#crossbearers

[disterra]

little weekend sketch dump of some studies + some crossbearers chibis + doodle i did after i read @hi-res-tm's epic fic verse try as i may (i'm still fighting for you) 💗

the bunny miles is inspired by bunny costume from @lalalunawrites 🐇

[hi-res-tm]

In Your Eyes (I Am Complete)

Pairing: Miles Miller x Ben Mears

Summary: Only a year into their relationship, Miles Miller and Ben Mears have been slowly going from strength to strength after the events of Salem's Lot. That doesn't mean each step forward is ever easy. Still haunted the phantom hold of the El Royale on his life, Miles is plagued by the desire to be able to give his whole self to his partner. To do that, he needs to exercise some demons first. He knows the how, is disgusted by the why. But after years of having his trust broken, can he find it in himself to trust Ben once again, and try bondage?

Warnings: 18+ only please. First time trying BDSM. Allusions to less than ideal times, but not between the pair. References to Miles's time being held hostage by the cult, abuse of power, and PTSD. Descriptions of prostate stimulation, anal sex, hand jobs, bondage, voyeurism, dirty talk, verbal domming, sir/daddy kink, spit kink, scent kink, m/m breastfeeding/oral fixation and subspace. There was a lot of words to fill.

A/N: Set post Try As I May, but can be read standalone. Only mild spoilers to the fic, and is mostly focused on the events of the El Royale. Also I've added dividers for breaks, as lets be honest, its a lot to read all at once. And thanks as ever to @lalalunascope for her proof reading and ideas! and for not cutting the nips <3

Word Count: 22k. lol. Available on AO3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  In the end, they had taken that plunge together. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The sight hit him as though it had physical weight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Penny for your thoughts?” Ben asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was still terrified.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “Colour, sweetheart?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  And Miles conducted him through all of it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “You sure?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “Fuck, even sound pretty”, Ben gasped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Miles gave a single squeeze.

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

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

  “M’sorry… too much”, Miles sniffed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Almost.

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

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

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

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

Dividers by @saradika-graphics. Taglist: @musicislove3389 @lewmagoo @solarsentry @abbottsdarling @purpleheartspounding

[lalalunawrites]

Bunny Costume

Pairing: Ben Mears (Salem's Lot movie) x Miles Miller (Bad Times at the El Royale)

Word Count: 1.2k

Summary: Miles comes home from mass, and he just knows that his husband is going to go nuts for his Easter outfit. Unfortunately, Ben just won't seem to look up at him. So Miles takes things into his own hands.

Tags/Warnings: None, really. This is pure fluff with just hints at future/past smut.

A/N: Didn't mean for this to happen, but it is entirely @hi-res-tm's fault for writing a line about Miles with a bunny tail. (To be honest, this is probably my worst writing I've done in a long time, but the idea is cute and it's Easter, so I'm putting it out there.)

The Wardrobe Masterlist

Miles wasn't going to act like he didn't know what he was doing. He knew what he was getting himself into going home dressed like this.

To anyone else, it would be nothing special. He looked like the man he was; a Sunday school teacher who got into the spirit of Easter. But to Ben Mears? It was about to be open season.

He expected it as soon as he walked through the door, but Ben was busy thumbing through one of the birdwatching magazines Mark had gotten him as a joke while half-watching a VHS of an old Mets game. Miles wasn't exactly surprised to glance at the score and see that they were down quite a bit.

"Welcome home, sweetheart," Ben called as Miles walked through the door. "How was church?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Going?"

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

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

"Late? Late for what?"

"A very important date."

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

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

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

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

Miles ran.

And Ben? Ben chased.

It was rabbit season after all.

Divider Credit -> @/strangergraphics

Images in headers are not mine.

Hope you liked it! Feel free to like, reblog, or comment!

Please do not repost or reproduce in any way. You do not have my permission to use this for AI scraping.

[abbottsdarling]

No Light

Pairing: Ben Mears x Miles Miller

Summary: Salem's Lot is all but lost as two lovers try and make it through the night alive.

Warnings: ANGST, vampires, temporary character death, character deaths, blood, violence, needles and rabies shot, slight divergence from canon events, happy ending (i promise), kinda rushed ending (sorry :/ )

Word Count: 2.2k

Note: My first crossbearers fic! I was bullied by @iristheplanet16 to make this a happy ending. It was 🤏 this close to not being one. On another note, is this how the characters react to the rabies vaccine in the movie? No, not at all. But! I was in the mood for the drama and tears. So yeah.

Masterlists

Miles’s lungs screamed at him as he ran down the street from their abandoned car, the gas in it completely depleted, and his legs on fire as he tried to keep up with Ben. His shorter legs were an extreme disadvantage as they raced for their lives, trying their best to make it out of the dark. His hand was latched with Ben’s, intertwined so tight it would take a crowbar to remove them from each other.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“ARGH! Ben!”

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

“No! Miles!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, Ben plunged the needle into his vein.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, a gasp.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Miles…”

“No!”

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

“No!”

“Miles!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated! Love ya!

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Tagging: @fandomxo

[solarsentry]

My Savior, My Guardian Angel

pairing: miles miller x ben mears (crossbearers/royale’s lot)

summary: Miles didn’t know what he’s done to deserve a second chance at life. He thought he died after what happened at the El Royale but suddenly, he’s greeted by a man that he has seen before. Ben Mears leads him back to his hometown of Jerusalem’s Lot which quickly becomes the worst time of their lives (for different reasons).

a/n: miles: i have a crush on my closest friend… i have to ask forgiveness from god :( meanwhile ben: holy shit miles and I are going to fucking die by bloodsucking vampires. Anyways, happy crossbearers week to those who celebrate (or know what that is lol)!! This has been brewing in my mind for so long and now, i’m finally writing for them once more since last year! No joke. This was actually made around December 12 and I never touched it again until now because I got distracted by other things… Anywho, I miss them dearly. They mean so much to me <3 so enjoy Miles basically going through a coming of age romcom (with a dash of a religion crisis) while Ben fears for his life with some supernatural entities. It kind of loses steam at the end (so sorry about that) and might be ooc but regardless enjoy!

cw: near death experiences, mentions of death, internalized homophobia, period typical homophobia, religious guilt, religious questioning, only one bed trope (not too important though), suicidal thoughts (yes, all of these are because of miles), Happy ending!, miles centric but Ben’s POV pops in every now and then

wc: 5.6K

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then the year 1969 came and he had bigger issues. 

That being his death. Or well, almost death.

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

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

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

Ben Mears. Again.

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

——————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The officer leaves and Ben drives off. 

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

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

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

“Some memories?”

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Miles Miller was not a naive man. Not anymore.

“Just some things I need to confess.” 

——————

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

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

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

That fantasy shattered once he woke up. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Please, Miles begged. Do something. Anything. 

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

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

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

Some of them even live with humans.

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

——————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, I’m fine…”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, that’d be nice.”

——————

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

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

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

“We didn’t agree on a bet.”

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

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

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

“Do you miss this place?”

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

“Me? What did I do?”

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

“And you care about me?” 

