WARNING: This chapter contains mild, slightly gruesome violence, a minor scene of self-harm, and graphic sexual content.
By the time I see Ben at the ceremony, there’s no way I can talk to him. He is sitting in the third row back, between Jeremy and Alex, and I am standing at the front of the church between Bill and James. James is a last-minute addition, stuffed in beside me when Bill finally realizes his real son isn’t showing up. For what must be the one hundredth time, James slips a hand into his pocket, tugs out a folded piece of paper, stares at it, and returns it to his pocket.
“What are you doing?” I can’t help but whisper. He glances at me, almost as though he’d forgotten I was there.
“Contemplating the pros and cons of having a complete psycho for a best friend,” he says. I snort.
“Well, the cons are pretty obvious. He’s impulsive, he’s unreliable, he bails whenever things get too complicated, he’s a hypocrite, he’s immature, he drags other people down with him. Should I continue?”
“But on the other hand, he writes beautiful songs, he’s a god on the guitar, he loves people hard, and he gives one hell of a blowjob,” James says. I want to roll my eyes and turn away, but… well.
“Yeah, he really does,” I whisper back.
James laughs, and I fix my eyes on Ben, my face boiling. Alex is whispering something to him, and Ben is shrugging it off. God, I hope that nonchalance will last long enough for me to tell him I talked to Garen without getting dumped.
The organ starts up, and everyone stands in unison. I try to keep completely still as my mom’s too-long procession of bridemaids enters one by one. Her sisters, some coworkers, a friend from high school. Christ, is there anyone she didn’t invite to be in the wedding party? Bree comes in last, and there’s an overly dramatic pause before Mom finally makes her appearance on my grandfather’s arm. There is a collective sigh of appreciation, and to be fair, it’s well-deserved. All of her obsessive-compulsive planning has paid off; she looks beautiful. She makes her way down the aisle, and half the people in the audience are already tearing up.
Mom finally reaches the altar, and she and Bill are gazing at each other in a way that might be sweet, if it didn’t make me feel a little nauseated. The Minister raises his hands and booms, “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to celebrate the union of William and Evelyn.”
At least, some of us are. I, however, am fucking gone. I keep my eyes on Bill so that I won’t hold things up when the time comes for me to hand off the ring, but my body is the only thing that’s really present. My mind is millions of miles away. Or, more realistically, a hundred miles away, in a dorm room in New York, with someone it shouldn’t be with.
Why did you have to do this to me, Garen? You left me, and you should’ve stayed gone. You had no right to start talking to me again the day before the wedding, right when I’m so happy with Ben and you’re about to become my family in a way you never wanted to be. It’s unfair, and it hurts, and it can’t be the way things were supposed to happen. It can’t be.
Bill turns to me, grinning, and I fish the ring out of my pocket, holding it out to him. When my hand drops back to my side, something brushes against it, and someone takes it. I look down. James has laced his fingers through mine, and is squeezing so tightly his knuckles are white. I should shake him off. Really, I should. Ben can see, my friends can see, everyone can see. I don’t even know him. But he is the closest thing I have to Garen right now, and no one else in the world seems to understand the real significance of this moment. This isn’t just the part where Mom and Bill get married and celebrate their love and unite forever, or whatever everyone else seems to believe.
This is the part where Garen becomes my brother. This is the part where that possibility – the one I spend all of my time trying not to acknowledge, the one where maybe, maybe, maybe things with Ben might fall apart on their own and he’ll fall in love with some guy way better for him and Garen will show up on my doorstep and everything will be like it was before – is completely destroyed.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
I suddenly realize that my hand is damp, warm, and sticky. I look down. My hand is covered in blood, and there are tiny half-moon cuts on James’ skin where I have dug my nails into him. I try to pull away, but he just steps closer.
“Travis, stop. It’s okay. I’m best friends with Garen. I’m used to ‘fucked up.’ It’s okay,” he whispers, barely loud enough for me to hear.
“You may kiss the bride.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and wait for it all to be over.
