[bethxpfanfics-blog]

To Know How It Feels

Had you been there tonight you might know how it feels To be struck to the bone in a moment of breathless delight Had you been there tonight you might also have known How the world may be changed in just one burst of light And what was right seems wrong And what was wrong seems right

“Who says I do not know?”

The stunned silence was a rare occurrence in the Musain, but in that moment the atmosphere was thick with astonishment and uneasiness. Enjolras continued with the air of one who had said too much but it was too late to turn back now. He had no choice but to see his argument through.

“Who says I do not know what it is to be the victim of Cupid’s poisoned bow and arrow?”

There were three distinct exclamations of “what?” that came from different corners of the room. Enjolras focused on the first, which came from the one who he was having the disagreement with. Marius’ ‘what?’ was as confused as the expression on his face, his eyebrows knitted together and his whole body drawn back in surprise. He had not expected such a response from Enjolras of all people about his discovery of love. A rebuttal, yes. A snide remark, yes. But an understanding? Never. It had rendered him quite speechless.

The second exclamation came from Courfeyrac. It was high pitched and full of glee at this unexpected and truly unbelievable admission on Enjolras’ part. He had jumped up from his seat and clasped his hands to his mouth like this news was the most wonderful thing his ears had ever had the pleasure of hearing.

“Enjolras in love? It is not possible,” he was uttering to Combeferre, far too quickly for anyone to catch every word. Combeferre hushed him, sensing that there was something more that had yet to be said.

The third ‘what?’ went unnoticed by all. It was a whisper amongst the gasps and cries. The sound of a young cynic’s bleeding heart and winded lungs.

As Marius recovered himself, his expression changed from confusion to hope.

“Then you understand what it is to be in love.” He stretched out his hand but retracted it when he saw Enjolras’ cold, hard stare. Many had been on the end of it and very few had not been silenced by it. Marius was not the exception.

“Yes,” Enjolras said coldly, “I know what it is to be in love.” Enjolras did provide Marius with an opening in which to speak as Marius was expecting. He had more to say. “It is a disease that festers and destroys. It enters your body without your knowledge, chews you up, and spits you back out and you do not realise you are contaminated until it is too late.” Marius winced as Enjolras spoke, like every word he spat sent daggers through his idealistic heart. Enjolras was not finished. “Love is a distraction. It is a curse and it is unimportant.”

“Unimportant?” Marius choked, shocked at such a statement. “Love is the most important emotion the human heart can have. Love is the root of almost every choice a man makes. It is the reason a man protects his family. It is the reason a man stands beside his friends in their darkest hour. Love is the reason a man protects his country.”

“But loving another is pure selfishness,” Enjolras retorted, taking a step closer to Marius, daring him to challenge him on his love for his country again. “To love one’s country is to protect those who live in it,” he seethed. “To love another is to take time and energy away from those who need it most. It is not important who you lie with at night when there are those who spend those nights in the streets without so much as a blanket to keep them warm.”

“Do you mean to say,” Courfeyrac interjected, unable to stay as a bystander in this conversation any longer, “that you have been in love, but have not pursued it because you fear it will distract you from your cause?”

“I have chosen not to love,” Enjolras replied simply.

There was a snort from the other end of the room. Grantaire had stumbled to his feet, knocking his chair backwards so that it crashed to the floor in the process. There was an amused grin on his face but it did not reach his eyes and so gave the impression of a manic stalking his prey. As he approached, Enjolras’ posture changed. He straightened his back and held his head high, preparing for the argument that he knew was about to ensue.

“It is not possible to choose not to love, Apollo,” Grantaire sneered. He went to wave his hand in the air as a gesture but it was busy holding a bottle and so instead he was just spilling his drink onto the wooden floors of the Musain. He did not notice.

When Marius had entered the café, Grantaire had been nursing his first drink of the night. There were now three empty bottles surrounding the spot where he had just been sitting. The fourth in his hand was only half full.

“As you say,” he continued, “love is a paralytic. You have no control over when, where, and how it strikes, and once you are infected you are doomed for there is no cure. Your only option is to learn to live with it. Now,” he pointed as shaking finger at Enjolras’ nose, “there are many ways to live with love.” He staggered back and began to address the room. His audience were engrossed in the elaborate showmanship and were silent for his speech. “The first is to pursue it. If you do this then you are a man of courage, and if the affections are returned then you are a man of great fortune. Should the affections not be reciprocated one is heartbroken. But what is broken can be fixed and one can learn to love again, and the cycle repeats itself. On the other end of the spectrum, you could deny your feelings completely and convince yourself that the dizziness you feel every time they enter the room is merely the heat and your inability to speak is just the topic of conversation. Surprisingly, it is easier to fool one’s self than you would think, and it is possible to live with love without knowing it. The final possibility is, perhaps, the most torturous.” His smile faltered momentarily. “You accept your feelings for this person, but knowing they do not feel the same for you, you live your life for them. You cannot be with them but you cannot live without them and so you fill your days with their presence in the hope they notice you. You feed off a smile or a gesture. You dedicate yourself to their cause and do what you can to make them happy because that is enough for you. It has to be.”

Grantaire brought his bottle to his lips and swallowed what was left in one mouthful. His grip on the glass was dangerously tight, his knuckles white and hands shaking. The alcohol seemed to refresh his enthusiasm for he grinned villainously at Enjolras again.

“What you do not do is choose not to be in love with that person. Love does not work like that. No matter how hard you try you cannot switch it off. If you have found a cure for love then pray tell us,” he threw is arms out wide to gesture to their audience, “it would no doubt make you a very rich man.”

Enjolras had remained silent throughout Grantaire’s speech but his eyes had not left Grantaire’s wandering body. Every now and again it was possible to see his jaw clench and unclench, but that was the only movement he made. Now that Grantaire was finished, Enjolras prepared to take the floor.

“When I first became aware of my…” he shifted uncomfortably on the spot, “situation, it threw me. I could not eat nor sleep nor think. I would try to find an alternative explanation or a way around it, but I could not. And then, of course, when I became aware of it, I found myself getting distracted every time,” he hesitated, “this person was around and more so when they were not. I would be preparing for a meeting and then twenty minutes later I would realise I have been spending my time thinking of this person with their blue eyes and crooked smile and opposition to everything I say. How infuriating it was that they did not know how intelligent they were, nor how beautiful. How their vice was destroying them and how much I wanted to help them fight it. It was unbearable.” He paused to take a breath and calm himself. “And then one night, as I was returning home from a meeting, I heard a wailing in the street. A mother had just lost her child because she could not afford food for her family. I realised then that my heart was insignificant when thousands others were at stake. This revolution is more important than my soul. So I chose not to love. And if I ever wavered from my decision I would remember the mother’s cry and would be reminded once again that nothing is more important than the freedom of the people. I cannot afford to give in to love.”

This last statement was directed at Grantaire in an almost wistful tone, but it was Marius that spoke.

"You have always been so practical Enjolras," he said in a mixture of admiration and incredulity. "I cannot think the way you do. I believe in this revolution too, but if she were to be waiting for me on the other side, when it was all over," his eyes glazed over, "it would give me hope. It would give me a reason to live."

Enjolras frowned, a deep crease forming on his forehead and his lips pulled thin and tight. The frown deepened when Grantaire spoke.

"But do you not see Marius," he sighed, turning to give Enjolras an accusing look, "he does not want a reason to live."

A hum of shocked whispers started up. Enjolras glanced around the room to take in the various reactions. Many were horrified, many more were terrified. Courfeyrac had got up from his seat again looking as if he wanted to embrace Enjolras and never let him go. Combeferre held him back with a gentle hand on his wrist, but even he too looked hurt. Enjolras returned to Grantaire’s unreadable expression with a cold look.

"You wish to die?" Marius asked in a very small voice. Although it was not always obvious, with Marius being easily distracted and Enjolras very much wrapped up in his politics, the two were good friends. Such a revelation shook Marius to the bone and Enjolras did not like the way he, and his other companions, were looking at him. He took a deep breath to give himself time to prepare an answer. But he did not need to.

"That is not what I said," Grantaire replied, choosing his words carefully.

"Then what did you say?" Enjolras asked through gritted teeth. It angered him that Grantaire thought it necessary to speak for him and frighten his friends this way. No matter how right or wrong he was.

"I said you do not want a reason to live. That is not the same thing," he added as if that explained it all. Enjolras’ nostrils flared, picking up on something Grantaire had said that the other young men evidently did not by the looks of the puzzled faces in the room.

“I… I do not understand,” Marius stammered, unsure of whether he should be upset or relieved. Again, with the air of dramatics that he loved so much, Grantaire addressed the room.

“Enjolras does not ask for death, but should it come he is willing to give his life for his cause. He is prepared to be a martyr for his country.” He turned to Enjolras, blinking once slowly and sighing like a man that knew there was nothing he could do to change his friend’s mind. “He is afraid love will take that away from him. He does not wish to die, but he also does not want a reason to live, to stop him being a martyr should it come to that.”

Enjolras’ frown had dissolved completely into astonishment. He was unable to look away from Grantaire as he divulged his heart like it was his own. Grantaire met his gaze and focused on him, and a silent conversation appeared to go between them.

“But he is foolish,” Grantaire said in a low voice, not breaking eye contact with Enjolras. “He does not realise that to love Enjolras is to die at his side.” He gave another slow blink of one who is done talking and then retreated to the bar to replace his empty bottle. Enjolras’ eyes followed him all the way. He did not utter another word. They would not come to him.

A short time later Enjolras found Grantaire upstairs sitting by an open window, his eyes shut and his arms folded over his chest. At first glance Enjolras believed him to be asleep and he debated leaving, but then Grantaire opened one eye slightly.

“I have a headache,” he said in answer to Enjolras’ concern. His voice was grated and deeper than usual. “It is too noisy downstairs.” He shut his eye again and pointedly ignored the way Enjolras’ gaze flicked between him and the bottle in front of him.

“I brought you some water.” Enjolras placed the jug on the table but Grantaire made no move to take it.

“Are you going to continue to hover or are you going to sit down?” Grantaire teased. Enjolras took it as an invitation and sat in the chair across the table from Grantaire, watching his still form.

“How have you come to know me so well?” Enjolras asked. Grantaire gave a little smirk. “Everything you said about me was true and yet I have never put it into words myself.”

“We are very different you and I,” Grantaire said, his words perfectly articulate despite the amount of wine he had drunk. “We are as opposite as the poles on a magnet. And yet, very occasionally, we are more alike than either of us would care to admit.” Enjolras was not sure if that was much of an answer but his reply faded from his mind when Grantaire shifted and sat up, cracking open both his eyes and reaching out to take the jug Enjolras had brought to him. He lifted it to his lips and drank, grimacing when he did not taste the cheap wine he was expecting, but swallowing it anyway. He sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands out in front of him. He waited patiently for Enjolras to gain the courage to ask what was truly on his mind.

“You were right. If someone were to love me they would have to accept my choices whatever they may be.” Grantaire continued to wait silently. Enjolras bit his lip. “Would you?” he asked, watching his hands for he did not have the valour to look in Grantaire’s all too honest eyes. “Would you be willing to die at my side?”

“Do I need to answer that Apollo?” Grantaire sighed as one who was tired of all the pretences. “Do you really not know?”

“I convinced myself otherwise, I was not sure until tonight.” Enjolras chanced a look at Grantaire. The moonlight highlighted his jaw and nose, there was a slither of silver across the bow of his lips and ripples in his hair. The stars shone bright in his eyes. He found he could not look away. “And you, you know it was you who I spoke of tonight.” Grantaire sat quite still and said nothing, giving nothing away to Enjolras as to what was going on in his head in that moment. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. He had never seen him so vulnerable.

“You are mistaken,” he frowned, “for I am none of the things you described me as. I am neither intelligent nor beautiful. Indeed I argue with you but my eyes and smile are ugly and not something you wish to behold. You are cruel to joke with me in such a way.” His voice was harsh but Enjolras was not offended. He knew that Grantaire was trying to preserve his heart, to prevent himself from getting hurt.

“I do not joke,” Enjolras said, “and my descriptions of you were perfectly accurate. It is my love for you that I have denied myself all this time.” Grantaire was silent for some minutes more.

“I do not ask for anything,” he said finally, having moved nothing but his lips. Something about that disturbed Enjolras more than if he had lost his nerve at Enjolras’ admission. It was like he had closed himself down completely and all that was left was this hard exterior that no amount of false admissions of love could get through. Enjolras was determined to break through it. “I have spent my time living off your presence, I am an expert at it, I do not ask for more.”

Enjolras understood what Grantaire was trying to say. He did not want to take Enjolras’ choice to die away from him, just like he had said in his scarily accurate analysis of Enjolras earlier. And Enjolras appreciated that, but part of him wanted Grantaire to fight for him, to show that he really wanted him. He could not give in to his feelings on his own, he needed a push in the right direction. But how could you ask that of someone without asking it of them?

"But do you want it?" he pushed with an edge of urgency, leaning forward to match Grantaire’s pose. Grantaire pursed his lips and Enjolras guessed he was trying not to give in to what he had buried so long ago.

"Enjolras…" Grantaire began, begging him not to let him do this. To open up an old wound that could not be resealed. But Enjolras needed him to.

"Please," he whispered. Grantaire sighed. He had never been able to deny his sun god anything.

"If you were to belong to me the way I already belong to you then I shall not even fear death, for I would have already seen what my heaven will look like." Enjolras’ shoulders sagged. His inner conflict deafening him as his head argued with his heart.

"I… I want this," he said slowly. Grantaire looked up from his hands with the first signs of hope he had shown. He could hear the unsaid ‘but’ in his voice.

"I do not ask you to survive the revolution," he said with feeling, "I only ask that you permit me to die at your side." Enjolras went to protest but Grantaire interrupted him. "I would not survive in a world without you Apollo," he said with a sad smile. "The others would place bets on what would get me first; the drink, my own recklessness, Courfeyrac murdering me so that he did not have to look upon my melancholy face any longer." Enjolras huffed a laugh in spite of himself. "But if I had the choice, I would walk with you to heaven’s gate to see the lord himself bow at your feet." Enjolras rolled his eyes. "I cannot give you much," Grantaire said sincerely, so sincere that it took Enjolras unawares, "but let me give you this. All I have is my life, and it is yours."

Enjolras said nothing. He studied Grantaire for some time and Grantaire grew uncomfortable under his glare. There was fear striking his heart. The fear of Enjolras rejecting him, refusing his wish, and if he could not even give him that then he had nothing.

Slowly, Enjolras took Grantaire by the hand and gently tugged him to his feet. He stepped to the side and Grantaire matched his action so the table was no longer between them. Enjolras drew circles with his thumb on the back of Grantaire’s hand.

"That," he said softly with a crooked smile, "I can allow." He leant forward and brushed his lips against Grantaire’s. It was hesitant, like he was testing the temperature of water before plunging into its unknown depths. Grantaire’s startled face was a sight to behold. His wide blue eyes shone brighter than the stars and his body stiff for fear of any movement frightening Enjolras away. He lifted a shaking hand and brushed an errant curl out of Enjolras’ eye, tucking it behind his ear. Enjolras leaned into his touch so that Grantaire was cupping his cheek. He smiled softly, giving Grantaire all the time he needed to accept that this was happening.

It was like a penny dropping in Grantaire’s mind. He was waiting and waiting for Enjolras to tell him he had made a mistake, that of course he did not love him, how could he? But when it did not come, a part of him began to wonder if maybe, just possibly, this was real. And then it all came crashing down on him and he was on Enjolras with such a fiery passion that Enjolras could not quite believe of the cynic. Grantaire pulled Enjolras to him so that as much of Enjolras’ body as possible was pressed up against his own. His hands went straight to Enjolras’ hair, for where else would they go? The kissing was hard and breathless and clumsy and wonderful and delicious and perfect. Enjolras kept his hands lightly resting on Grantaire’s cheek. He would have been smiling had his lips not been otherwise occupied.

“Come,” Grantaire breathed against Enjolras’ skin when they parted for air, “we have a revolution to plan.”

[bethxpfanfics-blog]

In Love When You Wake Me Up

As Enjolras’ eyes flickered open, the three friends in the room simultaneously shifted closer to get a better look at him. The group of fourteen had agreed amongst themselves who would get to visit Enjolras after his operation, because there was a limit to the number of visitors allowed in the ward. Combeferre was a given, being Enjolras’ next of kin and best friend. Courfeyrac was the second person chosen, although no one was quite sure how he had managed to get everyone to agree to it. When it was asked who should be the third, Grantaire had simply said “me.” The tone in which it was delivered left no room for negotiation.

The light must have been too bright for Enjolras, for he scrunched up his eyes before trying to open them again. For some time they were glazed over and unfocused, but after a few more blinks they came to settle on the nearest living form in the room. Combeferre.

“Wakey wakey,” he said gently, giving the dozy Enjolras a soft smile. Enjolras’ innocent expression told him he was still not quite with it. “You’ve just come out of an operation,” he explained. “Try and rest,” he added as Enjolras tried to sit up. A hand on the shoulder was enough to keep him down and he did not have the strength to fight for long. When Enjolras could see he would not win the battle, he laid back and scrutinised Combeferre’s face.

“Who are you?” His voice was raspy and dry, missing it’s usual certainty and dominance.

“I’m Combeferre, your friend, remember?” There was no concern in his voice, just gentle encouragement. The doctor had told them that it was likely Enjolras would not be fully with it when he regained consciousness and to be patient with him.

“You better not have forgotten who I am,” said the person standing behind Combeferre, looking far too happy to be in a hospital. If his outlandish purple velvet jacket and bright pink skinny jeans we anything to go by, this guy was anything but normal, Enjolras thought to himself.

“It’s Courfeyrac!” exclaimed Courfeyrac in answer to Enjolras’ puzzled looks. He let out a gasp and put his hand to his heart like he was hurt that Enjolras could forget him. For a moment Enjolras was worried that he had upset him, but then Courfeyrac shot him a wide smile that said he was only teasing and Enjolras gives a sigh of relief. He replied with a weak smile of his own.

“I… I feel like I should know you,” he said, frowning. But no matter how hard he tried he could not place them. They weren’t complete strangers to him, he was sure of that, but if you were to ask him to describe their personalities, Enjolras would not have been able to. The best he could do was describe the feelings he got from them. This ‘Combeferre’ made him feel safe and ‘Courfeyrac’ made him want to roll his eyes and sigh, like he shouldn’t expect anything less from him. But the more he tried to dig for memories, the more his head hurt. He winced and just accepted that these people knew him.

It was then that Enjolras became aware that there was a slight pressure on his right hand. He looked down at it and saw that there was a hand that did not belong to him grasping it tightly. Enjolras followed the direction in which the hand was coming from until he came across the face of it’s owner. It was another man, roughly the same age as his other so called friends and sitting in a chair beside Enjolras’ bed. He was closer than his other friends, who were situated at the end of his bed on the plastic chairs provided by the hospital. He was hunched over the bed so that his dark curls flopped over his piercing blue eyes, which were fixed unmovingly on Enjolras’ face. His jaw was clenched tightly shut and he was deathly pale. He looked like he hadn’t slept for days.

“And you are…?” he asked the third and final face in the room.

“No one important,” he replied, “just focus on waking up.”

Grantaire was tired, he hadn’t slept for days. He hadn’t slept the night before the operation and he hadn’t slept since. He couldn’t. Not until he knew Enjolras was alright. He would have been fine, but when the doctor came out of the operating theatre to explain how there had been “complications” and how they had to put Enjolras under the anaesthetic for longer than originally planned, he had almost been physically sick with worry. He had refused to leave Enjolras’ side from the moment he got there, much to the doctor’s dismay. Courfeyrac once had to physically remove Grantaire from one nurse’s personal space when she tried to get between Grantaire and the sleeping Enjolras to take his blood pressure.

Enjolras frowned, not approving or comprehending the answer.

“No, that can’t be right,” he said seriously. “You must be important, I can feel it. You’re special to me.” He nodded as he spoke as if to confirm what he was saying.

It was then that this ‘unimportant person’ appeared to be aware that he had been clutching on to Enjolras’ hand, for he attempted to pull away his own hand, but Enjolras grabbed it before he had the chance.

“No, don’t. It feels… nice.”

Enjolras couldn’t really explain it. He was certain that if it had been Combeferre that was holding his hand, he wouldn’t have felt the same as he did now. The hand was warm, comforting, safe, like everything was going to be okay now. Yes, Combeferre had a safe air about him, but safe as in trustworthy. This dark haired stranger gave Enjolras a strength he didn’t know he had. The thought of letting that go made him incredibly sad.

Grantaire studied Enjolras’ face for some time before leaning forward again, taking hold of his hand with much more courage than he had before. Enjolras smiled.

“I think,” he went on to say, inspecting the third friend like he couldn’t quite fathom him, “that you are the most beautiful person I have ever seen in my life.”

Grantaire, who had been leaning his elbows on the bed, slipped and almost fell out of his chair. One of the other visitors, probably Courfeyrac, Enjolras’ brain supplied, let out a choking noise.

"W-what?"

“You do realise you are talking about Grantaire don’t you?” asked Courfeyrac.

“Grantaire? I like that name,” Enjolras said in that simplistic way a child speaks like the world is black and white, and not answering Courfeyrac’s question. The name Grantaire felt familiar. It sent a tingling down his spine and for some reason unknown to him he wanted to smile again.

“You’re still under the influence of the anaesthetic,” Combeferre said gently, but Enjolras ignored him. He wanted to talk to Grantaire.

“Come here,” he said, beckoning Grantaire to come closer. Grantaire shot Combeferre a look which was responded with a shrug. Slightly unsure, Grantaire shifted forward so that he perched on the end of his seat, as close to Enjolras as he could comfortably be. Not that he looked very comfortable.

Enjolras reached out and touched Grantaire’s cheek. Grantaire’s eyes bulged and it made Enjolras smirk.

“I like your hair,” he said dreamily, brushing an errant curl out of Grantaire’s eyes.

“Oh my god I cannot believe this,” Courfeyrac exclaimed, dying of laughter. “I have to film this.” He extracted a phone from the pocket of his skinny jeans and began to record the conversation. Enjolras didn’t understand what was so funny or why Combeferre felt the need to tell Courfeyrac he was being cruel. Grantaire was completely frozen under Enjolras’ touch and Enjolras had almost forgotten his hand was still cupping his cheek. But then Grantaire had managed to blurt out, “I hate you Courfeyrac,” and Enjolras remembered what he was doing.

“Don’t worry my dear I will send you a copy of the video,” Courfeyrac sang, “along with everybody else.”

Enjolras felt the urge to give Courfeyrac a disapproving look.

“Oop, looks like Enjolras is beginning to return to us,” was Courfeyrac’s reply. The glare did not deter him from filming this not-all-there Enjolras. Combeferre chuckled. Enjolras went back to looking at Grantaire’s face, he felt drawn to it somehow. Grantaire was still close as Enjolras had not pushed him away and he was incapable of moving himself. Enjolras was still holding Grantaire’s face in one hand and his hand in the other.

“You have lovely eyes,” Enjolras continued, talking as he complemented Grantaire’s hair and face and eyes every day. “And lips. You have very nice lips. Kissable. Can I kiss them? I should like to.” Grantaire went a dark shade of red and Enjolras thought he looked adorable. Courfeyrac had gone past the laughing stage and was now into full on wheezing.

“I can’t,” he said between shaky breaths. “Here ‘Ferre you’re going to have to do it.” He gave Combeferre the camera phone and then doubled over on himself, clutching his chest.

“Do you remember anything about Grantaire?” Combeferre asked with an amused smile, adjusting the phone’s position to ensure he was recording everything.

Enjolras’ eyes narrow as he considered the question. He addressed Grantaire as he answered the question despite him not being the person who asked it.

“Paint,” he said like that was a reasonable answer. “I think of you and the smell of paint comes to mind. I can’t remember your laugh but I know I like it. I like to make you laugh.” He frowned. “Do… do we argue a lot?”

“I’d like to think of it as a difference in opinion,” Grantaire said with a half-smile, still blushing from ear to ear. Enjolras grinned.

“You’re funny.” Something appeared to click in his mind because he let out a little ‘oh’ and then said, “are you my boyfriend? Because you are funny and pretty and I want to kiss you. My heart is beating really fast because of you, I know it. Feel!” He took the hand he was holding of Grantaire’s and pressed it to his chest. Sure enough his heart was beating erratically. “You should be my boyfriend,” he said finally like it was perfectly logical.

Grantaire stared at Enjolras with his mouth wide open, unable to form any kind of sentence, let alone a reply that he wouldn’t regret later. He so badly wanted to tell Enjolras that his heart was beating just as fast and that yes he’d give anything to be his boyfriend. But of course it was not Enjolras that was speaking, it was this high-on-anaesthetic Enjolras that did not know what he was saying, let alone mean any of it. So he decided to say nothing.

Courfeyrac, who had just about managed to control himself, lost it again and started to punch Combeferre on the arm to express just how much this was killing him.

“I’m tired,” Enjolras said suddenly, finally releasing Grantaire from his hold on him and turning to look at Combeferre.

“Get some rest,” Combeferre told him in the sort of fatherly way that was comforting to Enjolras. He shut his eyes and nuzzled into the pillow. But a second later his eyes snapped open again and he searched for Grantaire in the faces of his audience.

“Will you still be here when I wake up?” he asked, vulnerable and childlike.