“Why wouldn’t I?”

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

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

He bites his tongue. Is it?

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

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

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

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

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

You’re so much better than I. 

——————

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

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

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

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

Seriously, it was a problem.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe he understood. Maybe he was truthful this time.

“I take it as Mr. Mears is busy?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s not true. Ben would.” 

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

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

“I’m sure He won’t mind.” 

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

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

——————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Love you too.” 

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

So much for going back to sleep… 

“Why did I say that…?”

——————

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

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

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

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

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

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

Miles always appreciated him for that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you done with your research?”

“No, but there are more important things.”

“Like what?”

“You.” 

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

—————

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

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

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

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

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

He had to find Miles. No matter the cost.

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

——————

“I’m sure He won’t mind.”

What a lie.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why would he risk so much for another man? 

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

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

They may even forgive you.

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

He doesn’t even hear the door has opened. 

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

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

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

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

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

He heard footsteps. 

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

“Miles.” He recognized that voice. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ben presses his forehead against his. “Together.”

[lewmagoo]

favorite fic friday! (an event i’m holding for the lewcest community)

try as i may (i’m still fighting for you) by @hi-res-tm

words cannot describe how much i love this story. it’s everything i could ever want in a lewship fic. it handles themes of grief and trauma so well, while also balancing those more heavy aspects with moments of sweetness and a budding romance between ben and miles. i really appreciate that the story gives both men their own fleshed out backstories. it’s paced very well and the way the characters are developed feels very natural. i have enjoyed every minute of this story, and can’t wait to see where it goes from here. i’m so glad to be able to share this space with people who have such incredible creative brains!

[hi-res-tm]

Slow Show (Ben Mears x Miles Miller)

Summary: Ben Mears had finally fulfilled his childhood dream. On the night of his biggest awards success, his book on the Marsten House shot him into the stratosphere of writers to watch. But alone at the party, being watched by the who's-who of the publishing world, Ben really wished he had only two pairs of eyes on him.

Aka: How Ben Mears transitioned to becoming a full-time horror writer.

Warnings: Dry humping, oral sex, frotting, handjob/masturbation and one attempt at a striptease. 18+.

A/N: Hi everyone! So out of nowhere I got a real burst of inspiration to finish this post-TIAM fic while I'm back writing the main series. It was written for the lovely Lewcest Community- merging two Freaky Friday prompts together for a song fic (The National's 'Slow Show' + a lil 'I Need My Girl') and the smut prompt: trying to be quiet and failing, so they clamp a hand over your mouth.

The fic is dedicated to @rhettled for putting up with a long morning of linking National songs to ships. Also to @lalalunascope because even though I didn't reread it, I'm 100% sure I've been inspired by her descriptions of butts in Fairy Dress (plus another callback 🤭). And @lewmagoo because Bubba needs to be in every Miles ship.

Word count: 8k

Ben Mears leaned against the wall, and the wall leaned away.

To its eternal credit, the floor gave him a moment to catch himself before it spun around him, sending him careening into the side of a drinks table with just an overzealous flick back of his hair as cover-up. Thankfully, all heads turned to the fashionably late gaggle of beat writers who had just entered. The very ones who wrote extensively about never being caught dead at such a gathering, and who now deposited their coats and took their thrones by the already melting ice sculpture. 

Ben sighed and counted to three, punctuating each beat by tapping his third, but most prestigious award of the week against his thigh. If thousands of tons of concrete weren’t enough to keep him upright, maybe a fresh Pabst Blue Ribbon would- Ah, who was he kidding? If he smuggled something that cheap into here, one of the plain-clothed bodyguards would have taken him to the ground by now. 

He eyed the rows of luxury amber spirits… Surely, his ten-year subscription to the New Yorker had covered the cost of his host’s drinks by now? His guilt assuaged (he knew whose influence that was), he grabbed two glasses of brandy and poured them into a third one, and toasted the grand, shining ice maiden. The duel was on for which of them would last the longest amongst all this hot air.

With this hour’s models finally settled in, the miniature, enclosed Times Square, for a moment completely frozen in time, burst into life again. A sea of people all criss-crossing through makeshift thoroughfares and landmarks of authors, critics, and publishers (who had magically forgotten Ben’s past flops) merged into one monstrous deluge of silk and designer cashmere as Ben gave up trying to track the stoned waiter with the cheeseboard. 

Just a few blocks away, the real Times Square roared with angry car horns and the jeers of excited tourists. However, not even the busiest intersection in the world could cut through the cacophony of perfunctory chatter, aggressive networking, and backhanded compliments sharper than any wooden stake. Or so they seemed to Ben. Maybe it was all innocent. Maybe his fellow nominee really was delighted that a previously mid-tier writer had ‘such a marvellously rich backstory’, but then again, he had supposed ‘everyone must have something worth mining’. Asshole. As the Washington Post critic, an old acquaintance at these parties, had put it better over entrees, “By Jove, there’s something between those sideburns after all.”

He quite liked her. She certainly made for more engaging conversation than the probing money men snooping around for his next critically acclaimed hit, even if it was his worst seller in years. At least she had actually read it. Judging by the same rotation of questions he had spent his evening answering, most of the ass-kissers could not say the same.

Now his partner-in-insults was canoodling with her inner circle while Ben practised his wall-flower pose, perfected through awkward college years, and quietly made redundant as his conversational tag-team with his wife steadily bloomed. Their eyes briefly met through the crowd, exchanging sly, exhausted winks. Between the verbal jabs and brief moments of unity while they bemoaned the state of literature (for which she held him partly responsible), she suddenly mused that he looked taller than the last time she saw him, whatever the fuck that meant. He didn’t think that was possible after Jerusalem’s Lot. Stuck in a suit that chafed at every angle, surrounded by people whose faces filled the trades, not just the tabloids like he used to, he felt smaller and smaller.

Ben always refused to think of himself as a victim, despite the death that had haunted his whole life and practically written his magnum opus for him. But a victim of his own success? Oh, now there was a thought. The writer-for-hire ten years ago would have happily left twenty victims in his wake to be called that, plus a few choice reviewers and publishers as thanks for such a lofty moniker. A lopsided smirk stretched out his punch-drunk, rosy cheeks as one such publisher strutted past. 

Miles always called it his wry whiskey look, the one that reared its handsome head whenever he selfishly shared a joke with only himself.

But no, he wasn’t thinking of him right now. He was at home, looking after their son and far more demanding cat, despite his insistence that he would come if Ben wanted him to. And Ben did, of course he did, but he also knew this was his idea of hell. So instead, Ben cleared his throat and head in the same sip and went once more into the breach to schmooze with the best of them. Unfortunately for him, the best of them included his editor, who threw an arm around his shoulders before he could retreat behind the chocolate fountain and gleefully marched him straight into the lion’s den.

A hand from somewhere topped up his glass, “So what’s the next one about, Mears?”

“Werewolves”, he proudly affirmed with the most serious expression he could fix. “Although I may change it to an incubus.”

Miles would have laughed at that. Mark would have rolled his eyes, but what was the point of being a dad if you couldn’t embarrass your son every once in a while?