I bolt after the ceremony. As soon as we have all made our way out of the church and the rice has been thrown and congratulations have been given, I am using every track-trained muscle in my body to get as far away from that place as possible. I’m the worst best man ever, but Bill should’ve expected that. They should’ve known I wouldn’t be able to do this.
I run until my thighs are burning, my muscles are screaming, my blood is boiling inside my veins. Sweat seeps into my pretty designer tux, and my hair is flattened against my forehead. It’s incredibly hot for April, and I’m out of shape, so I don’t really make it as far as I plan. Not like I’m planning anywhere I want to go. Another city, at least. New Haven? Hartford? New York? Fuck. I can’t get there, but I still make it halfway across town. Gasping and with lungs burning, I collapse in the grass at the edge of the park where Corey and I started really talking again. I’ve passed out enough times in my life to know when it’s coming, so when the edges of my vision start to blacken, I squeeze my eyes shut and curl up on my side. When I finally open my eyes again, my head feels foggy and the world is spinning a little, which probably means I’ve already passed out.
I stay where I am until my head clears. I wantto stay here until there’s nothing left of me. For the first time in months, I actually wish I could die. For the first time in months, I itch for a razor blade in my hand so I can cut myself open and bleed out all the horrible, painful shit I’m feeling. I shove a hand in the pocket of my suit pants for my wallet, which is useless. The sharpest thing in it is a fucking Blockbuster card, which is about as productive as trying to cut myself with a highlighter. I snap it in half, which at least creates more of a jagged edge, and dig the card into my wrist, right above my tattoo. Fuck you, G. Fuck you. It’s not even enough to bleed, just enough to make my skin angry and red. It’s not enough, definitely not enough to make me forget everything I’m suddenly remembering.
I’m in love with my stepbrother. Not I was in love with someone who was going to be my stepbrother. I am – present tense – in love with someone who is – present tense – my stepbrother. And no matter how many times I tell him, tell his friends, tell my friends, tell my boyfriend that I’m not, it doesn’t change the fact that I am, and probably always will be.
“Your mom asked me to come look for you. I’ve been looking everywhere.”
I refuse to look up at him, choosing instead to sprawl back on the ground and check the time on my watch. Four o’clock. Guess it took me longer to get here than I thought. I slip my hand into my pocket for my phone and check my texts. There are twelve, all of which are variations of “where are you” and “call me right now” from assorted friends and family members. I delete them all.
“I talked to him last night. He was on the phone with James, and then Corey gave me the phone. He told me he still loves me,” I say, as calmly as I can manage. Ben is still for a moment before he leans back against the chain-link fence near my head.
“Oh,” he says. It’s a single sound, but it’s enough to make me look at him.
“That’s all you have to say? ‘Oh’?” I say.
"I’m not sure what else I can say, since I always expected this part,” he says hoarsely. “So… are you going there? Or is he coming here?”
I stare. “What do you mean?”
“Well, he told you he still loves you. That’s what you’ve been waiting for, so I-I just assumed… you’re going to get back together with him. I mean, I’m a really good substitute, but that’s all I—”
“Bullshit,” I say, scrambling to my feet. “You’re not a substitute.”
“Are you going there, or is he coming here?” Ben repeats. I grip the fence behind him for a moment, then reach up to brush his hair off his forehead so I can press my lips to his skin.
“Neither. I told him I don’t love him, and that he shouldn’t call me anymore,” I say.
I don’t have a chance to speak anymore before Ben yanks me forward by the front of my suit and kisses me. His lips are smooth and trembling slightly, and I rub my thumbs over his cheekbones, trying my best to sooth him in a way I cannot seem to sooth myself. We part eventually, and I have to stoop down a bit to wrap my arms around him.
“I’m yours, Ben. Don’t doubt that,” I say.
I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine.
“Do you want to go back? The reception started a while ago,” Ben says. I shake my head slightly more spastically than I mean to.