“I’ll be right here for as long as you need me,” Grantaire replied softly. Enjolras stretched out his hand and Grantaire took it. Grantaire allowed himself the indulgence of stroking Enjolras’ forehead. Enjolras leaned into the touch and shut his eyes once more. Grantaire flashed Courfeyrac a look. “Shut up.”

The second time Enjolras woke up, it took the first thing he said to know he was no longer under the influence of the anaesthetic. He had been asleep for quite a while and his friends had turned to entertaining themselves with their phones, or dropping off to sleep in Combeferre’s case.

“You better not look this miserable at my funeral.”

“He’s back!” Courfeyrac threw his arms up in the air in a celebratory cheer. Combeferre stirred and gave Enjolras a sleepy smile.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, pushing his glasses back up his nose with his index finger.

“Sore.” He tried to sit up and this time Combeferre allowed it, helping him by adjusting the pillows and blankets. Enjolras thanked him begrudgingly. He did not like being treated like an invalid. But he knew Combeferre was only trying to help and he knew he would not be able to look after himself for the next few days so he held his tongue.

Courfeyrac was grinning wildly, probably reading his mind and enjoying watching Enjolras suffer. You’d think he’d never had a bad day in his life, thought Enjolras. He felt a pang of jealousy as Courfeyrac was able to move of his own accord whilst he had to lean on Combeferre just to shift backwards on the bed a bit.

Movement in the corner of his eye caught Enjolras’ attention and he turned to see Grantaire shifting in his seat. Grantaire gave him a pained smile, wincing as Enjolras winced when he leant further than his stitches would allow, and Enjolras felt an aching in his chest. Grantaire had thrust his hands into the pockets of the green hoodie he was wearing and something about that felt wrong to Enjolras. He felt like he was missing something and that Grantaire was the cause of it. He ran his fingers through his hair and told himself he was being stupid.

“I assume everything went okay?” Enjolras said as he felt under his hospital gown to where the bandages on his skin were.

“There were some complications but they sorted it, the doctor can explain when he sees you but everything is fine.”

Enjolras nodded, if Combeferre said everything was fine then he believed him. He knew better than to hold things back from Enjolras.

“How long have I been asleep?”

“Two hours and then another hour before you woke up the first time,” replied Courfeyrac.

“What do you mean woke up the first time?”

“You don’t remember?” asked Grantaire quietly. Enjolras shook his head but then stopped abruptly because it made him feel queasy. “Probably for the best,” Grantaire muttered as he deflated into his chair.

“Why? What happened?” Enjolras couldn’t help but shake the feeling he had missed something important. The terrifying expression on Courfeyrac’s face told him he definitely had.

“Well,” Courfeyrac started but Grantaire cut him off.

“Don’t you dare!”

“Don’t you dare what? What happened?” Enjolras looked between Grantaire and Courfeyrac and waited for one of them to cave.

“I can show you if you’re interested?” Courfeyrac extracted his phone and waved it in the air. Without warning, Grantaire tackled him to the ground and they began to wrestle for the mobile. “Grantaire, what the f-” Courfeyrac screamed as Grantaire lunged for the phone. But Courfeyrac was too quick for him and had rolled onto his side and got to his feet before Grantaire knew what was happening. Courfeyrac chucked his phone at Enjolras, who thankfully had good reflexes and caught it despite not being given a warning. “You can’t tackle the invalid,” Courfeyrac said to Grantaire, who glared at him all red in the face. “Go to my videos,” Courfeyrac instructed Enjolras, “and watch the most recent one.”

Enjolras frowned, catching sight of Grantaire’s terrified and pleading expression, before hitting play.

Enjolras, who was fairly fresh faced when he had woken up, turned pale as he watched himself on that small screen. When the video came to an end he turned excruciatingly slowly to Grantaire, his mouth dropped wide open. Grantaire looked bright red and sheepish.

“I… er…” He couldn’t form the sentences he wanted to.

“It’s okay,” Grantaire said quickly, gesturing with his hands, “it was the anaesthetic talking. You didn’t know what you were saying. I know none of that was true, you don’t have to worry yourself.” They both looked away from each other shy and embarrassed. There was a beat of awkward silence and then Enjolras spoke.

“Not all of it.” Grantaire looked up. Enjolras was fidgeting with the hem of the blanket and refusing to look him in the eye. For a moment Grantaire thought he had been mistaken and Enjolras hadn’t said anything at all.

“I’m sorry? I don’t understand.”

“Well I thought I made it pretty obvious when the filter from my brain to my mouth was temporarily not working. You are the most important person in my life and you do have the most beautiful eyes and I love your laugh and the way you-”

Enjolras should not have been surprised when Grantaire cut him off mid-speech to kiss him. He had practically thrown himself at him the moment his brain had processed the words that were coming out of Enjolras’ mouth. The surprise made Enjolras jump and Grantaire retracted almost immediately. Enjolras to let out a small whimper that set Courfeyrac off laughing again.

“Oh god I didn’t hurt you did I? That was so stupid, god I’m so sorry” he gushed as he checked Enjolras all over to make sure he hadn’t hurt him. Lunging at someone who had just had an operation was not one of his smartest moves to date.

Enjolras for once in his life decided actions spoke louder than words. He took hold of Grantaire by the scruff of his neck and crashed their lips together like it was an insult that they were apart. This time Grantaire made no objections and they were all over each other in seconds.

“Save the hospital sex for when we aren’t here,” said Courfeyrac, completely undisturbed by the truly obscene sights that were unfolding in front of his eyes.

Grantaire and Enjolras didn’t bother to stop kissing as they both flipped their friend off at the same time.

[bethxpfanfics-blog]

The Morning After The Night(s) Before

Wes hissed at the door when a knock came from behind it. He didn’t exactly mean to, but it was the only way to let out his frustration without causing alarm.

Of all the days to have a visitor why did it have to be today?

He shrugged on a shirt that had been thrown on the floor the night before and quickly did up half the buttons so he looked reasonably presentable by the time he got to the door. He lifted the latch and pulled it back just enough for him to poke his head around the door and see who was there.

It was Alex.

Fuck.

“Hey Wes,” she said in an all too cheery way for that time in the morning. She was chewing on her lip nervously. She wants something, Wes thought. Fuck. He cleared his throat.

“Hey Alex, how can I help you?”

Alex looked pointedly over Wes’ shoulder and then back at him but when Wes made no offer to come inside she spoke.

“I was wondering if I could pick your brains about something? The house actually. I was thinking of redecorating? Knocking a few walls through etcetera.” She waved her hand in the air to represent the ‘etcetera’. Wes nodded, willing her to get to the point. “And I was wondering if you wanted to have some input. I know how much you loved that house.”

The sympathy in her voice grated on Wes a little bit. True be told he hadn’t thought of his old house since he had decided to let Alex go. When he really decided to let her go. He could always find another house that he loved, with a lawn he could care for, and a person to share it with. He did not allow his thoughts to go any further.

He heard a rustling behind him and it was his instinct to turn around. For a moment he had forgotten what he had left behind him and when he was reminded he pulled the door even further shut so that it was digging into his side. Alex looked puzzled and for the first time in his life Wes cursed open plan apartments.

“Now isn’t really a good time,” he said, screwing up his face. “Do what you like with the house, it is yours after all. I’d be happy to give you some suggestions but it sounds like you already know what you are doing so…”

“Oh okay,” Alex said, her eyebrows shooting up into her hairline. You don’t think I’m over you, Wes thought as he read his ex-wife’s surprised smile like a book. If only you knew.

An awkward silence passed. There was a lot of staring at feet and shuffling on the spot until Alex took a deep breath, the type that people do to break such silences.

“Right well, I shall leave you to it.”

“Thank you, yes, bye.”

“Bye.”

It was an excruciating exchange, but it could have been worse. They just had to get the balance of friends-not-married-couple in check and they’d be fine. There were no more romantic feelings there to get in the way at least. It was just strange. But it would get easier.

Wes shut the door as Alex disappeared round the corner of the corridor. He leant against it with his whole body weight and let out a sigh of relief.

“Are you ashamed of me?”

And there was problem number two.

Travis was sitting on the end of Wes’ bed, putting on a pair of socks, having found his jeans whilst Wes had been talking to Alex. That had been the rustling Wes had heard. His top half was still completely uncovered though, and Wes took a moment to search for the bite mark he knew was above the right nipple because he had made it there last night.

“Of course not,” Wes said in answer to Travis’ question. There had been no malice in Travis’ voice, he had clearly meant it as a joke, but Wes felt the need to answer it anyway. He did up the rest of his buttons. “This has got to stop happening Travis,” he said as he rubbed the back of his head. He couldn’t find the strength to look Travis in the eye. “This is the third time this week!”

The sex had started after a particularly ridiculous argument. Travis had complained about the amount of air freshener Wes had in his car and Wes had said he only used it because Travis had had McDonalds in there a few days before and stunk his car out. The argument escalated into all their bad habits and before they knew it they were ripping each other’s clothes off as they said things like ‘I hate your suits, do you realise how tight they are around your arse? And when you have an arse like that, it is just cruel!’ and then Wes replies ‘Me wearing tight clothing? Have you seen your shirts? Why do you feel the need to tease me with biceps like that?’

It happened again a week later.

And then a week after that.

And then four days after that.

And then two days.

And then one.

They just seemed unable to control themselves around each other. It was almost like as five o’clock approached at the end of the day they would exchange looks that said ‘are we going to do the thing tonight’.

The answer would almost always be yes.

Travis remained quiet as Wes paced back and forth. It unsettled Wes because usually Travis would make some crude joke, Wes would scold him for it, and they’d be alright and hating each other again and able to get on with another day in the office. But this time he was acting differently.

“Say something!” Wes pleaded, not wanting this silence to go on any longer. Travis looked up at him and god why did he have to be so pretty like that?

“What if I told you I didn’t want it to stop?” Wes stared at him.

“What?” he said very quietly.

“What if I told you I’ve been deliberately arguing with you in the hopes that this could happen.”

“I would say…” Wes felt himself blush, “that I’ve been doing the same thing.” Travis’ head snapped up.

“Wait what?”

“What?”

“You’ve been arguing with me just to get me to bed?” Wes was affronted about how angry Travis sounded.

“You’ve been doing it too, don’t sound so cross about it!”

“I’d expect it from me but from you!” Travis pointed an accusing finger at Wes.

“Oh what you thought I wasn’t capable of turning you on?” Wes challenged.

“I didn’t think you were the type to go manipulating someone like that.”

“Man-manipulating?” Wes scoffed. “When you see me being manipulating you’ll know it!”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah.”

Wes wasn’t sure how or when they had approached each other. But somehow or another their faces were barely inches apart as they taunted and bickered with each other. The air, that already smelled of sex, was thick with tension once more. They stared at each other.

And then Wes licked his lips and all hell broke loose.

Travis dived on him. There were sloppy kisses and the lightning removal of clothes as they dragged each other to bed. Not once was their skin not in contact in some way. The sex was hot, fiery, hungry with want, just as it always was. But this time there was something more. They stayed together for longer, touched each other more, kissed rather than bit or sucked or scratched. It was unlike anything they had done before.

They held each other afterwards, which was also new. Travis’ head rested on Wes’ chest so neither could see the way the other was smiling to himself.

“So we’re a couple right? I mean, that is what I was trying to get at before you dragged me to bed again.”

“There was no dragging about it,” Wes corrected him, “you wanted it as much as I did.” He paused. “And yes,” he added quietly, “if that’s what you want. I’d… I’d like that.”

Travis lifted his head and turned to look at Wes. He gave his answer in the form of a kiss on the lips.

[bethxpfanfics-blog]

For Tink

You click on the Youtube link in the email with a ridiculous smile. George’s face pops up immediately and you sigh, wishing he could be with you and not in some far off field in the middle of nowhere. He had been away for almost two months now and although you were talking on the phone and through texts and emails almost every day, it did not stop you wishing he was home again by your side.

Taking a deep breath to prepare yourself, you press play.

George leans back into his seat from turning the camera on and gives a little wave. His nervous half smile is enough to send your heart racing and you can’t help waving back.

“Hello,” he says and you want to hug your computer in the hopes that he might feel it wherever he is. “So it is a special someone’s birthday,” he is saying and you blush in spite of yourself. “And I cannot be there with them, as much as I want to, and so I am doing this for them. I know how much they love this song and I couldn’t think of a better one to express how I feel, so here goes. Happy birthday my darling, I love you.”

You feel the pin pricks behind your eyes as George picks up the guitar in his lap and begins to strum it. You recognise it immediately as This by Ed Sheeran.

“This is the start of something beautiful…”

You sway back and forth to the song, unaware that you are smiling through tears and you watch your perfect boyfriend serenade you from halfway across the world. As the song comes to an end, George blows the camera a kiss and blushes. This video is not private and you know he is thinking about all the not-you-people who are going to watch this video. George is shy enough as it is, so to post a video of him saying ‘I love you’ to someone and blowing them a kiss was no doubt a difficult thing for him to do and so you promise yourself not to tease him about his flushing cheeks when he returns.

The video ends and you hug yourself, wishing once more that George was there so you could pepper his beautiful face with kisses and tell him you love him back. But since you couldn’t, you contented yourself to watching the video a further five times, content in the knowledge that that video was meant for you, that that ‘I love you’ was directed at you, and that perfect man was yours.

[bethxpfanfics-blog]

Mr Sexy Silver Fox

Mat slipped when he saw him enter. Looking all fancy in his pin striped suit and papers tucked under his arm. He was squirting cream on a frappuccino at the time and the whipped cream went everywhere.

“What the fuck Mat?” Martha exclaimed as she checked her uniform to make sure he hadn’t got any on her.

“Shit sorry,” he said panicked. He finished topping up the drink, gave it to the person who ordered it, and then set about cleaning up the mess he’d made.

“How did you manage tha- OH,” Martha interrupted herself, seeing the answer to her question approaching her till. Mat ignored her knowing look and instead rinsed the cloth clean.

“Hi, what can I get you today?” he heard Martha say far too chirpily.

“Just a mocha please.”

Mat stifled a groan. That voice! All upper class and smooth that made you want to get your tongue in there and explore that mouth in the hopes of discovering the secret of its appeal. Martha waved the cup with the order written on it in Sharpie in front of his face, and Mat forced himself to pull together so that he could fill out the order.

“Hi,” he heard himself say as he set the machine.

“Hi,” the sexy silver fox of a customer (as Mat had named him) replied.

“Good day?”

“Not bad. You?”

“Fine thanks. Here’s your drink.” He handed over the mocha, careful not to touch sexy silver fox’s hand because he honestly didn’t believe he would survive. “Have a nice day.”

“You too.”

That was the extent of their conversation, and yet Mat lived for it every time the customer came. Although once Mat had sprained his wrist carrying a tray too heavy for him and spent a week in brace. The silver fox had asked if he was all right and when the brace had been taken off he had said he was pleased to see he was better. Mat had spent the rest of the day in a dreamland, much to Martha’s annoyance and everyone else’s amusement. His friends would sometimes come into the café to watch the bi-weekly encounter, giving Mat plenty of winks and nudges. He ignored them every time.

He did not know his name, but what he did know was that he came in every Monday and Wednesday, he worked in a corporate business because no one goes around dressed like that if they weren’t being paid well. He didn’t like whipped cream but liked to order something different every time he came in. He loved it when seasonal specials were available and he would try and get through them all before the limited time passed. He also liked classical music – Mat had heard it coming from his earphones once, and he had a habit of nibbling his bottom lip when he was reading through what Mat presumed was work papers.

A small stab of disappointment hit Mat when he realised the drink was to go and so the silver fox would not be staying. He had probably cottoned on to his oogling and didn’t want to hang around longer than he had to.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Martha snapped when Mat voiced his concerns. “You say that every time he gets a take away. He always comes back the next time with an extra large order and eats in.” Mat knew she was right. “Did you see the way he lingered after you handed him his coffee?” Her eyes twinkled. Mat shook his head. “He totally wanted to ask you something. Like your name, or out on a date!”

“Martha,” Mat said in a warning tone. Knowing you have no chance is one thing, but false hope is quite another. Martha rolled her eyes.

“Oh come on! How can you not see the way he looks at you? I have no doubt there are coffee shops closer to his work with better coffee that he could go to.” Mat mockingly gasped, holding his hand to his heart like she had insulted the feelings of the shop. She ignored him. “But no, he chooses to come here. He likes you. Ask him out.”

“No,” Mat said firmly.

“Do it.”

“No!”

“Do it do it do it!”

“No no no!”

Mat grabbed the cloth and ran to clear the tables before Martha could say anything else.

*

Silver fox waved when he entered the café. He fucking waved. Mat was already hyperventilating and he hadn’t even ordered yet. At least he was at the till and not making the drinks because he didn’t think he could have kept his hands steady enough to hold boiling hot liquid.

Martha took the opportunity of silver fox shaking out his wet umbrella and it getting caught in his coat to set Mat even more on edge.

“He waved at you. He wants you. For the love of god ask him out!”

In a panic Mat gestured for her to shut up as silver fox approached.

“Hi,” he breathed out.

“Hi,” the silver fox said. He then did something that Mat did not expect and leaned over the till to look at Mat’s name tag. “Mat.” A groan escaped Mat’s lips and he hoped to god the silver fox hadn’t heard it. “I’m Ben.”

Mat’s brain was on overdrive. Whizzing and whirling at the thought of a name. Ben. Ben, Ben, Ben, he kept saying over and over again in his head.

“What can I get you today… Ben,” he said mechanically.

“Um…” Ben scanned the board. “A large white hot chocolate please.” Mat didn’t bother to ask if he wants whipped cream on top.

“Eat in or take away?”

“Take away please. I have a big meeting to get back to and I need something warm and delicious to get me through it,” he added by way of an explanation. Mat managed a smile as he got the price up on the till and took the money, as always careful not to touch Ben’s skin.

“Horrible weather we are having today,” Ben said conversationally as he searched for a twenty pence piece in his wallet.

“Hmm,” Mat agreed, not trusting himself to say anything more.

“It’s a good thing the sun is always shining in here.” The way Ben said that was suggestive and Mat blushed to his ears. There was a squeak beside him and Mat saw Martha crouch down and hide behind the till covering her mouth.

“He means you,” she mouthed as Mat got a take away cup and wrote on Ben’s order. “Ask him out ask him out ask him OUT!”

Mat gave her a kick and she responded with a punch to the shin.

“Ow!”

Ben frowned and Martha reappeared with an innocent expression.

“So sorry Mat I didn’t see you there.” She rose her eyebrows at Mat.

I couldn’t ask him out, Mat thought, I’ve only just learnt his name. He doesn’t like me. But then what if he does? What if we spend all our time tiptoe-ing around each other until it is too late. Oh god I am thinking too much about this. Quickly he scribbled his number on the paper take away cup and handed it to Martha before he could think any more about it. She positively beamed at him.

I am going to get fired for this, he thought to himself. I am going to get fired, I am going to get fired, I am going to get fired.

*

“I got fired,” Mat said to his friends the next day. They had decided to convene in the café to discuss the clichéd phone-number-on-the-cup situation when Mat had been called to the boss’s office. “Apparently it’s against our contract to ask customers out on dates.” He threw his no-longer-needed apron on the table and took the seat next to Larry.

“How did he even know?” asked Jim crossly. Everyone turned to Martha, who was on her break.

“Hey don’t look at me,” she said offended. “The last thing I want is Mat gone. It won’t be nearly as much fun working here without you.” She squeezed Mat’s arm. “I will try and make Greg see sense, tell him he is being unreasonable, I promise.” Mat gave her a small appreciative smile.

“Thanks. And no it wasn’t her,” he said to everyone else. “He saw the cup when Ben left and recognised my handwriting.”

“It’s not fair” said Simon with a frown. “It’s not like you just want a shag. You genuinely like this guy.” Mat shrugged.

“And it was all for nothing,” said Mat, resting his chin on the table. “Ben didn’t even call.”

As if on cue, Mat’s phone rang. It was an unknown number.

“Oh blithering fuck balls,” Mat hissed as he flailed his arms in a panic and almost hit Larry in the face.

“Well answer it then, you twat,” Martha said impatiently. Mat hit the green button.

“H-hello?”

“Hello, Mat is this you?” It was Ben. Mat nodded to confirm what all his friends were thinking. They all leaned in closer, straining to hear. Mat frowned but they did not back away.

“Yes.” Mat’s chest was shrinking. He couldn’t breathe. He kept balling his hands into fists and then releasing them.

“You left your number on my cup.”

“Yes.”

“I…” Ben’s voice sounded strained. “I need to know why.”

“I thought… I hoped you might call,” Mat stammered, frowning.

“Why?” Ben pushed.

“Because… because I like the way you smile at me every time you come into the shop okay?” he gushed. “I like the way you don’t stick to the same order, I like the way you nibble your bottom lip when you are thinking, and I like the way your shoes are shinier than your cufflinks. Because I lost my job because of you and because I didn’t sleep at all last night when you didn’t call thinking I had made a big mistake. Because I count down the days until I see you again and hope every time that you order to eat in so I have that little bit longer with you. Because I like you.”

“That’s all I needed to hear.”

Mat swerved round, dropping his phone. Ben was standing behind him smiling. All Mat’s friends stared at him open mouthed. Ben outstretched his hand and, unaware of what he was doing, Mat took it. Ben eased him to his feet and pulled him a few steps away from the table his friends sat on.

Gently, Ben brought Mat’s hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles.

“I had to be sure,” he said apologetically. “I’ve misunderstood before and… I had to be sure.”

It took Mat some time to piece together the words, he was still having a panic attack that the fact that Ben had kissed his hand!

“I have to get back to work,” Ben said regretfully and Mat let out a groan. He kissed Mat’s hand once more and then let go and walked away. Mat stared after him. Ben froze mid-stride half way to the door.

“Did you just say you lost your job for me?” he asked.

“Er… yeah, kind of,” Mat said, rubbing the back of his head. “Apparently it isn’t appropriate to give your phone numbers to customers.” Ben frowned.

“Could I do anything? Have a word with your boss maybe?”

Mat smiled, it was sweet of Ben to think of that.

“Nah, our boss is a push over. Martha will get it back for me.” He gestured vaguely to his group of friends. Ben did not look overly convinced. “You can focus on calling me.”

Ben grinned at that, and Mat couldn’t help but grin back. He felt like he was on cloud nine and wasn’t going to come down any time soon. Screw the job, some things are more important.

Ben gave him a wave as he backed to the door.

“I will.”

[bethxpfanfics-blog]

For Abbi

“…And since there’s no place to go, let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!” you sing in chorus with the rest of the Storybrooke choir.

“Thank you,” you hear Ruby say next to you as another resident of the town slips a few coins into the collection bucket she was holding. She turns to you and smiles; you know she is trying to tell you again what a brilliant idea of yours this was. You grin back at her.

“…It doesn't show signs of stopping, and I've bought some corn for popping…” you continue, swaying to the tune. A few more people add to the donations, no doubt intimidated by Granny’s disapproving glare that they had not done so yet.

“…The lights are turned way down low, let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!”

“Dad, look! Carol Singers!” You can’t help but smile. You love kids and to know you have brought them joy just by singing a few songs warms your heart. You glance over to the entrance to the café where you heard the young girl speak.

“…When we finally kiss good-”

You stop mid-lyric. You hadn’t meant to, but your brain had completely ceased to function. Your mouth was open wide as you gazed at the man the child was tugging the sleeve of. He was absolutely stunning. Dark, dishevelled hair with unbelievable blue eyes, they looked even brighter because his eyelashes were so black. Was he wearing eyeliner? It looked good either way. You watched as he slipped of the dark blue trench coat to reveal a black shirt and waistcoat combination and black skinny jeans. Your heart leapt into your mouth.

“Beth!” Ruby nudged you with her elbow and you jump, joining in with the singing and trying not to blush.

“…The fire is slowly dying, and, my dear, we're still good-bying…”

She looks between you and the place that you were staring and catches sight of the man that caught your fancy. She makes an ‘o’ shape with her mouth and gives you a knowing look. You try to ignore it.

“…But as long as you love me so, let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!”

As everyone in the choir shuffle their pages to find the next song, you included, you hear the girl speak up again.

“They’re really good aren’t they dad?”

“Yes they are.”

Oh wow, you think, even his voice is sexy. You try and sneak another glance at him, but then turn away immediately when you notice that he is looking directly at you.

“Mum would have loved it.”

“Yeah, she would have.” The way he had said it makes you think that the mother had died or was at least out of the picture. He sounded sad, but like it was an old wound that had, perhaps not healed, but mended as best as it could leaving only a small mark behind, like a scar on the heart. Your affection for him grows. “Hot chocolate and whipped cream?” you hear him ask his daughter brightly, maybe a little forced but he clearly wanted to make his daughter happy.

“Don’t forget the marshmallows!”

“Oh,” he says, mockingly shocked, “how could I forget the marshmallows?!”

You smile, the girl was after your own heart in the hot drinks department, but you could not hot-guy-watch any longer, Granny was tapping her conductor stick and indicating that the next song was about to start.

Two songs later and Granny announced it was time for a break. Thankful, you and Ruby claim a booth with the comfy chairs by the wall. You take a seat and Ruby immediately hunches over the table in a conspiratorial way.

“His name,” she says in a hushed tone, “is Jefferson.” She looks very pleased with this information but you are a little confused.