Instead, a woman in a dress worth more than his partners’ entire wardrobe cut in. “I love the story at the end about meeting your wife. She sounded so special.”

“She was”, Ben said simply. It was partly why he had written the book - to close the chapter on his childhood that Miranda had worked with him to put into perspective. She hadn’t lived to see it through to the end, but dedicating the book to ‘M’, without whom none of this book would have meaning, ‌felt like something approaching closure. Little did anyone else know the ‘M’ referred to three people, not just his wife. 

“Are you going to write about her next?” the woman probed.

“No. Or at least, not yet. Don’t think I have it in me right now.”

She hummed out an insinuating, disingenuous noise- it was a dead ringer for the sound Miles made when he devolved into one of his rarest, but Ben’s favourite, moods: petty. Such was the power of the most condescending parents at his school’s PTA meetings that even a man as polite as Miles had honed a pitch-perfect imitation of them to rival a New York socialite. It should have got a chuckle out of him, but seeing her eyes suddenly glaze over as though it could literally erase him from her sight made his jaw tighten further.

“But we’ll see,” he bit. “Hopefully, I can get caught up in a few more tragedies and see if that sparks something.”

He captured her withering gaze between the teeth of his wolf-like, unamused smirk. She only broke free when habit made Ben glance to where his son should be, suppressing an annoyed laugh or the urge to run away and join the circus, like he always threatened to do when Ben caused a scene.  

Before he could take another swipe, his fellow nominee, Sam- or whatever his name was, hooked his arm through his and dragged him away with an excuse about checking the Mets' score together for a bet. Sam wove through the disinterested crowd with ‌the practiced ease of a man who had always been nominated but never quite won. Out of the corner of his eye, Ben saw the ice sculpture standing strong. Fucker.

If only Miranda were here. She would have executed that woman before all her peers with a single, scathing remark, so subtle that she would have experienced social death long before she’d ever even realised she had been cut. When they first met, Miranda’s ease of wit terrified Ben, almost as much as it turned him on. But it was also why Miles hated these things. The ride home usually consisted of lamenting what he wished he’d said, instead of how he had actually smoothed things over with his southern hospitality and quiet, if nervous, charm. But on the odd occasion when the knives did come out? Ho boy. Ben couldn’t squirrel him home fast enough. 

Ben Mears landed softly on the chair nearest the pianist. In all the hubbub, he didn’t even realise they’d been a piano, let alone music. Sam, definitely Sam, didn’t take the seat next to him. With a smile wryer and whiskey-er than his own, he gestured a tip of his proverbial hat. “Don’t ruin that nice face of yours with a broken nose, it’ll look terrible on the dust cover.”

Despite the joke, Ben looked suitably admonished. If he was being honest with himself, he wasn’t sure if he had misread her intentions or not. He’d been out of sync all day, exhaustion and homesickness mixing into a potent concoction. Sam patted his shoulder. “Give yourself five. Hey, maybe take the time to work your wife into that werewolf story? It’ll buy you a second house to store all the awards you can steal from me again.”

That got a laugh out of him. Yeah, he remembered Sam from the old days now. Make that five, or was it six favours he owed him? As thanks, he’d get Miles to pray for him when he got back to Minnesota, but in the meantime, a promise to behave and the last of his brandy would have to suffice.  

Miles. 

Ben had tried not to think about him and Mark while he was here so he could focus, but it was no use. 

He missed them. He’d been on his victory lap for two weeks now, and the nerves along his skin were already pricking at him. Feather-like, ghosts of touch in the shape of their outlines, enticing- urging him to return to the real thing. However, it was nothing compared to the 32 years he’d missed them before he first saw his future husband in an innocuous antiques shop in Maine, and his would-be son bounding up the stairs of a run-down drive-in. He could do this; he was being ridiculous. Ben just had to hold out for a few more days, and he’d be on the plane home.

He slowed his breathing, just as Miles had taught him. The woman at the piano must have been at least in her sixties, her grey hair slightly dishevelled as she moved to the bars of her music while the crowd moved to the open bar. Basking in his own little oasis from the chaos, he leant over, and after the third psst, she recovered from her reverie and nodded at his request- Nina Simone, one of Miles’ and Miranda’s favourites.

Listening to her deftly transition into his song, Ben forced himself to relax into the sofa. He flexed the old crick in his neck from too many long hours writing. Left. Right. Then back to the left in time with the soft piano music. And then it stayed there, suspended over his shoulder. A flash of annoyance hit him. The crick always went away on the third stretch, right where a soft, auburn mop would gently buff against it and massage it out as it nestled in closer. Without it, Ben looked like a curious puppy, struggling to make sense of the ocean of colourful patterns of designer suits and dresses before him. 

And then, just as his stomach rumbled, an angel appeared. He thought he’d never see that beautiful face again.

It was the blessed, stoned waiter. Red-rimmed eyes and cheap deodorant, which barely hid the telltale grassy odor, announced him long before his lumbering steps did. Wherever the hell he’d been, it didn’t matter now. He was here. And he’d refilled his platter.

“Um, Mr Mears?” he stuttered.

“That’s me.” Ben jumped in his seat, any pretense of being the aloof writer thrown out the window.

“Hey uhh. L-listen, I know I’m not supposed to be weird at these things, but I’m a b-big fan.”

He didn’t mean to sound quite so surprised. “You read my book?”

“Yeah, man!” he shouted, quickly hushing himself before his supervisor caught him. Although Ben figured the young man couldn’t be that concerned about professionalism as he dived to take the seat next to him. “Loved it! I almost didn’t recognise you; you’re taller than I imagined.”

Ugh. There was that stupid expression again. It bothered him so much that he missed the blundered “and older too.” What the hell did that mean? 

While Ben suspiciously squinted at him, as though perhaps it was some code, or even a curse, the waiter looked him over anxiously. Waiting to see if it had worked. Eventually, Ben gave up and relaxed. “Well, it’s good to meet you…?”

“Rudy!” he shouted again. He tried and failed to mirror his hero’s casual pose. “You’re my girlfriend’s favourite too. She’s read all your stuff.”

“Really? Well, that’s kind of you to say,” and weird, he mentally amended. He wasn’t sure what the appropriate level of enthusiasm was for someone’s book about parental death and childhood trauma, but it wasn’t this. Still, once upon a time, he had been the star-struck fan, so he muscled through as though Miles was there judging his politeness like an all-seeing, exacting God. “She… must have very morbid taste. I’m impressed. A woman like that’s a keeper - make sure you hang onto her.”

“I will!” Rudy nodded like a puppet on a string, hanging on his every word. “Um, you wouldn’t sign this for her, would you? She’ll freak.”

Ben pointed at the cheese platter. “That cheese still up for grabs?” 

It was on his lap in an instant. “Go for it. I already fucked up and spilt half a glass of wine over some hotshot. I ain't getting another gig here.”

That got a genuine laugh out of him. He happily took the disconcertingly sweaty napkin to sign while popping cubes of cheddar into his mouth. 

