursed on Ben. “That’s it”, Ben purred. “Take what you need. It’s all yours.” 

  Feeling more confident, more present, even as he was floating, Miles attuned himself to the sounds of the world around them, letting it envelope them. Whereas once he had convinced himself he was happy in the quiet of Straker’s shop or in the deserted Royale, nothing could compare to the clamour of life surrounding him now. Noticing what step Miles was on, Ben quietened his breathing, slowing his strokes into a tender, lilting waltz. 

  It was late, a single car drove past and parked nearby, likely his new dear friend Amelia and her husband. He felt so lucky to find a kindred spirit halfway across the continent, even luckier when he heard his ever loyal cat, Dot, bound down the corridor. She was one of his few remaining connections to the Lot, always appearing as if by magic when he needed her most, reminding him of the good he could still take from that town, and being there, toy in paw, when he couldn’t. Always the chatterbox, her meowing chants for food sang along with the dulcet tones of Nat King Cole from the living room. Ben must have put it on while Miles took his shower, remembering it as the first song they'd danced to when they moved in. It didn't feel like his house without the records of his Nana playing on, keeping her spirit alive. Transforming it into the home he missed, and the one he knew she would be proud of him for. 

  Miles finally opened his long lashes. He blinked the haze away, not daring to gaze at his love yet lest it crack him wide open. Instead, he looked down at his feet, the soft, chestnut quilt was so unlike the rough, cheap and stained sheets of his bunk at the Royale. They had decorated the bedroom to be brighter than his small back room, more open and homely than his attic in the Lot. Even under the dim light, he could never mistake this as anywhere other than his inner sanctum. At the beginning of their relationship, his pulse would always quicken when he entered. Shame and doubt hid in every crack of the facade as he was unable to shake off the belief that there was something damnably wrong about sharing this domesticity with another man. But over the last few months, those cracks had been paved over with trinkets from their lives, family photos, and even the one book award Ben insisted foretold the death of culture, but Miles has framed pride and place anyway. The empty shell of a building they bought now bulged at the seams, barely able to contain their multitudes, let alone those of the friends and neighbours who had gifted them cherished pieces of themselves. He felt just as sheltered by them as he did by his boyfriend’s arms.   

  Tears started to fall freely as he finally looked up at Ben. The man who had shown him this could ever be possible. That tirelessly worked with him to make that possibility a reality. Letting go of the nub in his mouth, Miles could barely see Ben through the watery film that clung to his vision, no matter how hard he tried to clear it away. A soothing thumb wiped away the trail of droplets that orbited the ruby gemstones of his cheeks, causing more to follow in their wake, like they were desperate to meet that sweet, tender hand that was rising up to greet them.

  “Hi there, sweetheart”, the skin coloured blob whispered. “Still with me?”   Miles’s head rolled in an approximation of a nod, held up by the cup of Ben’s shoulder. Knowing that outline anywhere, Miles allowed himself to finally move onto the last step, letting himself feel everything that body gave his like it was its greatest honour. Closing the gap, Ben drew him into a soul-claiming kiss.  

  Miles felt, rather than heard, Ben speaking to him. The sound of something ricocheting into his mouth as Ben refused to break away for just a second. It was all just feeling now. The vibrations ran down the chords of the soldier's neck like an overtuned guitar string being mercilessly plucked, before being smoothed into blissful harmony by those devilish, kneading fingers that played him better than Ben had played even himself. Miles sang from deep within his chest.   Selfishly keeping that beautiful sound to himself, Ben drank it down, coaxing it out with each push of his thumb. When he’d finally had his fill, he broke away, but Miles wasn’t done with him. He could still barely make out Ben from under the syrupy haze he was finally succumbing to, even less so now he’d rendered him dumb under his lips. But he didn’t need to speak. Showing Ben what he needed, he pulled the hand from his neck and brought it to encircle his two wrists together. The air hitched against him, a ‘you sure?’ barely breaking through the fog of pleasure as the tug on his cock kept pace.

  Miles’s foot kicked the bed once for go, and Ben clenched his long fingers around him. Miles shuddered in bliss, so Ben went one better and encased him completely, curling a leg around Miles’s own like a vine as the other wrapped around his back. He brought him deeper into his body, resting his chin against the top of his skull until he was boxed in at all angles. 

 Where Miles had skimmed over the edges of total submission, now he felt himself plunge. He gasped, muscles pulling taut like he’d been dunked into ice water. He fell off the tightrope and into the abyss of total thoughtlessness. And yet at the bottom wasn’t Billy Lee, or the El Royale. Not even Straker was waiting for him. Instead, he collided into his own body, like his soul had fallen from the heavens. Suddenly alight with every sensation in the here and now, his stomach collapsed around the hand that gave and gave, but Ben kept him still, heightening it, making him experience everything it could offer in every minute detail. Ben worried for just a second as he heard Miles’s foot move. Looking down, he saw Miles lose control. Leg quaking, thumping against the air, he squirmed wildly but was still restrained under Ben’s calf. The weight just made his toes curl all the more.  

  Miles thought he was speaking (or was he screaming?), but it wasn’t his own voice he heard. It sounded like it wanted to cry too as it babbled into watery kisses, pressing hard into Miles’s scars like he could replace them and write his words into his skin. “That's it - You're okay, I've got you. Just let yourself go, let me take care of you.”

  And he did, because the voice that he trusted more than anything in this world told him to. He could barely make him out as the pleasure washed over him, but Miles knew the shape of him. The taste of his lips against his. The smell of his sweat as he kept pumping him through his faltering endurance. The sound of his voice as it said everything he wanted to hear, echoed every moan and sigh as though the pleasure was his own. And the feel of his skin stuck to his own, limbs holding him in place as he fell apart. He didn’t know where he ended, and his love began. It didn’t matter. Not when he could feel his still beating heart galloping proudly, harmonized to Miles’s own as his wrists were held so tight, that even the barrier of their skin seemed to disappear. But touch wasn’t enough. He turned his face to listen to that sacred, beautiful heart beat, bursting with love. And he wept.

  He knew he was in the home they’d made together. He knew he was with his Ben Mears. He had never felt so safe and loved, or so far away from the Royale. Giving into the body that bound his up within it, Miles broke. Pearlescant cum gushed into his partner’s hand, catching it to keep it off Miles’s overstimulated skin. He almost wrenched himself out of Ben’s grasp, bucking and writhing, chasing and retreating into the pleasure that crashed him into the walls of Ben’s chest. It was almost violent as he kicked against him, but eventually the bliss released Miles from its grip, and slowly eased him back into his partner’s who caught him. Body no longer racked with pleasure, it gave in to the sobs that racked it instead.  

   But by god, even as he cried, letting so many years of pain out, he felt as free as the birds.

   “There we go. God, Miles. You're… you're perfect. C’mere”. Ben rocked him as he came down from his high. He had seen the emotional release coming, and as he heard Miles try to let out torn-up ‘I love you’s through tiny hiccups, he shushed him, promising him that he knew as he let his own tears fall. He felt so proud of his soulmate. The same as he did with every one of Miles’s victories. Whether it was when he showed Ben yet another side of his once hidden self, took another step in breaking free of Straker’s chains, or simply managed to struggle out of bed to look after their son when he was at his lowest. Even in the darkness, he always found a way to blossom. 

  When the sobs had subsided, the balm had been lovingly applied after they cleaned each other up, and the crumbs lay across the bed, Miles lay with his cheek on Ben’s bosom. He felt the drying saliva and tears under his cheek. But he didn’t feel ashamed. Worried he would, Ben turned it on himself. Jokingly, he swore to his boyfriend that by the time of their tenth anniversary, he would publish his magnum opus, rivalling even War and Peace in length. A simple instruction manual on the many tried and true ways to get Miles to cum so hard that he made the other person cry. Ben promised he would try to remember to thank him in his acceptance speech for the Pulitzer.     Ben’s lips missed Miles’ as he raised his head to meet him. Determined to show him just how incredibly proud of him he was, he tried again. But instead, he was met with a burst of air as Miles erupted into a puddle of giggles.

  “Hey!” Ben clicked his tongue. “Stop laughing, Thumper, I'm trying to kiss you!”

  “Stop making me laugh then!” Miles tried to kiss him back in a non-apology, but it was contagious. Spreading to its new host, Ben couldn’t keep himself still as he bellowed, relief pouring off him, and if he was being entirely honest, just a little bit of pride in himself. He hoped Miranda could see them like this. 

  However, as they lay entwined under the sheets, Ben didn’t need to make Miles laugh this time to get him to accept what he’d normally shun. He just needed to squeeze Miles tighter as he drifted off to the sound of their shared hearts, beating together. Alive and healing. It took a few more days for Ben to realize what Miles had learned that evening. That he didn’t need the rope to give himself fully to Ben. He had done that when he had first allowed himself to cry openly in front of him, letting him in. Trusting he wouldn’t use that vulnerability to control him as others had done before. Today had been his proof, if any were needed, that his faith had finally been in the right person.

  The next morning, as the birds welcomed them into the new day with their song, they stayed in bed. Miles told him of what Billy had said, which had nearly brought their evening to a screeching halt. And just a few days later, their house was once again alive with the joy only his son could bring, he started to open up to Mark, too. He finished his gift to Gladys and Theresa that very same evening. 

  Five years later, Miles sat in the kitchen of his two elderly neighbours. He had almost forgotten about the gift he had made for them as a thank you for that day. Shining brightly on top of their windowsill in royal emerald green, his vase looked brand new. 

Almost.

  After it had broken, Miles took his inspiration from the craft book Amelia gifted him for his birthday. Remembering the chapter on historical art, he had remade it in the style of Kintsugi, repairing broken objects into something new. Something made better for its every imperfection. But where he didn’t have the finest gold, instead, he used the cheap epoxy that his son had brought him with his pocket money. It still couldn’t be mistaken for the artwork he made now, but it had been his starting point, as had those few, short weeks spent opening up to his partner about his past. He was still learning to accept those broken pieces as something beautiful, but held together by his family, and shared with his friends and community, he was now well on his way. And it had all started with Ben, being there to let him fall apart, and staying by his side as he built himself into someone more than the sum of his history. The person Ben always knew was there below the surface. The vase wasn't perfect, but it was to those who cared for it.

   Years ago, Ben had half-joked that Miles couldn’t go anywhere without leaving a piece of his heart there to make even the most distant house feel like home. But Miles had retorted that he felt at home everywhere because of the piece of Ben he carried with him. Thumbing at his wedding band, he mouthed a silent ‘I luff you’ to the man across the table who shared his surname. The El Royale and Jerusalem’s Lot felt like a distant memory, even as they walked in step with him, as they always would. But that was okay, because on those days that they reared their heads once again, he and his husband knew what he needed. Theresa thought he blushed. Gladys thought she saw him tear up.

  But Ben Miller-Mears knew the look of desire on his husband’s face anywhere.

  With a few more ropes and toys now at their disposal, they still had a few more pages to go if Ben was going to ever win his Pulitzer on time. 

They were sitting at home on a random Sunday night maybe six or seven months after they'd moved to escape the ghost town that once was Salem's Lot. Miles casually flipped through the pages of the Sunday paper, the ones he hadn't gotten to during breakfast that morning. Mark was reading the same kind of cheesy horror comics that Ben remembered fondly from his early childhood with overly dramatic names like The Son of Satan or The Tomb of Dracula or, the one that made Ben laugh so hard he threw out his back, Giant-Sized Man-Thing. Ben was ostensibly pouring over the sports pages that Miles gave him, but in actuality, he was admiring his husband. Namely, he was admiring the way Miles left an extra button or two open on his shirt, and if Ben tilted his head just the right way, he could see the beginning swell of his pecs.

He didn't mean to say it out loud. Ben was just picturing Miles' chest - the expanse of his pale skin that had darkened slightly in the recent months from mowing the lawn topless, the dark hair that only existed in small, sparse patches that was soft to the touch, and, of course, Miles'…

"Tits."

Miles peered over the side of his newspaper, looking at Ben quizzically.

"What did you say, babe?"

Ben blinked, his mind snapping back to the present moment. He shook his head, making a perplexed face. He hadn't spoken anything out loud, after all. Miles must have been mistaken. He was about to go back to pretending to read his paper, but Mark's sharp gaze caught his eye.

Like with most things involving Ben and Miles' love life, Mark Petrie was deeply unimpressed. It'd taken some time and had created some endlessly humiliating situations, but the household had finally come to an equilibrium - Ben and Miles were diligent about closing (and usually locking) doors and ensuring Mark may have known what was going on but sure as hell couldn't hear it; Mark had become an expert at knocking before entering and was good at making himself scarce. But on the rare occasions one (or both) of them slipped in front of Mark, the kid had mastered the kind of withering glare that would impress the most frigid schoolmarm. And he was leveling that glare at Ben now.

"What?" Ben hissed in a whisper. Mark continued to appear unimpressed.

"You said 'tits,'" Mark said dryly.

In one quick move, Miles let the top half of his newspaper fall to better see both his then-ward and his future husband. When Ben caught his eye, Miles raised one eyebrow. Ben could feel a blush starting.

"No, I didn't!"

"He did," Mark refuted, unruffled. Turning to Miles, he continued, "He's been staring at your chest all night, scooting closer and closer to you."

Ben looked down, noticing that he was indeed farther from the end of the couch than he'd been when they all sat down thirty minutes ago. He couldn't exactly refute Mark's claims.