“No. No, I really don’t want to go back. Did you drive here?” I say. He nods, thumbing towards the silver SUV parked a hundred feet away. I hook an arm around his waist and tug him towards it. He laughs, sounding almost nervous.
“Where are we going?” he asks.
I push him against the side of the SUV and kiss him hard. “Nowhere.”
He watches me open the door to the backseat and slide in across the bench. He hesitates before following, and by the time he gets in and shuts the door, my suit jacket is balled up on the floor and my shirt is half-unbuttoned.
“Why are we doing this?” he asks, even as he slides out of his own jacket. I thread my fingers into his hair and pull him close enough to feel his breath on my lips.
“Because there’s no reason not to.”
“How romantic,” he says dryly, and I laugh softly.
“Ben… I love you. I really, really do. And you love me. And it’s stupid not to do this if we love each other and want each other. Okay?” I say. He breathes in and out very slowly, his head cocked slightly to the side as though he’s weighing his options. Eventually, he leans up towards the front of the car and pops open the glove compartment. Shoveling an owner’s manual and assorted papers aside, he eventually plops back down next to me with a condom and a small, travel-sized bottle of lube.
“Do I even want to know?” I ask. He snorts.
“Probably not. But it’s hard to get any real privacy if you live with as many people as I do, so… I don’t know. Welcome to where I lost my virginity?” he says helplessly, gesturing to the backseat. “Ethan – the uh, the first guy, the one before G—” He freezes for a second, watching me, but I make sure I remain as still as possible. “Ethan was the first guy, and he didn’t want to do anything at his house. And mine was out. So, you know. It just sort of happened here, so I started keeping some supplies. And then I eventually just forgot about them until now. It’s nice to be prepared.”
“You’re a real Boy Scout, Benjamin McCutcheon,” I say. “Kiss me.”
He slides into my lap, knees braced on either side of my hips, and we kiss. All the talk about Ethan kind of ruined it for me, but he grinds against me very slightly as I work the buttons of his shirt, and within minutes, I’m as turned on as before.
Without clothes, it’s impossible to really think about Garen anymore, because there’s no similarity. Ben is tiny. He has nowhere near as many muscles as Garen, but there doesn’t seem to be an ounce of fat on his entire body. His skin isn’t as smooth as Garen’s, either, and I rake my fingers experimentally through the trail of hair leading down from his navel. He reaches past my hands to unbutton his trousers, and I slip a hand into his pants as his eyes flutter shut. The way his lips part and his tongue darts out to moisten them is making me almost painfully hard, and I sink down in my seat as he wraps a hand around the grab rail and pulls himself up. I tug his pants over his hips and, squeezing my eyes shut, I wet my lips and slide my mouth down over his cock. He inhales sharply, and I panic, gripping his hips so I won’t choke just in case he thrusts forward. He doesn’t thrust, simply threads his hand into my hair and tugs. Giving head isn’t really all that complicated, despite my somewhat irrational fears, and I assume I’m decent at it, given the soft noises Ben is making. He only lets me suck him for a few minutes though, and then he’s pulling away and shifting off of me so I can return to my seat. He toes off his shoes and strips the rest of the way down. I don’t know if I’m really allowed to look at his body – it’s been so long since I actually had sex that I seem to have forgotten all of the etiquette. Ben isn’t bashful though, about his body or my own. He unbuttons my fly and tugs my pants down towards my knees before moving back onto my lap. I tear the condom wrapper open with shaking hands and don’t speak until I’ve rolled it on properly.
“I-I’ve never… I’m not usually on this end of things.”
“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks, pausing with his hand halfway to the bottle of lube. I nod quickly.
“Yeah, I’m sure. Just… promise not to hate me if I suck at this?” I say. He grins.
“You’re not going to suck at this, Travis,” he says. I’m not about to argue with him – what kind of guy would actively try to convince his partner that he has no sexual skill? – so I pour some of the lube onto my fingers and start to work him up. This is the part where being on the bottom with Garen will probably help me out; I move slowly, carefully, even though Ben rocks onto my hand impatiently.