All the while, Rudy watched him like a hawk, committing every squiggle to memory. “You, um... writing a sequel, y’think?”

Ah, there it was. Ben sighed, his teeth gritting together. Betrayed by his own guardian angel of all things, but his husband’s voice echoed loud and clear, Be nice, sweetheart. 

“God, I sure hope not.”

The stomach next to him rumbled. Taking mercy on the young man, Ben passed him a handful of Hors d'oeuvres, which he instantly snapped up, grateful to have something to occupy his mouth with before he ran it off more. It lasted all of two seconds.

“Ah, but the cliffhanger was so good! That sex scene in the park? And when that chick died and then came back to eat her boyfriend? Or the dude who got so scared he had a heart attack on the spot? It was awesome!”

Wait… What?

Ben shoved down the sudden urge to clamp his hand over Rudy’s mouth. To accuse him of writing such things was tantamount to treason in a place like this, but instead he fell back onto the sofa with a warm, billowing laugh. Of course, he hadn’t read the Marsten book. 

It had been his first novel since The Lot. He’d listened to Miles and Mark exchange thoughts on their favourite monster movies and comics while he couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the tales of heroes who always saved the girl, villains who got their comeuppance, and mandatory happy endings. But after what happened in that accursed town, why not? Why not believe in them again? One ridiculous, thinly veiled yet gratuitous vampire book later, he had overcome his writer's block and was ready to put his childhood to paper. Ben had only intended the shlock for his family and closest friends, but they’d encouraged him to send it to his publisher, and then, before he knew it, they had one hell of a beautiful new kitchen and one very full college fund for Mark. 

“Oh, that book?” The cracker almost lodged itself in his throat as he chuckled. “Ahh. I mean, I hadn’t really thought about it.”

An angry voice came from behind them, demanding that Rudy return to work before they threw his sorry ass out. Reluctantly, he got up, clutching the napkin, his clammy palms already smudging it into one giant blob. “Well, if you do, we’ll be the first in line. Oh, man - if you call a character Rudy, give him a cool-ass death for me?”

Ben grinned and crossed his heart. “I will. Extra gory.”

He couldn’t remember the last time someone looked so excited. Definitely not in these four walls.

As the waiter disappeared into the crowds, Ben felt lighter. And, somehow, rather inspired. God, his family would be insufferable when he told them… 

He sighed again. Dammit. Now that they were on his mind, they were all he could think about as everything else passed him by. The volume swelled in the room until the ground shook; he couldn’t hear the people who came over to congratulate him, nor did he much care by that point.

Ben Mears had finally achieved his childhood dream of becoming a prestigious, award-winning author. He was proud of himself, truly. He’d defeated vampires, writer's block, and his adopted son’s homework between furious, inspired writing sessions to get here. And yet all he could think about was how he missed them all… and how he wanted to give Rudy the final send-off he gallantly deserved and land himself straight onto the list of banned library books. Suddenly, the idea of being ‌a full-time horror writer sounded rather appealing. If nothing else, he knew how to give those stories the endings they deserved.

Just a few more hours. He just needed to get his shit together.

Any moment now.

He clicked his fingers.

…. Now!

….

Ah, fuck it.

Instead, he gathered up his shit, and threw as many free entrees into his bag as he could. On the way out, he passed ‌‌the ice sculpture, still standing. Just. 

By the time the crowds started to make their excuses to leave, the only sign Ben Mears had ever attended the party at all was the glass of whisky hidden under the pianist’s chair, with the pinky of the ice sculpture snapped off to keep it cool, a star-struck twenty-something’s signed napkin and one Washington Post critic. Entertained, and thoroughly smug, as her ploy to tell that fawning waiter how to ingratiate himself into his favourite author's good graces actually worked. Just say he looks taller, he loves that.

As Ben called the cab, stepping out into the bulging mass of pedestrians, the slayer of vampires, the saviour of Maine? America? The world? Breathed in the frigid, gas-soaked air of New York and disappeared back into the night. No longer Ben Mears: the author, but simply Ben Miller-Mears of Ashford, Minnesota, he felt…better…no, taller. He mirthlessly smiled. 

Those bastards.

However, in his defence, it helped that he carried his award for all to see. Let them gawk; he would leave ‌sainthood to his husband. He had a sequel to write.

In his younger years, Ben Miller-Mears could never let a falsehood go uncorrected, even if he wasn’t sure if he was right; however, age, fatherhood and marriage had softened him (unless it was about sports). Now, he didn’t mind; some he even rather liked, such as how his husband thought he was the clumsiest oaf this side of the border. Which was half-true; he was clumsy. But not this clumsy.

The clock struck 10. It had taken him nearly 24 hours to get back, but he had done it.

Mark should be asleep by now, while Miles prepared for their daily phone calls while he was away. Throwing the front door wide, it whined on its hinges and clicked loudly when he closed it. He jangled his keys before putting them on the sideboard. Having some sense of self-preservation, he toed off his dirty shoes, but clambered over every squeaky floorboard and clanked the glasses against the worktop. Just quiet enough to let Mark sleep, but loud enough for Miles to know he was there.  

For as far as they had come, it still wasn’t a guarantee how Miles would react if Ben snuck up on him. He didn’t want to spook him, but he had been gone for weeks. He had time to think, plan. So instead, he let Miles assume, not for the first time, that he had gotten one up on him. He really should have won his prize for husband of the year instead.

As their cat let the wayward food-dispenser scritch under her chin, Ben caught sight of their bedroom down the corridor. He half-expected to see a shadow potter around through the slit in the door, but the house was completely quiet. It was so tempting just to barge in there and kiss the man inside senseless, but he’d waited two weeks for this. He could do five- four more minutes. 

Ben placed the award on the kitchen table and patted it on the head. You, my friend, are going to win me so many arguments. Little did he know in the darkness that he had left it on top of all Miles’ newspaper clippings of his recent award success.

Being back in his own home, surrounded by all his old comforts, Ben felt like he could breathe again. And when he did, he smelt the homemade brownies that Mark and Miles always made together on a Thursday night in time for the weekend. This was the life. Following his nose, he opened the fridge, and there inside was a sight even more beautiful than he imagined. Brownies, yes, but there was more.

Pabst. Blue. Ribbon.

A whole, beautiful case of them, waiting just for him.

And underneath? Oh sweet, Miles. A selection of cheeses from the local farmers' market, without a drop of bargaining required, and next to that- His heart stopped. An expensive bottle of gorgeous amber, more delicious than mana from heaven, with a note attached.

‘Missed your rye whisky smile - Love, Miles x’  

Shit. Four minutes was too long. Without ceremony, he grabbed the bottle, ignoring the glasses, and necked a quick swig. A bit of liquid courage went a long way for what Ben had planned, and while Miles didn’t drink, he loved the taste of it on Ben.

His socks padded along the floor towards their bedroom, stopping just to check in on Mark as he lay sleeping. In only a few months, he’d be starting college. And after that, who knew? But for all the mixed feelings his soon-to-be absence stirred up, Ben never took for granted that after everything he’d been through, they wouldn’t have to worry about him. He closed the door gently. He’d tell him all about his book ideas… tomorrow. 