"Just when he looked like he was about to jump you, he just randomly said…"

"'Tits?'" Miles finished, now raising both brows at Ben, an amused half-smile playing on his face.

"Yep," Mark said, popping the 'p' at the end of the word. With a sigh, he started gathering up the comics he'd set aside to peruse that night and the can of soda he'd brought with him.

"Where are you going?" Ben asked, purposefully ignoring how his voice shot up half an octave.

Mark shot Ben a piercing look as he stood up. "Getting out while the gettin's good."

Ben sputtered wordlessly while Mark and Miles exchanged their good nights. Once they heard Mark's door click shut, Miles put down the newspaper on the side table, starting to unbutton his shirt even further.

"'Tits,' huh?" he asked with a grin. Ben opened his mouth to protest, but once Miles pulled open his shirt, the words froze in his mouth. All except one.

"Tits," Ben answered, licking his suddenly dry lips.

It happened again on laundry day.

Ben had just emerged from the cave that was his study as though coming up for air. It was past when he'd normally take a break for a quick lunch and, on a day like this one where Miles was off work, a quick kiss. Instead, he'd been so immersed in his new book idea that he'd worked through his alarms and found himself in the kitchen mid-afternoon, guiltily eating now-cold Chicken a la King from the lunch Miles had prepared for him hours before.

Or at least he was until Miles rounded the corner, carrying a basket of folded laundry…and wearing a pair of the tightest pants Ben had ever seen on him.

His jaw went slack immediately.

"Oh! Hi sweetheart! Didn't hear you come out." Miles practically beamed at him, coming up to give his boyfriend a quick kiss that Ben easily accepted even as he tried to keep his eyes on Miles' posterior. "Sorry I didn't come get you for lunch. You really seemed like you were on a roll. Writing going well?"

Ben didn't respond immediately, too focused on how the brown polyester hugged Miles' thighs like a second skin. When Miles stopped talking, Ben refocused on his boyfriend, blinking rapidly to try to adjust his thoughts along with his eyes.

"Uh, yeah," Ben said, clearing his throat and rolling his shoulders back to sit up a little straighter. "Really got going on one scene, and it bled into the next scene until, all of the sudden, it was 2:30."

Ben almost felt bad for how little he was listening to Miles. But how was he supposed to concentrate given such a lurid display? Even Tantalus, the the Greek king of Homeric lore, would pity Ben for the delicious peach hovering just out of his reach.

Even though Ben was enjoying the view from the front, he couldn't help but wish Miles would turn around. And preferably bend over.

The idea struck like lightning, electricity coursing through his veins as Ben Mears marveled at the simple genius of his plan. Miles was always so sweet and helpful, taking any excuse to show his love by doing little things for those he cared about. He regularly surprised Mark with whatever horror comic or movie he'd been yapping about just to drink in the look of glee on Mark's face. One time, Miles had baked some of Ms. Winters' apple crumble to bring to his knitting circle. They'd raved about it so much that Miles made sure to bring some as an occasional treat when the ladies needed a pick-me-up. So it wasn't exactly a surprise that, when Ben "accidentally" flicked his spoon off the dining table, Miles went into action as soon as it noisily clattered to the floor.

"Oh! No worries. I've got it!" Miles casually set the laundry on the dining table before bending at the waist to take the proverbial bait.

The sight was worth every second of Ben's trickery. Since they'd moved into their new forever home, Miles had filled out quite a bit. Turns out that only eating just enough to function and overworking his body to the point of exhaustion meant that Miles was noticeably underweight. The past year of filling, solid meals had changed that. Now, where they would have been loose before, Miles' pants strained deliciously, protesting the sudden movement as they perfectly framed the cutest ass in existence.

Ben loved Miles' little ass before, but he adored how much more full it had become. The brown fabric lovingly cupped each cheek so tightly, Ben could almost see the dimples on either side. He could even see the line in the polyester from how it had hugged Miles' hips and thighs so tightly that there was a visible demarcation where his ass ended and his legs began.

And as soon as he'd bent over, Miles stood back up, holding the retrieved spoon with a frankly adorable grin of satisfaction, like a dog looking for praise.

"Always so clumsy," Miles jokingly admonished, shaking the silverware at Ben before turning towards the sink to deposit the dirty spoon and probably grab a new one to replace it.

Ben meant to say something back that was clever or smooth. Something like "Only when I'm around you, my love" or at least make a joke about 'spooning' Miles. But his eyes were still fixed on the other man's backside. So instead, he abruptly blurted out -

"Ass."

Miles stopped short, turning and looking at Ben over his shoulder. Try as he might to only stare at his boyfriend's beautiful face, Ben's eyes kept slipping down, giving away that, no, Miles hadn't misheard him.

In a heartbeat, Miles' face went from wide-eyed surprise to as close to a smirk as Miles Miller was capable of.

"Ben," he scolded, dancing eyes giving away that he was nowhere near as disappointed as his tone suggested. "Did you drop that spoon on purpose so that I'd lean over to get it?"

Ben didn't say a word, but he didn't need to. The answer was written all over his guilty countenance.

Miles didn't waste any time. He took two steps and promptly bent over the kitchen island, facing away from Ben, before proceeding to spread his legs and arch his back, presenting his posterior for Ben's inspection.

When Ben didn't make a move to stand, stuck staring at the ass on display for him, Miles wiggled his hips tauntingly.

"C'mon, Ben. You wanted it so badly. Better come over here and get it."

Minutes later, Mark opened the front door to the house only to find one of his guardians clad only in a button-up shirt and boxers. He wasn't just standing there, oh no. Ben was waddling down the hall with his pants around his ankles, intently muttering "ass, ass, ass" under his breath as he darted into the bedroom for a bottle of lube. Mark promptly closed the door and, turning on his heel around in one swift movement, headed to Theresa and Gladys' house to spend the afternoon there instead.

It began happening more and more often. Almost like Ben couldn't hold more than one thought in his mind at any given time. If Miles pulled off his shirt to change his clothes, Ben would whisper "tits" under his breath. If Ben grabbed Miles' butt while kissing, he'd mutter "ass" against Miles' lips. One memorable time when Ben returned early from a business trip and walked in on Miles touching himself while moaning Ben's name, Miles only realized he wasn't alone when Ben said the word "cock" out loud.

At first, Miles secretly began to worry. Was this some lingering effect of the trauma they'd experienced back in the Lot? Did Ben happen to hit his head at some point and his brain got addled? When he brought his concern to his boyfriend, Ben explained that this was fairly normal for him. Or at least it was when Miranda was still alive. Apparently, when Ben Mears fell in love and felt safe to be himself, his brain to mouth filter…slipped. That sometimes his conscious thoughts would become unconscious words pulled unbidden from his brain through his lips. When Miles followed up, asking if Ben really just thought the words "tits, tits, tits" when staring at Miles' chest, the bright pink blush that rose on his cheeks was answer enough.

It even became a family joke. Mark bought Ben a subscription to a bird watching magazine for Christmas. When Ben looked confused, Mark pointed at one on the cover and, with a grin, just said the word "tits." Theresa and Gladys, the Miller-Mears family's favorite neighbors, gifted Ben a pair of binoculars with his name on them for his birthday. Gladys seemed to genuinely believe that Ben was a fan of birdwatching, but the smirk on Theresa's face and the glint in her eye showed that the other elder lady knew better. By the time Miles hung up paintings of birds in the living room, Ben knew the joke was there to stay and happily played into it.

Ben Mears was huffy, and he wasn't afraid to admit it.

It hadn't exactly been the best day - it started with an empty bed when he woke up, continued with having to throw out three and a half chapters' worth of work on his current novel, and was made only worse by the small kitchen fire he started at lunch that he put out fairly quickly but spent a full 15 minutes trying to figure out how to disable the newfangled smoke detector that was blaring out a sound so high pitched and loud that Ben was worried the neighbors would come running.

Now he was dressed like an idiot and driving his ward who was also dressed like an idiot to a Halloween party he was only going to because the idea of spending another unnecessary hour away from Miles felt like even more torture than the idea of being surrounded by people he only half-knew and dealing with the dreaded Small Talk.

And to make things worse, Ben only had on half of his costume. What the other half was, he had no clue. Miles said it was a 'surprise,' and Ben had agreed to it. In hindsight, it was frankly unfair - Ben would do anything Miles asked of him…and he knew it. Didn't stop Ben from feeling like even more of a jackass than normal. And it didn't stop his tights from itching.

"What are you again?" Ben asked for probably the third time that evening. He couldn't see Mark's face under the ridiculous spray-painted white mask he was wearing, but Ben could feel the eye roll.

"Michael Myers," Mark answered with the exact level of annoyance that Ben expected. "The killer from Halloween." When Ben said nothing, Mark sighed with obvious exasperation. "That movie Miles and me went to see last week?"

"That explains the knife," Ben muttered, glancing down at the fake butcher knife in Mark's hands. Louder, he continued, "But that doesn't explain the Shatner mask. You said he wasn't in that movie."

"Michael Myers wears a William Shatner mask," Mark explained with the same cadence as someone would use on a small child who didn't understand big concepts.

Ben scrunched his face, looking bewildered. "The villain of the movie wore a William Shatner mask? Is he supposed to intimidate you with his bad acting?"

Mark let out an even louder sigh, one that could almost be classified as a proper harrumph, crossing his arms across his chest.

"At least I don't look like an extra from The Pirates of Penzance like some people in this car," Mark muttered under his breath.

Ben glared at Mark as best he could while still keeping an eye on the road.

As much as he hated to admit it, the kid had a point. The frilly white poet shirt and the weird brown trousers that Miles referred to as 'pantaloons' which only came down to his calves definitely gave off a rather piratical impression. Although his first thought hadn't been that he looked like Long John Silver but another important literary figure.

"What? Am I supposed to be William Shakespeare?" Ben asked almost jokingly as he held out the clothes Miles had handed to him.

When Miles bit his lip like he was fighting down a smile, Ben knew there was a joke to be had that he just wasn't privy to yet.

"Miles said I'm definitely not a pirate," Ben shot back at Mark.

"Yeah, you're a dork," Mark retorted.

Ben let out a snort of laughter that was almost embarrassingly loud. He put his hand over his mouth to stop any more noises from coming out, but it was too late. Out of the corner of his eye, Ben could see Mark pull the mask up and grin at him, not even an ounce of genuine irritation on his face despite his protestations.

Even though the day had been atrocious up to this point and he was dressed like an out-of-work 17th century poet, Ben couldn't stop the genuine laughter that bubbled up and spilled out of him.

The second Ben walked through the doors to the school's lunchroom, he didn't notice the decorations he knew Miles had spent most of the day hanging. He didn't notice the people milling around and chatting, everyone in various levels of costumes from Patty the fourth grade teacher who had gone all out in her homemade Wonder Woman costume that was attracting way more attention than the married woman had hoped for to Gary the P.E. teacher who was dressed as…a P.E. teacher. He barely noticed the kids in plastic masks and superhero capes zooming around the room excitedly, nearly knocking into every adult including Ben. He was too busy looking for any sign of Miles.

The rub was that he had no clue what Miles was wearing. Normally, Ben could catch sight of a mustard yellow cardigan or a crisp white button up shirt or occasionally those sinfully delightful brown polyester pants Miles now liked to wear for the sole purpose of riling Ben up. But tonight? He could be wearing anything.

So Ben did the next best thing - he kept an eye out for Amelia, the school's librarian and also Miles' closest friend besides himself, Mark, and, of course, Theresa and Gladys. Fortunately, she had waist-length fire red hair that she wore down - easy enough to spot in a crowd.

Unfortunately for him, she wasn't with Miles. She was right in front of Ben. And she was grinning with a puckish smile that promised nothing but the sort of whimsical mischief Ben suspected Miles was up to. There was something odd in her hands, something out of place next to the flowing white dress which was remarkably similar to the one the space princess in Star Wars wore. Whatever it was had a bumpy, uneven texture that meant that it was made by hand. When she held it out, he realized it had eye holes.

A mask.

Looking closer only brought up more questions. Holding it in one hand, Ben let a finger run over the side, feeling the coarse texture that no amount of brown or white paint could quite conceal - papier mache. Judging by its ears and what could only be described as a snout, Ben's first instinct is that it was an attempt at a Venetian-style animal mask. Those were usually animals like rabbits, cats, or various birds. One time at a Mardi Gras party in New Orleans in undergrad, Ben found himself entranced by a shirtless gentleman in a fox mask. This looked closer to a dog with a long, brown muzzle, but the ears were all wrong. They were shorter and pointy like -

"A horse?" Ben asked, not able to keep his befuddlement from his face or his voice. What costume would require him to dress like a pirate with a horse head? Was this some reference he didn't understand? That didn't make any sense.

"Not quite," Amelia answered in a sing-song tone, unable to control her Cheshire grin. She pointed to the bottom of the mask, to the end of the not-horse's snout.

Buck teeth.

Curious. Horses did have large teeth, but caricatures of them didn't quite look like that.

Then it hit him. Ben Mears wasn't a horse.

He was an ass.

Ben ignored the crowd as he made his way through it. More than once, he nearly bumped into someone and had to mutter a quick apology before readjusting and continuing his search, cursing under his breath.

Sure, Amelia had told him where Miles was - by the punch bowl. But she conveniently didn't explain where that was, and Ben, ever single-minded in his idiocy, was too eager to find Miles to even think to ask follow up questions. He took off, and the medium-sized cafeteria felt like a forest from a fairy tale, the kind one could get lost in for years.