“Who?” you ask.

“The guy you have been staring at since he came through the door. Don’t deny it,” she says quickly when you open your mouth to protest, “he actually made you stop singing, it was like a rom com moment.” You bury your face in your hands.

“I didn’t mean to, I was just…” you cannot find the words to finish the sentence. “He is gorgeous.” Ruby tilts her head to the side amused but sympathetic.

“I don’t know him that well, just seen him around. As far as I can tell he seems nice. He idolises his daughter and the mother isn’t around, and no girlfriend that I’ve ever seen,” she adds encouragingly.

“Oh shut up,” you say with a groan. There was no way in hell you could approach someone that beautiful, and you didn’t want to talk about it anymore. You smooth down the skirt of the dress you are wearing. Everyone in the choir was wearing the same thing – a red dress with white cotton trim. It was not your idea, but apparently normal clothes were not Christmassy enough.

“What can I get you?” says a waitress that has approached your table.

“Bailey’s with ice please,” says Ruby, “and let me guess,” she looks at you with a grin, “hot chocolate with whipped cream?” You nod with a smile and the waitress jots it down on her notepad.

“Don’t forget the marshmallows,” you say quickly before the waitress disappears. At the same time you feel a sharp pain in your leg where Ruby had just kicked you in the shin. But before you had the chance to make any kind of response, you hear a familiar and incredibly sexy voice coming from where the waitress had just been.

“Ah, a girl after my own heart. You can’t have hot chocolate and whipped cream without marshmallows.”

You look up and your heart skips a beat. The gorgeous man, Jefferson as Ruby had informed you, was smiling shyly at you. Being stunned by his good looking-ness made it very difficult to smile, but you did your best to look as charming as possible. His grin widens and he does not speak for a moment, but then he seems to snap out of whatever trance he was in and indicate his daughter who was attached to his right hand.

“Sorry to interrupt your conversation but Grace wanted to give you a donation.”

“Oh well thank you,” Ruby replies when she sees that you cannot physically speak, and picks up the bucket she had put down beside her so that it was within Grace’s reach. She slips in a folded £20 note.

“Oh that’s so generous, thank you,” you say without thinking, and then you blush when you realise how rude it is to know how much people are giving to charity. Jefferson doesn’t seem to notice this though, as he positively beams at you. A thousand butterflies wake inside your stomach.

“That’s okay,” he says, “you were amazing.”

“Thank you,” you duck your head, embarrassed. “I’m Beth and this is Ruby.” You indicate to yourself and then your friend, who he gives a quick nod to. It is then that you realise he has barely looked at Ruby during this whole conversation, which is unusual because it is usually her that gets all the men’s attention.

“I’m Jefferson and this is my daughter Grace.”

“Hello Grace,” you say as the drinks that you and Ruby ordered arrive. You offer her a marshmallow and she accepts.

“You’re really good at singing,” she says as she chews, “me and dad love carol singing.”

“Well that’s good,” you say, and out of the corner of your eye you notice Jefferson looking pleased that you are engaging with his daughter, “because we will be singing again soon, if you want to stay.”

“Of course we do,” Jefferson says, and you scream internally.

“Do you like singing carols Grace?” Ruby asks the girl, and she nods enthusiastically.

“We used to sing loads every Christmas before mum died.” So she had died, you were right, you think to yourself. “Dad would play piano and he would let me play some of the high bits.” The thought of Jefferson playing the piano was far too appealing so you took a sip of your hot chocolate to take your mind off it. It didn’t really work. “Hey dad!” Grace says suddenly, a thought popping into her head. “Why don’t you sing that song you would always do with mum?”

“I’ll do it with you on Christmas day if you like,” he says, kissing the top of her head. The adorableness of it all just makes you want to snog his face off.

“No, no, no, not with me, I don’t know the words. And I want to hear it now!”

Her father looked horrified.

“Erm, I don’t think so Gracey. I’m sure no one here wants to hear my stupid singing and I have no one to sing it with-”

“Nonsense,” Ruby snaps, putting her hand up so that Jefferson stops talking. “Everyone here has come for the concert, they will just assume you are part of the choir. What song is it?”

“Baby it’s cold outside,” he mumbles into his chest. You bite your lip, could he be any more perfect?

“I don’t know that song very well,” Ruby says and you frown to yourself because you know full well from all the karaoke nights you’ve been to with her that she knows the lyrics to that song like the back of her hand. “But Beth knows it inside out, you could do it with her!”

“What?!” There it was. Of course Ruby had some sort of alternative agenda. It was a stupid idea, what did she think, that you were going to fall in love over a song? You aren’t living in a musical!

“Yes! Yes! Go on please!” Grace presses her hands together in a pleading way and shakes them at you.

“I… er…” You look up at Jefferson. He was giving you the most irresistible puppy dog eyes you had ever seen. It was not fair, how could you say no to that? “Only if you want to,” you say at last.

“I can’t say no to my daughter,” he shrugs, but you suspect he is secretly pleased. Giving in, you get up from your seat.

“I hate you,” you say quietly so that only Ruby can hear, but she ignores you.

You follow Jefferson to the centre of the café where the choir had stood not long before. He gives you an awkward smile which you return before you hear an unmistakeable voice bellowing across the café.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Ruby shouts, “Granny’s presents Beth and Jefferson.” The intimate audience claps politely. With your heart hammering against your rib cage, you take a deep breath and dive.

“I really can't stay.”

“Baby it's cold outside.” You did your best to concentrate on your singing, but wow this guy’s voice was good.

“I've got to go away.”

“Baby it's cold outside.”

“This evening has been,”

“Been hoping that you'd drop in.” He placed his hand to his chest, he was really performing this song!

“So very nice,”

“I'll hold your hands, they're just like ice.” He took your hand and a part of your brain was telling you to take him there and then, but the other half of you was saying that if he was going to act along then so were you.

“My mother will start to worry.” You pulled your hand away and turned sideways away from him.

“Beautiful, what's your hurry?”

“My father will be pacing the floor.” 

“Listen to the fireplace roar.”

“So really I'd better scurry.”

“Beautiful, please don't hurry.” He came up right behind you and gently rested his hand on your arm.

“Maybe just a half a drink more.” He leads you to a stool which you sit on.

“Put some records on while I pour.” He hands you your hot chocolate drink.

“The neighbours might think.”

“Baby, it's bad out there.” He walks round you in a circle as he sings his lines to you.

“Say, what's in this drink?” You playfully inspect the cup and then place it on the counter.

“No cabs to be had out there.” He gestures in the direction of the door.

“I wish I knew how,”

“Your eyes are like starlight now.”

“To break this spell.”

“I'll take your hat, your hair looks swell.”

“I ought to say no, no, no.”

“Mind if I move in closer?” He takes a stool nearby and sits beside you, rubbing his shoulder against yours. Your heartbeat increases.

“At least I'm gonna say that I tried.”

“What's the sense in hurting my pride?” He places his hand on his heart.

“I really can't stay.” You get up and go to walk away, but he catches you by the wrist and pulls you back so that you end up sitting on his lap. After you kill Ruby for doing this to you, you decide to kiss her for doing this to you.

“Baby don't hold out.”

“Ah, but it's cold outside,” you sing together. Your voices sound amazing as they harmonise together. You would not believe you had not sung together before. Your faces are incredibly close and your lips are itching for you to close the gap.

“I've got to go home.” You jump up and he follows.

“Oh, baby, you'll freeze out there.”

“Say, lend me your coat.” You indicate the trench coat you saw him come in wearing and he picks it up and drapes it round your shoulders. It smells amazing.

“It's up to your knees out there.”

“You've really been grand.”

“Your eyes are like starlight now.”

“But don't you see?”

“How can you do this thing to me?”

“There's bound to be talk tomorrow.”

“Think of my life long sorrow.”

“At least there will be plenty implied.”

“If you caught pneumonia and died.”

“I really can't stay.”

“Get over that hold out.” He takes you by the hand and spins round with you as you sing the last line together.

“Ah, but it's cold outside. Oh, baby it's cold outside. Oh, baby it's cold outside!”

As the song ends, the small audience in the café get on their feet and applaud with vigour. A few cheers and wolf whistles, no doubt coming from Ruby, could also be heard.

But you do not hear it. You are still gazing into each other’s eyes, still in the dance hold position that you had ended the song in.

“You were amazing,” Jefferson says to you.

“I was nothing compared to you, you were incredible! You should join the choir, we’d love to have you.”

“I don’t think I would suit the costumes.” He indicates the red dress you are wearing and you pull a face, but smile all the same.

Granny is calling all the members of the choir back for the second half of the show and unwillingly you step back.

“I should probably…”

“Yeah, yeah, of course.” You stand awkwardly looking at your feet. When a few seconds past you decide he is not going to say anything more.

“Bye,” you say and disappointed you turn away and walk towards the choir.

“No, wait!” A hand wraps around your wrist, the same one that had done so during the duet, and you turn to see Jefferson biting his lip and pulling you back.

“Yes?” you ask hopefully.

“Look, I don’t suppose, I mean you don’t have to, at some point you might like to do this again? I don’t mean duet in front of a load of people, I just mean get together? Just the two of us. Like a date.” You try and resist the urge to look smug.

“I’d love to.” Jefferson gives a sigh of relief.

“Great, great.” He nods to himself. “Good. Okay then.” Guessing he needed a hand, you nudge him in the right direction.

“Are you free tomorrow at six? I hear Granny’s burgers are the talk of the town.”

“Um, yeah, yes.” He sounded so nervous; you wonder if this was the first time he had asked a girl out after the death of his wife.

“Perfect. Tomorrow at six then.”

You smile at each other, both looking shy and embarrassed all of a sudden, and then, to your surprise and pleasure, he leans forward and pecks you on the cheek. You are frozen momentarily as he gives you another nervous smile, wondering if he has crossed the line. You stroke the spot he kissed you absentmindedly, before a surge of adrenalin pulses through your veins and you decide to take a risk. You step forward and press your lips to his. It is only a quick and gentle peck, but the moment there is contact fireworks explode in more than one part of your body. His lips are so soft and he smells like aftershave. You can taste the hot chocolate you both have been drinking.

You pull away and bite your lip as you smile at his beautifully stunned face. You flirtily look down and then up again before finally turning to join the rest of the choir.

Ruby takes hold of you immediately her eyes and mouth wide.

“What was that?!” she exclaims.

“I just kissed Jefferson,” you reply proudly but slightly breathless. “Did all that really just happen?”

“You’re mad,” she laughs, handing you the music sheet of the next song. You grin.

“That’s me, mad as a hatter!”

[bethxpfanfics-blog]

For Alex

“What are you wearing?” you splutter out between gasps of laughter and shock.

“A Father Christmas costume,” Larry says with dignity, looking down at himself as if he needs to check. He walks from the front door where he has just come through to the sofa that you are sitting on. He leans over the back of it and whispered into your ear, “perhaps we could go to the bedroom and I’ll show you what’s in my sack.”

“Oh god!” You cannot suppress the laughter any more. You pull away from him and hide your face in your hands as you giggle. When you look up again you see the face of a kicked puppy so you do your best to look sorry. “Sorry love,” you say, stroking his cheek, “but you must see how creepy this is?” Larry recoils.

“Your dad didn’t dress up as Santa when you were younger did he?”

“Oh god no!” You look horrified at the thought. You shake the image away. “What I mean is, you think that dressing up as an old, fat man with a bushy white beard and red velvet suit is going to turn me on! Do you really not know me?” Larry sighed and shrugged, but somehow you don’t believe his actions.

“I guess I might as well take this off then,” he sighs, and he takes off his cotton wool beard.

You wolf whistle. “Woo, yeah. Off, off, off,” you chant as you clap along. Larry takes the encouragement and begins to strip, tugging the hat off first and swinging it around in the air before throwing it to the side.

“Der ner ner ner ner ner,” he sings, attempting the stripper tune as he kicks off his boots. You give another cheer. Larry gives a little wiggle of the bum before reaching behind himself and gripping the top half of his costume at his shoulder blades. He pulls and the whole thing comes off in one swift action.

You marvel at the delicious bare chest that is left behind and take no shame in ogling it greedily. The removal of the jacket reveals a pair of braces that you assume is holding up the red velvet trousers. You so badly want to ping them against his chest. But you resist.

Larry is still singing the stripper tune, sort of, as he takes hold of his trousers at the thighs and pulls.

You snort and then cheer and Larry gives a final model pose.

“Of course I knew you would prefer something a little sexier than a Santa outfit.”

You beam as you drink in Larry’s state. The ridiculous Father Christmas outfit is gone and what is left behind is a sort of sexy fireman-meets-Christmas outfit that you cannot wait to get him out of. All he is wearing is a pair of red shorts being held up (unnecessarily considering how tight they are) by some matching red braces.

“Wow,” you breathe and Larry grins. He scoops you up in his arms and goes to carry you effortlessly to the bedroom. “Wait, wait, wait,” you say suddenly, and in his surprise Larry puts you down. You hold up one finger that says ‘one second’ and quickly jog to the side of the sofa. You bend down and pick something up and then come back over to Larry and allow him to pick you up in his arms again. “Here.” In your hands Larry sees the Santa hat he had thrown away. You gently tug it back onto his head and then smile. “All I want for Christmas,” you tap his nose with your finger, “is you.”

[bethxpfanfics-blog]

Buddies

~~1

It started with a drunken kiss. They were at a pub one night and had a few too many, and after his advances to the bar man was rejected; Larry turned his attentions to the man sitting next to him.

“He doesn’t know what he is missing out on,” Larry said in a barely audible slur.

“Probably thinks he is too good to be gay,” replied Simon as he knocked back another vodka and coke.

“I could have turned him,” Larry grumbled, “I would have turned on the old Rickard charm and he would have been batting for the other team in no time.”

Simon choked on his drink as he laughed. “The old Rickard charm?” he mocked.

“Yes the old Rickard charm!” Larry knew Simon too well to be properly offended but still there was no need to sound so surprised.

“Go on then,” Simon said amused, “turn it on me.” Larry pursed his lips to show he had accepted the challenge. He sat upright and shifted slightly so that he was at an angle to accentuate his profile in the dimly lit room. He puffed his chest out and leaned casually on the bar, just about holding his balance so not to slip off. He then eyed Simon up and down for a moment, hovering over his arse as his mind undressed him.

Simon could see Larry was watching him intently and suddenly felt exposed under his glare. He took another shot of vodka and noticed how Larry watched him drag his tongue across his lips. Then, slowly, Larry leaned in and whispered into Simon’s ear a series of sweet nothings that made Simon’s hairs stand on end.

Their eyes met.

Larry went to pull away but Simon grabbed hold of his collar and pressed a harsh kiss onto his lips. He retracted quickly with the intention to apologise for his behaviour, but when Larry pulled a smug grin, Simon went in for a second snog. There was more passion and desperation than before. Simon’s hands were all over Larry’s body, ready to strip him then and there on the table.

“Not here,” Larry breathed. It was only then that Simon had realised Larry had not stopped him, and with the raspy way he had spoken Simon was certain he wanted this too.

“Where then?”

“My place,” Larry replied, practically dragging him by the arm to the street where they caught a taxi to Larry’s apartment.

~~2

The next day at work was an awkward one. The events of the night before were vivid in Larry's mind after he had woken up with Simon wrapped around him. They had talked over some very strong coffee and agreed it was a very drunken one night stand and they would not mention it again. Simon went home to change and they arrived on set separately like nothing had happened.

  But although they did not talk of it, they could still think about it, and more than once Larry caught Simon looking at him from across the room with a puzzled expression. He'd blush and quickly turn away mostly, but occasionally he would hold the gaze and it would be Larry whose cheeks turned red.

The glances and half smiles went unnoticed by the rest of the cast and soon the lust died down.

Or so Larry thought.

It was just over a week since the incident happened and Larry was about to film a hospital sketch where he played a doctor, when Simon creeped up behind him.

"Nice outfit." Larry did not know he was there until he spoke and he jumped out of his skin.

"Um thanks," he replied, checking that no one else picked up on the message between the lines.

"I have to say, if you were my doctor I'd never leave the hospital."

Larry swallowed hard.

"Uh huh."

"Actually, I've got some ailments right now if you want to check them out?" He gave a devilish grin. Larry's mind was racing. That night he had wanted Simon, yes, but they were drunk and stupid and nothing had been said since. Now all of a sudden Simon was flirting with him and it took all of his concentration not to take him then and there.

"Err-"

"Larry we are ready for you," called the director from the middle of the set, between the hospital bed and curtain where Larry was supposed to be. Reluctantly Larry backed away from Simon's advances and did his best to get through the scene without letting his own arousal shine through.

  When the day was over, he collected his things and got in his car. Whilst searching for his keys, he automatically checked his phone for messages. He had two; one from his sister about coming down for the weekend as they had planned, and the other was from Simon.

My place. Tonight.

  For a second time Larry found himself waking up with Simon beside him. Again they talked it over not-quite-as-strong-as-before coffee and again agreed there was no need for anybody to know about this. But this time there was no suggestion that this was a mistake or a one off, and as Larry left early so he could be in clean clothes for work, he saw the glint in Simon’s eye that said this wasn’t over.

And it wasn’t.

  ‘My place’ became the code for sex. To start off with it was only occasionally, mostly when one saw the other in a particularly attractive costume. But without them realising it, the meetings got more frequent. They did not mind however, it did not interrupt their work or personal lives; they were not dating so there were no commitments or obligations they had to abide to. And the sex, oh god the sex was good! They were just friends with benefits and it suited them fine.

“Fuck buddies,” Simon explained when he and Larry were discussing it one night in bed (Simon had dressed as Caligula that day).

“Yeah, I suppose we are,” Larry mused as he sipped his can of beer.

From that night on, Simon insisted calling Larry his ‘buddy’ whenever he could, no matter who else was there. He had gotten some strange looks from the others the first time he had said it, not that he noticed. Larry had just shrugged at his friends’ puzzled looks and prayed they didn’t pick up on the way Simon had run his fingers down his arm.

  Some time later, the guys decided to go for a drink in the pub after the day’s filming. Jim couldn’t make it as he was redecorating the house with his wife, so Mat, Ben, Larry, and Simon trundled off without him, and were soon lightheaded by the alcohol.

One of the scenes they had filmed that day had been Ben as a head master with a whip. Being the reserved and bashful type, Simon had to tease Ben just a little about it.

“Let me guess, that whip was from your own private collection. I bet you are a big fan of whips in the bedroom.” He dug his elbow into Ben's ribcage.

“Of course not, that’s not my thing.” Larry couldn’t decide if Ben's rosy cheeks were caused by the alcohol or the conversation.

“What do you mean ‘not your thing’? Are you telling me that there is no aspect of kinky sex that turns you on?” The colour went from rosy to beetroot – it was definitely the conversation.

“I just – um – er – well maybe – um,” Ben spluttered, “my sex life is none of your business,” he said at last.

“Come on, if we were women we would talk about these things nonstop!” Larry wasn’t quite sure if that proved Simon’s point, but he couldn’t help joining in.

“Mat practically is a woman,” he added, receiving a kick from Mat under the table.

“I’ll start us off,” Simon beamed, not in the least bit shy or afraid to divulge his desires. “I like roleplay.”

“You do that for a living,” exclaimed Ben.

“Well why else do you think I took this job?” He wiggled his eyebrows and Mat and Ben shrunk away from the images that were forming in their minds. Larry, on the other hand, had to cross his legs to hide any activity that he was afraid may start going on there.

“I like using food,” piped up Mat. Simon thumped him on the back.

“Ah yes, nothing better than some chocolate sauce and whipped cream.”

Ben scratched the back of his head awkwardly and cleared his throat as he said, “I… I quite like dirty talk.” Mat pulled an approving face.

“With a posh voice like that I can understand why it would work.”

And then all eyes turned to Larry.

“Oh, erm… well… I've never really done it, but I like the idea of using handcuffs.”

“Use ties,” winked Mat, “they are more comfortable than cuffs.”

“OKAY!” Ben put his hands up in surrender. “Can we talk about something else now please, before we turn into the male version of Sex and the City?”

~~3

It was the Tuesday after the night at the pub, and the next time Larry and Simon organised to spend the night together. It was Larry’s turn to go round Simon’s, and it was a cold day so he had come in an infinite number of layers. As he stripped off the first few layers in the bedroom, intending to leave the rest for his lover, he spotted Simon hovering by the door with a magnificent glint in his eye.

“What?” Simon turned slightly bashful.

“Well…” He produced a pair of handcuffs from behind his back and grinned.

“Oh,” was all Larry could say.

“I know Mat said to use ties, but I thought we could do it the traditional way first and then get a bit more experimental later.”

Larry did not have to be told twice. He dived at Simon, clutching at his shirt and pulling him on top of him, working at those buttons like it was an insult for them to be done up. He could feel Simon grinning against his lips, and then without warning he felt cold metal on his wrist as his arm was force upward. He looked up to see Simon handcuffing his hand to the bedpost. He didn’t resist as Simon did the same with the other hand. Aroused, he watched as Simon climbed on top of him, teasing him by lightly stroking his cheekbone.

“This is going to be so much fun.”

  And it didn’t stop with handcuffs. They went from handcuffs to ties, to sex toys to food, even to Simon’s biggest turn on - role play, stealing costumes from work to fuel their fun.

  And so it was, two people meeting a few times a week for sex. Friends with benefits. Lovers. Fuck buddies. And still no one at work new. Larry had wondered once or twice if they suspected, but he told himself he was being paranoid.

  His worry was put to ease when, one day after work, Jim approached him as he was getting his make-up removed.

“How can I help you, your highness?” Jim had been filming a George the fourth sketch and so took the joke in good jest.

“I have brought you great news my loyal and dear friend.”

“Oh yes?” Jim stopped with the mockery and tried to look serious.

“Now don’t say no straight away-“

“No.” Jim pulled a face and persevered.

“I have this friend-“

“No.”

“He came over the other day and saw a photo I have of us. He liked the look of you. I told him about you and he asked me to give you his number.”

“Oh Jim no please!”

“Why not?” This was the second time in a row Larry had batted away a date offer away from Jim and this concerned Jim greatly, because he never had refused a date before. “Well?” Larry knew exactly why he had had this sudden change of heart, but the thought scared him and so he pushed it away.

“No, you’re right, why not.”

“Good,” Jim grinned in a tongue-in-cheek way, “because I told him to call you tonight.”

~~4

Friday’s day of filming was exhausting. They had filmed a song with a dance routine that they could only just keep up with. “We’re actors not dancers!” Ben liked to remind Caroline every time he got told off for doing something wrong. The final outcome was rather haphazard and awkward, but it was good enough for a children’s show so eventually ‘a wrap’ was called and everyone retreated to the makeup and costume room to get changed.

“We are never doing anything like that again,” said Jim flatly.

“Oh come on, don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it a little bit,” grinned Mat.

“Not all of us want to be rock stars Mat. Some of us are happy to play a Simon Cowell style grim reaper judging stupid deaths.” Simon pulled his wig off and ruffled his hair whilst looking in the mirror.

There were a couple of minutes of silence as everyone caught their breath and made themselves look presentable. Larry had swapped places with Simon, looking in the mirror fussing with the blobs of glue they used to stick false beards on with. He swore as he started the tedious business of picking out all the bits of glue.

“Oh yeah,” Jim grinned, “you are going to want to shower if you want all that out by tonight.”

“Ooh what’s going on tonight?” asked Mat, loving a bit of gossip. Larry tensed up, sneaking a side glance at Simon, but when he caught his gaze he quickly looked down at his feet.

“Out.”

“He’s got a date.” Jim was acting like a proud father, and did not pick up on the fact that Larry clearly didn’t want to talk about it.

“Ooh! Who with?” Mat gave Larry an encouraging nudge. He tried to smile in return.

“Just some guy.”

“A friend of mine,” beamed Jim.

“Ah, another one of yours eh Jim?” The others knew Jim occasionally tried to set people up. He thought he was a real life cherub. “What’s he like?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t had the date yet have I?” Larry snapped.

“Sorry I was only asking,” murmured Mat, surprised and wounded by Larry’s attack. Larry knew he had crossed a line, but he didn’t apologise. He didn’t want to explain why the thought of this date made him angry and defensive.

  They all finished getting ready in silence and, one by one, left, saying their goodbyes to who was still in the room. When Ben finally finished tying his shoelace, he stood, making it clear he was going and would be leaving Larry and Simon alone together.

“I’ll see you on Monday,” he said pleasantly.

“Bye,” Larry and Simon said in unison. Ben disappeared down the corridor, and a thick awkward atmosphere settled in the small room. Simon cleared his throat.

“So, you’ve got a date tonight.”

“Yup.” It was a statement more than a question but Larry felt he needed to say something.

“You never told me.” If anyone were to walk in on them, they would have assumed they were just two friends having a normal conversation with the indifferent way Simon was speaking. But Larry knew that by the way Simon couldn’t quite make eye contact with him that this date bothered him, and Larry wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that.

“Sorry, Jim was pushing me and this thing that we have-”

“No, it’s fine. Like we said, no strings attached.” He hesitated. “Wear your pastel blue shirt, I always liked you in that.”

Larry could almost hear his heart being suffocated by the emotions that were welling up inside of him. He had believed, hoped, that Simon wasn’t happy about this date, but he truly didn’t seem to care. I was kidding myself that he could feel that way about me, he thought. Air, he needed air. Scrambling to get all his things, he mumbled a quick goodbye and stumbled to the car park.