Ben felt more anticipation walking down that final stretch of carpet than ‌when he stepped up to take his award. The scent of chamomile and sandalwood filled his nostrils, a subtle smell that somehow turned heady in his weary senses, bringing him back to life and down to earth all in the same inhalation. The plane had been delayed, and his taxi hit every traffic light between the airport and here, but none of that mattered because now he could smell chocolate fudge brownies and sandalwood.  

With a small push, he let the door creak open. And there on the floor was his Miles. Ben had been picturing him on his knees since he left New York, although to his eternal damnation, if definitely not his eternal shame, it hadn’t been an image of him praying. Yet there he was, his back to him, his elbows resting upon the mattress with his Nana’s rosary in his hand. The only sign that he knew Ben was there at all was how quickly he thumbed through the beads.

Ben relaxed against the frame, crossing his arms. Even as his skin shivered at being so tantalisingly close, he watched, not wanting to disturb the scene before him. And yet, Miles always said he was the heretic? When he was the one innocently praying in his most seductive, scandalous briefs, and Ben’s traitorous, oversized bedshirt that had stolen Ben’s fantasy for itself and swallowed him whole. Sure, it was the cheap supermarket briefs he wore every day, but he had no right wearing something that slutty. Allowing it to hug the plump peach of his ass while his own husband, of all people, was standing right there empty-handed.

When finally Miles got to the last bead, he tittered to himself. Ben thought he sounded like a beautiful songbird, or a fiendish imp. It was normally one and the same.

“You prayed for an angel, Mr Miller-Mears?” Ben asked, with all the panache he could muster, even as he panted through every word, still recovering from his race back from the airport. 

On cue, Miles got up and turned to sit on the edge of the bed in one smooth, elegant motion that Ben’s knees ached in envy of. How was it that he could look so innocent, and yet so knowing all at once? It wasn’t fair. The dimples of his cheeks burrowed to a sharp point, ballooning out his pink cheeks like a chipmunk prepared for the winter. A small tilt of the head, a flutter of his lashes, and a glimmer in his eyes that held him as though for the first time all over again. 

Ben licked his lips. Miles couldn’t move his fast enough.

“That depends; I was prayin’ for the house to dust itself. They teach y’that up in heaven?”

Miles had the gall to shimmy in place to get comfortable, wriggling his ass against a fabric that wasn’t Ben’s increasingly tight pants. 

“I didn’t think you were supposed to make demands of the big man,” Ben tutted.

A ray of sunshine struck Ben as Miles’ smile grew pearly white teeth. “No’, but I don’t have much to bother him with these days. ‘Specially now you’re back.”

Ben’s eyes softened. All those years of writing, and yet his fae could surpass all his best work with just a few words. But what stuck in his throat the most was that it was true. They still had bad days, sometimes downright horrific ones, but as they pushed through every one of them, it paved the way for the quiet, gentle knowledge that they would always pass. The party would end, the nightmare would let them go, the broken dishwasher would get fixed. And Ben would always return. 

An enigmatic smile fell upon Miles’ face when Ben didn’t respond. He hadn’t meant to throw him off; however, he always preferred to know when Ben was out of sorts. Not pushing him further, Miles held out his hand, and Ben followed it like a lost child. Their fingers entwined together as Miles brought it up to cup his own face. “And what did I do to deserve a visit from a heavenly thing like you?” 

He pressed a kiss to the swell of Ben’s thumb, and before he could do it again, Ben tipped his face up between both hands and kissed him. Tender, at first, a few passing swipes of his lips as though they needed time to warm up after so long apart. And then harder, full. Coaxing Miles just enough to plunder his mouth as Ben opened up for him. He could feel the exact moment his beloved tasted the whiskey on his tongue when Miles hummed in satisfaction straight into his mouth. 

Voice as smooth as the drink, Ben whispered, “That’s what you did.”

Leaving him with a quick peck, Miles leant back just enough to see the thing he had missed most. “There it is.” He kissed the corner of his mouth again as if he were greeting an old friend. “So pretty f’me.”

He lazily traced his smile with his thumb, smoothing out his chafed lips and onto his laugh lines as though he had the power to make wrinkles disappear. Ben didn’t need to see himself to know it had worked. It took everything Ben had not to chase, but after a few blinks, his brain caught back up. Nothing could wipe that smile off his face now, especially with Miles tracking his every movement as he stepped back and then paced around the bed. Who needed the baying crowds at the awards ceremony when he had the only audience he ever needed right here?

“Wait-” Miles suddenly interrupted. “Y’not back early cause somethin’ happened are ya’?”

Ben clucked his tongue in feigned shock. “For a man of God, you have such little faith.” His voice lowered an octave, sultry and with more ham than even his harshest critic had accused him of. “I’ll have you know, I was the model writer. I gave my speech. I thanked them and all my fellow nominees for the honour. And now that I’ve been a very good boy, I’ve come to claim my real prize.” He elongated the word until it ran out of oxygen and his throat ran hoarse, like Barry White. Or, as Miles worried, the beginnings of a chest infection.

He giggled anyway, “You’re incorrigible.”

“Maybe, but I’m obviously not doing my job as your husband if you can use big words like that, country boy.” Ben came to a stop by the old record player and lowered the needle onto whichever record was there. Crossing his fingers, his hopes lifted with the violins, and then dropped again as the sullen, dulcet tones of Frank Sinatra sang, ‘The Stars Will Forget You’. Shit. 

He closed the curtains. The owls didn’t need to see this. It was going to be a challenge, but Ben Miller-Miles had overcome worse. With a deft hand, Ben undid the top button of his suit jacket.

And at the same time, Miles undid one of his.

The music burst into life, creating a hushed burst of laughter from Miles as he admonished. “Shhhh, Mark’s asleep.”

Conceding his point, lest their young ward come in and scar himself for life, Ben did as he was told, increasing his challenge level by lowering the volume until it reverberated low across the room. Luckily for him, Ben had never met a challenge he couldn’t blunder or talk his way through. He could barely make out the lyrics, but what little rhythm there was dragged his hips from side to side to the beat.

Ben beamed. Miles groaned, “Oh, Lord.” It must have been a record for how quickly Miles’ eyes rolled into the back of his skull as his back hit the mattress with a soft thump. However, the ceiling was a momentary reprieve from the embarrassment. 

Grabbing Miles by the ankle, Ben pulled him back down the bed before he could even think of escaping, or divorce. “Ah, ah, ah. Where do you think you’re going? Your favourite show is on,” he admonished, sitting Miles up on the edge and kicking his legs out so he could stand between them in his own exclusive stage.

He undid another button before lowering his lips to Miles’ ear. His hot breath felt like fire against Miles’ skin. “Now, my love. How do you want me? Soft and sensual or hard and fast?”

Sheer delight danced along Miles’ countenance, even as he strained for smugness. “Benjamin, that's like when you ask me how I want my eggs. We both know you can't crack an egg to save your life. They’re gonna be scrambled either way, so give me the Husband Special from the beginnin’.”