It didn't help that Ben was distracted. He couldn't help it. All the little clues, the pieces of the puzzle, were coming together as he searched. The frilly shirt, the donkey mask, and, most importantly, the way Miles smiled when Ben asked if he was Shakespeare. Before, Ben had no idea what clothing to look for to glimpse Miles. But if he was right, Ben was looking for something wispy. Something ethereal. Something…befitting a queen.

When Ben finally found Miles, it wasn't some big, cinematic moment. The room didn't quiet to a hush. The crowd didn't part effortlessly to reveal his beloved. Hell, Miles wasn't just standing there with silent grace like an otherworldly creature holding court. The music was still the same volume - loud enough to dance but quiet enough to talk. He actually ended up bumping into someone who narrowly avoided spilling some punch on both herself and Ben. Multiple apologies rushed through his lips, but he never even looked at the person he ran into. His eyes were too focused on a wisp of tan fabric by a stark white table. And when he laid eyes on his beloved, Miles was hunched over to hear the chattering woman next to him. Even from this distance, Ben could tell Miles wasn't listening. His eyes darted around the room, scanning every person, every little bit of movement, searching for Ben just as eagerly as Ben had sought him. And yet, the sight was enough to take his breath away.

The first thing he noticed was, of course, the dress. Miles had only recently felt comfortable expressing his interesting in occasionally wearing more traditionally feminine clothing, something Ben himself enjoyed to do. Although where Ben liked more intimate items like panties, bras, and general lingerie, Miles liked outerwear like dresses and skirts. It was so new and such a fragile thing that Miles rarely wore them outside of the privacy of their bedroom, which made seeing his boyfriend in the middle of his work cafeteria sporting the most gorgeous dress Ben had ever seen even more surprising.

The dress itself was an absolute work of art. Ben had no idea where Miles could've gotten such a thing from. It was a pale brown only a few shades darker than Miles' own skin tone and made of some sort of ephemeral material. Even though Ben was no seamstress, he knew enough to clock the fabric as tulle at least at first. All the tulle he'd ever seen was stiff and, judging by how the young girls in his elementary recital scratched at where it touched their legs, extremely itchy.

This material couldn't be more different. It was diaphanous and looked impossibly soft to the touch, almost as if it was made from gossamer collected by pixies and dried of the lingering morning dew before being sewn into Miles' dress. It hung perfectly, draped across Miles' chest, exposing the peaks of his collarbone and the delicate hollow of his throat before cascading down his body like a waterfall of fabric. Dozens of little flowers had been sewn onto it, only adding to his sylphid appearance. There was a slit up the side, exposing some of the skin of Miles' leg. It was only when he felt his cock twitch in his ridiculous breeches did Ben realize he was already half-hard. And that was before Ben's eyes reached Miles' face.

He looked utterly bewitching. His hair was slightly longer than normal, adding to the otherworldly aura Miles radiated. Ben should have known that something was up when Miles started skipping his monthly haircuts, but he was too tickled with his lover's new hair length to bring up any questions. It further softened Miles' features, giving his appearance a hint of androgyny. Upon the crown of his head rested a garland of flowers, ones Ben easily recognized from their fairy garden - sunny yellow daisies, azure forget me nots, sprigs of lavender, day lilies the yellow-orange of a vibrant sunrise, interspersed with milky-white sprigs of baby's breath.

Miles' cheeks were rouged with a dainty flush that was offset by little splashes of color and glitter around his eyes and temples, highlighting the sharp peaks of his cheekbones and the soft curves of his face. What entranced Ben the most was the gleam of the light hitting the lustrous sheen of Miles' glossy pink lips.

And when Ben stepped forward, into Miles' eye line, the way his whole face lit up with delight elevated his entire appearance to whole new levels of divinity. There was no doubt in Ben's mind who he lived with and slept with and loved with his whole heart. Miles was no ordinary fairy. He was royalty.

"Queen Titania," Ben breathed, his voice a hushed sort of awe, like he was seeing something sacred and couldn't quite bring himself to speak loudly enough to disrupt the sanctity of Miles' presence.

Miles beamed, smiling so hard he could barely keep his eyes open. He stood up straight and stepped towards Ben, gliding away from the woman who was still chattering at him. The world narrowed to the two of them - Miles and Ben in their own little world.

"What angel wakes me from my flow'ry bed?" Miles intoned with a lilt, his voice the most beautiful thing Ben had heard all day. Ben's heart thumped heavily in his chest at his words. Even if much from his college days outside of chasing skirts escaped him, there was no forgetting the classics. Miles was quoting A Midsummer Night's Dream, the part where the fairy queen Titania awoke to find a human with an ass' head in her bed and fell madly in love with him. Sure, it was a result of trickster fairy magic, but Ben chose to ignore that part.

"Miles, you look…" His hands found Miles' arms, barely avoiding the temptation to put them on Miles' waist and pull his boyfriend into his embrace. The fabric was soft against his skin, but Ben wasn't focusing on that. He was too transfixed. "You look like a dream."

Neither of them noticed Amelia slipping in and putting a friendly arm around Nancy, the woman who had been chatting with Miles, and not-so-subtly leading her away.

"I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again. Mine ear is much enamored of thy note," Miles murmured, practically fluttering his lashes.

Ben grinned. "That is the first time anyone's ever told me to keep talking. Or to sing. You are definitely going to regret that."

Miles gently smacked his arm, muttering, "Stop it, you ham. I'm gonna forget my lines."

"By all means, my lady, please continue," he practically purred, giving as much of a bow as possible without letting go of Miles. Ben just couldn't stop smiling. His cheeks were aching from it, but he didn't give a damn.

Clearing his throat delicately, Miles continued, "So is mine eye enthrallèd to thy shape, and thy fair virtue's force perforce doth move me on the first view to say…" He paused, emphasizing the next part. "…to swear, I love thee."

Ben shook his head gently, still unable to look away from those big, beautiful eyes of the man he fell in love with, as dark blue and deep as the ocean during a storm. He didn't remember all the words, but he knew some of it.

"Methinks, mistress, you should have little reason for that." He hesitated, looking to his lover for confirmation. At Miles' encouraging nod, he continued, "Yet, love and reason keep little company together nowadays."

"Thou art as wise as thou art beautiful," Miles murmured. The way he licked his lips, Ben knew his beloved longed to kiss him just as much as he did. Instead, he watched Miles' tongue as it slipped over his dewy lips invitingly.

"Not so neither; but if I had wit enough to leave this wood, I have enough to serve mine own." He let his thumbs rub circles on Miles' arms, watching with ill-concealed pleasure as Miles shivered at the touch, the faint peaks of his nipples hardening visible through the sheer fabric.

As if seeing the look in Ben's eye, Miles' tone turned a little less teasing and little more firm as he said the next lines. "Out of this wood do not desire to go. Thou shalt remain here whether thou wilt or no."

"You show up looking like this and expect me to not want to drag you home and ravish you?" Ben practically growled through lightly gritted teeth. No matter how unaffected Miles tried to appear, the flush that appeared on his chest and crept its way up his neck was impossible to deny, as was the heated look in his eyes.

"That's not the next line," Miles admonished, his voice a little breathier than before. "It was still my line, actually."

"You gonna list all the things the little fairies need to feed me and clothe me with?" Ben teased.

"No," Miles said with a little laugh. "I just wanted to get to the part where I say I love you again."

"By all means," Ben said. Impossibly, he forced himself to take a step back, willing his growing erection to wither or at least stop throbbing with the rapid beat of his heart.

"I am a spirit of no common rate…"

"You can say that again," Ben muttered. Miles shot him a fondly annoyed look and started again.

"I am a spirit of no common rate. The summer still doth tend upon my state…And I do love thee. Therefore go with me."

"I am ready and willing to leave right now."

Unfortunately, Miles wasn't quite ready to go, much to Ben's intense consternation.

At first, Ben dealt with it fairly well. He mingled. As much as Ben was capable of such a thing. But every time he was able to focus on anything but the burning desire coursing through him, Ben was drawn back in like a moth to a flame. All it took was a fleeting moment - a glimpse of tan tulle, a passing whiff of Miles' earthy cologne, the sound of his laughter in the air - and Ben's attention was elsewhere, searching for his elusive fairy queen to fulfill his longing to kneel at her feet.

It was like the universe knew of Ben's immense suffering and, instead of granting him mercy, proceeded to purposefully intensify his anguish.

There was a slow number where Miles was awkwardly forced to dance with Nancy. The look of sheer bliss on her face sent a knife of pure jealousy through Ben's ribs. Sure, Miles wasn't interested in her. He wasn't interested in any women. But Ben should be able to slow dance with his boyfriend, not watch Miles feign enjoyment in the arms of another.

Then Mark caught up with him by the food table, drinking the lamentably non-alcoholic fruit punch. Between bouts of teasing - Ben being stuck at the party and Mark having no one recognize his costume - Mark let slip that Miles had arranged for him to stay over at a friend's house so Ben and Miles could be alone. Which only lead to thoughts of why Miles would arrange that, ones so graphically detailed that Ben had to excuse himself to the bathroom to adjust what was turning into a raging erection.

The last straw was Miles spilling his punch. Fortunately, it wasn't on his dress. The universe wasn't quite that cruel. Unfortunately, it trickled down his hand. And instead of going for a napkin, Miles panicked and licked it. He'd long ago been banished away from Miles, unable to keep his hands to himself, but Ben was close enough to see it in haunting detail.

The moment slowed down like something in a movie, one that was only playing in Ben's head. He skipped past Miles' eyebrows shooting up and the 'o' his mouth formed in shock and right to the good part.

The punch slid down the back of his hand in one of those crooked lines that water does, where the easiest route to the ground isn't necessarily a straight line. He could practically see the droplet of red liquid at the end, hesitating as if thinking about dripping further down. Miles' tongue, dyed dark pink from his drink, darted out, chasing the end of the stream. It chased the end, flicking the bead off his skin.

The motion was familiar. Another shot in Ben's mental movie, a comparison one, of Miles late at night. He was between Ben's legs, stroking his cock leisurely like he had all the time in the world. A pearl of precum welled at the tip. Eager to catch it, Miles surged forward, lapping it up with care and precision, like it was the finest ambrosia.

Outside of Ben's mind, he watched transfixed as Miles traced the path the droplet left in reverse, the red liquid collecting on his tongue as he went. It didn't take any effort to connect that with the way Miles loved to trace the veins in Ben's cock as he went down on him.

And the worst part of it? Miles didn't even notice. He had no clue. Ben kept expecting to see Miles' eyes flicker over or catch even a faint smirk, anything to show that Miles knew what he was doing. To show how hard Ben was in these ridiculous pantaloons. To show just how ready Ben was to bend him over the nearest table, the rest of the world be damned.

Just when Ben Mears thought he couldn't take a single second more of this exquisite torture, Miles excused himself. He carefully edged out of the cafeteria, no doubt heading for the bathrooms.

Now was Ben's chance.

Miles didn't make it far out of the cafeteria before Ben caught up to him. All it took was three flicks of the wrist - snagging Miles' hand and pulling, opening the music room door, and slamming it - and Ben was on Miles.

He didn't hold back, pushing Miles up against the door and keeping him there with his body as Ben ravaged his boyfriend's mouth. The kiss was far from gentle - it was messy and needy and so, so very hungry. The taste of bubblegum lipgloss was one that Ben could imagine himself getting well acquainted with. He pulled the very air out of Miles' lungs with greedy swipes of his tongue, drinking down the little noises Miles involuntarily let out, chasing the taste of that spilled punch.

By the time Ben pulled back, Miles looked every bit the ravished queen Ben was eager to make him - gloss smeared across his lips and chin, hair sticking up wildly, and flower crown askew on his head. He didn't even get a chance to speak before Ben's hands were hoisting his dress up higher to more easily slip under it, impatiently exploring the thighs underneath before making their way around to cup and squeeze Miles' ass. The movement pulled Miles' hips against Ben's, doing little to disguise both of their arousal.

Miles gasped, his head falling back against the door with a light thunk, exposing the creamy, unblemished skin of his neck. Such an offering was too tempting to resist. Ben kissed up the column of his throat as his hand tucked under Miles' thigh, urging him to put it around his waist. When he did as wordlessly instructed, Ben rewarded him with a slow roll of his hips, grinding against Miles. Ben didn't even need to look down to tell he wasn't wearing regular briefs under the dress; Miles was wearing panties. The hand that still rested on Miles' ass ran along the delicate lace, lightly snapping the elastic and practically growling in pleasure at the moan Miles let out.

It didn't take long to work up a rhythm, one faster than Ben usually used. He felt like a feral beast as he thrust his hips. Like a caged animal that had finally been unleashed. His queen Titania kept him pinned up and hungry. Now he had broken out, and it was time to feast.

"Ben!" Miles said. At first, Ben thought it was a moan until he heard it again, quieter and sharper. Like Miles was hissing it out between clenched teeth. That, combined with the feeling of hands pushing his chest, caused Ben to pause and pull back.

He blinked rapidly, trying to refocus his eyes. Miles looked blurred in the dim light, slightly fuzzy around the edges like a TV with its antenna slightly out of tune. The glint of determination in his eyes, however? That was clear as day.

"We can't," Miles whispered, trying to dislodge his leg from around Ben's waist. Unfortunately for him, Ben hadn't quite caught up to the change in plans and gripped his thigh tighter unconsciously. "Ben, put me down."