As soon as he got to his car, Larry hit his head on the wheel and began to sob. He felt horrible, like his lungs had tangled around his heart and were causing him so much pain. His mind was all over the place, he couldn’t think straight. He hadn’t done anything wrong, had he? No. So why was it hurting so much? Like Simon had said, it was a no strings attached agreement. Why did his heart have to get involved?

~~5

Larry didn’t know how long he had been crying in his car, but it had made him sleepy so a gentle rat-a-tat-tat on the window startled him. Ben’s frowning face was looking down at him through the glass. He wiped his wet cheeks and runny nose on his sleeve as he winded down the window.

“You alright mate?” With swollen red eyes and a croaky voice, there was no point Larry denying anything anymore.

“Not really, no.” Ben looked sympathetic.

“Tell you what, if you give me a lift home, you can tell me all about it and I will see what I can do.” Larry leant over the other side and opened the passenger side door. Ben climbed in and patted Larry’s shoulder.

“What are you doing out this late anyway? You left before I did!”

“I got caught by that camera man that likes to chat.” He then pulled a guilty face. “I saw your car and hoped you would give me a lift. It looked like it was going to rain.” As he said this, a few splashes of rain plopped on the windscreen. Larry switched on the windscreen wipers and pulled out into the main road. “So?” Larry teared up again. No! You can’t cry whilst driving, you’ll crash. Hold yourself together! His grip on the steering wheel got tighter.

“It’s, erm, it’s Simon. We’ve sort of been seeing each other.”

“Oh!”

“Well not seeing each other,” he gushed, “sort of friends with benefits.” Simon’s voice rang out in Larry’s head, fuck buddies, he half smiled at the thought.

“Oh,” Ben said again. He clearly did not know how to respond and was desperately trying to stop the images forming in his mind. “H-how long have you…” he made a gesture to try and explain what he couldn’t bring himself to say.

“A few months.”

“Oh.” Ben looked horribly wide eyed and pale. The images must have broken through his defences and now they would not shake. “What happened?”

“It’s this date.” Larry swallowed the lump in his throat. “We always agreed this was a no strings attached thing, if someone else came along and we wanted to end it then that was fine.”

“So what’s the problem?” Larry opened his mouth to answer, but then just gave a big sigh and shut it again. Ben answered for him. “It’s not Jim’s friend that you want to be on the date with is it?” Larry shook his head, feeling the lump in his throat once more. “You know what you have to do then don’t you?”

“What?” Larry sniffled.

“Well firstly you need to cancel your date. It’s not fair to him or you if you string him along, be honest and he will understand. Then you do what normal people do when they like someone, ask Simon out on a date.” It sounded so easy when Ben said it, and yet the thought turned Larry into a nervous wreck.

“Thanks for the lift,” said Ben as Larry pulled up outside his flat. “Just think about what I said.” And with a sympathetic smile he ran from the car to his porch to avoid getting soaked.

Larry’s mind was completely void of any conscious thought as he drove home. He focused on the road and the rain, on which direction to turn and what colour the traffic lights were, and he soon arrived home. Like Ben, he legged it to the house and unlocked the door. There was a bowl on the radiator cover and he threw his keys into it, a trick he had learnt from a TV advert so that he always knew where they were, and kicked his shoes off. Only then did he allow his brain talk to him about the situation he was in. The first thing he did was grab the house phone and dial the number on a scrap of paper he had written down a few days before.

“Hello?”

“Malcolm? Hi, it’s Larry.”

“Oh hello. What’s up?” Larry could hear the reservation in Malcolm’s voice. Nobody called their date a few hours before except to cancel it. It was a shame really; he seemed like such a nice person when they had spoken on the phone the day Jim had sprung it on him. He certainly had a lovely voice, deep and charming, it reminded Larry of Rupert Penry-Jones. Now, if I ever had a chance with him! When they had spoken, Larry had learnt a fair amount about him. He was a primary school teacher, and had been for seven years. He enjoyed the usual; music, beer, and sport. He had met Jim through the marriage of Jim’s sister and his brother and they had formed quite a strong friendship. He had been single for over a year and was looking for someone he could have fun with, but with the possibility to settle down with later on. He was the complete package really, and yet he was not the one Larry wanted.

“I'm going to have to cancel tonight, something came up, sorry.”

“That’s okay, some other time perhaps?” Ben's words rang out in Larry’s head. Be honest, don’t string him along.

“Maybe not.” Larry rubbed his forehead, it ached terribly. “You see the thing is, there is someone else.”

“Oh.”

“Jim didn’t know, he still doesn’t. I'm so sorry for leaving it until now to say this, I was unsure of how I felt about it all and-” Malcolm cut him off.

“You don’t have to explain anything to me, I understand. I'm just glad you told me this before the date.” Larry could hear the smile in his voice and a weight lifted from his shoulders.

“Um, I hate to ask this, but like I said, Jim doesn’t know about this and I'm not ready for him to know yet. Would it be unfair to ask you to keep my reasons to yourself for now?”

“My lips are sealed.”

“Thank you.”

There was a pause.

“I can’t deny I am a little disappointed,” said Malcolm, “you do look rather dashing in your photograph.” Larry laughed, a proper laugh, he hadn’t felt this at ease since Jim proposed this date.

“Sadly I can’t say the same for you as I do not know what you look like, but in my mind you are on par with Rupert Perry Jones.” Malcolm sucked air through his teeth, making an ‘eek’ sound.

“Then it is probably for the best that we never meet, for you would have been bitterly disappointed.” They laughed again. “It was very nice not meeting you Larry.”

“You too.”

“Goodbye, and good luck with your secret man!” And with that, the conversation ended.

~~6

By Monday Larry had hoped the excitement of his blind date would have died down, but he was not so fortunate. No sooner had he stepped into make-up had Jim pounced on him with questions.

“So, how did you like Malcolm?” Larry felt guilty; Jim had been so pleased to set up this date.

“I couldn’t go,” he mumbled. “Something came up. Family thing.”

“What?” Simon snapped his head round, his hands gripping tightly on the back of the chair Mat was sitting on. Larry was taken aback by the way he stared at him. Everyone gave Simon a questioning glance, except Ben, who’s expression was full of sympathy and understanding. Simon realised how odd he had sounded and tried to laugh it off. “Don’t tell me you stood him up?”

“Of course not!” Larry was offended that Simon could think he was possible of that. “I called him to cancel and we talked. It was sweet of you to set me up Jim but I am just not looking for anyone right now.”

“No problem, I did kind of push you into it.”

The conversation steered towards the script of the day and Larry soon got back into the rhythm of acting after an emotional rollercoaster of a weekend.

  “So?” said Ben when he finally cornered Larry on the way to the cafeteria during the lunch break.

“So what?” Larry could tell by the way Ben kept looking at him during the day and trying to get him to come with him on an errand and getting annoyed when others tagged along that he wanted to talk to him. He could also guess what it was about, and he really wasn’t in the mood for it.

“Please tell me you saw how Simon reacted when you said how you hadn’t been on your date?”

“He accused me of standing someone up.” He was still sore about that. Ben rolled his eyes.

“He was just trying to cover himself. He was relieved. You obviously haven’t asked him out yet, but you better do it soon before I bash your heads together.” With a shrug of his arms, Ben left leaving Larry to mull over what he had said. He was right of course, if you liked someone, and he did like Simon, he allowed himself to think for the first time, then you had to tell them how you felt if you intended to take it further. He couldn’t go back to the fuck buddies thing, he just couldn’t. It would hurt too much to know it meant nothing Simon. And if what Ben said was true, there may be a slight possibility that Simon liked him back! A knot tightened in Larry’s stomach.

  He was going to do this. There will be no Great British Bake Off for you tonight if you don’t; Larry scolded himself as he psyched himself up for what was inevitably going to be a fall. No, not a fall, you don’t know that yet.

He could see Simon at the end of the corridor, his bag over his shoulder as he chatted casually with Martha. All he had to do was to walk down there, join them, and then hang around until they separated, leaving him and Simon alone.

So why wouldn’t his legs move?

Stop being such a coward and get on with it, he shouted to himself, and with one great effort, he began to walk down the corridor towards the man he wished to talk to. Martha smiled at him as he approached so he smiled back. And then proceeded to walk straight past them.

Coward! Shut up this is harder than it looks. Well you’ve missed your chance now haven’t you? I’ll do it tomorrow. No you won’t and you know you won’t. You are going to be pining after him forever whilst he finds someone else and falls in love and gets married and- Shut up shut up shut UP!

So wrapped up in the conversation with himself, Larry did not hear someone call his name from behind him. He jumped as he felt a hand thump him on the shoulder.

“Shit Simon, you scared me half to death!” Simon would have been amused had he not been trying to catch his breath after chasing Larry, who walked surprisingly fast when he wanted to!

“Just thought how you were leaving so I might as well join you.”

“Riiight.” There was an awkward silence. Do it, do it now, the voice in Larry’s head was saying. I can’t. Why not? It’s not the right time. It will never be the right time. But it is just so awkward! You are always going to feel awkward if you don’t.

“I'm sorry that your date didn’t work out,” Simon mumbled, digging his hands into his jeans pockets.

“I feel more sorry for Malcolm, he sounded like an alright guy, I shouldn’t have agreed to the date if I had no intention of going.” Simon knotted his eyebrows together.

“I thought you said something unavoidable came up and you had to cancel?”

“Oh, erm, yeah, I may have twisted the truth a little bit there.” Larry cursed under his breath; he hadn’t meant to say that. Simon waited for an explanation. “I wasn’t really looking forward to the date and I talked to a friend about it and he made me realise it wasn’t what I wanted and it wasn’t fair to string Malcolm along, so I cancelled it before anyone got hurt.”

“Oh.” Simon kicked a small stone as they walked towards the car park. “Sounds like you need to have some fun.” He then half laughed like he was only joking when he said, “I don’t suppose you fancy coming back to my place tonight?” Larry’s heart was in his throat.

“No.”

“Didn’t think so. Stupid of me to suggest it. Sorry.”

“No, no!” Larry placed his hand on Simon’s chest, and then withdrew it immediately the moment he was conscious of it. He then stood still and straightened his back to emphasise that he was about to make a point. “I don’t want to go back to your place because I don’t want to do this fuck buddies thing anymore.” Simon was visibly taken aback by the bluntness of Larry’s words.

“Fine. I- Fine.” Simon began to walk towards his car looking shocked and confused. Larry only then realised how what he just said sounded like and slapped his forehead.

“No, wait, wait.” He chased Simon, who had stopped in his path but not turned around. “I didn’t mean it like that.” He placed his hand on Simon’s chest again, but this time did not remove it. “What I meant so say was; I don’t want to do this fuck buddies thing anymore, because I want more. I want a proper relationship. With you,” he added, just to make sure Simon understood what he was trying to say.

After an agonising pause Simon said, “I want that too.” Larry slowly began to grin, a smile that Simon matched immediately. His words sunk in and there was only one way Larry could respond to them. He clapped his hands on either side of Simon’s face and stood on tiptoes so he could kiss his man on the mouth. Simon wrapped his arms around Larry’s body, wanting to stay like that forever, safe and wanted in Larry’s arms. In need of air, they broke apart with flushed faces and swollen lips.

“Sorry about, er, not being clear at first. I should probably practise trying to explain feelings and not insulting the person I have feelings for.” Simon chuckled.

“Well I was surprised. I didn’t think the sex was that bad!” Larry mockingly tapped his chin with his finger and looked thoughtful.

“Was it that great? I'm not so sure…” Simon raised an eyebrow.

“I am just going to have to help you remember then aren’t I?” He took Larry by the hand and led him to the back seat of his car.

[bethxpfanfics-blog]

The Choice

“So who will you save, Arthur Pendragon? The one love of your pathetic life? Or the half which makes you whole?” He could have screamed. He could have allowed the sensation of his heart breaking translate into a loud battle cry until all the air left his lungs as he charged at his sister and plunged his sword into her chest. But then he would lose them both and then truly be alone in the world. Merlin and Guinevere. The two people who meant the most to him in the universe, ones he could not live without, and he had to choose. He couldn’t face the thought of losing either of them, he wasn’t sure if he could cope with that kind of pain. He clenched his jaw so hard it felt like his teeth would crumble under the pressure. He forced his lips tightly together so that the scream that so badly wanted to escape came out as only a whimper. He continued to hold the sword to Morgana’s heart, ensuring she felt the tip of the blade every time her chest expanded as she breathed. She did not look phased as she stared death in the face, in fact, there was a small smile dancing on her lips. She was watching the pain in Arthur’s expression and was enjoying every second of it. Killing Arthur was no longer enough for her. After everything she had endured, she wanted Arthur to suffer, and suffer cruelly. To take away someone he loved was easy enough, but that pain would subside and Arthur would get back to being the king and ruler of Camelot. No. Morgana wanted him to feel a pain that he would never get over, something that would haunt him to his grave. To force him to choose between the two most important people in his life was genius. Either Arthur would not choose, possibly offering himself up in exchange for both lives (which he had, but Morgana had simply laughed in his face and said that was not the game), and have both their deaths on his hands, or he would choose and blame the death of the one he rejected on himself whilst not being able to look at the other in the face. Guilt was the worst pain of all. “Choose wisely, dear brother,” she whispered, and Arthur’s grip on his sword slacked slightly. He looked up, past where he and Morgana were crouched on the stone floor of Morgana’s lair. Behind them were two figures swinging in the air, arms above their heads as their wrists were bound together with rope and hoisted up with some kind of magic. Arthur knew there was some sort of enchantment surrounding them, Morgana had said as much, and the rope holding one of his beloved’s up was the life line of the other and when cut would kill the person it represented. He also knew the only way to get them down was the cut the rope. There was no hope of cutting the ropes at the same time for one rope would always be cut first and it would be that person who would be saved. And he could not untie the knots as the rope had melted together at the joints like wax and it would be impossible to untangle. It was hopeless. Either he chose or he lost them both. His arm slackened some more, the sword was getting heavy, but he did not relax completely. He had to keep Morgana under control of his sword. It settled a very small part of his mind knowing exactly where she was and that she could not move. Even though she probably could, a voice said in the back of his mind, she’s just choosing not to because she has no reason to. She knows you have to make a choice and she’s waiting around until you make it. New found anger surged through Arthur’s body and he held the sword higher and firmer than before. The tip of the blade pressed into Morgana’s chest, and she winced ever so slightly at the sudden fury, but then she collected herself and tilted her head to the side, raising an eyebrow. This was it, there was no way out, he had to make a choice. Shaking, Arthur looked up again at the swinging bodies. They had both called him when he had come charging into the cave, Guinevere screaming for help and Merlin telling him to go back and save himself. Then Morgana had appeared and both had lost their voices immediately. Arthur had taken a swing at her but she used her powers to push the sword away. She had then revealed the choice she wanted Arthur to make, and what would happen if he didn’t and when he did. Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur had seen Guinevere begin to struggle unsuccessfully against her bonds, Merlin just hung there, weak and powerless. Arthur looked at Guinevere first. She was terrified. Her face damp with the tears that had flowed from the moment of her capture, but she had long since run out and settled with sobbing as she silently pleaded with Arthur to be her knight in shining armour that he once had been before and save her. Her dress had been shredded from the attack and kidnap, and there was mud and grass stains from where she must have been forced to walk through the forest no doubt tied to a horse or cart of some sort. Arthur tried to imagine a life without Gwen. She was his queen, and a good one at that. The kingdom would mourn her greatly when she passed. She was a great asset to the court and was highly respected, her kind and compassionate nature along with her intelligence provided solutions to problems that, under the reign of Uther, would have been solved with bloodshed, and Arthur had always wanted to avoid this as much as possible. Arthur cared for her greatly, he was not sure if he could marry another woman after her, nor could he think of a better person to one day be the mother of his child. She knew him well enough to know when to push him to be his best and when to step back and allow Arthur to make his own decisions and mistakes. She never judged and always knew the best way to convey concerns. He also enjoyed her company in the evenings after a long day’s training or patrolling and she would always be there waiting for him when he got back from trips away. She was a good queen. Then Arthur’s eyes drifted to Merlin, limp and still like the life had been drained from him. His eyelids were heavy and his breathing shallow and Arthur knew that if he left it too long fate would decide who would survive and not him. Arthur could not bear to see Merlin like this. It hurt. Merlin was his closest and loyalist friend. Arthur could talk to him about every secret, every fear, and every happiness he felt, something he could not even do with his knights, some of which he had grown up with and known long before Merlin came into the equation. Arthur thought fondly of their first encounter, when Merlin dared to speak out against him and challenge him to a fight. And then he saved his life. Not out of duty or love of his king, but because that’s what kind of person he was. And from that day he went on to save Arthur’s life many times, more than Arthur knew, Arthur suspected, and never once asked for thanks. Merlin was a prat. He was stupid, an idiot, and a girl. He was also wise beyond his years and the one person Arthur could always rely on. He was special. The connection he shared with Merlin was unlike anything he had ever experienced in his life. The petty arguments and insults were the only way they knew how to express how they felt about each other, and if Arthur was honest, he was one of the reasons he got up in the morning. Merlin made him who he was and he did not see the point in being king if Merlin was not there to advise him when he needed advising. Gwen and Merlin had both noticed the change in Arthur’s expression and were both now silent for another reason. Arthur was going to make his decision, because to save one of them was a lesser of two evils, and they knew that if Arthur had the chance to save a life he would take it. Morgana, too, had noticed it and fully intended to get an answer. “So,” Arthur turned sharply at the sound of her voice, his eyes both pleading and staring daggers at her, “what’s it going to be?” Arthur hesitated, once again contemplating just running his sister through with the sword, but then he allowed his aching arm to go limp as stood up and turned to face the two most important people in his world. His whole body was shaking as he approached them. In a trance like state he stood before them. They weren’t too far off the ground really, maybe a foot or two, so Arthur did not have to lift his head up much to look them both in the eye. They were both afraid. He could not do this. How could he do this? And then he heard it. A hoarse whisper barely audible as it escaped the lips of the body on the left of him. “Ar…thur…” It was so quiet, so weak, Arthur knew every syllable caused the owner pain. “Yes Merlin,” he whispered so that it was at the same level as Merlin’s voice, he did not want to make Merlin feel even more feeble or have him believe this was an easy choice to make. Merlin blinked so slowly Arthur was afraid he was not going to open his eyes again, but then those brilliant blue irises were back in his sights and Merlin took a deep breath for strength. “Save her.” Arthur stared at Merlin; he had made his choice for him. Just like every time Arthur did not know what to do, Merlin was there to tell him what was right. He should cut down Guinevere, the queen of Camelot, his wife, and take her back to their kingdom where they would continue to rule with the honour and compassion that they always had. They would take back the news of Merlin’s death and explain what had happened. Everyone would be very sorry and grieve but they would understand, Guinevere was his wife and Merlin was just a manservant, there could not have been any other outcome. They would give Merlin a proper knight’s burial and ensure his mother was set up for life. And then Arthur would go back to how it was before; ruling the kingdom, meetings and patrols and training sessions, just without the quips and laughter and the funny stirring in his stomach every time Merlin smiled at him. “No.” The sound of his voice surprised Arthur. He found himself still staring at Merlin and he had to blink a few times to clear the thoughts swirling around his head. “No,” he said again, much more fierce this time and shaking his head. The strength in his voice seemed to be absorbed by Merlin as he suddenly had the energy to stir and speak. “Arthur, listen to me, your happiness is more important than your duty to Albion. You don’t need me to unite the five kingdoms, I-” For a moment it looked as though Merlin was about to say something but then changed his mind and settled with, “I believe in you.” “You’re right, I must follow my heart.” Merlin nodded and then returned to his exhausted self, satisfied with his choice. It was then that Arthur turned to Guinevere. At first he kept his eyes shut, he felt so ashamed and couldn’t bear to look at her, but he knew that she deserved more than that. Slowly he opened his eyes. She knew, somehow Arthur could tell, they had been friends for years so it should not have come as such a surprise. Arthur expected her to thrash and struggle, to plead for her life, or yell at him for leading her on all this time, but instead she simply gave him a sad smile. “It’s okay,” she said, choking back tears, “I understand. Just promise me something.” “Anything,” Arthur swore immediately. Gwen gave him another soft smile. “Don’t blame yourself. I could not live knowing I had taken Merlin from you, I forgive you. I will be with Lancelot, I will be happy.” Arthur lifted himself up on tip toes and cupped her head in his hands, kissing the base of her cheek that he could just about reach. He then stepped back and turned to Morgana, who had been standing and watching them where Arthur had left her. “You ask me to choose between the love of my life and the half that makes me a whole? Then I shall give you my answer, I choose both. I choose Merlin.” “What?” both Morgana and Merlin screamed at the same time. Merlin began to struggle against his restraints. “No Arthur, save Gwen, you love her not me. Why else would you-” Arthur grabbed hold of Merlin’s clothing in his fists and pulled him as close as he could. “Do you love me?” he asked unblinkingly. “W-what?” “Do you love me? I have to know Merlin, I have to.” Merlin hesitated, his hard and shocked exterior crumbling as Arthur scrutinised him. “Yes.” Arthur was on tip toes immediately, forcing a hard and desperate kiss on Merlin’s lips. He then ended it abruptly and pushed away, turning to face Guinevere one last time. “I am so sorry,” he said, allowing a tear to fall. “Goodbye Arthur,” she replied, giving him one last smile that broke his heart. Forcing those feelings aside for when he could deal with them properly, he moved so that he stood behind Merlin and look Morgana square in the face. “I choose Merlin.” With one quick sweep of his sword, the rope which held Merlin up was cut and Merlin fell into Arthur’s open arms. Arthur’s legs buckled under the weight and he dropped to the ground, holding Merlin close to his chest to protect him from any more harm. At the same time Gwen’s body came crashing down on the hard stone floor and crumpled in an unmoving heap to the side of them. Morgana had disappeared. As soon as Arthur had untied him, Merlin crawled over to Gwen’s body and searched for any signs of life. It was hopeless. Arthur knelt beside Merlin and brushed a strand of hair out of Gwen’s peaceful face. They sat silently side by side for some time, unsure of what to say or do. It was Merlin who broke the silence. “Thank you,” he said quietly, although Arthur wasn’t sure if he deserved the thanks. “I should have been me but-” “Merlin listen to me,” Arthur said harshly, there was no way he was going to allow Merlin to feel guilty over this, “losing Gwen is… horrible, but if it had been the other way around, if it had been you that…” he couldn’t bring himself to say the word, “I couldn’t live without you,” he said at last. And then Merlin began to sob. The physical and emotional exhaustion overcame him and he just buried his head in his hands and let it all out. Arthur wrapped his arms around him and pulled him towards his chest, holding him as he rubbed circles on his back. “Hush hush hush, it’s okay, it’s all over now, I love you, it’s okay.” It wasn’t okay, but Arthur knew that it would be. It would take time, they would need to adjust, to accept everything that had happened. And as much as Arthur hated himself right now, he had made a promise to Gwen and he was determined to see it through. He promised to himself that he would punish Morgana for the pain she had caused and put an end to all her meddling. One day he and Merlin would rule the greatest kingdom in history together, side by side, and it was that thought that gave him the strength to get to his feet, encourage Merlin to do the same, scoop Gwen’s body up and over his shoulder, take Merlin’s hand in his, and make his way back to Camelot. No, everything was not okay, but it would be.

[bethxpfanfics-blog]

Second Opinion

“I need a second opinion,” said James out loud to nobody in particular as he stumbled around in circles looking for a victim.

Danny was in front of him, but James dared not disturb her as she concentrated on piping her mixture into the chocolate casing. He spun round and saw Sue, but she was talking to Cathryn and he didn’t want to interrupt their little interview. He turned again and his eyes locked on John, who had just put down a utensil and was about to move on to the next stage of the bake.

“John!” he breathed as he raced to John's bench with his piping bag full of marshmallow. “Would you try this for me please and tell me if you think I have whisked it enough?”

John frowned.

“I barely have enough time to make sure mine is alright and you want me to check yours?” he scoffed.

“Please?” James ducked his head and looked at John through his eyelashes, giving them a good few bats. He pouted as well, giving the best puppy dog expression he could muster.

“Oh well that’s not fair,” John replied in a low, husky voice, “you know full well that I can’t refuse you when you look at me like that.”

James flushed momentarily, the memory of what had happened in the shadow of the tree a few weeks ago still imprinted in his mind. The hot, sticky day, the removal of jumpers and shirts that were buttoned up too high, and the skin on skin contact that made James yearn for more.

John must have been thinking along the same lines because he, too, had colour on his cheeks. For a heartbeat they stayed as they were, gazing at each other with the memory of their passion, and the burning desire to repeat it.

Someone from another station dropped a saucepan and the crash brought them back to their senses. They were in a competition, and getting distracted would not help them win.

“Go on then,” said John as he straightened his back and stuck out his bare arm.

“Thank you,” James beamed. Carefully he hovered his piping bag over the back of John's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. A small heap of marshmallow was deposited on John’s skin. James’ first thought was how well it had come out of the tube. Not too thick so that it clogged up, but not too thin so that it was runny and dripping.

But the baker in him grinded to a halt when John went to try his concoction.