Ah, the famed husband special. Previously known as the fiancé special, and then boyfriend special before that. There weren’t any secrets between them, not anymore… Except one. He didn’t want to tell him what Miranda had dubbed it.

“An excellent choice, sir,” Ben said with all the seriousness of the servers he had met in New York, and all the pomposity he hoped Rudy never learnt. “Although I must say, I do make an excellent omelette.”

Okay, maybe he still had to be right sometimes.

However, for all the jokes, Miles could see he needed reassurance. It had been a couple of years since they’d been apart for so long, and Ben’s early return didn’t make him worry - no, he knew him well enough to read that it wasn’t serious. But it did instill in him a sense of purpose. One that led him to bring Ben’s hands together and knight them with a kiss.

“And you always take such good care of me when I need to stop thinkin’, or when I wanna be close to you.” Miles squeezed them tight. “But I’ve missed my bubba.”

I missed you my whole life, Ben wanted to say. But that was too corny. Corniness was tomorrow’s agenda along with cuddles, ice-cream with Mark and whatever dusting Miles wanted. So instead, with a flick of his wrists, another button fell. “The Husband Special it is then: Slow and dumb.”

He didn’t have to worry about impressing anyone here. Without further ado, Ben popped another button, then another in time to the music. Standing in the tiny spotlight of his beloved’s gaze, he girated to the crooning, somber piece as though it was the soundtrack to a seedy strip-joint. He heard a crack in his knee. And then his ankle. But no matter. He persevered, snaking his tie out of his shirt and lassoing it around Miles’s neck, drawing him in as if to kiss before pushing him back.

“Miles”, he hissed. “I can’t hear the music if you’re giggling.”

It was a defense he had uttered time and time again. “Then stop making me-”

The tie hit his face before the words ever passed his lips. 

The song was already winding down, and if Ben remembered correctly, they were nearing the end of the album. Before things got very quiet and very awkward, Ben worked his way down the jacket with the dry efficiency of a Formula One crew as the album went dead before skipping to the next tune. A livelier one, if not somehow more miserable. Thankfully, ‘Ol Blue Eyes was no match for Ben’s that glinted mischievously as he worked his belt free from the buckle and then cruelly spun on a dime, leaving Miles with an eyeful of his plump, ample cheeks that swayed like a cobra trying to hypnotise its prey.

Maybe it was just the time apart, or perhaps he really was that easy, but it somehow, infuriatingly, worked. Miles remained glued to his seat. His bottom lip glowed a crimson, shiny red that alternated between opening in shock and being sucked ‌between his two front teeth, looking like a cartoon bunny obediently waiting for its treat. But two could play at this game. 

Knowing exactly what it did to Ben for Miles to wear his things, he undid his shirt as Ben hooked his thumbs into his pants. Where Ben inched them lower, one drumbeat at a time, Miles left his shirt hanging loose off his shoulders and reclined back onto his elbows. The expanse of his scarred chest was on full display, all muscle and soft, pillowy fat. Still, the underwear stayed on; that could be Ben’s treat for the show. 

Once his pants hit his knees, Ben shimmied them down the rest of the way like a failing hula-hoop and kicked them across the room- thinking better than to bend over and risk a spanking from Miles that would send him tumbling. Finally, free of its confines, Ben teasingly turned back, whipping his head around first and letting his hefty, pronounced bulge follow. As if there way any chance Miles wasn’t looking, he cupped himself and squeezed.

Since leaving New York, Ben had eaten nothing but a tiny bag of peanuts and a square of complimentary chocolate, yet he wasn’t salivating the way Miles was. That is, until he saw how confident his trickster fae looked. There, in his briefs, stained with a small wet patch, and his shirt that parted like the Red Sea over the subtle swell of his-

“-Tits.”

He didn’t even realise he said it until Miles’ luscious laugh graced his ears. Great, Miles wasn’t just a better writer; the good Catholic boy was effortlessly the better stripper too. All bets were off. Shaky hands lashed out at the rest of his buttons, helped along by Miles’ much steadier ones until his shirt too joined his pants in the ether. The music now forgotten, Miles kissed and licked at every piece of flesh he could latch onto, as though Ben were the last meal of a starving man. Leaving little pink marks in his wake, Miles descended lower and lower until he reached his belly button and speared it with his tongue. He pistoned it in and out like it was his greedy hole until every muscle in his torso flexed in both surprise and pleasure.

The connection between brain and body momentarily severed, Ben threaded his fingers through Miles’ hair and, after a quick nod, Ben heaved one foot onto the bed and brought Miles’ head straight into his crotch. His attempt to keep to the music lasted as long as it took for Miles to mouth at the underside of his balls. Helpless to do anything other than chase after the delicious sensation, Ben panted under his breath while his husband nuzzled his painfully hard cock with his nose, teased at the fabric with his teeth and licked, from top to bottom, the full length of his shaft.

It may not be the full thing, but just the weight of him on Miles’ tongue was addictive. 

And besides, two weeks was an awfully long time. After a couple more sucks, Ben was dangerously close already. His member twitched under the confines of his briefs, bumping up against wherever it thought Miles would kiss next, desperate for just that bit more friction. He didn’t want it to end so soon. And yet, against his better judgement, he moved Miles’ head with him, rubbing him further into his bulge as Miles did his utmost to keep up and let his mouth hang open, his tongue lolling out so Ben could hump against it like a dog in heat.

“Sweetheart”, Ben groaned. “You feel so good. Missed this. Missed you.”

In response, Miles grabbed a handful of Ben’s butt and held him in place while his other hand devilishly went to work and pulled Ben out of his briefs. Not fully. That could wait, but just enough for the head to shyly peek out the waistband, blushing and purpling. 

A bead of pre-cum wetted the tip, but was gone as quickly as it came as Miles took him in his mouth and suckled on it. Distantly, Ben could feel him doing it in time with the music. Or what he could remember of it. His blood pounding against his eardrums like a big brass band, Ben gave himself over to his partner’s control. And how easy it was to control him after all these years. Miles sucked on the engorged, bulbous tip like a lollipop, obscene, wet sounds cascading from the back of his throat, and from Ben’s sweet lips, a more luscious, sweeping orchestra than even Sinatra could ever conjure. 

He should have known better. He did know better. However, Ben looked down anyway. From over his crown of hair, whipped up into a windswept, autumnal frondescence of curls, Ben saw Miles palming at himself. Sensually teasing and keeping himself on the edge as he lapped at the sensitive underside of Ben’s head like it was his god-given mission. 

A liquid pleasure stirred in Ben’s gut at the sight, threatening to erupt. Miles must have felt Ben’s eyes burning into the back of his head as he slowly leaned back, and with his mouth still full of Ben’s cock, he batted his lashes up at him. Ben’s whole body lurched.

“I’m close, baby. Please.”

But the faes of fairytales weren’t known for their mercy. With a resounding snap of his briefs that shot both their heads to the door to check that they hadn’t woken their son, Miles put Ben back into place. 