A few more blinks, and Miles' words made their way through his lust-addled brain enough for him to loosen his hold, allowing Miles to extricate his leg from his boyfriend's grasp. When he pressed against his lover's chest once more, Ben took the gesture the wrong way and started to kneel. Miles' quick hands grabbed at Ben's biceps, yanking him back up with more strength than one would expect from a fairy, let alone the queen of them.

"No. We can't," Miles said, harshly enough that the meaning finally hit Ben like a club to the head. He immediately took a step back, hands reaching out only to steady his lover, not to caress him.

Before Ben could voice his apology, Miles leaned forward, capturing Ben's lips in a much more gentle and regrettably brief kiss.

"'Sokay," Miles whispered, smiling up at him. "I'm flattered you were so turned on that you couldn't even hear me properly."

"I could hear you," Ben argued, his voice also lowered to a hush. "I just thought you wanted me to worship you properly." The blush that climbed Miles' already pink chest was visible even in the murky light that shone through the edges of the closed blinds.

"I do," Miles insisted, "But not here."

Ben looked around, taking in what he could see of the classroom. There was a xylophone in the back that was a no go. The rug on the floor looked clean enough, but they had a better (and softer) one at home. However, the baby grand piano up front was a different story. If he closed the lid, it would be right about at waist height, perfect for…

Miles grabbed the sides of Ben's head and physically turned it to face him instead of gazing at the classroom. "Not on the piano either," Miles scolded, eyes retracing the places Ben had looked. "Or the floor. Or the…xylophone? How would that even work? That would be the loudest, most uncomfortable pla…"

"Then where?" Ben demanded, voice back at regular volume due to his exasperation. When Miles shushed him, Ben repeated himself in a whisper. "Then where? The bathrooms? My car? I know you don't want to do it in your classroom."

"Home," Miles insisted.

Ben didn't hesitate. He tugged Miles away from the door and went to turn the handle. He barely twisted it before Miles put his hand on the Ben's wrist, stopping him.

"No," Miles hissed again. "Not now. We haven't even been at the party for an hour."

"I haven't been at the party for an hour," Ben corrected, voice quiet but filled with a strained desperation. "You've been here all day."

Before he even finished his sentence, Miles was shaking his head. "The party's only been going for a little over an hour. I was working then decorating for the party."

"What's the difference?" Ben hissed. He could hear the pout in his own voice, but the straining bulge in his pants seemed more important than Ben saving face right now.

To emphasize his point, he hastily grabbed Miles' hand, letting him viscerally understand just how hard it was for Ben to wait. His cock practically throbbed at Miles' sharp inhale of surprise.

"Fuck," Miles swore, his voice shaky. "Baby…"

"I've been watching you all night," Ben purred into his ear, savoring the way Miles shivered at the timbre of his voice. "At first, I thought you were teasing me, but no. It was just you being you. And, God, you have no idea what you do to me."

"Ben…" Miles whispered. His hand twitched, like he was fighting the urge to cup Ben's crotch.

"I know, I know," Ben said, not quite able to keep the dejection fully out of his voice. He let go of Miles' wrist, and Miles hesitantly let his hand fall away. "How much longer do we have to stay?"

It took a few seconds of thought, but Miles finally came back with, "Thirty minutes. That's enough time to have mingled enough for everyone to remember I came here and not so long that you'll completely combust."

A smile tugged at Ben's lips against his will. "Maybe you need to feel again, because I'm pretty sure I'm ready to explode."

The snort Miles let out was far from ladylike, but Ben didn't comment.

"Oh, trust me," Miles said with a smile that looked suspiciously like a smirk. "I know what it feels like when you're to that point. You ain't there yet."

Ben let out a breathy laugh but didn't press the matter. He only mumbled "fair enough" and started helping Miles compose himself.

The silence between them was comfortable. It always had been with Miles, even when they barely knew each other. Back when they were a half-washed-up writer trying to forget the wife he'd buried and a deeply traumatized war vet who was also a recovering addict. Now they were just two men getting ready to make their not-so-grand reappearance at a dinky small town Halloween party. Only a few years ago, getting to this specific comfortable silence had felt impossible. Now it was almost ordinary.

They worked in tandem in a way that only years of experience could coordinate. Miles' hands smoothed down his dress as Ben straightened out the back, which had bunched up in an unseemly manner. Miles combed his hands through his hair, returning some semblance of order, then Ben repositioned the flower crown atop the bed of curls on Miles' head. Ben took his time dabbing at the makeup smeared on Miles' chin with his handkerchief, then he had the decency to at least act like he wasn't staring when Miles reapplied his lipgloss.

Neither of them spoke until Miles started smoothing out Ben's shirt, returning the favor.

"Seventy-four."

Miles blinked up at Ben in confusion, those beautiful eyes still blown wide from the arousal that had only been partly dampened by Miles' intervention.

"Pardon?"

"Seventy-four," Ben repeated. This time, he reached out and took one of the delicate tulle flowers on Miles' dress between his fingers, gently rubbing the fabric between his forefinger and thumb. "There are seventy-four flowers. I counted them." He let his hand trail as Miles stood in stunned silence, counting the beads that made up the stems that he could picture Miles sewing himself. It really was a work of art, something only Miles could've made.

"You…counted the flowers on my dress?"

At the hushed awe in his tone, Ben looked up, back into his boyfriend's eyes. They were still beautiful even when they were a little watery.

"Yeah," Ben said with a short nod of his head. "Twice, actually. I figured if I was going to be staring at you all night, I might as well admire all the work you put in. Did you sew these by hand?"

Miles nodded, not saying anything further.

"It's stunning. And so are you," Ben murmured, lifting his hand from the fabric and bringing it to cup Miles' face. Instead of pulling him for a kiss on the mouth, Ben stood on his toes to press his lips to Miles' forehead, finishing it off by rubbing their noses together. Miles let out a watery giggle, and Ben politely ignored the sniffle he made.

There were so many words there between the cracks of their sentences. How they never thought they would make it this far. How they never imagined life could be this good. How they never believed they'd find a place that accepted them, a place that felt like the home Ben and Miles had been missing for most of their lives. And, most of all, how lucky they both were to have found each other and how grateful they felt to stand there in an empty classroom after pawing at each other like two teenagers. It felt so blessedly normal in a way neither had ever truly expected their lives to be after all the tragedies they'd lived through.

After standing there for a few moments as Miles dabbed his eyes on the clean side of Ben's handkerchief, he finally spoke again.

"Seventy-five."

"Hmm?" Ben asked, once again not properly registering Miles' words.

"There are seventy-seven flowers," Miles corrected. He lifted his right arm and turned to show Ben the one he'd missed.

"Son of a bitch," Ben muttered under his breath, which only made Miles let out a breathy little laugh that immediately made Ben smile wider. "Why would you put one under your armpit. Isn't that itchy?"

"A little," Miles admitted, looking up at Ben from under his lashes in just the way he knew drove him wild. "I sewed it on before I thought about that. That's why there isn't one under the left arm."

"Any particular reason behind the number? Or did you forget what year it was?" Ben teased, allowing his hands to rest back on Miles' waist. It wasn't a lustful touch or even a possessive one. Ben just couldn't keep his hands away. He needed to touch Miles somehow.

"Yeah," Miles said with a little mischievous smile, the one that always made Ben's heart flutter. He looked even more like a fae creature than he did the day they met. Or that day in the woods when they leaned on each other. Or the first day they felt safe after leaving Salem's Lot behind. Or even just a few minutes ago when the cafeteria lighting caught every sparkle, every glimmer of Miles' face and outfit.

"It's the year we met," Miles whispered, voice heavy with unspoken emotion. "The most important year in my life."

Taking in a shuddery breath, Ben closed his eyes tightly, willing the tears that had threatened to well up in his eyes to go away. He breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth, ignoring how shaky it sounded. Miles wordlessly tilted Ben's head down to where their foreheads touched, giving him that connection he knew his boyfriend needed while letting him regain his composure.

Time went by. Neither were sure how much. Could've been a few seconds. Could've been a few minutes. But when Ben felt more self-possessed, he opened his eyes. He expected Miles to have his closed as well, but it was like he sensed the movement, his eyes fluttering open as well.

"I love you, Benjamin Mears," Miles whispered, words mostly steady.

"And I love you, Miles Miller," Ben echoed, putting his whole heart into it, willing his words to hold even a fraction of the weight of his feelings.

Despite the fresh coat of lipgloss, Miles kissed him then. It was tender and sweet and far, far too short for either of their liking.

"Five minutes," Miles whispered. "Gotta say goodbye to everyone before I go."

"Okay," Ben agreed, taking a step back, wiping his mouth off on the sleeve of his poncy shirt, uncaring if it stained. He needed to look decent enough to make it back through the party. "I'll wait for you in the car."

Miles shook his head, and Ben frowned immediately. When Miles let out a little watery giggle, Ben only frowned more.

"No, I'm not changing my mind about leaving," Miles reassured, clearing his throat to try to quell his laughter. "I just…we should drive our own cars back."

Ben crossed his arms, obviously displeased. "I can drive you to get your car tomorrow," he insisted.

"I know you can," said Miles with strained patience. "But I don't think it's a good idea."

"What?" Ben protested. "To leave your car here overnight? This is Ashland. It's not exactly New York City. Your car will be fine."

"Yes," Miles argued back. "But I don't think we will be."

At Ben's blank expression, Miles continued. "Ben, you're still…hard. I don't think you're going to exactly be focused on driving."

"I'm probably going to be hard whether you're there or not, sweetheart," Ben admitted somewhat smugly.

Miles lightly smacked his arm. "Yeah, yeah. You don't need to brag about your virility to me, Ben."

Even though he'd agreed to not try anything with Miles, Ben couldn't help himself. He stepped forward, wrapping his arms around Miles' waist.

"Sounds like you're an expert on the subject matter. That's good, because I have some very…pressing issues." With that, he lightly ground his hips against Miles' thigh.

"Ben!" Miles protested, his voice practically squeaking. He lightly shoved at Ben's chest, but there was no real effort in it. And judging by the way color was rising in his cheeks again, someone was enjoying being manhandled.

"Shh," Ben hushed, grinning as he started to plant little kisses to Miles' jaw. "Wouldn't want anyone to find us, would you?"

"Stop it!" Miles hissed, but Ben didn't miss the way he was attempting to fight down a smile.

"Only if you say please," Ben teased, singing the final word in that off-key way that he knew Miles loathed.

"God, you're such an ass," Miles muttered, gripping the sides of Ben's collar as his lover nipped at his ear.

Ben couldn't help himself. Honestly, he didn't even want to help himself. He just grinned even harder against Miles' skin and said, "Methought you were enamored with an ass."

Miles rolled his eyes so hard that Ben was surprised he didn't pull a muscle.

"That's my line," Miles complained. He tugged on Ben's shirt, silently demanding his attention. Ben did as he wanted, leaning back to look his beloved in the eye.

"The lady doth protest too much." Miles didn't protest when Ben leaned in, giving him another soft, lingering kiss. It wasn't the kind of kiss that started anything, or even the kind that continued what had already been lingering between them. It was just connection. Just them.

"Wrong play, Ben," Miles said, but his smile and that look of pure adoration that Ben could never get enough of gave away his true feelings.

"Close enough," Ben murmured before closing the distance between them again.

DELETED SCENE - Ben and Mark's conversation

47 minutes and a handful of seconds later, and Ben was leaning against the wall by the punch bowl. It was non-alcoholic, much to his chagrin.

He knew exactly where Miles was like it was a sixth sense now. He was over by the main entrance doors, chatting with Nancy again but also with a few others he vaguely recognized from other school-related events. Amelia and her husband were on the dance floor having far too much fun for a fairly boring work party. That only left Mark that Ben had lost track of.

"Hanging in there?"

Ben started slightly, turning to his right to see a shape in dark blue overalls pulling off his ridiculous white mask to reveal the grinning face of Mark Petrie.

"I'm fine," he grumbled, taking another sip of the disappointing punch.

"Suuuure you are," Mark said, pulling his glasses out of his pocket and putting them back on. Being able to see the details of Ben's grumpy face only made him grin harder. "You look like you're having a great time. How long are you in time out for before Miles lets you take him home?"

"He didn't say," Ben muttered, going to take another sip and scowling at the plastic cup like it did him a personal disservice just because it was empty. He found Miles in the crowd again as easily as if he'd never stopped watching him, pausing to watch the way the light hit the glitter on his cheek and lit up his face.

Pausing, Ben glanced at Mark out of the corner of his eye, immediately locking on the floppy white hunk of latex and fake hair in the kid's hand. "How many people have asked you if your costume is an albino William Shatner moonlighting as a mechanic?"

"I hate to say it, but that's much more clever than the guesses I got," Mark admitted wryly. "Someone asked if I was the Phantom of the Opera."

Even though the music was up at a decent volume, the guffaw Ben let out was loud enough that the couple nearby dressed as Sandy and Danny from Grease turned around presumably to see what was so funny. Ben waved to them, and they soon lost interest.

"Leatherface from Texas Chainsaw Massacre would've been a better guess," Mark added, and Ben nodded, even as he winced at the memory of that movie. How he'd let Mark and Miles convince him it was a 'landmark of horror cinema,' he had no idea. Even he, Ben Mears, horror (and smut) writer extraordinaire thought that film was beyond the pale.