John's gaze was transfixed on James and it was so intense that James could not look away. John brought his hand to his mouth and then hesitated, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He opened his mouth and then engulfed the sweet mess in one great action.

James’ lips parted ever so slightly as he sucked air between his teeth, clenching his fists as he fought his animalistic urges.

John pulled back slightly and a white residue could still be seen on the back of his hand. But John did not miss this. Allowing just enough space so that James could see, he poked his pale pink tongue out and began to drag it slowly over his skin to lap up the remains. Every twist and turn was deliberate, and James had to keep reminding himself of the cameras everywhere so that he would not let out a moan.

When he was done, John dropped his hand to his side and grinned.

“Gorgeous,” he murmured, well aware of the effect he had had on James, and pleased with it.

“What are you two up to then?” The boys jumped as Sue put her arm round James and looked between them.

“I was just trying James’ marshmallow,” said John innocently. James, however, looked like a rabbit in the headlights, like they had been caught out. “It’s very good.”

“Well you’ve only got an hour left so I suggest you spend less time helping James and more time focusing on your own marshmallow!” Taking the hint, James scooted back to his own station and tried to focus on the job in hand.

A couple of minutes later he couldn’t resist the urge to sneak a glance at John. He looked over his shoulder and caught John's eye. John winked back, making James blush violently.

*

As he collected his things at the end of a fairly successful day, James felt a hand on his back and turned to see John smiling down at him.

“Well done, you are going to be star baker tomorrow, I know it!”

“That would be nice; it is my birthday tomorrow so it would be a brilliant present.”

“It’s your birthday tomorrow?” James nodded and John lowered his eyelids, his voice suddenly becoming very suggestive. “Then I must think of an appropriate gift for you.”

“Oh there is only one thing I want from you,” James whispered, their noses almost touching. “I want what I saw today, except I want to be the one sucking that marshmallow off you, and not just off your hand.” John pulled a devilish grin.

“I'm sure that can be arranged.”

[bethxpfanfics-blog]

Now And Forever

“And the winner of The Great British Bake Of 2012 is.”

James held his breath. He had not won, he knew that. Under cooked pastry was a rookie mistake and Paul would not accept that in a final. He may have produced the best fondant fancies out of the three, but they were so close, it did not make up for his mistake in the first round.

He had gone home that night distraught. He knew he would not win and he was heartbroken. He had called his mother immediately and cried to her, venting his frustration at himself and how disappointed he was. He then, very slowly and with the help of his mother, had come to accept it. Before he went to bed he vowed to himself that he would do his best in the final challenge, and enjoy it as much as he could as he would not get the chance again.

Even though he had told himself this, he had felt solemn all day, and he knew that it had seeped into his chiffon sponges. They were not up to scratch, he could have done better. He didn’t not put everything into it, he wasn’t the type to give up when something didn’t go his way, but his usual flair and blagging skill just wasn’t there today, and it meant it was not there in his baking either.

All James wanted now was for Sue to say John's name and then he would be happy. John wanted this more than anyone else in the competition, James knew that, and he would be more than happy to lose to the man he cared for. He, James, enjoyed baking, but he wanted to be a doctor. He was dedicating seven years of his life to studying for it for goodness sake! But John, he wanted to spend his life in the patisserie business. He had told James how he planned to get properly trained in France, although he had tried not to think too much about it. He needed this, deserved this, and James couldn’t bare it if it went the other way.

It had been perhaps five seconds into Sue’s pause, and yet it felt like hours. And then everything felt like slow motion. Her lips parted as her chest inflated as she took a breath ready to speak. And then, like lightning ripping through a storm, her voice rumbled across the crowd.

“John!”

Applause erupted, James clapping with them as a shocked and teary eyed John accepted his award. Any disappointment or regrets James may have felt disappeared as he saw the look of pure joy on John's face. He deserved this, and James could not be happier.

He wanted to go over and tell John so, but before he knew it they were surrounded by friends and family all congratulating and commiserating everyone. He, with the rest of the finalists, were given a large bouquet of flowers that he didn’t really know what to do with, and finalists each in turn were asked for a quick interview. James kept it brief, trying not to sound too pleased considering he had lost, and then he went over to his mother as he watched longingly as John was interviewed next.

“I'm sorry son,” she was saying, and James did his best to pay attention as he watched John trying not to cry.

“Don’t be, I knew I wouldn’t win.” He gave her an honest smile to try and convince her he was telling the truth.

“You did really well to get this far. Out of the hundreds, possibly thousands that applied, you got into the final, and that is something to be proud of.”

“I know.”

“Come on, I want to try your Scotland cake.” She tried to tug him away but he resisted.

“It’s a chiffon sponge actually mum,” he corrected in a mockingly posh voice. He glanced over at John again and saw his interview had finished. “And I’d just like to congratulate John.”

Without waiting for a reply he left her, striding over to John where he stood looking like a lost puppy. As he spotted James approaching he beamed, making James’ stomach tie into knots.

James did not say a word as he reached John. He just stretched out his arms and enveloped him into a tight hug. John nuzzled into his neck, his lips pressed against his skin, and James squeezed him tighter. The crowd had started cheering again.

“I am so proud of you,” James whispered and he heard John half hiccup half sob a laugh.

“I'm sorry, it should have been you.”

“Don’t you ever ever think that, you deserve this more than anyone. My super star baker.”

He released John from the embrace but kept his hands loosely resting on his hips so that they were still invading each other’s personal space.

Like some telepathic act, James asked John a question with a simple pinch of the eyebrows and worried smile, and John responded with a quick nod that could easily have been missed if you were not looking for it. But James saw it, and it was all he needed to know. As the rain drizzled on them making their hair and clothes damp, their eyes locked. James cupped John's face in his hands, brushing his thumb along his jawline. He then leant forward, hesitated to make sure this was what John wanted, and when he did not pull away he pressed a soft delicate kiss on his lips.

They suddenly became aware of a deafening silence. As they broke the kiss they glanced around to see about thirty pairs of eyes staring at them in dumbfoundness.

James gave John’s hand a squeeze, and with that confidence boost John took a step forward towards his mother.

“You wanted to know who my secret boyfriend was,” he shrugged, giving a strained laugh.

His mother stared between James and John for some time as the information processed in her mind. And then, like a penny suddenly dropping, she reached out a hand for James to shake.

“Hi, I’m Joanne, John’s mum.”

“Hello,” replied James, his Scottish accent shaking more than usual. “James.”

“I guessed that,” she smiled fondly. She looked at him for some time and James felt nervous under her glare, but then she smiled again. “John always spoke highly of you but I had no idea… Thank you.”

“I’m sorry?” James did not quite understand.

“John's been different these past few weeks. Happier, brighter, albeit a little distracted from his studies.” She shot a disapproving look at her son. “I had guessed a secret boyfriend had been the cause and so now I’ve met you I just wanted to say thank you for making my son happier than I have ever seen him in my life.”

James did not know what to say to that, so true to his nature he blushed and ducked his head shyly.

“I should say the same to John then I think.” A voice from behind them made them spin round.

“Mum!” James spluttered. “Err John this is my mum.”

“Eleanor,” she smiled as she hugged John tightly. “And I feel I should say that everything your mother has just said is true for my boy too. I’ve never seen him so happy.”

“Muum,” James groaned like an embarrassed teenager.

“And I hope to continue to do so Mrs Morton,” John said earnestly, giving James a squeeze.

“Eleanor, please.”

The chatter started up again, everyone adding James and John’s relationship to the list of congratulations. Cathryn was particularly pleased, squealing ‘I knew it’ over and over again.

“Was it love at first sight? I bet it was. I always thought you’d make a cute couple, the way you grinned at each other and sat next to each other, I should have guessed!”

The news had its fifteen minutes of excitement and then everybody went back to their social groups and families, making the most of the free food.

John had his arm hung loosely over James’ shoulders, nibbling a slice of James’ Scotland sponge.

“I don’t know what Paul was talking about, this is yummy!” James was going to reply when the sound of the clearing of a throat made them turn. The director was standing there with a cameraman looking sheepish as he spoke.

“Excuse me boys but could I talk to you about… this?” He gestured to the arm John had round James. The boys nodded so he continued. “You see, we were filming general wide shots and happen to catch that kiss on camera, and we were wondering if you would mind if we showed it as part of the programme.”

“Oh,” said John, as he looked at James, who shrugged.

“People are going to find out anyway I suppose.”

“Great, great,” beamed the director, not wanting them to change their minds. He then pulled another apologetic-but-not-really-sorry look. “We were also hoping for a little interview… with the two of you about… it all.” Again James shrugged.

“I don’t mind.”

“Mmhmm,” John agreed, “okay, yeah sure.”

“Excellent.”

As the cameraman quickly set up his equipment, John linked arms with James and took a deep breath.

“Here we go, soon the world will know. I wonder if we will get hounded by paparazzi.”

“Oh god I hope not,” James recoiled at the thought. “It would drive me insane!”

“Well don’t worry; I’ll be there to beat them all down with a stick.”

“Promise?” asked James, amused.

“Promise. You and me, now and forever.”

[bethxpfanfics-blog]

Do Ya Think I'm Sexy

"So that's it, is it?" ask Sally, fuming. Sherlock looked at her blankly. "Yes, is that a problem?" Sally let out a shrill and then threw what was left of her tea, and there was quite a lot of it, over Sherlock. She did not appreciate having her date, who was picking her up at the police station, frightened off by the freak of London town. Sherlock did not react to the attack, only blinked at her with an innocent look on his face, which annoyed her more. With another shrill she stormed out of Lestrade's office. "Sherlock!" Lestrade groaned as he darted out after Sally to make sure she didn't kill anyone on the way home.

John winced as he watched Sherlock take off his blazer and begin to dab himself down with the tissues on Lestrade's desk. He had known for some time that he found Sherlock attractive, and seeing him in a dripping wet shirt did not help matters. For a while he had been suppressing urges and dirty thoughts, knowing that he and his roommate would never be more than friends, and he didn't want to jeopardise that by scaring Sherlock away with his feelings.

He looked away from Sherlock and shifted in his chair. Sherlock noticed this and a smirk grew on his face as he looked down at himself, knowing that it was his wet shirt that was making John feel uncomfortable. "If you want my body and you think I'm sexy come on sugar let me know!" "Wha-what?" John spluttered out. Sherlock stood up and leaned over John who automatically leant back as far as he could go. "If you really need me just reach out and touch me come on honey tell me so!" John blinked repeatedly as Sherlock stared deep into his eyes. John swallowed hard. He was acting shy, looking for an answer. Sherlock brushed his lips against John's ear as he said, "come on honey, let's spend the night together." He began to kiss John's ear, then slowly he moved downwards towards his neck. Stuttering John said, "Now hold on a minute, before we go much further," but then he paused as he wasn't sure what to say. "Well?" The glint in Sherlock's eye hypnotised John. With a smile he said, "give me a dime so I can call my mother."

They catch a cab to his high-rise apartment. John grinned as he looked out of the taxi window. At last he can tell him exactly what his heart meant!

John had barely shut the door of their flat when Sherlock grabbed him from behind and swung him around so they were face to face, noses almost touching. Again he said, "If you want my body and you think I'm sexy come on sugar let me know." Slowly Sherlock began to undo the buttons on John's shirt. His lips were millimetres away from John's but he would not quite kiss him. He's teasing me, thought John, and I love it! In a soft whisper Sherlock continued, "if you really need me just reach out and touch me come on honey tell me so."

John's shirt was fully open now, Sherlock looked down at his handy work and smiled. John was still a little afraid and unsure so Sherlock took John's hand and placed it on his top button, an offer for him to undo his shirt buttons too. Mechanically John did as he was told. His heart was beating like a drum because at last he's got his boy home. Sherlock shook off the shirt and then helped John with his. Sherlock stepped forward and leant over John, forcing him to fall back onto the sofa he had seen Sherlock lay on so many times before. He had wanted this for such a long time and now that it was actually happening he was terrified! Sherlock, laying on top of him, brushed the fringe of John's hair and placed a delicate kiss on his cheek as he whispered in his ear, "Relax baby, now we're all alone..."

[bethxpfanfics-blog]

Secrets And Fans

They had been eyeing each other all evening, the sexual tension was reaching breaking point and yet there was nothing they could do as they were surrounded by at least twenty other persons insisting on their company and conversation. No matter how they tried, they could not find a way to be alone together. Mr Mat Baynton sipped at his wine as he continued to pretend to be interested in the conversation in which he had been engaged. A young, quite attractive lady of the name Miss Howe-Douglas talked of how she had recently moved to the area and was already quite fond of the place and the people in it. Fortunately, Mat was not the only one with whom she was talking, and a man named Mr Howick eagerly provided most of the conversation, and Mat sensed a possible romance blooming there. Mat had only need to make the occasional humming noise in agreement to satisfy his two acquaintances. The problem was that Mat was unable to focus. Against his silent wishes, he had been seated at the other end of the table from the one he so desperately wanted to talk to. He watched as Mr Willbond elegantly scooped the soup up with his spoon and raised it to his lips, tipping it upward and letting the liquid trickle down his throat. He caught Mat's eye, and Mat could have sworn he had winked at him. He looked away quickly in the hope that his cheeks were not as burning red as they felt. "Pray tell me," Miss Howe-Douglas said in a hushed tone, "I have been introduced to most of the guests with which we are dining, but there is a small group of men at the other end of the table to which I have not yet to have the privilege. Who are they?" She nodded in the direction of Mr Willbond and the party that had come with him to this ball. "The man whom is telling the jokes that everyone is laughing at is Mr Rickard," explained Mr Howick. "He owns the Manor you most likely saw on your journey here. He is very rich and provides many of the peasants around here with work. He even gives them food!" Miss Howe-Douglas looked rather astonished at this discovery. Mat was a good friend of Mr Rickard, Larry, and so was used to this most unusual behaviour. "The man on his left is a Mr Farnaby. I have yet to make his acquaintance but I hear he is a most amiable man. The man situated on the right of Mr Rickard is Mr Willbond." Mat tried to ignore the flutter that his heart gave when this name was spoken. "He is a friend of Mr Rickard's and is staying with him at the Manor. He arrived a fortnight ago." And it has been the best fortnight of my life, thought Mat as he looked up at the said man once again. He had been informed that Larry would have a guest staying in his home for some months whilst his own was being refurbished, but not once did Mat consider that this man would sweep him off his feet as he did when they first met. Larry had invited him to luncheon with him and his friend, but when he arrived he noted that only Larry was there to greet him. "My friend has fallen asleep after his journey, it will be a great relief I think for he looked exhausted when he arrived yesterday. I am sure he will join us when he is fully regenerated." The two of them had a pleasant lunch of tea and salmon sandwiches, and after retired to the sitting room where Larry smoked a cigar, Mat refusing the offer to have one himself. They talked for a short while when Larry interrupted the recital of a childhood memory to exclaim the presence of a visitor. "Ah Mr Willbond, you have awoken!" Mat had jumped at this unexpected change in subject and followed Larry's lead by standing so that he could welcome the stranger. Mat did not know what he had expected when he turned to face the guest, but he most certainly did not expect his body to react in such a way that it did. He caught his breath as his heart skipped a beat. The man before him was young, with a pleasing face and sparkling blue eyes that were still adjusting to the light after his slumber. His hair was of a dark shade, with strands of silver running through it that made him look distinguished and intelligent. His clothing was fashionable, but not flamboyant that so often came with men who could afford to refurbish their homes. The man smiled at Mat, small dimples forming on either side of his mouth as he did so, and, after a moment of staring, Mat politely bowed. The man returned the gesture. "This," Larry said to Mat, "is Mr Ben Willbond; he shall be staying with me for some time. This," he then said to Mr Willbond, "is Mr Mat Baynton whom I told you about." "It is good to meet you at last Mr Baynton; Mr Rickard has spoken very highly of you." Mat was unable to form a coherent verbal reply; the posh, warm voice of this Mr Willbond had caused his own heart to beat as such a speed that it was surely not healthy. Instead he smiled and inclined his head, hoping his friend would initiate the conversation, giving him time to regain his ability to speak. Over the next two weeks, Mat found himself visiting the Manor often and inviting the habitants there for tea at his own humble abode. He became acquainted enough with Mr Willbond to call him 'friend', and the right to call each other by their Christian names. They were comfortable and happy in each other's company, and Mat found himself falling for this young man. He did not realise it immediately, not until Larry had teased Ben in front of Mat about a lady who Larry had insisted had flirted with Ben that morning in town. The serge of jealousy that burned through Mat's body had come as quite a surprise to him, and he had decided that moment to steer clear of Ben and his charms. In his mind he was determined that this would be his last visit to the Manor for some time. That was his intention, but when Ben suggested they go for a walk in the grounds after dinner, Mat could not bring himself to say no, and so the two of them walked out of the house and down the stone path. "There is a small pavilion round here that is hidden from sight," said Ben as he led Mat to the place that he spoke of. "Oh," was all Mat could say, the thought of being completely alone with Ben terrified him, for he did not trust his own body to behave itself. Round the corner, behind a huge rose bush, stood a marvellous stone pavilion. It was no more than ten feet wide, barely enough room for the two of them, and it was falling apart so that the white paintwork cracked and the ivy swamped it, but it was magnificent. "I did not know about this place, it is quite a si-" But before he could finish his sentence, Ben had him by the shoulders and he was forcing him to look him in the eye. "Mr Baynton," he began, "forgive me for what I am about to tell you but I feel I must say it. For it has been praying on my mind since the day we met and I cannot ignore it any longer. If it makes you uncomfortable I am happy to find other accommodation whilst my home is uninhabitable." At this Mat panicked, he could not bare the thought of Ben leaving him. "The thing is, I do believe I have feelings for you, ones that cause my heart to burst and my stomach to tie into knots every time I lay my eyes on you. I pray daily that I may see you, and then I am sad when I do not. I yearn to make you smile, and my body aches when I see you frown. I am aware that these feelings are not reciprocated and inappropriate, but they are known to no one but ourselves and I am willing to keep it that way if you so wish. But I felt I must tell you, before I did something I would regret." He averted his eyes, preparing for the pain of rejection he knew was coming. "Mr Willbond," Mat replied, quite breathless, "I can assure you that these feelings," Ben tightly shut his eyes in preparation for the blow, "are the exact reflection of what I feel for you." "I… I beg your pardon?" "From the day we met I have found myself falling more and more…" he could not say the 'L' word, "in your favour. I feared, as you did, of what you may have thought should you discover the truth and I had resorted in withdrawing myself from your company. But now, as you come to me with such wonderful news, I want nothing more than to be by your side always." Mat felt pin pricks in the back of his eyes as he gravitated towards Ben's being. "Ah there you are! I have been looking for the pair of you." Mat and Ben jumped apart as Larry appeared out of nowhere. "I see you have shown Mat your discovery!" "Y-your discovery?" inquired Mat as he tried to act innocent and unsuspicious. Ben coughed. "Yes I found this little place as I walked around the grounds a few nights ago." "I have no idea it was here," shrugged Larry as he patted Ben on the back. "Perfect place to get up to something don't you think?" Mat choked on his breath. "Not getting a cold, are you boy?" "Mr Baynton, Mr Baynton!" Mat snapped out of his reminiscences as Miss Howe-Douglas called his name. "Mr Howick and I are going to dance, would you care to join us?" "No thank you, but do enjoy yourselves," he added as the two of them left the table and walked into the next room hand in hand. For a short time Mat engaged in conversation with the man who sat on the other side of him, a young inventor by the name of Mr Lewin. He had yet to create something that would make his fortune, but he was confident in his future success. Mr Lewin could have talked for England, but when finally excused himself, Mat found he had no one left to talk to, and decided he would search for Ben in the ballroom. As he stood, he saw a small object resting on the table. It was a lady's fan. Mat assumed Miss Howe-Douglas had left it there by mistake and picked it up so that he may return it to her. The party was in full swing as Mat entered the ballroom. Most of the guests had gathered in there now and many had paired up and were dancing to the music in the middle of the room. Mat took a space on the side lines so that he could survey the room without getting involved himself. Ben was talking a group of men Mat did not know, and he dared not talk to Ben in front of others after what had happened last time they were alone together. Instead he did his best to catch the eye of Mr Howick and Miss Howe-Douglas, which eventually they noticed, and once the song had ended, they joined him against the wall of the room. "This ball is such fun," giggled Miss Howe-Douglas as she shyly removed her hand from Mr Howick. "You do not dance?" he asked. "No, dancing is not my idea of fun." Mat did not mean to think of Ben as he said this. Worried that they knew what he was thinking, he said quickly, "I believe you left this behind in the dining room Miss Howe-Douglas." He produced the delicate fan. She clasped her hands to her chest. "I wondered what I had done with it! I so often misplace things." "Easily done," chuckled her dance partner. "Would you mind awfully if you would hold it for just a few more moments whilst I go and powder my nose?" "Of course not." Miss Howe-Douglas thanked him, and disappeared into the crowds. "Lovely, lovely girl," murmured Mr Howick to himself. "Indeed she is," Mat replied. Mr Howick then gave him a dirty look as he misunderstood Mat's intentions. "You are fond of her, are you not sir?" he asked quickly in the hope of correcting him. "She is a lovely girl," he said again. "You should ask her to dinner, she will like that I think." The accusations in his eyes fizzled away and he was back to his jolly self. "Perhaps I will." They stood in silence for some minutes, and Mat found himself looking once more at Ben and the company he was keeping. Ben looked up and caught his eye, giving him an amused but confused expression. Mat looked at himself and realised Ben was indicating the lady's fan that he was safekeeping for his friend. He rolled his eyes in such a way that said 'never mind' when an idea struck him. "Funny thing, lady's fans," he said seemingly to Mr Howick, but he kept looking back to Ben to ensure he was watching him. He then held the shut fan out as if he were presenting it to someone in front of him. His eyes flicked at Ben, whom he was hoping had got the message. Do you love me? Ben nodded slowly, trying not to gain attention from his company. Mat could have leapt across the dance floor into Ben's arms there and then. But he composed himself and opened up the fan. To the unseeing eye it looked as though Mat was just messing with the fan in his possession, not knowing what he was doing, but to Ben, he knew exactly what he was doing. Mat then pressed the fan to his chest. I love you. Ben suppressed a smirk as he looked down and up again with flirting eyes. "It's amazing what they do with paper these days," Mat said to Mr Howick, continuing to cover his tracks as he touched his finger to the tip of the fan. I wish to speak with you. "Yes I suppose it is," replied Mr Howick, finding the topic of conversation rather odd. Ben twitched his head, indicating the people around him. Mat took the fan in his right hand and held it in front of his face. Follow me. Again Ben nodded slowly. "If you will excuse me sir I would like to get some fresh air." "Of course Mr Baynton." "Would you be so kind as to return Miss Howe-Douglas her fan for me? She would greatly appreciate it I'm sure." That sealed the deal and Mr Howick willingly accepted Mat's request. Mat avoided the direction at which Ben was situated and left the ballroom through the big double doors that opened out into the garden. He did not turn as he walked down the path and round the back of the large bush sculptures and into the wooded area at the back. He could not have been sure if Ben had followed him until and whisper came out from the darkness. "Hello you." The heat of Ben's breath brushed against Mat's ear, giving him goose bumps all over his body. "Hello," he breathed in reply. "Interesting mode of communication," grinned Ben. "It worked, did it not?" said Mat in a mockingly offended voice. "So," Ben watched as he rolled a stone over with his foot, "you love me." "Indeed I do. And you tell me that you love me also." "I do." "Then there is only one thing for it." Mat pretended to touch an invisible fan to his lips, not taking his eyes off Ben for a second. Kiss me. Ben cupped Mat's face in his hands and pulled him close so that his lips and his own could meet. Mat responded by wrapping his arms around Ben's waist so he could not pull away and end this magical moment. Only when he was quite breathless did Mat allow the man free, but Ben did not remove his hands from Mat's face. Instead he looked him deep in the eyes held his gaze so that Mat knew he was about to say something important. "I want you to come and live with me," he said, still quite breathless from the passionate encounter they had just had. Mat was unable to speak for some minutes. "I want to, I desire nothing more, but what reason shall I give? It is not seemly for a man to live with another man if he is unrelated." Ben was disheartened at Mat's words. He had been denying what he knew to be the truth. Their relationship must remain a secret until the end of their days, and if they were to live together people would certainly talk. "We will think of something. My servants are more than reliable, and my home will not be welcome to anyone but you if you should wish it. We could spend our lives alone together, away from the prying eyes and the whispers. Just the two of us." He pressed his forehead against Mat's as if he were making a promise to his beloved. Mat repeated Ben's words. "Just the two of us."            