When the coast was definitely, 100% clear, Ben pushed Miles onto his back with a single tap. Miles scrambled on his elbows toward the headboard, but Ben lunged before he could even reach the middle of the bed. If entire states had separated them for weeks, now not even a centimeter remained between them. Chest to chest, legs weaving together, and mouths drinking the same glorious moans, Ben’s skin no longer thrummed along the outline of its other half, waiting for it to return. Their bodies were together again, and with it, Ben’s slowly heart settled into its keeper’s embrace.

At first, they just enjoyed the taste of each other again. The feel of their hair streaming between their fingers, of Ben’s sideburns and the security of Ben’s weight against Miles’ body. None of them knew who started it, but when their clothed bulges ground together, everything built back up until they devolved into a mess of limbs and muffled moans.

“B-Ben. Bubba- Sugar-” 

As Miles went through the Rolodex of pet names, Ben’s whole existence honed in on where he could punch out another choked whimper from his love. He rutted their hips together with abandon, rolling and thrusting into Miles’, their spit and pre-cum slick underwear keeping them contained. Each pass was electric. Each kiss grounding and devastating in equal measure. The only thing keeping either of them from cumming was the control Ben barely hung on to which kept the bed from banging against the wall.

But neither of them would last much longer, nor did they want to.

On a particularly hard thrust, Miles threw his head back, a high-pitched whine strangling his throat as he struggled to stay quiet, but he was too far gone. His cock throbbed against Ben’s, which seemed to pulse in response to his arousal. Chasing that feeling again and again with little stutters of his trapped hips, he punched out tiny ‘uh uh uh’s until all of a sudden, Ben’s hand clamped down on his mouth. Eyes wide, pinned open just as Ben pinned him to the bed, his husband smirked. And then, oh so very slowly, he brought his mouth to the back of his hand and placed a gentle kiss on where Miles' mouth lay underneath. Miles groaned, the vibrations warming Ben’s palm, but he kept at it, building the kiss further until he was making out with him through the barrier of his skin. It had no right being that hot. Then again, neither did his attempt at a striptease.

Whatever he gave, Miles returned tenfold, dragging Ben by the hair as close as possible, undulating his hips in time with the kiss, dragging their cocks together, until saliva pooled under Ben’s palm. Ben couldn’t be sure if Miles was trying to drive him crazy or simply got lost in the feel of him, but whatever his intentions, they were all working. 

In a flash, Ben whipped his hand away and crashed their lips together. The reaction was instantaneous. Miles rose to meet him, almost pushing him onto his hands through the strength of the kiss as he feasted on Ben’s lips, drawing out every pretty sound he could. Yet just as quickly as he moved, Ben pushed him back down, rearranging them so he could lean over just enough to lower their underwear. 

Miles’ hips stuttered as Ben fisted Miles’ dick and then his own, coating them in their joint slick and then encircled their cocks together with his hand. The simple motion released another gush of pre-cum from Ben. His hand didn’t fully encase them, but Miles was on it, mimicking his position at the root of their shafts, while Ben took the tip. It was enough. They stared entranced as their hips worked without them, gliding their lengths together in a jerky, stilted rhythm that somehow heightened the feeling of ecstasy with every pass and squeeze. 

Miles’ cheeks flushed. His balls drew up, his hand losing what little grip it had, and his toes curled and kicked at the bed.

And yet it was Ben who finished first. By the time Ben realised he was cumming it was too late. However, ever the eagle-eyed, prepared concierge, Miles caught the telltale signs and brought their mouths together to swallow the wrecked, drawn-out groan that wrung Ben’s body and soul from the outside in. As Ben spurted ropes of thick, pearly white cum onto Miles’ tummy, Miles clamped the heels of his feet over the defined demarcation between ass and thigh. He rocked Ben into him, giving him the friction and comfort he needed to ride the crest of pleasure even as it crashed and slammed against him, leaving him a quivering wreck in Miles’ arms.

Miles kissed his clammy forehead, cooing sweet nothings into his hair, as though it would hold on to them until Ben had recovered enough to hear them. Just as his breath started to even out, Ben suddenly twirled him and Miles around, landing on his back as Miles sat up over his waist, his cock standing to desperate attention.

“On me, on me, love,” Ben begged. Drool pooled out of his mouth as though he’d lost the wherewithal to close it.

Well, who was Miles to deny him after such an incredible rendition of the Husband Special? Taking himself in hand, it moved in a blur as he jerked himself off, helped along by his husband who cupped ‌his balls and groped mindlessly at his thighs, biceps, stomach- anywhere he could reach.

“That’s it”, the writer slurred. “So beautiful. Give it to me, please.”

With a soft whimper, Miles succumbed to the pleasure that had been building since Ben had first walked into the room. His spend pulsed out of him, hitting Ben square on the chest, dribbling down onto his stomach and onto his hand as he lost himself in the image of Ben’s rapturous, beatified gaze that soaked in every drop, as his skin did the same.

Gathering what little strength he had left, Miles collapsed onto his side so he wouldn't squash Ben. His heroic attempt was for naught, however; Ben guided him straight back into his chest, wanting so deeply to feel Miles plastered against him that he ignored the mess between them. With sleep trying to wrestle Ben away, he hadn't meant for his hand to drift up and cup Miles' pec; it just went where it pleased.

Trying not to laugh and jolt his recovering husband, a crooked, dreamy smile painted Miles' lips as he kissed Ben's jawline. “Still incorrigible.”

So much for making him forget his big words. Without meaning to, Ben yawned. Not to worry; it could go on tomorrow's agenda with the rest.

But one thing that couldn't wait was his speech. Absently, his brain urged him on. This was the perfect opportunity to extoll all his husband’s superlatives and ensure that Miles knew, without a shadow of a doubt, just how much he had missed him.

“And you.. You’re…” God, words should come easier to a writer. Miles’ eyes were too distracting, so instead, he serenaded his other favourite body part: His tits. “Hot.”

Close enough.

His speech won him the best award of the week, a slap on his flank and a kiss to his nose. He would have to move soon and get cleaned up… But he figured he had saved five minutes earlier on when he came rushing in; he could claim them back now. Heavy lids gently closing under the weighted blanket of Miles’s tender caress, the hours spent on the plane suddenly caught up with the middle-aged writer. His neck seized. He cricked it to the left. Right. And then back to left. And as he did, a soft buffer of hair nuzzled into it and soothed the ache away. Ben was home. 

That night, as he slept like the dead, he dreamt of the undead. Not of being bitten, or of his family being turned and damned for all eternity. But of one stoned waiter, stake in hand, drenched in blood and making one last stand against a horde of ravenous vampires. But perhaps he would disappoint his friend, if just a bit. Rudy would have his day, and then maybe he would live to see another one, because all Ben could dream about, encased in his soulmate’s arms, was happy endings.

No pressure tagging for people who've been following along to Try as I May off the top of my head: @5ambird @purpleheartspounding @vampxreapologxst @solarsentry @musicislove3389

[hi-res-tm]

Ben Mears x Miles Miller Drabble Challenge

Hi everyone! So some moots and I did a little event where we had to write as much as we could in an hour and a half, based on the SFW alphabet. For this, I just did one drabble for the letter L for 'Little Ones' with my beloved Crossbearer ship of Miles and Ben!