"Maybe they got The Phantom of the Opera confused with Deliverance," Ben offered, delighting in the way Mark had to slap his hand over his mouth to hold back his barely muffled snort of laughter.

"Very similar movies," Mark deadpanned with a nod, although he couldn't quite keep the smile off his face. "Easy to mix up."

The silence between them was comfortable. Ben Mears and Mark Petrie were two men (well, one man and one painfully mature boy) who didn't always need to speak to share space with each other. Even as his eyes unconsciously drifted back to his fae queen across the room, Ben's mind stayed on Mark. They'd only been in the sleepy town of Ashford, Minnesota for a little over two years, having taken months to find their way here after escaping the wreckage of their lives back in the Lot. Ben couldn't help but find himself thinking for the umpteenth time how blessed he was with his little family. He couldn't ask for a better partner than Miles - thoughtful, hardworking, and, above all, deeply compassionate down to his very core. And, even though it was hard work parenting a child who was arguably more intelligent than him, Ben couldn't believe how lucky he was to watch Mark grow into an incredible man.

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Ben was no better. His heart was pumping erratically in his chest, his face beat red as the blood rushed to his cheeks, body working overtime to get to their destination. He regularly checked behind him to make sure Miles was still there. Even though he could still feel Miles’s hand in his, he just needed the visual confirmation that it wasn’t him hallucinating the feeling, that the warm hand in his was in fact his beloved boyfriend's. His other hand had a tight grip on their only stake, the others he’d given to Susan and Dr. Cody before they all separated.

Ben usually would’ve felt bad for dragging Miles like this. Poor thing was almost tripping on his feet trying to keep up with him, but Ben only had one thing on his mind: Miles’s safety. And their asylum was so close. The church was just up ahead, safety and salvation just a couple yards away as they ran from the beasts chasing after them.

They had been through so much already. Finding Father Callahan's body, witnessing the death of their dear friend Matt, and still reeling over the fact they could do nothing as they watched Susan be bitten after her mother’s betrayal.

Dr. Cody and Mark were waiting for them at the church; they were all that were left of the quaint town that was once Salems Lot. Everyone else was either bitten and turned into a vampire or dead.

“Ben -!” Miles nearly fell again, and Ben had half a mind to just pick him up and throw him over his shoulder, but they couldn’t chance stopping right now.

“I know! I know sweetheart. We’re almost there. Just a little -”

“ARGH! Ben!”

Whipping his head around, Ben felt his stomach drop. It all happened so fast. There was nothing either of them could’ve done to prevent it. Fear crashed through Ben’s body as he turned just in time to witness Susan’s fangs piercing his lover’s skin, drawing blood and a gasp of pain from Miles as he tried to fight off Susan’s inhuman strength.

“No! Miles!”

The scream from Ben was deep, and hoarse. A primal, almost animalistic, roar tore through his throat as he charged forward, Miles’s name coming from his mouth as he landed the stake into the heart of his former friend turned vampire who had his entire world in its clutches.

Susan screamed out in pain, the white in her eyes fading before she collapsed, finally free of the curse. She let Miles go as she fell to the ground, but Ben caught him before he could follow her. Without missing a beat, Ben lifted Miles fully into his arms, carrying him bridal style before running at lightning speed toward those tall church doors.

Broken whimpers escaped from the smaller man, one hand clutching the side of his neck where blood pooled and the other just as bloody, seeking comfort from the love of his life, “Ben - AH! - It hurts!”

Sweat pooled down Ben’s forehead and neck as he raced down the rest of the street, not sparing a glance behind him where he heard the hisses and screeches from the undead, “It’s alright, just hold on. I got you. I’ll take the pain away.” Ben briefly noticed Miles’s hand started to slip from his neck. Ignoring the fear that shoots through him, he firmly pressed it back into place, “Just keep the pressure on your wound, alright? Keep your hand on it!”

Miles groaned in response but did what he said. An icy pain radiated from the wound and down his neck and chest. It almost felt like something was pulsing, like something was alive under his skin and trying to get out. He silently prayed it wasn’t too late. This can’t be the end of their story. Not like this.

The church doors opened with a SLAM! as Ben’s foot connected with the double doors, before he kicked them back closed again. Dr. Cody and Mark nearly gave themselves whiplash as they turned towards the door, their faces of relief turning grim at the gruesome sight of Ben carrying a weakened, bloody Miles in his arms.

Rushing forward, Ben shouted, “He’s been bit! Get the rabies shot! Now!” The despair in his tone sent shivers down all their spines.

Dr. Cody scrambled through her bag for the syringe while Mark helped Ben lay Miles on the floor. Ben swallowed down a sob when he moved Miles clammy hand off the wound to check it. There was so much blood, Ben nearly vomited at the sight.

“B-Ben -!” Miles cried out his name, his face soaked with tears as he clutched his boyfriend’s jacket. He was so scared. He wasn’t reacting to the holy ground yet, so there was still a chance he could make it out alive, but the pain was unbearable. Nothing compared to it. Not the war. Not the withdrawals.

“Ben, it hurts -” Miles was interrupted by his own blood curdling scream, the pain skyrocketing through him as his body contorts and seizes.

Ben cried as he held him down by the shoulders, trying to stop Miles from hurting himself even more, “Hold on, I know sweetheart. I know, just – where’s the damn vaccine?!”

Dr. Cody shouted she was getting it ready and for Ben to find a vein.

Ben hurried as he stripped off Miles’s jacket, needing his arms exposed. Miles’s broken whimpering made Bens hand shake even worse. He’s not letting him die. Not after everything they’ve been through. Not when they’re about to get out of this. They just need to survive until sunrise. Just until sunrise.

“Here! The rabies shot. It’s the last of it.”

Ben snatched it out of Dr. Codys hands, before turning back to the groaning man “Miles, sweetheart, I’m going to give you the shot right now.” Miles flinched at the sight of the needle, eyes full of fear. Ben cradled his cheek with his free hand, “It’s going to sting, but you’ll be fine, alright? You’ll be okay.”

Miles moaned in pain in response, withering as he felt the venom course through his vein before finally nodding, closing his eyes as he starts to whisper another prayer.

Then, Ben plunged the needle into his vein.

Miles gasped, back arching as he felt the immediate reaction, the injection fighting the toxin in his blood.

“Shh, you’re okay! You’re okay!” Ben tried to soothe him, but he couldn’t tell if he was saying it more for Miles or himself right now. He needed him to be alright. They’ve overcome so much in their time together. Not just here in the Lot, but also what happened back at that hotel that haunted both of their dreams for years. They were just starting to feel a sense of normalcy again in this small town until the Glick’s boy disappeared.  

Then, it all stopped. No more seizing, no more pained moans or screaming. Nothing. And that was even more frightening. Miles stopped moving entirely, his skin now sickly pale, almost gaunt. His chest once erratic and heaving now no longer moving at all, like all the life had been sucked and drained from him.

“No…” Ben grabbed Miles body, holding him as close to his chest as he possibly could as he sobbed, “No, no, no! Miles! Miles!” Ben kept shaking him, trying to will him awake, but nothing happened. Those blue eyes, usually so joyous, full of life and radiance were glazed over, nearly hallow of life.

Mark and Dr. Cody gave him the space he needed. They’d all been through their own losses today, and this blow was harder than the rest. Four had become three, and Ben needed his time to mourn. Or so they thought.

While Miles looked dead on the outside, on the inside, he was fighting. The rabies shot had done its job, and he was free from Barlow’s clutches for now, but the shock it sent through his body was overwhelming, leaving him in almost complete darkness. But Bens’ voice kept calling him, beckoning him on.

Ben kissed Miles all over his cold face and cursed himself when nothing happened. Damn it! Maybe if they stopped, if he just stopped and picked him up and ran with him, this wouldn’t have happened. If he’d made sure that car had enough gas, they could’ve made it back safe in time. If he had killed Susan when he had the chance instead of hesitating. If, if, if, if.

Then, a gasp.

It’s sharp, like Miles’s finally found the string keeping him tethered to this life and held on tight, fighting his way out of the darkness that tried to entice him, reel him in like it was a comfort instead of his end. He finally saw the light when his eyes slammed open and he jerked forward before crashing back down to Bens’ arms.

“Miles!” Ben held him tight, his hands feeling and checking him all over, making sure it was real. It’s not a dream, Miles was alive. He’s really alive.

“Ben…” The weakened man meekly whimpered, his grip barely there as he clutched the authors hand, “Ben, I – I almost. I-”

“You didn’t. You’re here, you’re alive.” Ben laughed in a mix of disbelief and relief before surging forward, kissing Miles with vigor and power, like he thought this kiss might be their last. He didn’t try to hide his affection and love in front of Mark or the doctor, none of that mattered now that he was back and safe in his arms.

They don’t move from their place on the church floor for a while, Ben forcing a protein bar and water down Miles’s throat so he could regain his strength. But as the clock ticked, so did their window to put an end to this madness. It was daylight now, which meant it was their chance to finally put an end to it all.

Ben and Dr. Cody spoke in hushed whispers the one and only time he left Miles side when he was passed out, sleeping on the church pew. They had to go back out there, but Miles was still weak, barely able to stand on his own. The last thing Ben wanted to do was to leave Miles alone, but he’d feel better knowing he would be safe in the church more than anywhere else.

When Dr. Cody and Mark went to search for a car they could use to find Barlow, Ben pulled Miles aside, telling him the plan. Miles objected immediately.

“Miles…”

“No!”

“Miles, please. You’re going to stay here just until-”

“No!”

“Miles!”

“No! I’m not just going to stay here, waiting and waiting, hoping that you’ll come back to me alive! I don’t want to be apart from you.”

“Miles, you’re too weak. You can’t - I can’t -” Ben sharply inhaled, choking down a sob, unable to say the words, but they both knew what he was trying to say. I can’t lose you. I just got you back. I need you to be safe. Please.

But he can’t break down now. He needs to be strong. Taking Miles hand in his, Ben spoke with conviction, “Promise me you’ll stay within these holy walls. They can’t get you here. We’ll be back before you know it. I’ll march in through those double doors before sunset and we’ll get out of here and never look back, I promise.”

Miles shook his head. He didn’t want to accept this, not at all. But Ben had a point. He can barely walk a few steps without feeling winded, weakened from the blood loss, and he’d just hold them all back. Be another liability for them to worry about.

Unenthusiastically, he relented, “You better come back alive Ben Mears, or I swear to all that is mighty -”

Grabbing his hand, Ben pledged, “I promise.”

The two men shared one last tearful kiss before reluctantly pulling away from each other, sharing quiet ‘I love you’s’ and ‘come back to me’ before silence overtook the church, leaving Miles to wallow in his fear. Minutes felt like days and hours felt like weeks as Miles sat curled up in the old pews of that eerie church. What was once a place of hope and prayer, now felt like a prison keeping him in.

Just as night fell over the town, and Miles almost all but lost hope, Ben came marching through those very doors like he promised, with a limp and a scar across his cheek, but alive and whole.

Miles jumped up and ran across the room with new and rejuvenated energy, kissing the love of his life like he’s never kissed him before. Full of relief, desperation, and devotion. All his nerves disappeared the moment he was back in Bens arms again.

Without wasting another minute, they left the Lot behind, heading for anywhere but Maine. They breathed sighs of relief as the town grew smaller and smaller in the rearview mirrors until it was entirely gone. The two lovers glanced at the exhausted boy sleeping in the back of the car before sharing a smile. Finally, they were free.

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Miles was a sinful man and yet as much as he loathed it, he couldn’t help but indulge in the feeling hehad given him. 

Ben Mears. He was someone Miles could never forget. He left a lasting impact on him when he first showed up at the El Royale. He was an up and coming writer and he happened to have been traveling to the state of California. 

At the time, Miles had no idea on who he was. He heard about Ben through stories from other influential people who stayed in the El Royale. He didn’t think twice about Ben. Once they left and he was cleaning out their rooms when he saw they left behind a copy of Ben’s newest book.

Miles never did much around the El Royale. If he wasn’t cleaning or attending to guests, he was trying to ignore the sins that weighed around his neck. It was like a noose. He expected it to tighten and end his misery any day now.

But nothing came from it. Every time he closed his eyes, praying for karma to collect his debt, they opened again. Just like a fairytale. Maybe a prick from a needle was all he needed to fall asleep for eternity.

Life was never that simple though. He liked to believe that his punishment for the blood on his hands was the fact that he could see it. No one else could but it was his cross to bear up the mountain.

To wallow in his misery didn’t do him any good. Perhaps that’s why his curiosity gotten the better of him. He picked up the book that was sitting at the bottom of his bed and began to read it.

He became entranced. He doesn’t remember the last time he read a novel but Ben’s work was a beacon of hope that he so desperately needed. It erased the voice in his head just by giving him a story to escape to. 

It was as if paradise was contained into a single novel. There’s nowhere he’d rather be.

Once Ben Mears stumbled upon the El Royale, he was a kind soul. Miles couldn’t believe that someone was actually nice to him. Rarely anyone was. 

He wondered if Ben would still like him if he knew what he’s done. He could never tell him though. He opted to watch over him instead. He never dared to film him and Ben wasn’t as important to his boss as other guests that entered. 

Then he left the day after. He thanked Miles for his hospitality before he did. And he never came back for a long while. Miles never forgotten about him.

Then the year 1969 came and he had bigger issues. 

That being his death. Or well, almost death.