[bethxpfanfics-blog]

Skull And Bones

Ben excused himself from yet another group of pirates from the East. They were talking of their latest hijacking of a cargo ship containing silk clothing. They had killed twelve men in the process and it was when Ben heard this that he had lost interest in the conversation. Ben was a small time pirate, brought up in the lifestyle by his father who had given him his own ship when he was seventeen. He had started up his own crew immediately with people who had the same views and morals he had. Ben enjoyed the lifestyle, but did not agree with the unnecessary and brutal murders that so many pirates seemed to enjoy. Of course he had the rather beautiful pistol with an ivory handle on his belt and a knife hidden in his boots but as yet he had not needed to use them. In his twenty odd years of being a captain he had not killed a single sole. To be fair he had marooned a few colleagues when they had broken the 'no killing unless absolutely necessary' rule but that was the pirate punishment, and it kept the other men in line. He simply used threats and weapons to make the innocents on the ships to surrender the cargo and then leave them unharmed and cargo-less. It worked perfectly fine and he had just as much money as the next pirate. Ben sipped at his rum as he wandered across the deck. He had no idea why he had come to this pirate convention. It was being held on one of the largest pirate boats known in the community. He nodded at someone he recognised but could not remember the name of. Their clothes were stained with freshly spilt blood. Ben shuddered as he smoothed down his own moss coloured jacket and tugged at his white neckerchief. He was certain that if some of these men just washed and shaved they would look so much more appealing. Ben took pride in his hygiene and encouraged his men to do the same. He probably stuck out as one of the few men without a beard but that didn't bother him, beards were itchy anyway. "Ah Ben, there you are!" A large hand slapped him on his back and knocked the breath out of him. "Hi dad," Ben said to the scruffy man. He tried to ignore the stink of alcohol radiating from his father's breath as he shook hands with the man his father was introducing him to. "This is Tommy, from the North. We boarded the same ship at the same time would you believe it and instead of killing each other we joined forces for the day." "Nice to meet you," Ben smiled, although he wasn't really interested. "Killed nearly forty people that day, a personal best," beamed Tommy proudly; he was just as dirty as Ben's father and his few teeth were yellow and black. Ben forced a look of impressiveness, although all he felt was disgust. "What about you my boy, what is your personal best?" "Oh I don't keep count," Ben shrugged, "it's the treasure that interests me not the murder." At least that was true. Being unwilling to kill was frowned upon in the pirate society and so Ben did his best to avoid the topic as much as he could. Even his father, Captain Wallace Jailbird (or Will to his friends) did not know of Ben's lack of activity. Ben talked with his father and his friend for some time, talking of various successful and not-so-successful hijacks and adventures. He 'mmm-ed' and 'ah-ed' at all the appropriate parts but he spent most of the time waiting for the moment to escape. The moment came when Tommy and his father began to talk of something that had happened in the community before he had been born. Ben excused himself and rushed below deck to get away from the crowds. Below deck he slipped into a side cabin and sat on the floor in the corner so that if anyone were to enter, they would not see him in the shadows. He took off his stereotypical pointed pirate hat and ran his fingers through his hair. Why had he come? He hated socialising with pirates not like him. He leant back against the wall and shut his eyes, enjoying the quiet. Scratch, pat, thump. Ben looked around the dark room trying to work out where the sounds were coming from. The sounds got louder as he got closer to the wall. He pressed his ear against the wood and realise the noises were coming from outside. But that was impossible, on the other side of that wall there was nothing but the ocean. More sounds came and Ben jumped as a stone smashed the small round window from the outside. He ran and hid behind the desk as a figure pulled himself through the broken window with ease and rolled onto the floor, brushing off the broken glass from his clothing. Ben recognised the figure immediately. It was Bloodshed, the pirate of legends. He had heard all the stories of this madman who killed for the fun of it, even if it was one of his most trusted men. How he had stolen treasure of little worth, cheated other pirates, and was generally insane. He once attempted to attack the Navy single handed. Miraculously, he had survived and not been captured. There were even rumours that he had swam the rapids of the South, the rapids that destroyed any boat that tried to sail through, snapping the boat in half like a twig against the rocks. Any sane pirate was terrified of him and his lunacy. Ben gasped and then clasped his hands to his mouth to try and silence himself. But it was too late, Bloodshed had heard him. "Who goes there?" Ben bit his lip and stayed hidden, praying that Bloodshed would believe he was just hearing things. "I said," Bloodshed produced a pistol and fired into the air, the sound of the shot rung in Ben's ears, "who goes there?" "Ah, good day sir," Ben said over-cheerily as he appeared from behind the desk. He pretended he did not know who this man was, but the fact that he could feel his heart beating at one hundred miles an hour in his ears did not help. "Are you here for the convention?" he asked pleasantly. "You could say that," said Bloodshed with a mischievous glint in his eye. "I was just having a rest from all the people," Ben said, pointing to the deck above them, trying to think of a reason why he would be behind the desk. Bloodshed grinned as he watched the nervous little pirate. "What's your name laddie?" "Captain Benjamin Gold." The 'Gold' had been given to him by Ben's crew as they would say he had 'a heart of gold'. "Do you know who I am?" Ben swallowed. "No." "I'm best known as Bloodshed." He waited for Ben to react, but Ben could not move. He could hardly deny that he had heard of him, but he did not want to do anything to aggravate him either for fear of being shot. He spied at least three guns on this man's belt. "N-nice to meet you." Stupidly Ben stuck his hand out and waited nervously to see if Bloodshed would take it (hopefully not literally). Bloodshed pulled a puzzled expression before taking Ben warmly by the hand and shaking it. He was wearing an appealing black and white number, Ben noted; white shirt and black jacket embroided with gold thread. His trousers were also black and his boots scuffed and matte. His hat matched the rest of his outfit and his messy black hair stuck out at odd angles from beneath. But it was the cape that made him stand out. It swooshed as he moved, making every action dramatic and graceful. He patted Ben on the back and pushed him to the door. "Have you been on this ship before Captain Gold?" he asked as they strolled through the ship. Bloodshed did not seem afraid of being seen or recognised. Ben considered that it must have been because although he was notorious for being someone you should be afraid of, he had done nothing against the laws of a pirate, and so had no threats to his life. "No sir, it is very grand." "Call me Mat," smiled Bloodshed. This smile was different to the one's Ben had seen before, it was warm and friendly, there was no sign of madness or recklessness that Ben had imagined. In fact, now that he thought about it, Bloodshed – no Mat's voice had changed too. When he had first spoken it had been deep, commanding and threatening. Now it was full of expression and pleasantness. When people talked of Bloodshed, Ben had imagined a drunken, dirty, crazy pirate that would kill every man he laid his eyes upon. But stood before him was a young, clean, pleasant fellow whom he would be happy to hold a conversation with. He was still wary though, expecting a sudden mood change and massacre. "Bloodshed was a name given to me by other pirates, I have never liked it." "Ben," he replied, feeling the need to return the gesture. "The ship was built in 1514, so fairly old considering," Mat said as he brushed his fingertips against the wood. "Oh," Ben said, surprised that Mat knew such trivial information. "Mmm, one of the largest cargo ships of it's time. It carried everything from fine silk to sugar! Rumour has it the pirate that first took over the ship pushed the Captain overboard using a wooden plank, that's why so many land men assume our most common punishments is 'walking the plank'. Oh this is beautiful!" he exclaimed suddenly as he got distracted by a painting hanging on the wall. Ben politely inclined his head as he examined the object for himself. "This painting," Mat explained, "is one of the few done of the great Ophelia ship before it was destroyed as it sailed into the rapids of the South. Such a tragedy." Ben was certain Mat was being sincere, and yet it was very odd to see the most feared pirate of the ocean saddened by a tragedy that did not involve him. "Not like you then," Ben teased. "I'm sorry?" "Well rumour has it you swam those rapids and lived to tell the tale." Mat half smiled. "So you do know who I am." Ben looked at his shoes, afraid. He said quietly, "How could I not?" "I'm afraid the rumours are not true," Mat sighed as he admired the artwork once more. "Rumours?" Ben enhanced the 's' sound. "I am painted as an insane, blood thirty devil, who cares for no one but himself." They resumed walking down the corridor. "Actually I hate killing unless my own life is at stake. I did swim a significant distance, I am quite a good swimmer, but there were no rapids. I have killed none of my own men as I have no men. I am a bit of a rogue pirate; I tend to slip on board a ship unseen, rob them, and then make a get away on the small boat I used to get there. Oh I stole a copy of this painting, it's lovely isn't it?" They discussed the second painting Mat had noticed for a little while before moving on once more. "What about the Navy ship you were said to have boarded?" "That's how it all started," Mat said with a smile. "The Captain of the ship was a childhood friend of mine. I was an unknown pirate, captured and taken to the Captain of the ship – my friend – and we were left to talk on our own. My friend, who was of a good heart, did not want to kill me but he also did not want to get into trouble himself, so I suggested we made it look like I had threatened him and I took over the ship. I even faked this drunk and insane character for it, I don't know why, just for fun I suppose. Now everyone believes I am a monster. It is empowering and yet rather lonely." He suddenly stopped in his tracks. "I don't know why I am telling you this." Ben suddenly became aware of how odd the situation was, the great Bloodshed was divulging all his secrets and refuting his reputation to a man he had only just met. "In my twenty odd years I have never killed another man, I do not agree with mindless murder," Ben admitted, hoping the telling of his own secret made them equal. Mat looked very surprised. "How have you managed that?" he asked, well aware of the prejudices of the pirate world. "I have a very small crew, all men who agree with my point of view. Fear is enough for us and we earn a good living." Mat was impressed. "I'd love a life like that," he said dreamily. "You are more than welcome to join us," Ben blurted out. Mat just smiled at him, still looking dreamy. They approached the steps that led up to the desk and Mat clapped his hands together. "So these are the infamous snake banisters!" He eagerly touched and inspected the staircase. The wood had been carved to make it look like snakes were coiled around it and their faces had skulls on. "This staircase was requested by the original Captain, he wanted something to make the ship unique and extra grand." "What about these skulls? They don't seem of as high quality artistry as the snakes themselves." "They were added later by the pirate that took over the ship, he wanted to make his mark." He then lowered his voice and pressed his chin to his chest as if he were impersonating the said pirate, "had to claim my territory of course." Ben laughed and Mat chuckled with him. "How come you know so much about the artwork here?" asked Ben, fascinated by this character, completely forgetting about how terrified he was of him when they had first met. Mat shrugged. "I just appreciate the arts. You pick up these things here and there. I like to know the history of things I've stolen. I read a lot of books as well." "You read?" Ben stood open mouthed. "I wasn't born a pirate," explained Mat, amused at Ben's expression, "I ran away when I was young. Before that I was a lawyer's son so I had a pretty good education." "I wish I could read," sighed Ben. "If our paths ever cross again I'd be happy to teach you." "Oh," Ben suppressed the sadness he felt. If our paths ever cross again. He did not want to say goodbye to this man. He coughed. "Yes, thank you." "It was good to meet you Ben," Mat said suddenly as he placed his hand on Ben's shoulder and gave it a little squeeze. He then took the half drunk bottle of rum from Ben's hand that he had been drinking and rushed up the stairs two at a time. Ben followed quickly, unprepared for this sudden goodbye and blinked as the sun blinded him momentarily as he reached the deck. Mat was standing a few steps in front of him, his whole persona changed. He swayed on the spot, his shoulders hunched and the bottle clasped tightly in his hand. He looked drunk. His bright and happy face drooped, his eyes squinting as they searched every face in sight. They suddenly focused on a man in the crowd. "Doggy!" he cried in a way you would call a friend when you were drunk in a bar. The pirate he had just called turned and froze at the sight of Mat. No, Bloodshed, Ben corrected himself, this is not Mat. "I think," he said slowly, continuing with his drunken persona, "you owe me." His voice was ruff and no where near as articulate as Ben knew it to be. One by one, the other pirates had noted Bloodshed's presence and slowly the chatter died down and everyone turned to face the legendary pirate. The pirate known as Doggy cleared his throat. "I owe you nothing Bloodshed," he squeaked. "I do believe," he said very politely, "that I assisted you in the apprehension of a ship's worth of tea. And then," he laughed, "you threw me overboard to increase your share of the treasure." "How did you survive?" Doggy hissed. In one swift move Bloodshed pulled his pistol from the holster and pointed it at the man's head. "I am a very good swimmer," he snarled. He threw the bottle of rum to the ground and it smashed to pieces. Everyone jumped. "You owe me." "The tea of which you speak is no longer within my possession." Doggy was trying to keep his voice even as he said this. "Oh I am willing to take it's value in any currency. Be it gold, sugar, or," he looked the pirate up and down, "clothing. Now give it to me or," he jabbed his weapon in the direction of Doggy to express the threat. BANG! Every man on the deck turned to see where the loud noise had come from, and watched in horror as a pirate who had been standing in the corner swayed and fell to the floor, a bullet in his chest. Ben stood frozen, still in the position of aiming his weapon, however his hands were now shaking fiercely as the realisation of what he had done sunk in. Every pirate was looking at him in disbelief, but it was Mat's expression that Ben feared the most. The Bloodshed persona had completely disappeared and it was once more Mat standing there, straight backed and perfectly stable. His eyes and mouth wide as he pulled a puzzled expression at Ben. "He… he was going to shoot you… he… he had his gun out and was aiming it at your head," he spluttered. The explanation was for Mat really but when Ben heard the wail come from Doggy he realised there were still hundreds of other pirates on the ship. "He was my brother," cried Doggy as he hunched over the dead body, "he was only protecting me from this lunatic!" He pointed an accusing finger at Bloodshed, whose stooping drunkenness had returned. The sound of large expensive boots hitting the floorboards drummed through the air. The crowd parted as a huge man with thick black facial hair that swamped every other feature made his way to the scene. He was the Captain of this vessel. "I will not have fighting on my ship," he bellowed, making clear his authority. "Seize him!" So Ben was about to die, on a ship that wasn't even his, during a convention that he didn't even want to go to , for killing a man that was about to shoot someone he had only just met. Yup, this all made perfect sense. He drew his weapons, a gun in one hand and the knife in the other. There was no chance he would survive, but he would go down fighting. He readied himself, his feet spaced apart and his eyes darting around, when he saw Mat out of the corner of his eye. Mat looked afraid, truly afraid, and Ben suddenly felt sick to his stomach. All this happened in a split second. The pirates were about to charge when Ben ran to Mat and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and kissed him full on the mouth. It was not the first kiss he had imagined, he had wanted it to be soft and sweet, an expression of shy emotion, but this was just despair and desperation. But this was his last chance and so he took it. Mat looked stunned as Ben pulled away. "You… you killed for me." "It was you or him," Ben shrugged apologetically. "Goodbye Mat," he smiled sadly before he turned and swung his blade at the man who was about to grab him by the shoulders. The men came charging at him, but with both his weapons raised none would be the first to lunge at him for fear of being killed. Ben struck out at every man who twitched and the stand off began. "Get him! I want him too!" The Captain was pointing at Bloodshed, who had slipped away unnoticed and was now half way up the mast. Some men began to climb up after him but Bloodshed just cackled an insane laugh. "So long boys!" he called and with one swift stroke, he cut the rope he was holding ion to and swung like Tarzan into the air. He let go and half spun in the air before diving into the ocean beneath. Ben's heart felt very heavy. It was like all the energy and life had disappeared overboard along with Bloodshed. He realised that a small part of him had hoped Mat could have saved him, but then he remembered how Mat had told him all those stories were exaggerations and that he was a risk taker not stupid. The weapons in his hands became very heavy, and he was no longer strong enough to hold them up. They dropped to his side and immediately a crowd of pirates jumped on him. He did not struggle as they bound and gagged him and presented him to the Captain of the ship. "Tomorrow you shall be marooned as punishment for your crimes. Lock him away and set sail to the nearest island." Ben allowed himself to be pushed to a room no bigger than a cupboard and shoved to the floor. He did not attempted to make a break for it when the men left him, and the sound of the key in the lock was a relief more than anything. Tomorrow he would die, and he did not care at all. Ben's sleepy eyes blinked open as he adjusted to the darkness in the room. There were no windows and so the only light source came from the crack underneath the door. Ben could have easily wriggled forward and peeked through the gap, but he did not have the energy. His time would come and it would all be over. Seconds, minutes, possibly hours passed and Ben just stayed exactly where he was, lying on the floor with his hands tied behind his back and his feet bound. If it weren't for his heavy breathing you would believe him to be dead. He did not flinch when the pirates finally entered. He did not tense up when they picked him up and carry him off the ship and onto the shore. He did not bother to stand up when his hands and feet were untied. The only sign of life he showed was the movement of his eyes as they looked up and focused on the Captain. "Captain Benjamin Gold, as punishment for shooting and killing a man on my ship you will be marooned on this island until death. Samuel," he said to a man beside him, "the rum and pistol." The items were thrown on the sand in front of Ben, who made no attempt to pick them up. "Starvation or suicide is your choice. Goodbye Captain." Ben watched helplessly as the pirates boarded ship once more and left him alone to die. When the ship sailed off into the distance, Ben finally sat up and looked around. The island looked like it would go on forever, nothing but sand and moss. A few bits of dry shrubbery stuck up here and there but there were no trees for shelter or fruit to eat. He picked up his two only possessions, the rum and pistol, and began to wander around. He would not kill himself immediately, he would enjoy one last day to himself, taking in the beautiful scenery and making the most of the calm, and then tomorrow morning at dawn he would shoot himself. Ben took off his shoes and let the warm sand soothe his toes. He paddled in the sea to cool himself during the midday sun and cloud gazed in the afternoon. As the evening came, Ben sipped on his rum and watched the sun go down, surprisingly content with his life. There was only one thing missing. Mat. The thought that he would not be able to watch the sun rise with Mat's hand in his plagued his mind more than the pistol in his pocket that was weighing him down. If I can't see the sun rise with him, then I can't watch the sun rise at all. He took the gun from his pocket and held it up in the air so that the metal glittered in the moonlight. He smiled as he pressed the barrel to his temple and hovered his finger over the trigger. "Don't you dare." Ben jumped as a hand snatched the gun away from him and pulled him to his feet. "Mat? H-how?" Ben could not get his words out. Mat smiled seductively, his eyes shining as the stars reflected in them. "I told you, I am a very good swimmer." Ben dived at him, wrapping his arms around his small frame so tightly that Mat could hardly breathe. "But you could not have swam from the ship to this island, we were sailing for hours! And besides, even if you did, we are still both stuck here with no hope of escape." "Do you have no faith in me my friend?" grinned Mat. "I told you how I have a small boat that I use to sneak on board ships. How else do you think I managed to get on board the largest ship in our community unnoticed? My girl is over there." He pointed off into the distance and in the darkness Ben could make out the outline of a small sailing boat. "She doesn't look like much but we've had some wild times together." Ben matched Mat's grin as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "So what do you say, shall we get out of here?" Ben nodded and Mat led him to his boat, putting him arm around Ben's shoulder which made Ben's heart flutter. "I've thought about your offer," Mat said as he looked up into the night sky, "and have decided to make my own. How would you like to travel with me? You would have to leave your crew and ship behind, but I can ensure you I am just as much fun. The two most feared pirates working together, we'd be unstoppable!" "The two most feared pirates?" Ben repeated, "I'm not even feared by my own men!" "My dear Ben don't you see? You're about to survive being marooned on a desert island and no one is going to know how you did it. And then you start travelling with Bloodshed, the lunatic pirate who is not afraid to take risks! Well, you can't blame them for being afraid." Ben thought about it, all the things they could do together, all the riches they could gain without spilling any blood, they could watch every sunrise and sunset happy and content in each other's company. "I'd love to." Mat clapped his hands together. "Perfect! Watch your step." Mat helped Ben onto his boat and handed him some food. "Thank you," Ben said quietly once they were settled, "for coming back for me." He fiddled with the cuff of his jacket. "You saved my life," Mat replied, equally as awkwardly. "Thank you, for that. I'm sorry you had to go against your morals for me," he added sincerely. "I didn't have to, I wanted to. Not that I wanted to kill anyone," he bumbled, "but when the choice was you or him, well, I made my decision didn't I?" Mat still could not made eye contact with Ben, ashamed of the fact that he was the reason Ben had blood on his hands and why he had been marooned on an island. But Ben mistook the avoidance as the memory of the kiss he had stupidly planted on the man's lips. "I'm sorry about the… er… kiss… thing…" he waved a finger at his mouth, "I... er… I thought I was going to die and… um… it wasn't-" "It wasn't what I wanted our first kiss to be like," interrupted Mat as he finally looked at Ben out of the corner of his eye to watch his reaction. Ben was doing quite a good impression of a gold fish and that made Mat laugh. "I had planned to find you one day, possibly join your crew, and one evening," he looked wistfully at the moon as he pictured what he was saying, "watch the sun go down. And as the red sky turns black, take your head in my hands and pressed my lips to yours softly, pecking kisses all over them until you took control and gripped me by the hair and wrestle me to the ground." He looked at Ben through his eyelashes and Ben flushed a bright red colour. "I know the sun has already set," he began, "but who says we can't do that now?" Mat raised his eyebrow and Ben responded with a smug look. Mat edged slowly across the boat, closing the gap between them, and used his thumb to lightly push Ben's chin upward slightly. He looked Ben directly in the eye, memorising every shade of blue and grey in them before tilting his head to the side and gently going in for the kiss. It was only a peck on the lips, but as soon as he pulled away he went in for another one, and then another, and then another. His body burning with desire, Ben took Mat in his arms and pulled him closer so that he could not pull away from the kiss this time. Mat cupped Ben's face in his hands as Ben ran his fingers through Mat's hair and used his body to push Mat back until he was lying on the ground and Ben was crouched on top of him. "Ready for an adventure Captain Benjamin Gold?" whispered Mat. "Let's do this," Ben replied, as he sealed the deal with a kiss.

[bethxpfanfics-blog]