Apologies if it's a little rough, but ya know... 1.5 hours 😅 it's the dumbest thing ive ever written, which is saying something.

Tagging from the group: @theboardwalkbody @abbottsdarling @fandomxo @rhettled @iristheplanet16 @lalalunascope

Ben Mears, famed author, vampire hunter, and, despite his long-suffering husband’s feeble arguments to the contrary, perfect human dishwasher, had a lot of talents. But only one that gave him the deserved moniker of a superhero. 

But it was one he deserved, for he could do the impossible.

His family sat around the kitchen table, all happy and healthy, especially seeing they collectively agreed that Mark’s “man flu” deserved no such sympathy. Fifteen years ago, it had been a cheap fold-up, grubby IKEA piece that even in his student years he’d have balked at. Inherited from the neighbours, it barely fitted Ben by himself, let alone Miles and Mark. But over the years, it evolved. First, into a standard catalogue affair, picked more for its next-day delivery than any attempt at Feng Shui, and now into a large, professionally handmade dining table that could house entire PTA meetings, just as snug as it could their stitched-together extended family. 

Mark and Miles grouped themselves to the chairs nearest the window, looking out over the latest additions to Ben’s pride and joy: their garden. Somehow, as he had gotten older and the greys had settled in, Miles had returned to that childhood he never truly got to experience the first time around. No longer having to worry about being the perfect exemplar for his ward, or hiding the worst parts of himself out of fear of traumatising the boy, now they talked as equals. And most importantly, horror fans. Or they did, until Ben’s powers were called upon.

You see, a superhero could only do so much by himself. Superman, Batman… Whatever that sexy latex-clad lady with the whip was called from Ben’s teenage daydreams. For all their strength, money, and… whips, they all needed help once in a while. Namely, a distraction.

Mark’s wife, Christine, perched herself next to Ben. She was far out of Mark’s league, as Ben loved to remind him, and while he admitted that would have put her out of anyone's, she was, at least, on Ben Mears’ wavelength. Giving him a conspiratorial wink, she pushed over a few choice discarded plates and took a bite out of her homemade casserole. It was up to him now.

The stage was set. The enemy? Soon to be destroyed. Devoured. The sidekick? Ready and willing. The distraction- he cleared his throat. The duo kept talking about the latest monster film or slasher, totally oblivious of the spectacle about to unfold. 

“Blah blah”, Miles blabbered, sexily, hotly, gorgeously, and handsomely, with perpetual love hearts in his eyes. “They don’t make them like they used to.” 

Mark agreed, nudging his glasses up his nose like the nerd he was, using made-up words and names too European to be real. He was still the same, enthusiastic, intelligent kid he met all those years ago, even if he now knew the toils of a mortgage and- Ben strained to listen… Jörg Buttgereit? 

Okay, first act of heroism of the day. Save these two nerds from this boring conversation. With a serious, if seriously ineffective, attempt at a hard stare- or not. When that didn’t work, Ben ‘psst’ over to Miles. Once he got over the offence of being shushed, the realisation slowly dawned on him, and like magic, the realisation passed over Mark’s face immediately after. They exchanged the withered looks Ben knew all too well. Not looking entirely convinced, they shrugged a ‘why not’ anyway. If nothing else, it would be entertaining. But that was fine; people doubted Clark Kent too.

Okay. Let’s try this again.

Battle? Sorted. The enemy? Getting colder by the minute.

The sidekick? Thankfully, still loyal.

Distraction? Ben gave them the nod. They were a-go.

All that was left, was to stick the landing.

“Mark, y’didn’t see where I left my food, did you?” asked Miles, somehow failing miserably at acting like himself. God, this is why Ben refused to supervise the movie adaptation of his last werewolf book. Actors.

Still, his husband’s inability to lie, even for a dumb ploy such as this, was one of the many reasons he loved him. Mark, the little shit, had no such issue, as Ben knew too well after hours-long interrogations in his teenage years about exactly where he was last night. 

“Nope.” He popped the ‘P’ as if the letter had personally wronged him. “That the stuff Ben made yesterday?”

Miles nodded, murmuring a loud ‘uh-huh’ for effect.

“Damn, sorry, no, I haven’t. But you know, even if I did, I’d honestly just lie anyway and steal them. Those carrot sticks? Incredible. Used to dream about them all week when I was a growing kid, but Dad only let me have them on the bestest, most special of occasions.”

Miles sniggered, very very rudely, but it made his nose bunch up like a rabbit, so Ben graciously forgave him. “Aw shucks. They’re my favourite too. I think he even slaved away over some hummus last night, said it was only for the most special, incredible person in the whole wide world.” Miles stared at his husband straight in the eyes, his cheeks appling in a gentle, warm grin. Ben thought he was about to have a heart attack right there and then. “Wish he looked at me like he did when he talked about ‘em. Whoever they are, they must be really somethin’”.

Mouth cocked in a lopsided, dewy smile, Ben had half a mind to carry Miles like a damsel from the table and usher the rest of his family out the door to spend the afternoon safely locked away in his shed. Dammit, it wasn’t supposed to be a distraction for him. Before he ruined everything, Christine perked up to save the day. 

“I bet. I know he’s too humble to admit it, but those snacks he makes? I heard, they give you magic powers. Just like his.”

At that, Ben felt a shuffle behind his back. A clutch at his shirt. And then, finally, a tug on the end of his hair, as though it were a bell to an English lord’s loyal butler. And in a way, it was.

Bingo.

 Holding the plates as securely as if they were the crown jewels in his lap, Ben took one of the fabled, magic carrot sticks, dunked it into the definitely homemade- not Costco bought- hummus, and with enough ham to make Miles look like Brando in comparison, Ben brought it up and over his shoulder. The carrot stick hung silently for a moment in anticipation; it and everyone else in the tiny kitchen. But not Ben. What kind of hero would he be if he doubted himself?  

A perfect partner to his sneaky hand-over, a small clump of fingers appeared from behind his back, and took it. Eagerly. And then, just as quickly as it came into view, it disappeared again. Replaced by the sound of crunching, a soft, evil, and to Ben’s ears, victorious giggle, and eventually another tug to his hair. A hand splayed out, waiting for another.

The plebs all marvelled at him. Miles looked like he was swooning, although maybe he was just rolling his eyes. Still, Ben, with his super sight, saw the smile hidden from behind his orange juice.

Later, once lunch was done, Ben Mears stretched. He supposed all heroes had their weakness, and his was still his back. But what did that matter when his favourite, if only granddaughter, now full of an entire plate of veggies, clung to him like Spider-Man. Throwing her arms around his neck and kneeing his sides like a pony, excitedly begging him to race around the garden against her dad.

Okay, so maybe Ben Mears wasn’t a superhero. But to his granddaughter, Carrie, and her beleaguered parents. He was just as good as one. 

And Miles? Well. Even Spider-Man had his J. Jonah Jameson. Maybe could convince his husband of his superhero status later… once the rest of them had left.