Miles didn’t expect to live after that day. He thought he’d die alone and terrified with no one to mourn him when his body burns with the establishment he chained himself too.

Strangely enough, Darlene and Father Flynn didn’t think it was his time to die yet. They took him to the closest hospital they could find. He miraculously got saved. He was unconscious for months and had to recover for longer once he woke up. 

When he finally got out of the hospital in 1970, he saw the last person he expected to see. 

Ben Mears. Again.

Call it fate, destiny or even divine intervention. All Miles knows is that seeing him was like he was able to breathe once more.

——————

Time passed by quicker than Miles expected. Meeting Ben again made him become his roommate. He tried to tell the other man that he’d be fine on his own. Ben didn’t accept that answer and they roomed with each other until Miles got back on his feet. 

Turns out that even once he started to have enough to live on his own, he liked the comfort of living with Ben a lot better than being by himself. Ben didn’t mind him staying either. 

Their arrangement was further solidified once Miles became his book editor. He was always a fan of his work and was open to critique it once Ben asked so it seemed like a good idea on both their parts. 

That’s how Miles ended up here, awkwardly burying his face in Ben’s latest work, knowing fully well he already finished it moments ago. The reason why he didn’t want to say anything was because Ben was talking to some officer and he didn’t dare to make eye contact otherwise-

“What’s with your friend there? What happened to his face?” The officer asks Ben. Miles gulps, keeping his head down.

Miles knew about the scar on his face that came from the shot of one of his guests. He can’t even recall her name, it had been years since that happened. “I- There was an incident in my old job, sir. I got shot at by a guest through a window.”

That excuse was one he used a lot. Even when he was trying to find work after he got released from the hospital. It was an easier explanation than saying that he watched people through a double sided mirror. No one connected him to the El Royale once it burnt to the ground. Darlene and Father Flynn claimed that he was a guest like they were. He went along with it. He never mentioned his superiors  (not that he knew of them anyway) and they disappeared to run some other shady establishment. 

The officer believed him. Why wouldn’t he? “Both of you. Do me a favor and don’t make any trouble while you’re here.”

Miles nodded his head. “Yeah- yeah, We won’t, officer.”

“No trouble from us.” Ben adds on. “I’m just here for some inspiration and my editor over here is just along for the ride.” He turns to look at Miles. He smiles and he gets one in return.

The officer leaves and Ben drives off. 

Just like that, they were in Jerusalem’s Lot. 

This town was different compared to the city of New York. Miles knew that was obvious but regardless, he found himself in awe of Ben’s childhood hometown. “Ben, you really grew up here? How’s it like?”

Ben taps the steering wheel to the beat of the radio. “Some memories were good. It’ll be nice to revisit a place like this. It’s still so familiar to me.” He chuckles. “I guess some things just never change.”

“Some memories?”

“What?”

“You said some memories,” Miles points out. He looks out the window to avoid looking at him. “What about the rest? Were they good too?”

“Not really.” Ben’s grip tightened on the stirring wheel. He pulled over in front of an antique store and unbuckled his seatbelt. Miles spots a man stare at them from the corner of his eye. He feels his skin starts to crawl. “Wanna come with? I’ll get us a place to rent.” 

“Actually, Ben. Can you drop me over at the church? Or any place like it?” He doesn’t take his eyes off of the man staring at him. Is he being recognized? Was he an old face at the El Royale that he doesn’t remember? When he blinks the mysterious man was gone. 

If Miles was a naive man, he would have thought that was death waiting to take him.

He had things to live for now. In his case, a person to live for.

Ben didn’t seem to notice the change in his behavior. “Yeah, I think I can still remember where it’s at. Any reason though?”

Miles Miller was not a naive man. Not anymore.

“Just some things I need to confess.” 

——————

Miles hadn’t went to church for God knows how long. For the last five years of living with Ben, he never gained the courage to step into a place of worship. At first, it was because he was busy trying to find a job that would accept him. But even with the less tedious job of being Ben’s editor, he still could never step inside a church.

A part of him thinks that his guilt was a major reason as to why. But honestly? He knew that wasn’t right. He wasn’t going to delude himself any more than he has.

Ever since Father Flynn was revealed to him as someone who faked being a priest, Miles lost all faith. On his death bed, he could live in the fantasy that maybe Father Flynn was a priest. Maybe his sins truly were forgiven and he can be reborn in a beautiful afterlife that he’s been told existed beyond his reach. 

That fantasy shattered once he woke up. 

Father Flynn couldn’t absolve him from his sins. It wasn’t his right. It was all words. A bandaid on a bleeding wound that was twice its size. 

If he was lying, Miles started to wonder if everything he’s been taught had been a lie. Could he truly trust any priest he sees? What if they lied to him again? What if they weren’t who they say they were? 

He didn’t hold any resentment towards Father Flynn. Besides, the lie he told doesn’t even compare to the men dead because of Miles’ actions. That being said, he was having a hard time even talking to a higher power after what he went through.

Was it all part of God’s plan? Why was he leaving him out to dry then?

His palms were pressed together, his elbows on top of the pew and his knees touching the cold marble floor. He prayed. For the first time, in a long time, he prayed. 

No one came. The church was empty. No priest there to talk to. He stares up at the cross like it would somehow get rid of his own.

Please, Miles begged. Do something. Anything. 

The door opens. He doesn’t turn back. Someone sits in pew behind him. He turns around and it was Ben. He wasn’t praying. Miles knew that he wasn’t much of a religious man. 

And yet, he was still here. Patiently waiting for him. 

Even if Miles isn’t positive that a god is real, he knows angels to exist.

Some of them even live with humans.

He’d stake his life on Ben Mears being one.

——————

Miles had never been to the library before. The one in Salem’s Lot was definitely bigger than what he envisioned. He sat next to Ben as he was researching for his latest book. 

Out of respect to him, he wouldn’t peek to take a look at what specifically he was researching for. Then again, Miles feels as though he’s got an idea. Ben’s business is his own, he thinks to himself. The least he could do as his friend is to not pry. After all, he was just there to edit the book. Not think about what inspired it.

He and Ben don’t talk much about personal issues. Despite knowing each other for over five years, they rarely shared anything personal about themselves. Ben never told him about his family and Miles never told him about all his crimes.

So he looked around in the library and found a more older work of his. He decided to read it.

“Enjoying it?” Ben offers him a smile, taking a break from his research. Miles looks up from the book.

“Yeah, n- never really read any of your other works. Aside from your first one and the most recent ones I edited. You really improved!” And he means that wholeheartedly. He wasn’t aware of what Ben considers to be an inspiration but all that he knows is that the writer next to him was his muse. Though not in writing, Miles has never written anything that wasn’t out of obligation, but in everything else. Ben does everything with such passion and care, it made him a little jealous. 

He wanted to be a better person for him. After the sins he’s committed, what good would he do standing next to Ben? He had to earn his trust even if he’s told it’s already been earned.

“Well, at least you think so. That Susan Norton over at Crockett’s Real Estate didn’t seem to think that way.” 

Miles couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, you told me about that. She’ll come around.” He freezes when Ben kept on staring at him, not saying anything. “Sorry, was- was I not supposed to laugh?”

“No. Just thinking about how I rarely see you laugh before. You know, you should do it more often.” Ben pats his back, his grin growing before putting on his glasses and going back to his research.

“Thanks, Ben.” Miles mumbles but he doesn’t take his eyes off of his friend. He grips the book in his hands tighter. Maybe if he holds on tighter then he’d be more grounded in reality.

Maybe if he grounds himself then he’ll stop thinking about how incredibly pretty Ben Mears looks with glasses on.  

What am I thinking? Ben’s my friend. He’s my only friend. And he’s only my friend. And he’s…

A book drops. He jumps up from his seat. Ben paid more attention to his reaction than the noise. “You okay, Miles?”

“Yeah, I’m fine…”

He hears a woman’s voice, declaring that she was going to go to the drive in later that night. Judging by the look on Ben’s face. It seems as though the two of them knew each other somehow. “You know her?”

“She’s the Susan I was talking about,” he chuckled. Miles felt his heart crack at that. It didn’t make sense. Normally, Ben’s laugh would cause his heart to fluttered. This was the exception. He was already starting to pack up his things. “What about you, Miles? You want to go to the drive in?”

“What? You’re not going to go with her?” 

“I don’t want to leave you by yourself.” He places a hand on Miles’ shoulder. “And her mom might come. I’d rather not deal with that right now. It’s better to go with a friend anyways.”

He smiles at him. He didn’t deserve a person like Ben in his life.

“Yeah, that’d be nice.”

——————

When they arrive to the drive in, it was too crowded. Ben managed to find a spot that was farther away from the rest but the pair could barely see what movie was playing. Miles didn’t mind. It’s not like he came for the movie anyway. He came for him.

Ben holds out his hand. Miles takes it and gets a laugh in response. His face heats up. “Wh- what’s so funny?”

“I meant pay up, Miles.” Ben points to a car that blends in with the others. He could barely see the blonde woman that comes out of it, scolding another older looking woman. “I told you Susan’s mom would somehow make her way here.”

“We didn’t agree on a bet.”

“I know. Just didn’t want us to sit in silence.” 

“Oh.” Miles looked around. He doesn’t remember if he ever went to an event like this. Actually, there were many things he doesn’t remember doing. The El Royale took a lot of time from him as did the time he served. He looked at the crowd below them in intrigue. “Ben, do you recognize any of these people?”

“Not really. I haven’t been here since I was nine.”

“Do you miss this place?”

“A bit. Yeah.” Ben leans against him. Miles felt his whole body growing hotter. He must’ve been coming down with something. “I mean, I wouldn’t know. Like I said I haven’t been here since I was nine. I moved out to live with extended family who later also died. Coming back here makes me feel like I’ve found home again after a long time of searching.” He moves to face him. “I got you to thank for that.”

“Me? What did I do?”

“I don’t remember much from my time with my family. Even when I lived with my extended family, it was all a blur. I’ve lived alone longer than I lived with someone.” Ben doesn’t let go of Miles’ hand. “But if there’s one thing I remember from my parents, it’s that they said that home was always with the people you cared about.”

“And you care about me?” 

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Miles takes his hand away. His heart drops when he sees Ben frown at the loss of contact. He didn’t understand. He doesn’t know what he’s done. He doesn’t know all the people he’s hurt. If he knew, he’d never be around him again. “You don’t even know about my life before we met.”

“True. But you’re not just a character I have to know the story of.” He sits up straight. Now it was Miles’ turn to miss his touch. “You’re a person. You’re a friend I care of. Isn’t that enough?” 

He bites his tongue. Is it?

Ben continues anyway. “I don’t need to know who you were. I just want to know who you are. And I do. I have for years now.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I can’t tell you what I’ve done.”

“Then I’ll wait for you. No matter how long it takes.”

“You’re such a good person, Ben,” Miles says, resting his head on his shoulder. 

Ben was taken aback but he didn’t push him off. He rubbed the back of his neck instead. “What’s with saying that all of sudden?”

You’re so much better than I. 

——————

A week passed since he first moved in and Miles was starting to get used to the environment of the Lot. Sure, he did get some snide remarks from some people for being an outsider. Some even called him “queer” due to his bond with Ben. He wasn’t able to shrug it off like the other man did. He didn’t know why. 

He also didn’t know why his admiration for Ben had grown more this past week. 

Of course he always found Ben amazing and talented but he also started to notice how pretty he was when he wore his glasses or how handsome he looks when laughs or how adorable he looks when concentrating. While Miles always noticed these, they started to invade his mind more and more. It’s become a serious problem. Especially when both of them share a bed. 

It wasn’t anything new. They shared a bed back at their old place in New York. But it’s worse when Miles can’t sleep because he’s busy staring at Ben who was pressed against him.

Seriously, it was a problem.

That being said, there are worse things happening in the Lot. A kid went missing and was later declared as dead. While there was no culprit, many were quick point fingers at him and Ben. One of the townspeople, Floyd Tibbits, whispered in his ear once while he was getting something to eat at the search party. 

“You’re connected to the El Royale, aren’t you, Miller?”

He didn’t sit with Ben after that. Not until he was dragged to their table. He met some nice people Matt Burke, a teacher and of course, Susan Nortan who he started to see around more and more.

Miles was scared that her bond with Ben would lead to him getting replaced. How long until he realizes that hanging around her is better? 

But then Ben looks at him with that same smile he’s used to and his worries fade away.

Later within this same week, another kid dies. He starts to think this town might be cursed.

“Miles, you’re back.” Father Callahan gives him a kind smile. Miles returns it, albeit reluctantly. He met Father Callahan one day when he visited church and he felt a similar connection he thought he had with Father Flynn. 

Maybe he understood. Maybe he was truthful this time.

“I take it as Mr. Mears is busy?”

Miles fell into a routine these past week. Help Ben with his research, go to church when he’s busy and explore the town. Usually with either Susan, Ben or Matt. 

He nods his head. “Matt wants him to talk to kids as a special guest to get them into writing.” He balls his fingers in his palm. “Actually, Father, can I ask you about something?”

“Go ahead, Miles.” Father Callahan sits next to him. 

“We’ve seen each other around for a while. Do you think I’m a good person?”

“Are you worried you’re not?” Miles doesn’t reply. “Well, I do not know you well, I’ll admit that. But judging from our interactions this past week, you are one of the only good people left in this town.”

“I’m not,”he interjects. “You said to me that the only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing. I am not a good man based on that, Father.”