My Stranger

Ben hung his head in his hands as he stared at the blank notepad in front of him. One idea, just one idea could make this a little more bearable. But no, he had nothing. "How's it going?" asked Martha as she dropped a pile of papers on his desk. "It isn't," he sighed. "What are those?" "They are some scripts you need to read through." Ben rubbed his tired eyes. "I can barely write a script of my own and they want me to check someone else's!" Martha shrugged. Begrudgingly he picked up the file and stood up, tucking his chair under his desk. "I'm going on my lunch break now, I will see you later." Ben was a script writer and editor for a comedy sketch show and, as always, the moment the deadlines approached he ran out of ideas. He still had a few weeks but the scripts needed to be written, rewritten, edited, and then approved. Oh well, this happened every time and he still had a job didn't he? That was mostly down to Martha. She was his fabulous secretary and she kept him in line. She was just as pushy as Jim, his boss, but was much nicer in her manner. Ben took his usual place on the wooden picnic table on the plaza. The plaza was a concrete seating area between Ben's offices and a block of apartments. Many people used it as a picnic area or a place to meet up, and Ben would come here for a fag and a sandwich. He had long since quit his nasty habit, but out of routine he still had his lunch there when the weather permitted. He always sat at the same bench as well, because it had a lovely view of the fountain in the centre of the plaza, but was out of the way of every one else so he was happily ignored. Ben pulled out the script he had been given by Martha and, pen in hand, began to go through it. He circled a few bits that didn't make sense and made notes around the edges. He wasn't impressed with the number of spelling mistakes, however, and sighed at the lack of basic English skills this writer possessed. But apart from that it was funny. Why can't I come up with things like this? He asked himself as he opened up his own uninspired notebook and stared once more at the blank page. Maybe if I... no… what if… no… how about… no! His mind soon wandered into other territories. There had been rumours about Ben and Martha going round for some time, he knew about them and had chosen to ignore them. If anyone wanted to know the truth they could ask him. Well, they could have. But then the party last week happened. He had gotten a little too drunk and was caught snogging one of the office boys from the floor below. He had been getting shifty looks from various people since then like he had been lying to them about something serious. What he did in his personal life was no ones business. What was he supposed to have done? On his first day at work introduced himself by saying "hi, I'm Ben Willbond, I am the new writer and editor for sketch shows, I am 33 years old, and, oh yes, I'm gay." No, it didn't work like that. Martha was the only one who didn't seem to have a reaction at all to the news. She had told him that she had known from the moment she had met him, but it didn't seem important to her so she didn't bring it up. At least the whispers and looks were dying down again; his sex life was yesterday's news. He snapped his notebook shut and threw it into his bag in frustration. By chance he glanced back at the bench and realised that whilst he had been… thinking… he had doodled onto the wood. He quickly looked around as if the police might appear any moment and arrest him for graffiting. When he was sure that he was safe, he looked back at the drawing. It was of a very sorry looking man sitting on a bench resting his elbow on his knee and his hand on his cheek. It was a mirror image of how he felt right now. He laughed in spite of himself and packed away his things. His lunch break was over. * Mat stood back as he admired his work. Not bad but… ah perfect. He stepped forward and added two more brushstrokes to the canvas. Carefully he put down the paintbrush and palette onto the mass of newspaper, and went into the bathroom to change, the proof of a hard day's work all over him. Mat was an artist, not a famous one, but enough that he could just about live off what he sold at markets and commissions. He lived in a very small flat, or "studio" as he liked to call it, in London, and spent most of his time working. He had just completed his latest commission, a five foot by five foot canvas of a Tudor style cottage, surrounded by vegetation and blossoms. It was someone's family home and they wanted a memento of the place as they were moving abroad. Mat stripped off his work clothes, some jogging bottoms and a baggy t-shirt, and had a shower to remove all the specks of acrylic on his body. He then slipped on some jeans and a shirt before grabbing his art bag and keys and heading out the door. Every time he completed a piece of art he liked to do something just for himself, so he could be reminded of why he loved to paint so much. And he always got his inspiration from sitting on the plaza outside his studio and sketching people as they got on with their lives. There was something so beautiful about every day actions being caught in a freeze frame by an artist that Mat loved so much, and people were one of his favourite subjects to draw. He was one of those few people that could draw a face without any of the features being out of proportion. He had talent; he just needed to be noticed. He sat down and began to sketch a young lady feeding her baby with a bottle. He quickly caught the look of joyous love on the mother's face as she watched over her child. Yes, Mat could see it now, a figure of a mother and her child in the centre of the canvas, with pastel colours emanating from the mother's body almost like wings, protecting the baby, shielding it from the cruelty of the world. As the image formed in his mind, Mat quickly packed away his things so he could get back to his studio and start immediately, when something caught his eye. Underneath his sketchbook was a drawing, carved into the wood of the bench with biro, of a sad man. It looked very depressing, Mat thought. On an artists instinct he pulled out a pen and with one stroke turned the thin line of a mouth into a smile. Much better, he decided. * Ben spent the next morning in a meeting with the team. They went through the plans for the next month, every ones jobs, etc. He didn't really pay much attention; it was always the same old stuff. Ben longed to get outside after being stuck in such a small room for that length of time but when the meeting was over, Jim asked him to stay behind. "Ben!" he exclaimed in an over-friendly tone, "How's my scripts coming along?" "Good, yes, um, good," he stuttered, knowing that Jim could tell he was lying through his teeth. "Three weeks Ben," he said, giving Ben a warning pat on the back. "Y-yes sir." Ben left feeling more stressed and disheartened than before. He dropped his things off at his office and then rushed to the lift before the doors closed on him. He took a deep breath in the moment he had stepped outside. The rush of cold air that filled his lungs successfully washed away the stress of the morning. He took his place at his bench and shook off his blazer before munching on his egg and cress sandwich. He pulled out his book and opened up to the page with the bookmark for where he had left off; refusing to do any more work during his break. He had quite forgotten about his rebellious criminal act yesterday and only remembered when he caught sight of it when he was turning the page of his book. He couldn't help but smile at how childish he must have been to draw that when he realised there was something wrong with it. The drawing looked happy. Now that didn't make sense, Ben had most definitely drawn a depressed looking character yesterday, but now it was smiling away at him like it had no care in the world. Someone's given him a smile! Ben thought as he pulled a mockingly offended expression. After having a quick look around, looking for policemen again probably, he took his pen and added a rain cloud over the character's head, so the figure was getting wet. He then added some furrowed eyebrows so that the character was no longer smiling, but had the expression that said 'I've given up'. There was no way this drawing was going to be happier than Ben was! When it was time for Ben to get back to work, he threw his rubbish into the bin and reluctantly returned to Martha, who said nothing but gave him the eye that said 'Jim's been looking for you'. Crap! He needed ideas, fast! He pressed his hot brow against the cool of the glass and looked out of the window. From his office he could see into some of the flats in the building opposite. Most had blinds for reasons of privacy, but quite a few didn't, and it was these that Ben found himself watching as he avoided more work. There was a middle aged overweight lady on a treadmill, drinking what looked like a McDonalds milkshake and watching the television. That could be a sketch, Ben thought, someone eating more calories than they were losing. He screwed up his nose, weight problems were becoming a serious issue and it was getting harder and harder to laugh at them without insulting or encouraging bullying. He looked into another window. There was a couple having a blazing row, arms were flying every where and they were stomping around. Like a gentleman Ben averted his eyes, not one to get involved with people's personal lives, even if he was in a different building to the couple! He tried another window, and was intrigued by a young man on the fifth floor. At least he thought it was a man, the hair was quite long and he was very skinny but the clothing suggested he was male. He was standing in the middle of the room focusing on something, and every now and again his arm would come swooshing down as if he was having a sword fight with a ghost. Ben squinted to try and get a better look. That wasn't a sword in the guy's hand, it was a paint brush! The guy was painting to music! Ben watched for some minutes, mesmerised by this odd activity. The canvas must have been quite big by the size of the brushstrokes, and the guy seemed quite enthusiastic about it. "What are you looking at?" Ben spun round, taken by surprise are Martha's unexpected intrusion. "Nothing," he said innocently. Martha did not fail to notice the slight pink tone on Ben's cheeks. "Well don't you think you should be doing something?" She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. Ben found it surprisingly difficult to draw himself away from the window and back to his over tidied desk (well anything to avoid working!). "Any ideas?" she asked hopefully. "Well, I was thinking about a painter, a bad painter, that painted to the sound of something like a washing machine." Martha placed her delicate hand on her lips and giggled. "Actually…" Ben thought for a moment, before suddenly grabbing his notebook and jotting things down before he forgot the sudden explosion of ideas that came into his head. "I'll leave you to it," smiled Martha, pleased Ben had had his eureka moment. Ben made an 'mmhmm' noise and waved her out the door without looking up. * Mat opted to take the stairs rather than the lift as he descended from his flat into the outside world. He thought it might be a good warm up before the jog he had spontaneously decided to go on after spending the morning doing the basic sketches for the mother and child watercolour. When he stepped outside he jumped on the spot and turned on his iPod to psych himself up. He planned to jog to the park, do a few sketches, and then jog back in time for Pointless, which he enjoyed playing along to. He took a step forward and nearly tripped over as his foot got caught on an untied shoelace. Sighing at the fact that his old trainers had managed to undo themselves before he had even started running, Mat walked over to the nearest bench and put his foot up so he could tie the laces up again. When he had done so, he put his foot down and jogged on the spot once more. He was about to run off when something in his mind nagged at him. Had he forgotten something? No he had double checked. Had he done something to make him look silly? Spilled something? He looked down at himself – no. What was it then? He looked around; perhaps it was something he had seen. It was. The sketch on the bench he had drawn on had changed. Someone had scribbled an angry looking rain cloud. Mat, sympathising with the drawing, pulled a pen from his art bag that was on his back, and gave him an umbrella. He leant back to examine his work. He then half smiled, and quickly added one more thing before putting the pen away and disappearing for his afternoon jog. * "Ben, I know you've never missed a deadline," began Jim as he walked into Ben's office uninvited, "but you are cutting it a bit fine-" He froze. He had to do a full 360 spin to take in all the notes and sketches that had been blue tacked to the walls so that the off white paint was no longer visible. "Just one second," mumbled Ben as he searched for space for his latest idea. Eventually he stood on his chair and stuck it behind his desk, very close to the ceiling. "Right, yes, so," he only then took in Jim's expression, "so I had a bit of an explosion of ideas yesterday." "I can see that," replied Jim, taking a closer look at one of the bits of paper. He chuckled at the punch line and Ben heaved a sigh of relief. "Get these," he pointed at the mess, "into some sort of order and ready to present by the end of the week." Ben bowed his head. "Yes sir." He was exhausted after being up half the night as he scribbled down ideas as they came to him, and Ben was secretly thankful when Martha told him to stop working so hard and go have a break! He bought a tea and a sandwich from the cafeteria and went outside to sit on his bench. He didn't know why, but he immediately checked the doodle he had left there the other day, and sure enough, the miserable character had been rescued by some meddling stranger. Ben laughed at the sight of the umbrella and was going to consider what he could draw to retaliate when he noticed something had been written underneath the drawing. Ben read it. Give the poor guy a break! Ben laughed out loud. Leave my doodle alone! He wrote back teasingly. He then drew a man behind the original character with his arms out, as if he was about to grab him. Let's see what you do with that my mystery stranger! * Mat knew exactly what he was going to do to the latest addition to the bench doodle. * A cupcake? He had drawn a cupcake in the mugger's hand so now it looked like the person behind was just offering the man a tasty treat like a nice person rather than jumping him from behind. There was also a reply to Ben's comment. Not until you let your drawing have a happy ending. Ben didn't want to smile, he didn't want to laugh, but he couldn't help it. Everyone else on the plaza must have thought he was a madman laughing at a bench but he didn't care. His stranger was hilarious. * When Ben first doodled the image of a sorry looking man, he never intended to have a conversation with a complete stranger about nothing, and enjoy it! And yet that was exactly what had happened. It was strange to think anyone could have read the messages going on between them, and yet for some reason they still felt very personal, like he could tell this stranger anything. Their conversation went like this; Give the poor guy a break! Leave me doodle alone! Not until you let your drawing have a happy ending. A cupcake? Really? Everybody loves cupcakes. I don't. Yes you do. And you know that how? Because everybody loves cupcakes. I'm more of a brownie person myself. Millionaire's shortbread all the way! It got to the point where Ben itched to get outside and read the next message on the bench. He didn't know why, it was just silly banter with someone he had never met, but something caused him to rush out the door the moment the clock said 1 o'clock. Mat, who did not intend to leave the house that day, found himself skipping down the stairs purely so he could read and respond to the latest scribble on the table. No way, homemade brownies and ice cream. That sounds like a good film snack. * One day, Ben was going back into his office building after lunch, when his phone buzzed. He pulled it out of his pocket and as he walked he read the text he had received. This meant he did not pay attention to where he was going and accidentally walked into someone. The poor guy's things went everywhere. "I am so sorry," he said, helping the young man to pick it all up. He looked vaguely familiar, but Ben could not put his finger on it. He looked down at the things the man had dropped and realised it was a series of paintings. The one in his hand was of a forest at night, the moonlight giving the painting a sense of magic. "That's okay, I should have been looking where I was going," replied a sweet voice. Ben smiled at the stranger and looked at him properly as he handed back his work. He was skinny, attractive, with the kind of messy hair you would love to run your fingers through. His eyes were the same colour as chocolate, and they were staring at him in a way that should have made Ben uncomfortable, but he didn't seem to mind. "Completely my fault." The two men stood awkwardly in silence. "These are very good," Ben said suddenly, pointing at the artwork, "are they yours?" "Erm, yes, thank you." "I really like that night time forest scene," Ben added. "It's yours for a tenner," teased the man. He had meant it as a joke but Ben immediately extracted his wallet from his back pocket and pulled out a ten pound note. "Oh, I was joking," he said, feeling embarrassed at taking this man's money. "And I am being serious. There is a space on the wall of my office and that painting belongs there. That is, if you want to sell," Ben added quickly, realising that the painting might not actually be for sale. "Oh, erm, yes," the stranger stuttered. He placed his other paintings down on the floor and politely took the money before handing Ben his painting. "Thank you very much," smiled Ben, as he tucked the painting under his arm and pulled his shoulders back. The stranger was staring again. "Goodbye." "B-bye." Pleased with his purchase, Ben jogged up the stairs, two at a time, and returned to work. Unknown to Ben, when he disappeared around the corner to go back to work, the very stranger that he had just bought the painting from headed straight for the bench he had just been sitting on. He had then taken a pen and written a reply to Ben's last message that he had written only minutes before. * With shaking hands, Mat poured himself a cup of tea after he dumped all his stuff on the kitchen table. He had just returned from the local morning market, selling some of his more commercial work, when he got distracted by the song playing on his iPod and walked straight into some poor bloke! He felt so embarrassed! And to make things worse, the man was the most handsome man Mat had ever seen in his life! When he had smiled at Mat, Mat had almost melted into a puddle. The fitted suit hugged the man's body so that Mat could see every line and curve, the salt and pepper hair was distinguished and yet adorable, and the voice! Posh but not stuck up, soft and polite, like velvet. But it was when the man smiled that had caused Mat to catch his breath. The corners of his eyes crinkled and made them shone, and all Mat could see were these beautiful blue eyes looking back at him, no doubt thinking he was a lunatic for not being able to look away! Mat sipped his hot drink as he changed into his work clothes. Nice-eyes had actually liked one of his paintings! And it wasn't one of the popular ones, it was the type that he only sold once in a while and yet was one of his favourites. He slipped a CD into the player and then placed a new canvas onto the easel. He then squeezed some paint onto the palette and stood back as the music guided his hand, nice-eyes not leaving his mind for one second as he worked. * Ben stepped back and admired the newest addition to his office. His office had always been very impersonal, no photos or certificates on the desk or walls. But now, with this newly acquired painting, the room felt more like Ben's space than it ever had before. "What's that?" asked Martha as she came in and stood beside Ben, tilting her head as she inspected the painting. "A painting, I just bought it. What do you think?" She pulled an approving face, nodding. "I like it. Who's the artist?" "I-" Ben frowned. "I don't know his name." He folded his arms. I didn't ask him his name! Why didn't I ask him his name? Now I will never know! He squinted at the signature in the corner of the canvas, but could not make out what it said. Martha, who knew him too well, read his expression like a book. "Good artist was he?" she asked with her tongue in her cheek. "Yes very," Ben said eagerly. Martha raised and eyebrow and he blushed. "Well, I liked it." "I bet you did." Ben gave her an innocent look and she laughed at his own blindness. She patted his arm and walked away, leaving him to pine after this mysterious artist. * Even better than popcorn. Wow, then it must be good. Define 'good film'. The Breakfast Club? That is such a 'happily ever after film'. What's wrong with that? It's unrealistic, 'happily every after's' don't happen in real life. Says who? Says me. * Mat stepped outside for another spontaneous run. He jogged on the spot and then automatically went over to the bench that miraculously still hadn't been removed due to all the graffiti all over it. He no longer thought twice about what he was doing, about how strange it was, it was part of his routine now and he loved it. He read the last message and frowned. So far the banter had been light hearted and silly, but there was something about the definitive 'says me' that gave Mat the impression there was real malice behind the words. He had two choices, either he could simply make a joke about it and act like he was none the wiser, or he could make a difference in this stranger's life. He chewed on the end of his pen as he thought, and then quickly scribbled something down and walked away before he changed his mind. Part of him was telling him to get hold of a pen knife and carve what he had written out. But he ran away from those voices. * A few hours later Mat returned, checking his watch as he turned a corner into the road where he lived. 2:30pm. He was about to open the door to his building when a voice in his mind told him to check the bench. He had realised that the stranger always replied around lunchtime everyday, and therefore probably worked in the area rather than lived in one of the flats. And since the usual lunch hour had passed there was a chance the stranger had replied. As he approached the bench, Mat's heart was thumping loudly. He tried to subtly lean over the seat and look, which of course made him look ridiculous. His heart sank. Aren't you happy? No. He sighed and brushed his fingers across the two simple letters. No. He so badly wanted to make his stranger happy, but what could he say on a public bench? Mat slouched onto the seat and held his head in his hands. The least he could do was to make the stranger smile. So he pulled out his pen and wrote; well you should be, there is a bakery 2 miles away that does the best pasties! When he got back to his studio he immediately regretted what he had put. This person was unhappy, and he had gone and made a stupid joke! But he could hardly have made the stranger pour out their feelings onto a bench! He rubbed his eyes, feeling unnecessarily guilty, when an idea came to him. How could he not have thought of it before? What was stopping him from meeting his stranger and offering him a sympathetic ear? At worst the person will say no, and at best he would have made a friend. So that was what Mat decided to do. * Mat woke up early the next day with a fluttering feeling in the pit of his stomach. He wasn't quite sure if it was excitement or nerves that were the cause of this. He washed and dressed quickly, burning his throat as he did not wait for his coffee to cool down before he drank it. He shoved a toasted bagel into his mouth as he pulled on his leather jacket and picked up his art bag. The plan was to sit on a nearby bench and sketch all morning, so he didn't look odd for hanging around for hours doing nothing. Being so early, the plaza was pretty empty so Mat managed to claim the perfect seat a few yards away from the bench in question. From where he was he could see anyone who chose to sit there, so hopefully his stranger would turn up. It would just be Mat's luck if it was his day off or something! He pulled out his sketchbook and settled on a subject to draw. He chose the fountain with the few people sitting around it and the child throwing a coin in to make a wish. He used a 2B pencil to get the basics down quickly before anybody moved and then moved in to the detail. The bench was on the other side of the fountain so he could keep an eye on it whilst it worked. A few people came and went, and Mat's head snapped up and he watched very carefully when they took a seat at the golden bench, but not one took any notice of the conversation that had been carved on it. Around 11 o'clock a young lady, in her twenties Mat thought, sat on the edge of the bench and pulled out a book from her bag. Just as she was opening it, she glanced at the bench and began to read what was written there. Mat shot up, watching her carefully. Honestly, he thought it was a man he had been talking to, and he was slightly disappointed that it wasn't. He had fantasised about a knight in shining armour that swept him off his feet and took him away to some fairytale world. But no matter, if this girl needed someone to talk to, he could be there. But before he walked over to her to introduce himself, Mat noted the odd expression on her face. It was like she had never read the words before, like it didn't make sense to her. She also didn't seem to want to write a reply as she made no attempt to fish out a pen from her bag. It's not her! When she had finished reading it she shrugged to herself and went back to her book. As time went on, Mat got more and more fidgety. He had finished the basic frame of the sketch now and was using pencils with different levels of hardness to get all the detail and shading. He got quite absorbed at one point and did not register immediately that the bench he was supposed to be watching was no longer vacant. He had looked up to check the shadow created by the curve of the marble fountain, when he did a double take and realised someone was sitting there. He scrutinised the stranger, and realised that he was no stranger at all, it was nice-eyes! Mat's stomach flipped. Please be him, please be him! Mat almost fell of his seat as he edged forward to try and get a better look at him. He was just innocently sitting there, picking at a pasta pot whilst he used his elbows to hold a notebook open. It wasn't warm enough for him to have taken his blazer jacket off, but he had done the front button up so it hugged his chest and accentuated his muscle. He didn't appear to have paid any attention to the writing on the bench he was sitting on. Mat's heart sank, he didn't know why, but he so badly wanted nice-eyes to be his stranger. He was about to go back to his drawing and wait for the next person to come along, when he saw nice-eyes throw his empty pasta pot into the nearby bin from where he was sitting. Impressive, Mat giggled. Nice-eyes then began to rummage through his laptop bag before pulling out a pen. He then leaned forward and tilted his head so that he could read the last message that had been left for him. He smiled, it was a beautiful smile, and then began to scratch his reply into the wood. Mat's heart stopped. It was him! He couldn't move. No matter how much his brain screamed at his legs to get up and walk over there they would not do as they were told. Mat was rooted to the spot. He could do nothing but watch helplessly as nice-eyes made notes in his booklet, occasionally putting the end of his pen in his mouth and chewing on it as he thought. Mat couldn't look away, he just stared, his mouth open wide and his eyes transfixed. He had no idea how long he spent just watching, but when nice-eyes stood up, he had a minor panic attack. His legs still refused to move and there was no way he could speak to him now. As nice-eyes walked past, Mat held his hand to his face and hunched over so he could not see his face. It was stupid really, there was no way nice-eyes would have remembered him, but he did it anyway. The moment he disappeared round the corner, he found his feet again and walked quickly over to the bench before any one else took it. He read nice-eyes' reply. Really? Where? I must go there some time. Mat pulled a sad smile, he had been so close! He mentally slapped himself before taking a pen and bending over to reply. A voice from behind startled him. "It's you!" Mat froze, thinking the police had finally caught up with the graffiti artist that had been terrorising the plaza for the past few weeks. He turned slowly. Nice-eyes was standing there, his beautiful eyes wide and his mouth open. "You're my stranger." They stared at each other for some minutes unable to move. "Hi," Mat managed to say after an eternity. "Hi," Ben replied. They both continued to stare. Not quite believing what they were seeing. Ben suddenly shoved his hand out. "Ben." Mat took it. "Mat." Apparently neither were capable of more than one syllable at a time. Ben's heart thumped wildly, he had not forgotten the artist that had inspired some of his best work to date. His hand was softer and stronger than he expected. He was still holding it long after they had finished shaking. He quickly pulled his own away as he realised this, and Mat blushed as he did so. Mat had once more got lost in nice-eyes – Ben's – nice eyes! Say something you idiot! "Spires Avenue," he blurted out. Ben pulled a confused expression, thinking he had missed half a conversation. "Th-the bakery," Mat tapped the bench, trying to explain that he was replying verbally to Ben's last message, "they do the most amazing pasties. They probably do some great brownies too." Ben smiled fondly at the stuttering artist. "You will have to show me some time." Mat's mouth went dry. Is he… is he flirting with me? Of course not, don't be stupid. Look at him, he is a sex god and I am just a scrawny idiot. "Loved to," he just about managed to say. "How about now?" Ben asked impulsively. Mat dropped the art bag he was holding. Cursing, he struggled to pick everything up as the contents fell out the bag and sprayed across the concrete. Like the first time they met, Ben helped him to collect his things and gave them back to him. Their fingers brushed momentarily against each other and Mat shivered at the touch. "Sure," he breathed. They walked together, Ben standing closer than perhaps necessary but Mat didn't mind. He just had to hold his breath every time Ben's arm accidentally brushed against his own. He held his sketchbook close to his chest, clutching on to it for dear life as he thought of something to say. "So what do you-" "Shit!" Ben cut off Mat mid sentence as his mobile went off. Mat almost dribbled at the sound of the posh voice swearing. "Sorry," he said to Mat as his picked up. "Hello?" "Ben, where the hell are you?!" screeched Martha down the other end of the phone. "You are supposed to be in that meeting with Jim and the team, presenting the final script!" "Shit," Ben said again. With everything that had happened, Ben had completely forgotten he was supposed to be working! "Give me five minutes; can you stall them for me?" "You owe me big time Ben Willbond," she said. "I love you too," he said with a laugh before hanging up and turning to the crushed looking artist by his side. He didn't want to have to say goodbye to this man. "I… I have to go, that was my secretary, I'm supposed to be at a meeting. I only came back down because I left my notebook on the bench!" "That's okay," Mat smiled meekly, trying not to show the disappointment he felt. So he was in love with his secretary, of course, it had to be too good to be true. All the flirting had been in his own imagination. Ben took a step back but then turned again, hovering. "Tomorrow," he said, "would you like to do this tomorrow? 1 o'clock at our bench?" We have a bench! Mat squeed. Stop it. He is in love with his secretary, he said so, he reminded himself. He nodded nervously, not trusting what might come out of his mouth. Ben smiled again, making Mat's stomach flip. You can't look at me like that, that's not fair! "Tomorrow then," Ben said finally, before turning and running back to his office, hoping he still had a job when he got there. It was worth it though, he thought. * Mat fiddled with the cuff of his checked shirt. After telling himself twenty times that this was not a date, he had decided to go for smart casual; one of his best red and black checked shirts and black skinny jeans. Last minute he had also put on his leather jacket, which he was thankful for as it started to rain the moment he stepped outside. He held his jacket over his head as he stood by the bench waiting for Ben. 1:05pm. He's late. He's not coming, you've been stood up. No you haven't, this isn't a date so you can't be stood up. Just go back inside, you are getting soaked. But what if he has hurt himself, fallen down the stairs or something? Maybe you should just hang around to make sure an ambulance doesn't turn up. But then what would you do? You could hardly go with him could you? "Hi I'm Mat, Ben and I wrote messages to each other on government property." Just get out of the rain, you look like an idiot. "Hi." Mat's legs almost gave way underneath him as Ben approached him, beaming. "You're soaked!" he exclaimed as he shifted the umbrella in his hand so that Mat could stand underneath it with him. Mat looked down at himself like he hadn't realised. "Oh, yeah, I didn't have an umbrella." Ben just laughed. "Sorry I'm late, my boss wanted to see me. Shall we go?" Mat lead the way to the infamous bakery, chatting about this and that; what horrible weather it was, not like last week, the flowers will probably appreciate it. Mat stepped back and allowed Ben to enter first, catching a cheeky glimpse at Ben's bum. He approved of what he saw, and then flushed as Ben turned and asked him what he wanted to eat. "You're going to want to try the beef pasty," he said with an innocent smile, hoping Ben had not seen him looking. "Alright," Ben turned to the till lady, "two beef pasties, a brownie and a millionaires shortbread please." Mat shoved his hand into his pocket and pulled out a collection of coins. Ben immediately enclosed his hands around Mat's and said, "No don't worry, I'll pay." Mat was so unprepared for the contact that he froze. Ben took the silence as acceptance and paid the cashier whilst Mat tried to process what had just happened. Ben handed Mat's meal to him, and then took his own and they walked out the shop as there was no seating area inside. They stood against the window under the canopy to avoid getting wet (or more wet in Mat's case) as they ate. "So?" grinned Mat, "was I right or was I right? Are these not the best pasties you have ever tasted?" "I have to say that this pastry does indeed surpass any I have had before." Mat's heart fluttered as Ben smiled; all he had wanted to do was to make Ben happy. "So what do you do? Jobwise I mean." "I'm a writer for a TV show. I write various comedy sketches as well as editing others. We are just about to finalise the latest script and start casting and filming." "Oh wow," said Mat, genuinely interested. "And, um," he picked at his millionaires shortbread, not sure if he wanted to know the answer to the question, "how – how long have you been dating your secretary?" "Wh-agpt?" Ben choked on his brownie. "I heard you say 'I love you' to her on the phone. Sorry is it a secret? I won't tell anyone," he mentally slapped himself, thinking he had put his foot in it. Ben burst into a fit of laughter. "Martha is one of my closest friends, I was teasing her. I'm," he dropped his eyes and wrung his hands, "I'm gay actually." "Oh," Mat too lowered his eyes. "Me too." The two of them avoided making eye contact with each other for fear of exposing the want in their eyes. Mat could have taken Ben there and then against the window, to the shock of the two old women buying some iced buns for their grandchildren. They stood quietly and ate, neither able to think of anything else to say. "I'd better…" Ben pointed aimlessly behind him. "I can't be late two days in a row." Mat nodded and Ben opened his umbrella up so that the two of them could make it back to the plaza relatively dry. When they reached the point where they had to go their separate ways, Ben hovered like he did before. "Would you, um, would you like to do this again tomorrow?" "I can't," Ben visibly deflated, "I have to mind my stool at the market, I sell my artwork there twice a week." "Oh," was all Ben could think to say. "Here." Mat fished out his mobile and got up the contacts list. "Let me give you my number." Ben quickly took out his own phone, a posh Blackberry, much more expensive than Mat's old Nokia, and tapped in Mat's number as he read it out to him. It amused him that Mat didn't know his number off by heart. "Why would I need to know my own number? I don't need to call or text my own phone do I?" was his defence. Mat curled a lock of hair around his finger as he said, "call me?" They said good bye and then parted ways, both leaving with slightly pink cheeks. * Ben was humming to himself when he got back to the office. When Martha saw the glint in his eye as he walked by her desk she jumped up and followed him into his office. She pulled up a chair and sat opposite him on the other side of his desk and used her arms to prop her head up. Ben pulled a face. "What?" "Tell. Me. Everything." "There's nothing to tell," but the grin on Ben's face gave him away. Martha kicked him under the table. "Something has been going on for ages now and you are going to tell me what." This was why Martha was one of Ben's closest friends, you could tell her anything and it would stay between the two of you. Ben leant forward, giving the appearance of a conspiracy going on between them as he told her how Mat had drawn on his doodle, and then they started to talk and met and gone to lunch. Martha stayed silent as Ben told his tale, but her grin grew bigger and bigger as every second went by. "Ooh!" she squealed when Ben had finished. "It's like a fairytale! You two are destined to be together." "Wait, who said I liked him like that?" "Erm, every grin and wistful look you have pulled in the past ten minutes! Don't try and deny it Ben, you're easier to read than a book. So what are you going to do to bag your man?" "I'm sorry?" "Well, in every fairytale the prince does something to sweep the princess, or other prince," she added with a wink, "off his feet. So how are you going to surprise him?" "I… er… I…" "I know!" Martha exclaimed suddenly. "Go visit him at the market tomorrow. He won't be expecting it, it would be so sweet!" She clapped her hands over her heart and hugged herself. "He will think I am a stalker!" "No he won't, he'll love it." "I don't know…" "Well I do. You are going if I have to push you out the door myself." "Fine," Ben said, making it sound like he was only going to shut Martha up, but really he hadn't needed that much persuading to see Mat again. Martha then looked at him with a cheeky grin. "Can I come and watch?" "Get back to work!" Ben pointed to her desk out the door and Martha poked her tongue out as she returned to work. * Ben walked up the street and saw the entrance to the market a few yards ahead of him. He then turned around and walked quickly in the other direction. Stupid, stupid, Mat wouldn't want him to disturb him whilst he was trying to make a living. No, best to go back and tell Martha what a silly ideas of hers it had been. He then thought of what she had said to him before he had left. "I can make life a living hell for you if you chicken out of this you know." Ben gritted his teeth and told himself to pull himself together. He turned once more and made his way to the market. As he approached the entrance, he froze, not able to walk any further. Fate intervened and just then a bustle of people chose to walk into the market, Ben got caught up with them and was forced to enter with them. He saw Mat immediately. He was sitting in a plastic chair with his feet up on his stool, throwing peanuts in the air and catching them in his mouth. Doubt once more flooded Ben's mind but before he had the chance to run away Mat saw him. He jumped up and tried to look as dignified as he could, as if he hadn't been slacking only moments before. "Hello," Ben grinned as he approached him. "Hi," Mat breathed, wringing his hands, "what are you doing here?" "I've never been to this market before and so I thought I'd check it out," he lied. "Oh." Why does my brain go to mush every time I try and talk to this man, thought Mat. "Well this is the market," he said as he gestured to the space around him and tried not to think about how he had just stated the obvious. "There are craft stools over there, clothes and fabric stools over there, food stools over there, and home made things here." He pointed to each area in turn. Ben did not seem interested in any stool there except Mat's. "And these are your paintings?" Ben asked as he had a look though a box of prints. "Yes, it's mostly the more commercial stuff. I do a few copies of the same subject of things that seem to sell the most. Usually it's landscapes and abstract splodges." Ben nodded as he listened to Mat talk about some of the art he pointed out; where it was, what had inspired him, whether he liked them. Ben couldn't understand some of the terminology but he was happy listening to Mat talk about something he was clearly passionate about. He complimented him every time and Mat got shyer and shyer as he did so. Ben was edging his way around the table, a few steps further and he would have been round the back with Mat. He used the artwork that was spread out all over the stool as an excuse to get even closer. Mat licked his lips; not taking his eyes of Ben's shining eyes for one second, willing him to close the gap. "Your customer has been at your stool for over twenty minutes and he hasn't bought a thing." They sprang apart as someone Ben did not recognise lent against the pole of the stool and got between them. "Ben," he offered is hand, hoping he hadn't got Mat into trouble with his boss. "Simon," the man replied, furrowing his brow. "Have we met?" "I don't believe so," said Ben, quite certain he would remember someone with such fantastic blonde spaghetti hair. "This is Simon," he explained to Ben, "he owns the antiques stool. Talking of which, shouldn't you be minding it?" asked Mat, feeling embarrassed enough for the both of them. "The market closes in fifteen minutes; no one ever buys anything now." "You never know," glared Mat, trying as subtly as he could to get Simon to go away. He did not take the hint. Instead he edged closer and with a low voice said, "See that guy at table twelve," Mat automatically spun round and looked at the man in question. Ben followed his gaze, but tried not to stare so obviously. "He has been making eyes at you all day." Simon nudged Mat on the arm and wiggled his eyebrows. "No he hasn't, you're just seeing things." As Mat said this, the man on table twelve noticed Mat looking and smiled at him playfully through his eyelashes. Mat smiled back awkwardly and then looked at Simon, whose expression could be translated into 'so tell me again how this guy doesn't fancy you?' Mat began to straighten out his stool, tidying bits that were already tidy in the hope that Simon would drop the subject. But instead he moved so he was standing next to him again and began to tell Mat all he had learnt about the guy in the past few hours. "His name is Larry, he owns a book stool. He enjoys a good bit of comedy, sports, and comic books, and I bet you £10 that in the next half an hour he will give you his number." "I'm not interested." "No you're not are you," mused Simon, "you're still hung up on that mystery man of yours." Ben, who had been very quiet up until now, felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. The thought of Mat fancying a man that was not him made him feel sick. He pretended to be engrossed by a painting of a tree as he focused on the conversation the two men were having. "I keep telling you there is no mystery man!" Mat was pleading with Simon, praying that Ben did not realise it was him he was so hung up on. "Don't lie to me Mat, you've been acting differently lately, and then there's the – oh!" he suddenly exclaimed, clapping his hands together, "it's you!" Ben froze as Simon pointed an accusing finger at him. "I knew I had seen you somewhere before!" "Simon, please," Mat tried to say, but it was too late. "You're the guy in Mat's painting!" Mat ducked incredibly quickly behind the table so that Ben did not see his face turn bright beetroot. He pretended to put the money box into some sort of order. "What painting?" "Mat brought a new painting with the rest of his things today by accident. You are the man reading on the bench." Maybe, just maybe if I wish hard enough the ground will swallow me up, thought Mat. "Mat," Ben leant over the table to look at the crouching artist, "is this true? Can I see it?" Mat slowly stood up, hoping against hope that his skin colour had returned to it's normal pale self. He half smiled and nodded at Ben, unable to deny anything he asked. He turned and walked to the back of his stool, glaring at Simon as he went past – if looks could kill! Underneath his chair he pulled out a canvas, which he hugged close to his chest. "I didn't – it's not – you just have a very nice face," he bumbled, "as a subject for a painting I mean – not that you don't have a nice face anyway! I mean – you have a lovely face – not that you need me to tell you that, I'm sure people tell you that all the time. I -" Mat snapped his mouth shut before he said anything even more stupid than he had done already. "Just show me," Ben said gently as he held out his hand to accept the painting. Mat watched Ben's face as he handed the canvas over. Ben smiled at him first, before he looked at the painting. It was a smile that told him not to look so terrified as he would tell Mat he liked it even if he didn't. But when his eyes flicked down and took in the image, his smile dropped. Mat wrung his hands round his wrists, he had never cared about the verdict of his work like this before, and Ben's look of dumbfoundness was not comforting. "I just thought it would be a nice painting," he said apologetically, "I'm an artist, I can't really switch off my creativity. It's silly I know." He tried to take the painting back but Ben snatched it away. "I want it," he said quietly, still not taking his eyes off it. "It's amazing. It's the most beautiful thing I have ever seen!" The painting was a landscape of the plaza, the fountain on the left and their bench on the right. The fountain was full of life and spurting water so it flowed over the three bowls that made it up. There was a crowd behind, all a blur, but you could make out the families and the elderly couples walking by. And then there was Ben. He could see why Simon had recognised him from the painting. Although he was not the main focus he did take up a large part of the canvas. He was wearing a simple polo shirt and jeans, chewing the end of a pen as he looked over a notebook. His hair did not look grey as such, as Ben always liked to complain about, but was more 'salt and pepper-y' that gave him a distinguished look. The light from the sun highlighted his facial features perfectly, and enhanced the creases and folds in the clothes giving them a 3D feel. But what was most striking about this picture were his eyes. They were so blue! Ben, of course, knew what colour his eyes were, but he had thought them dull and lifeless. Mat, however, had made them look young yet wise, bright yet kind and loveable. Was this really how Mat saw him? "You – you like it?" stammered Mat. "It's perfect," Ben looked Mat directly in the eye as he said this. "Then take it." Ben dug out his wallet and pulled out a few notes. "I have… ninety pounds…" "No, no, just take it. It's for you." Their eyes locked as their bodies gravitated towards each other. "Not bad is it?" said Simon, completely oblivious to what he had just interrupted. Mat gave him another killer look and Ben coughed. "Thank you for this, really. I still feel like I should buy this from you." "Not at all," replied Mat as he tucked a curl behind his ear. It pinged back immediately. "This is for lunch yesterday." "This is worth more than just a few pasties!" "You could buy him dinner," murmured Simon with a grin, crossing his arms suggestively. Apparently he wasn't as oblivious as he had been making out. "Simon!" Mat exclaimed, wishing the ground would swallow him up again. "Alright." "What?" Ben squared his shoulders. "Would you like to go to dinner with me Mat?" "I – er – ye – I mean – I –um – if you want – er -" Simon took Mat by the shoulders. "What he is trying to say is 'yes'." "Yes," Mat said, as the words finally got from his brain to his lips. "I'll call you," said Ben as he bit his bottom lip and reluctantly returned to work. The moment Ben was out of sight, Mat had collapsed against Simon and said, "I fucking hate you." He had then thrown his arms around his neck and said, "thank you!" * Ben sipped the beer in his hand as he stood by the bar waiting for his name to be called. He had been so afraid of being late for this date, no dinner, that he had turned up early and their table wasn't ready. He smoothed down his clothes for the umpteenth time, hoping he hadn't overdressed for the occasion. He had chosen, well, Martha had chosen a pale blue shirt with a faded stripe pattern and cotton jeans when she volunteered herself to be Ben's date advisor. "He's only ever seen you in suits, he will want to see the real you. And don't take him to a posh restaurant either. He is an artist; he will like homely and rustic food. Take him to the cavalry, everyone loves a good roast." She had also ruffled his hair after he had tried to brush it down and taken the tie off him when he tried to put it on. When she had finally approved of his appearance she said, "Go get him tiger," and shoved him out the door. "Ben Willbond?" A waiter called his name and he was lead to his table as he waited for his date, no friend, to arrive. Mat was shaking as he opened the door to the restaurant. Being practically jobless and making money off a hobby meant he could not afford to eat out and so this was a rare treat for him. When he entered he looked around aimlessly, not quite sure what he was supposed to do. Thankfully a man approached him and asked him if he had a reservation. "Um yes," he replied. The two men exchanged glances that made Mat feel horribly uncomfortable, until the waiter finally asked him under what name was the reservation, and he realise how stupid he must have looked. "Willbond, I think." "Right this way sir." Mat ran his sweating hands through his hair, something he always did when he was nervous. Normally he would have loved this place, looking at all the artwork on the walls, asking about the history of the place, but right now all he could think about was Ben. I hope I look okay, I hope I've got the right place, I hope I've got the right time, I hope turns up, I hope I don't do something stupid, I hope I don't drop food down myself! His heart beat increased as he thought of more and more things that could go wrong. And then he saw him. Ben stood as Mat approached. Do I hug him? Kiss him? Shake his hand? He began to panic as Mat's clean shaven face and wispy hair highlighted his jaw line. He rushed to Mat's chair and pulled it out, chivalry was something he had been brought up on. "Oh thank you," Mat said with an amused grin. "Hello," he added. "Hi." They looked at each other shyly, neither sure what to say. Their awkward silence was short lived, however, when a woman from a nearby table began to shout at the poor waiter that had brought Mat to the table. "I am not happy with my soup, waiter," she said as she clicked her fingers at him, "I demand you take it back and get me another one." Mat and Ben could not help but watch. "What is wrong with it madam?" "It is cold." "You ordered the special madam." "I am well aware of what I ordered thank you," she said rudely. "It was the Vichyssoise." "So?" The waiter looked awkwardly around, aware of how much attention this conversation was getting. "Madam it's supposed to be served cold, it's a cold soup." Mat and Ben tried to stifle their sniggers but when they caught site of the other they burst into a fit of laughter. The dinner went like a dream. They talked non stop about anything and everything, they probably knew more about each other than themselves! Ben told Mat all kinds of stories that come with working at a TV station and Mat continuously made Ben laugh with his cheesey jokes. Mat told Ben how he had bought and watched all the shows Ben had written for and loved every single one of them, and Ben told Mat of how everyone on his floor wanted a copy of the painting hung in his office. They were happy and content in each others company, but as the evening drew to a close something nagged at the back of Mat's mind. "Ben," he said as he mixed his ice cream sundae. "Mmhmm," Ben said with a mouthful of ice cream. "Can I ask you something?" "You just did," Ben winked. "Of course," he then said when he saw the frown on Mat's face. "When we were writing on that bench to each other," he couldn't help but smile at the thought of the thing that brought them together, "I asked you if you were happy, and you said no." Ben put his spoon down and looked at his lap. "Yeah I remember. I'd had a bad few weeks at work; the pressure of deadlines, the lack of inspiration, and then the fact that I was gay came out and rumours started. I was just sick of everyone and everything." "Are you still unhappy?" Mat was inspecting the bottom of his glass. "No, I met you," Ben said very quietly. Mat's stomach flipped. They both looked at each other out of the corner of their eye, and when they caught the other looking they got caught up in a fit of shy giggles. After a lot of protesting, Ben paid for dinner and he walked Mat back to his flat. "Do you live nearby?" asked Mat, knowing Ben didn't actually live in the offices by the plaza. "About a twenty minute walk that way," Ben pointed in the general direction of his home. Mat made an 'o' shape with his mouth. They got to the plaza and Mat dug his hands into his pockets awkwardly. "Well, um, thanks for tonight, it was," we're just friends we're just friends we're just friends, "nice." He looked down at his feet and a curl flopped down into his eye. Ben reached out and tucked it behind his ears, trailing his fingers down Mat's jawline until it rested on his chin where it stayed. He pushed up slightly so that Mat's big brown eyes were looking at him. He then inched closer, parting his lips slightly and saw that Mat did the same. As they got close enough to feel each other's breath, Ben hesitated, expecting Mat to pull away and explain that he just wanted to be friends. But when he did not, Ben closed the gap and pecked a short and sweet kiss on Mat's lips. He pulled away immediately, still expecting Mat to say he did not have feelings for him, but Mat had other ideas. He cupped Ben's face in his hands and eagerly pulled him into a much more passionate kiss. Ben responded by lifting Mat off the ground, which took him by surprise, and putting him down on the bench. As their kisses got more and more frantic, Mat got pushed back so that he was lying on top of the bench and Ben climbed on top of him. Ben ran his fingers up Mat's thin arm and as he reached Mat's hand he interwined them so that they were locked together. Ben used his other hand to hold himself up as he traced kisses along Mat's neck when he felt the surface become uneven. He glanced at the bench and saw he drawing of a man in the rain, a stranger offering him a cupcake, along with the long conversation two people had had over a period of time. He smiled at it, and Mat saw and sat up, smiling too. He pressed a delicate kiss on Ben's cheek and whispered in his ear. "We could… take this to my flat… if you like." Ben kissed him full on the mouth and nodded. He got off the bench and then helped Mat to do the same. Before Mat could lead him inside, he wrapped his arms around his waist and pulled him close. He gave him a soft smile. "My stranger." 