“And didn’t I also say the first act of repentance is to acknowledge your sins?” Once again, he had nothing to say. Father Callahan sighs. “Miles, I’ll be honest with you. Not many people in this town believe in a god. I’m not a good priest. I doubt you’ll be able to find one near the Lot that is.” He laughs dejectedly. “So believe me when I say this. If anyone in this town is getting into heaven, it’s you. You should be proud of that.” 

“That’s not true. Ben would.” 

He smiles. “You seem to like Ben Mears a lot, don’t you?”

“More than I want to. More than I should.” It slips out before Miles knows it. 

“I’m sure He won’t mind.” 

He didn’t get the chance to ask Father what he meant. Was he talking about Ben or the god above them? 

Either way, Miles didn’t believe him. He didn’t see a reason to.

——————

Eva Miller knocks on their door. Ben wakes up from his sleep. He looks down at Miles who passed out before he did. He played with his hair for a bit until the knocking grew louder. He untangled himself from Miles before opening the door.

“Matt Burke and Susan Norton are downstairs looking for you. And they both seem disturbed.” 

That wasn’t a good sign. He goes down the stairs to see his friends looking worried and distressed. “Matt? Susan?” 

“Do you have a cross of any kind?” Matt asked. 

“Yeah, Miles should have one. Why? What’s going on, Matt?” 

“Ben. Don’t ask. Just please come with us. It’s urgent,” Susan pleads with him. 

“Alright then. I’ll- I’ll ask him where it is.” 

Ben rushes up to his room and finds Miles hugging a pillow, pressing up against his chest. For a split second, he wanted to just go back in bed and pretend that nothing’s happening. 

But his friends need him so that’ll have to wait until later. 

“Miles… hey… wake up…!” He nudges the sleeping man. He sees him squint. It’s one of the rare times where Miles Miller actually looks irritated. It’s a cute look on him, Ben admits to himself. Then again, that’s just how Miles normally is. “You got crosses, right? Where do you keep them?”

“It’s on the desk…” Miles mumbles before falling back asleep.

He spots it and grabs it as quick as he could. “Thanks. You’re the best.” 

“Love you too.” 

He didn’t hear it. Miles heard himself say it though and his eyes snapped open.

So much for going back to sleep… 

“Why did I say that…?”

——————

Ben was having the worst experience of his life. Apparently Vampires weren’t a being based around fiction, they were real. There’s a ton of shit that he doesn’t know how to comprehend.

Straker & Barlow, the Glicks, everything just feels like a mess.

Even through all that, Ben was sure of one thing. He’d protect Miles with all of his life. He wasn’t planning on dying but he’d certainly risk his life if that meant the other would be safe.

Ben still remembers the first time they met. Miles was a shy guy, always assuming that something would go wrong and pulled away whenever Ben tried to talk to him. 

He pitied him. How could someone so kind suffer so much? That was what Ben could never understand. 

He knew Miles was keeping something from him. Whatever he experienced in the past caused him to feel an intense amount of grief. He didn’t want to speculate or overstep but he always made it known that he was worried. 

Miles always appreciated him for that.

He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this way for another man before. He knew what the townspeople of the lot said about them behind their backs. It never bothered him nor did his desire to love and protect Miles. That’s because it felt so natural. Loving Miles was as easy as breathing. He likes to think that this feeling only grew more and more each day, each week, each month and each year spent together.

Ben didn’t know the status of their current relationship and he didn’t want to assume anything. Miles was not like him and Ben understood that. He never says anything to maintain their bond. That was enough for him. Playing pretend, he could deal with that for as long as he lives. All for Miles. 

Perhaps that was a true testament to his feelings. Living in misery with an unrequited love. 

Ben hoped he would forgive him for sheltering him from this threat. 

Miles came back from church just around the time Ben was prepared to leave to visit Marjorie Glick. Once he saw Miles, he gave him back the cross. “Never leave without this cross on you, okay?” 

“Uh, okay?” He gave Ben a nervous smile. “I didn’t think you’d be so interested in crosses. What did you need it for last night anyway?”

A vampire. “Nothing. Matt needed it for something. Just stay safe, alright? I heard Marjorie Glick died too.”

“Oh.. well, I probably won’t go outside for a while then.” He holds on tight to the cross. “But what about you? Where are you going?”

“I’m with a group of three. I’ll be fine, Miles.” Ben closed the blinds. There was an opportunity for Barlow to come catch him but taking him to see Marjorie would be an even bigger risk that he didn’t want to take. “Just keep this cross with you.”

“You’re not keeping anything from me, are you?” He freezes in his tracks. Miles sits on the bed with a determined look in his eyes. “I’ll wait for as long as you need me to for you to tell me. You do the same.”

Ben faces him finally. “How strong is your faith in God, Miles?”

“…I don’t know.” Everything around him just made his faith in any high power fade away. Was the god above torturing him with his feelings of sin or was He giving him a second chance at life to repent until his time comes? Miles didn’t know. Everything was supposed to happen because of His plan but how can he find his way without guidance or a sign?

“Don’t let go of that thing.” Ben places his hand on his. “Once I’m done, we’re leaving the Lot.”

“Are you done with your research?”

“No, but there are more important things.”

“Like what?”

“You.” 

And he says it like he means it. Miles couldn’t help but believe him when looking like that.

—————

Everything was going wrong. An eleven year old by the name of Mark Petrie managed to kill Striker but now Barlow was watching them. Matt was gone, Ben was forced to kill him. They all managed to escape at least which was a blessing in his eyes. 

Everyone’s voices were overlapping. Mark’s parents needed to be warned, Dr. Cody had to talk to Parkins, Susan had to go to her mom. Ben responded accordingly but his mind was plagued by one person.

“Miles. I- I have to get Miles. Barlow might come after him!” 

“You get Miles.” Dr. Cody points to him then turns her attention to Susan. “You, come with me to Perkins then we’ll talk to your mom. We’ll still have some time left to spare around then.”

“Let’s all meet at the church. It’s protected soil and we should be safe there tonight.” He was barely listening to Father Callahan’s words. He was already starting to move.

He had to find Miles. No matter the cost.

Imagine his surprise when the man he was looking for was no longer on the bed.

——————

“I’m sure He won’t mind.”

What a lie.

Miles was on his knees in front of the altar. He felt so small with how grand the church was. 

He didn’t know what was going on. The lot was practically a ghost town and Ben hadn’t come back for a while. At this point, he’s starting to think he’s next. On the way to the church, he could have sworn that someone was following him.

Whoever that was thankfully didn’t follow him in here. 

So, just like last time, if he were to die, he’d confess all the terrible stuff he’s done. He’d become better just as he was about to embrace death. He didn’t want to die. Probably the first time in years. He didn’t view it as a punishment to carry the burden of his mistakes but he viewed it as a way to atone. How could he atone if he dies? 

Or even more selfishly, how could he see Ben’s smile again if he dies? 

That was likely his biggest sin of all. His main reason for living was to live for Ben. He wanted to be a better person for Ben. 

Why would he risk so much for another man? 

“Father,” he starts. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how much time I have left but I’m so sorry.” He didn’t have the courage to tell Father Callahan. Not after what happened with Father Flynn. Who could he trust to lead him on the right path? 

He slowly started to realize that he didn’t have to confess to a priest to get it off his chest. He had to let it out. Saying words out loud made it more real. How can you confess in your mind? If you confess out loud, maybe someone will hear you.

They may even forgive you.

“I’ve killed so many people. There’s so much blood on my hands that I can’t wash out even if I tried. What I have done is always haunts my dreams. And- and it’s not just that. I have done so much awful things.”

He doesn’t even hear the door has opened. 

“I’ve willingly took part in the El Royale. I- I film our guests and send them to management. I’ve seen so much and I do nothing to stop it. I feel so much shame-“ his voice starts to tremble, his body shakes. “I even watched my close friend, Ben, when- when he was a guest. And I never told him because I was scared that- that he’d hate me.”

“Ben would hate me for so much. He’d hate me for what I feel for him. He’d hate that I don’t want to stop. He’d hate that deep down… I don’t want to get rid of it.” 

The most shameful confession of them all. That’s what he thinks. To keep choosing to sin despite go against Him. 

How awful to think that being with Ben Mears was already a taste of paradise. Perhaps he’s if paradise existed on earth.

An angel, a savior, a muse, my one paradise. What couldn’t Ben do?

He heard footsteps. 

“Father Callahan.” He stares up at the cross to avoid his eyes. “That is everything that I wanted to confess to you.”

“Miles.” He recognized that voice. 

“Ben…” he turned around to find Ben with Dr. Cody behind him. He wonders how much he’s heard. He wonders how much she’s heard. “I’m sorry. I’m so-“

He was crushed in a hug. Ben was shaking. Why? Did he not hear anything he said? “You’re alive. Holy shit. Miles, I got so fucking scared when you weren’t in the room. I thought you died. I got so scared.” 

“Ben…” he placed his hand on his back. Was he crying?

“I’m sorry. Fuck, I should have told you sooner. That way you could have been safe.” 

“What’s- what’s going on?” Miles looked at Dr. Cody who had her hand on his shoulder. She looked at him with the same eyes Darlene did when he told her. 

“Miles, it isn’t safe here. There are vampires outside and Susan, Matt and Father Callahan are gone. The sheriff tried to leave town and Susan’s mom is Barlow’s new servant.”

“Vampires?” At this point, he couldn’t find it in himself to be surprised. The town was so empty and isolated now. He wouldn’t be skeptical if the true cause was vampires. “Was that why you told me to bring a cross with me?” 

“Yeah.” Ben wipes his eyes. “You still have it?” Miles presses the cross against his chest. “Okay, thank God.”

“We’ll have to stay here for the night,” Dr. Cody suggests. “Mark and maybe Father Callahan might still be alive. The rest are lost causes.”

“Once we find them, or even if we don’t. We need to find Barlow and end this.” Ben lets go of Miles but holds on to his hand. He sees his confused expression. “I’ll explain to you everything in a bit. But whatever we do, I’m not letting anything bad happen to you. I won’t let you out of my side.”

“Let’s leave together.” Miles tightens his hold on his hand.

October 27th 1986.

It was like a Renaissance painting, hanging in the world’s most prestigious art gallery.

There he was, his beloved. His husband. And if he had taken out the trash that day and done the dishes, Miles Miller-Mears would admit out loud, his Hero.

Miles had half-joked just a month earlier that Ben was his Hercules, overcoming every great trial in his way to be with him. After Ben had gone to the library and taken it upon himself to re-enact the twelve labours in the bedroom a day at a time (all in increasingly tangential and contrived ways), he had made the mistake of skipping ahead in the book to see how the myth had ended. With his partner naked and pressed up against him, ready to go, Ben put his faith in the Greeks that it would either be a drunken orgy or a religious orgy. Instead, to his great dismay, and the tune of Miles’ barely contained giggles, Hercules’ beloved had inadvertently killed him, dipping his tunic in centaur blood. What was supposed to be a potion to imbue him with the greatest love and joy was, in fact, poison, causing him untold agony that not even the strongest of men could hope to endure.

Ben had just scowled and clicked his tongue when Miles patted him on the shoulder and laughed ‘Better luck next time’, before rolling onto his side to feign sleep.   

 However, Miles knew now that the man in his living room really was his Hercules through and through. Sure, he could barely clean the garage properly, let alone the Augean stables, and would have found a way to have been seduced by the Amazon warriors, but his husband knew all about the agony and the ecstasy that fell even the demigod.

Because he was, after all, a lifelong New York Mets fan.

A Mets fan, who had just watched his team come from 3-0 behind and win the World Series.

Miles’ love of painting had grown immensely along with his skill. But even now, he didn’t think he could have better composed the way his husband lay back on the sofa, surrounded by his friends and family as they fanned him with towels and showered him with cheers. Head leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen, arms crossed as he hid the shaking rise and fall of his laughter, Miles wasn’t sure if Ben looked like an Old Testament King being serenaded by his devoted subjects, or a man on his deathbed being ushered into that final, eternal resting place. Judging by his ash-white pallor and glazed-over eyes, Miles went with the latter. As did their friend, Dr Phil Laxton, who had a couple of fingers pressed to his wrist as he counted the rate.

“Give me the news, Doc”, called Miles.

The doctor tried to fix his face in as stern an expression as possible, “I’m sorry, Miles. There’s no hope, he’s a certified dumbass.”

It was Ben’s own fault, really; he always said if the Mets won the World Series, he’d die a happy man.

“We... We actually did it”, murmured Ben deliriously. “Ya just gotta believe. And I always did.” 

Horsefeathers! Miles thought incredulously.

“Bullshit!” shouted Mark, throwing the towel he was billowing at his dad’s limp body.

 Their adopted son had come home from college with his girlfriend, Holly, a couple of days back to catch the sixth game. He had come under the guise of wanting to honour his old teacher, and loyal Red Sox fan, Matt Burke... And if he got the opportunity to lord it over Ben as the Red Sox stole the series? Well, what a shame that would be. But for Matt, Mark would take that burden upon himself.

However, unfortunately for him, the Mets had pulled it out of the bag in what could only have been described as a miracle. Not that it stopped Ben from finding about twenty other ways to pontificate about it, while Mark was forced to change out of his Red Sox jersey if he was to ever remain in the Will. 

 Ben had done his utmost to keep his expert poker face intact, assuring them in ever-increasing, unassuring tones that Davey Johnson would never let him down. However, his family was his greatest scholars, and Ben Miller-Mears was a Mets fan. Hope didn’t come naturally to him, after all. Mark and Miles saw the rap of his thumb against the rim of his beer can, the way he sucked in his lower lip with every pitch like he was bracing for it to hit him. Miles had suffered through every game as Ben pre-emptively went through the five stages of grief like it was a cycle that started again with each inning:

Denial - “It’ll be fine, we’re only ever a pitch away from turning this game around”

Anger - “Oh, for **** *****. Hit the  ******* ball! How ******* hard can it be!”

Bargaining - “Miles, talk to the Big Man for me. Talk to Satan. We’ll sacrifice Mark, whatever it takes.”

Depression - “What’s the point? It’s just baseball. It would have been better if we had never made the playoffs.”

Acceptance - “There’s always next year. Next year will be our year. It’s better this way, happiness is overrated.”

 “Dad”, cried Mark to Miles. “Get him a crucifix and see if it glows.”

 But when the final out had come in the top of the 9th, the pitcher Orosco had done the impossible. He had rendered the author completely and utterly speechless. 

“Always kept the faith. Always believed”, Ben confirmed with a hard nod of the head, feeling returning to his body even as he remained transfixed on the TV. Their neighbour, Dennis, passed him the beer that had dropped from his hand when they won. Ben barely acknowledged its weight as he drawled, “Had so much belief, ‘could have cut through a vampire horde with it single-handedly.”

Miles shot them both a pointed look to cut it before their friends got suspicious, but Ben’s gaze stayed glued to the screen as the announcers went dumb, letting the sound of Shea Stadium roar with the carphony of thousands of East Coast, drunken angels. Ben didn’t hear Theresa scoff that it was a travesty that the notorious ‘Scum Bunch’ had won, nor Holly, asked her boyfriend if ‘your dad is always like this’. Instead, he listened to each cheer as his mythological heroes became immortalised, watched as the stampede of police horses galloped onto the field and smelt the stale beer and cold nachos on the table before him. Ben thought in that moment: Hercules’ glory had nothing on theirs. 

While Ben watched on, his love watched him. Miles could have sworn he saw Ben bite the inside of his cheek to keep his emotions in check, although he could have just been projecting as he nipped his own, sucking it into a tiny dimple. Just over ten years ago, Miles had been forbidden by Richard Straker to partake in such childish pastimes that he had once loved, such as this. But Mr Straker was dead. And he was alive. He was free. Free to play catch with his son. Free to coach his school’s peewee team, passing on his love to a new generation. And free to drink in his husband, who had overcome so much, watch his beloved, ridiculous team win a stupid, meaningless baseball game. The tiny smile that finally tugged on Ben’s lips as he slowly let it all sink in made every trial and labour leading up to it worth it. Miles thought in that moment: Hercules’ glory had nothing on his.

Blinking back unshed tears, Miles glanced at the beloved decoration that hung on their wall above the TV. It had been a house-warming present by their new neighbour, Gladys, and in his black humour, Ben had placed it next to the crucifix they kept in case an errant vampire ever showed up again. The day after, Miles hung their first family photo on the other side.  It simply read the team’s motto: ‘Ya Gotta Believe’.

As Miles looked back at his husband and son, he saw them looking at it too. If there was one thing being married to a Mets fan had taught Miles, it was that the wins in life were always that much more glorious for the years of embittered hardship that had preceded them. Always being much keener on the analytics than his husband, he never doubted the Mets would win, but Miles knew leaving Ben to stew in the pain of uncertainty that bit longer would make this moment just that little bit sweeter.

 When the guests departed all at once, Miles had no idea what had gotten into them all. They busied themselves as a single unit, hurrying out as though they were escaping rats on a sinking ship, despite Miles insisting they were welcome to stay a while longer. There were a couple of interested looks, but Miles didn’t catch Ben shooing them on from behind him. So, instead, they all graciously declined… Except for Dennis, who waggled his eyebrows and winked as he jumped the hedge to his house… And Amelia, who patted him on the shoulders for good luck on the way out. Even the normally reserved Gladys smirked as she pulled her wife Theresa away before she could say what was obviously on the tip of her sharp tongue.

 It left just Mark, hugging his girlfriend close to his side, as she thanked them for such a wonderful few days. Miles enveloped them both in his arms one at a time, glad for someone acting normal. “You’re welcome to stay the night, the door’s always open for both of you.”

Holly bit her lip, innocently beaming under the glow of the porch light. Mark elbowed her and rolled his eyes. So much for normal. “Yeah, no - think we’ll skaddle while the going’s good. Love you, Dad.”

Miles blinked, confused. “Uhh, love you too”, he responded hesitantly, the crease between his brow deepening. “Just, um, drive home safe. Call us when you get there.”

Mark looked exasperated, but waved as he walked to his car, “Yeah, yeah, same as every other time.”

 The moon hung low in the clear night sky, the stars littering the void like a hundred chandeliers above them. Miles stayed on the porch, watching his son drive away, letting himself soak in the cold, autumn air until the taillights disappeared into the far-off distance. Grateful he was wearing a jumper over his mandated jersey, he hugged himself to brace against the breeze. Miles remembered how his mom used to do the same, watching his dad as he left for work, even in the middle of winter. He never took for granted that after everything, he’d been able to grow old enough to see his parents in himself. 

 When he returned inside, the door closed shut behind him with a soft click. It took a moment for his eyes to readjust - there were plates and beer cans strewn across the tables, not to mention the party poppers Ben had bought years ago just for this day. Didn’t his husband say he was going to tidy while he saw everyone out? God, there was a lot of cleaning to catch up on. Miles clucked his tongue in fond amusement. Hercules, falling at the final labour…

However, it was just a blink. One moment to take the gargantuan mess in, and it was gone, replaced by the frame of his husband as a large hand pinned the door closed next to Miles’ head.

“Mark’s a good kid, isn’t he?” Ben drawled, almost absent-mindedly, like they were talking about the weather, even as he crowded his partner, pupils blown as wide as when the Mets had first taken the lead.

Miles’ lashes fluttered. He hadn’t had a drink in years, but there was something about the cheap beer on his husband’s breath that did something to him. Sounding like he had run a marathon, he murmured, “He is… Why do you ask, s-sweetheart?”

Ben pretended to consider the question, head tilting to the side like a hovering crow, “Think he should have a sibling, or a few. We did good with him.”

Oh. So that’s where this was going. Jeez Louise, how was he going to look at his friends tomorrow?

“And... how many’s a few?” Miles gulped as Ben twirled his slightly greying curl around his ring finger.

“How many are on a baseball team again?”

Against all his better judgment and self-preservation, Miles could never let a baseball fact pass him by. “26.”

Ben grinned, “Well, we better make a start then. One named after each player. Plus an extra for the coach. Think you can manage that, my love?”

He waited. Miles nodded so quickly he accidentally headbutted Ben’s chin, but before he could apologise, Ben’s lips devoured him. The previously ghost-white complexion bloomed with colour again, even as all Ben’s blood seemingly rushed straight down south as he rolled his crotch against Miles’ thigh. When Miles broke away for air, Ben hiked him up against the door, bringing his husband’s legs around his skinny waist and planting his feet against the cushion of his ass. Ben waddled in the direction of their bedroom, cans scrunching under his feet, one arm around Miles, and the other held out to stop him from walking into the walls as Miles peppered his face in kisses. 

Miles didn’t remember hearing the door open, but he soon found himself dropped onto the bed with a soft thump, bouncing gently on the springy mattress. He pushed himself up the quilt, chewing his bottom lip in anticipation as Ben crawled up the bed after him. His shaking fingers grabbed the hem of his shirt and covering jumper, before he felt Ben grab at his wrists.

“Ah ah ah”, he chided. “The jersey stays on.”

It was then that Miles realised his mistake. Unable to ever lie to his husband, he had simply agreed to wear a jersey under his jumper, swearing he was too cold without it. He had meant to mention it at some point casually, but with all the planning and hosting, it had slipped his mind.

"Good!" Miles answered as he toed off his shoes into the rack Ben and Mark had built just for that purpose by the front door. "Easter Mass is always enjoyable. Good to see everyone."

"Who won the egg hunt?" Ben asked, still not looking up. Miles was simultaneously grateful that he had time to fish out his wallet and keys and put them away before his pants got ripped off…and also slightly offended that Ben hadn't even taken a look at him.

"Molly did! Gladys and I had to keep Theresa from trashtalking the other kids during the hunt, though."

Ben snorted. "Yeah, I bet you guys did. That's why she's banned from Molly's Little League games. I believe the official call was 'poor sportsmanship.'"

"Mmm hmm." Miles came up behind Ben on the couch, resting his hands on the other man's shoulders. Frustratingly, he didn't even look up then. Just reached up and ran his hand down Miles' forearm, a gesture of warmth and welcome that normally Miles would've loved. But his pulse was already thumping in anticipation, and Miles was growing restless.

So he dug his fingers in, starting to rub the knots that always formed in the writer's upper back. Ben let out a sinful groan, the tension in his shoulders immediately loosening.

"Fuck, baby. That feels incredible." It was only then that Ben stopped reading his magazine, letting it fall slack on the couch. His head slumped forward slightly, giving Miles more space.

"I need to do this more often," Miles hummed, his thumb circling a particularly bad spot where even his untrained hands could feel a little hard lump where only smooth muscle should be. Pressing down hard on it, Miles rubbed at the knot until it loosened and Ben let out a grunt of both pain and relief.

Rolling his shoulders to adjust to the sensation, Ben still didn't look back, even as he thanked Miles for his help.

It normally wasn't this difficult to get Ben to notice him. Usually, Miles couldn't even get a haircut or a new pair of pants without Ben using it as an excuse to pin him to a wall, boxing him in with his arms, and kissing him breathless. Honestly, it was like he had a sixth sense for it. Like there was a disturbance in the Force whenever Miles dared change his appearance even in the slightest. Apparently Easter was just a day for miracles: Jesus rose from the dead…and Ben Mears was oblivious to what his husband was wearing.

With a sigh, Miles gave in and dangled something in front of Ben that there was zero chance he could overlook.

"Can I have a kiss?" Miles asked coyly, batting his eyelashes even though Ben wasn't looking at him. "As payment for my services?"

The smirk that slid onto Ben's face was a familiar one. It was that kind of smug confidence that Ben usually only showed in the bedroom…or on the rare occasion the Mets won a game. Miles loved it on him. Normally, he was fairly self-effacing. Ben argued that was a good thing for a writer, especially one whose work (and reputation) was constantly besmirched by others. But Miles loved it when Ben got cocky.

"Sure thing, sweetheart," he practically purred, finally turning on the couch to look at his beloved.

It was Miles' turn to grin as Ben blinked rapidly at the sight. It was like his brain was trying to process what he saw.

"What?" he teased. "Do I have something on my face?"

Realistically, Miles knew he wasn't exactly 'dressed up'. In most relationships, even the horniest of spouses would see their significant other with some bunny ears, drawn on whiskers, and a little white, fluffy bow tie held with elastic around their neck and just think it was silly or even cute. Maybe even tease them a bit. But to Ben Mears? It was a siren call.

"I got to be the Easter bunny for the egg hunt," Miles explained, as if it really needed to be said. But his nerves had gotten the better of him, especially with the way Ben's eyes drank in his every feature like he was committing the image of Miles to eternal memory. He wiggled his pink, painted nose at Ben as the other man licked his lips.

"They…they didn't make you put on the full costume?" Ben asked hoarsely.

"Nope," Miles said, popping the 'p' with his lips. "The kids didn't like it." His grin only grew as Ben seemed to struggle for words, opening his mouth then closing it multiple times.

"What?" Miles taunted. "Is it scaring you, too?"

"Is there…is there a tail?" Ben was fully turned on the couch to face him, his eyes looking past Miles' hips as if he was hoping to be able to see a little ball of cotton firmly stuck to Miles' butt from there.

"Guess you'll never know," Miles said, adopting a tone of mock seriousness to his voice as he took a step away from the couch. Ben immediately reached out for Miles as if willing him to come back, to let Ben enfold him in his arms. As tempting an idea as that was, it was even more fun to tease. "I should get going."

"Going?"

Miles bit his lip to keep from laughing at the plain desperation in Ben's tone. As if he'd even be able to get out the door dressed like this. Mentally, Miles thanked his past self for insisting that their son go for tea with their neighbors after mass. Mark didn't need to see what was about to happen.

"Yeah," Miles said, keeping his tone casual, stepping even further away. "I don't want to be late."

"Late? Late for what?"

"A very important date."

At the word 'date,' the panic left Ben's eyes, as did the desperation. A different expression shifted across his face, one that sent a thrill through Miles' body. He was already stiffening in his pants, but the predatory look Ben was sending him sent a wave of arousal through him, one that nearly took his breath away.

"A date?" Ben practically growled. He shifted his legs underneath him as if preparing to spring into motion, ready to hunt his prey.

"Yeah, a date. You know - 'No time to say 'Hello,' goodbye. I'm late, I'm late, I'm late."

Normally, Ben would laugh at such a silly reference or at least make a joke of his own. But this Ben just narrowed his eyes. Breathing seemed to become harder as his pulse picked up, and Miles Miller found himself nearly starting to pant. There was no backing down now.

Miles ran.

And Ben? Ben chased.

It was rabbit season after all.

Divider Credit -> @/strangergraphics

Images in headers are not mine.

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