[bethxpfanfics-blog]

Last Night On Earth

Ben ran his fingers across his CD collection until he found the one he was looking for. He took the disk from it's case and slipped it into the CD player, hitting the play button. Soft, classical piano music filled the room, engulfing him with the feeling of calm and relaxation. He then went into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of red wine; left over from the dinner party he had had last night. He then snuggled himself into his armchair, tucking his feet underneath him for maximum comfort, and began to read. Ben had deliberately planned his day so that could have this afternoon alone to unwind. He had spent all week working and last night he had hosted a small dinner party for the six of them; him, Martha, Jim, Simon, Larry, and his beloved Mat. Of course he had enjoyed it immensely, but after spending all week with them in not always the most comfortable of costumes, it was nice to have some time to himself. He sighed. He didn't really want to be by himself. He did just want to sit in quiet, drinking red wine and listening to classical music, but he didn't want to be alone. He wanted to be held in Mat's arms, resting on his lap as he hushed him to sleep. They hadn't spent a night together in such a long time, and every time they tried to something would always come up. Like tonight, Ben had asked Mat over but Mat had family plans that he couldn't get out of. Oh well, it wasn't like they hadn't seen each other in months; they did work together after all. They had filmed another Alex/Heph scene the other day with secretly pleased them both. I will see him on Monday, and we will make proper plans to go away for the weekend, Ben thought. He went back to his book, still not fully satisfied with his decision. Ben did not get up immediately when he heard the doorbell ring. This was supposed to be his 'me time' and he did not really want to be disturbed. But being the kind of man he was, far too considerate of other people's feelings, he reluctantly got up, bookmarked the page he was on in his book, and answered the door, stretching in the process. Whatever he was expecting, it was certainly not a certain Mathew Baynton in a false moustache and wearing his far too big RAF uniform from work. Ben couldn't speak. Instead he pulled a confused expression at Mat, who in return gave him his most sorrowful puppy dog eyes. Ben's heart melted. "I am going to war tomorrow," Mat said, taking off his hat and holding it to his heart, "I might never see you again." Ben swallowed down the giggles he was trying to suppress and allowed the pure lust for the handsome man whom he knew he was about to ravish to take over him. He raised an eyebrow at Mat. "Well we'd better make the most of tonight then, hadn't we?" Mat's eyes sparkled as he stepped forward to enter Ben's house but Ben would not let him pass. Instead he wrapped his arms around Mat's back and legs and swept him off his feet. Mat let out a surprised yelp as he clung on to Ben's neck so he would not be dropped. He pressed a soft kiss on Ben's delicious lips and then grinned as he pulled away, before going in for a second, much more passionate kiss. Ben carried Mat inside; he weighed practically nothing, and kicked the door shut with his foot, before carrying him upstairs and lovingly placed him on his four poster bed. Mat's eyes transfixed on him. "I am going to fuck you like it's our last night on earth."            

[bethxpfanfics-blog]

The Music Shop

"Oh please please please?!" begged Mat as he tugged on Ben's coat sleeve. "But I'm tired Mat," moaned Ben, "we've been shopping for hours!" Mat pushed his bottom lip out and gave Ben is best puppy dog face. It was a trick he would always pull as a last resort to get what he wanted, as Ben could not refuse it. "Fine!" He rolled his eyes and allowed Mat to lead him by the hand to where he wanted to go. Mat had just moved flat and needed a few household items, so being the good boyfriend that he was; Ben agreed to go shopping with him. A 'quick trip down the high street' became a whole day shopping and Ben's arms were aching after carrying bags of pretty patterned mugs, figurines, and a few CDs. "I will be really quick," Mat said as he pushed open the door. Ben pulled a face, that was the third time he had heard Mat say that that day. The shop Mat so desperately wanted to explore was the music shop, it had only recently opened and so Mat had not had the chance to go in. He had always liked them, a huge room full of shiny, exciting instruments gave him the same adrenalin rush that caused people to jump out of aeroplanes with only a bit of fabric to keep them safe. A small squeal escaped Mat's lips as he entered the room and Ben could not help but smile fondly at the childlike way he skipped from one instrument to the next with pure glee on his face. Ben was aware that Mat could probably play every instrument in sight if he wanted to, music was one of the many talents he was blessed with, and one of the many reasons that Ben found him so attractive. Whenever they recorded the Horrible Histories songs, Ben found himself watching Mat record some of the music on the other side of the sound booth, even when he did not need to be there, because it was just so enchanting. Content in seeing Mat happy, Ben took a seat in one of the husband chairs in the corner and waited for Mat to get bored. He put the heavy bags down on the floor and crossed his arms patiently, chuckling every now and again when he heard a familiar voice go "wow" from somewhere out of sight. For a short while Ben heard nothing and he had almost dozed off in the seat when the sound of someone calling his name startled him awake. "Ben! Ben! You have to come and see this!" Mat peered round the glass case of wind instruments, joy etched in his face like he had discovered something better than Christmas. He grabbed Ben by the hands and pulled him to his feet, leading him to an area around the corner from the main shop room. "Oh wow," Ben said as Mat dramatically opened his arms up to show the Grand Piano in the middle of the room. "Isn't she beautiful?" "Er, yeah it's great," Ben replied not quite so enthusiastically. He had never shared Mat's adoration for actual instruments themselves, although when played well, he certainly appreciated the sounds they made. But Mat did not notice Ben's fake impressed expression as he was too busy stroking the top of the piano and smiling at his own reflection in the shiny black material it was made from. "I've always wanted one of these," he said to no one in particular, "but we never had the money or the room." Ben saw the look of longing in Mat's eyes. He could see it being that one thing on the Christmas list that Mat never got, like how many girls asked for ponies that never fitted in Father Christmas's sack, Mat wanted a piano. "Well why don't you give it a little tinkle now?" "What?" "You know," Ben pretended to play the piano in the air, wiggling his fingers up and down. "This is a music shop, people test out instruments all the time, nobody will mind." Mat still looked unsure so Ben took the initiative to open up the piano so that the pristine black and white keys were on display. "What are you doing?" exclaimed Mat in a hushed tone, looking around and expecting the shop owner to appear and throw them out. Ben ignored him and used his thumb and forefinger to play two notes at the same time. It sounded awful. "No, no, no," Mat grimaced as he pushed Ben's hand away, "you can't play two notes next to each other at the same time; they clash. Here." He took a seat on the small leather stool and stretched his fingers across the keyboard. He straightened his back and took a deep breath in, closing his eyes momentarily before gently pressing down three notes with his left hand. A vibration of low sounds filled the room and Mat added the melody over the top with his right hand. In seconds he was lost in the music and had completely forgotten his fears of being seen. He swayed back and forth, rocking his head as the music guided him. Ben was transfixed. He had heard Mat play numerous times before, but never like this. He did not recognise the song Mat was playing, something classical and made for the piano obviously, but that was as far as Ben's musical knowledge went. He wanted to ask Mat but he also didn't want to disturb him from his trace. A smile tugged at his lips as he reached out and lightly stroked Mat on the cheek. Mat turned to him at his touch and smiled, causing Ben's stomach to flip. Although Mat said nothing, Ben knew he was telling Ben with his eyes that this song was for him, that every emotion that was expressed with the sharps, flats, and naturals were the emotions Mat felt whenever he was near Ben, and a lump formed in Ben's throat as the realised this. "I love you." The music stopped suddenly. Mat's hands were still hovering over the keys as he spluttered. "W-what?" Ben's eyes widened as he realised what he had said, blood rushing to his cheeks. They had not said the 'L' word yet for they had only been dating for a short while. "Nothing, nothing, I said nothing," Ben blurted out, avoiding Mat's questioning eyes. Mat gave a disappointing little "oh," and went back to playing on the piano. However this time, the piece he chose to play was solemn and melancholy. Ben felt the need to cry once more, but for completely different reasons this time. "No, no, I'm sorry I did say something." Mat stopped playing once more and looked up hopefully into Ben's big blue slightly-wetter-than-they-should-be eyes. Ben tried to speak, he opened his mouth but the only noise that came out was a sort of choking sound. "Yes?" Ben took a deep breath in and tried again. "I said I love you… I love you Mat Baynton." Mat stared at him for what felt like an age, but then without warning he grabbed Ben by the collar and pulled him into a passionate kiss. Ben had to grab Mat's shoulders to stop himself from falling over as he almost lost his balance. Mat pulled away but still clung to Ben's top so that their faces were only inches apart. "I love you too." "Excuse me," bellowed a voice they did not recognise. Mat let Ben go as they both turned to see a short, fat man in a cheap suit approach them. "If you are not going to buy this piano would you kindly leave my shop?" Despite using the word 'kindly', there was nothing polite about this man's manner. But Mat and Ben were far too intoxicated on each other to care. They exchanged looks and burst into fits of giggles. Mat slipped his hand into Ben's and gave it a little squeeze. "Want to go back to mine?" he asked. "Loved to."