“Travis,” he says, “it’s okay. Y-You can…”
I pour a little bit more of the lube onto my cock, just for good measure, and position myself carefully. I mean for it to go slowly, but Ben’s the one controlling the pace from this position, and he sinks down onto me in one movement. I inhale sharply. “F-Fuck.”
“Are you alright?” he murmurs against my temple, and I nod shakily. “You sure?”
“I’m fine, I just… fuck, you’re tight,” I whisper, and he makes a vaguely gutteral noise, sliding up and sinking back down. It’s so tight, so hot, so good, and all I’m really capable of doing for the first few minutes is pressing my forehead to his shoulder while he rides me. When I can eventually move, I dig my fingers into his hips to guide him, and he leans back slightly so that he’s curved over the headrest of the front passenger’s seat. I shift slightly to make up the distance between us, wrapping an arm around his waist and pressing my lips to his chest. This is one of the most intense physical sensations I’ve ever experienced, but…
He is not Garen. The sex is incredible, and I love Ben so much it hurts, but he is not Garen and it doesn’t matter whether or not this is about making love or expressing commitment or any other cheesy euphemism. This is not Garen’s skin, this is not Garen’s mouth, this is not Garen’s body. This is Ben, and Garen is gone, and why does that hurt so much?
Once we have finished, we both dress slowly, eyes locked on each other. Ben is shaking a little, and I can tell that he’s trying to pretend I can’t see the scratches on his arms. They look relatively fresh – maybe a week old? – but I decide not to mention it. Once he has finished knotting his tie, I slide across the seat to kiss him. He kisses me back, but all I can taste on his tongue is apprehension.
“Do you want to go to the reception now?” he asks. “Your mom told me everything would be over around seven, I guess.”
“Yeah. She and Bill are going straight to the hotel after, though. It’s attached to the airport, and their flight for Paris leaves at five in the morning, so they decided to just save time by not coming home,” I say. I pause, then laugh softly. “I’d really rather not deal with them yet, though. Can you take me home?”
“Of course,” he says immediately. He presses another kiss to my forehead before we move back up to the front seats, and on the way to my house, I stretch across the chasm between the seats to rest my head on his shoulder. Lack of Garen aside, this is one of those moments I know I should savor. I just had great sex with my fantastic boyfriend who I honestly, truly love. It shouldn’t be this heavy. I shouldn’t be waiting for it all to be ruined.
Ben turns the car into the driveway and parks without cutting the engine. “I should go. Can I see you tomorrow?”
I nod. “Of course. I’ll call you when I wake up. You can come over.”
“Alright,” he says. I turn his face towards mine and kiss him.
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.” He watches me open the car door, and waves goodbye once I’m on the porch. The front door is unlocked, which I assume means Bree and James have both returned by now. There are voices in the kitchen, so I shuck off my jacket with a sigh and trudge over to answer all the questions I’m sure they will have. James is pacing around the room with long strides, and Bree is sitting at the counter, plucking the flower petals from her bouquet with deliberation. It takes me longer than it should to realize that neither of them is the one talking.
He stills when I enter the room, his dark green eyes focused on the surface of the table. He raises his mug of coffee to his lips and takes a long sip, if only for something to do to delay speaking. I can’t stop staring at him. He is smaller, thinner, almost as if he hasn’t eaten since he left. His skin is paler even than it was before, and his hair, untouched for months by the flat iron still stashed under the bathroom sink, is curly and slightly longer than before. His clothes swallow up his newly small frame, even though, I realize after a moment, he’s wearing my LHS Varsity Track Team hoodie. Once he has swallowed his mouthful of coffee, he finally looks up at me, almost guiltily. Neither of us moves a muscle. James has stopped pacing, and Bree’s hand is frozen halfway to a petal.
Eventually, Garen cracks the same wide smile I’ve been aching over for months. “Hey, little brother. Miss me?”
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“What are you doing?” I can’t help but whisper. He glances at me, almost as though he’d forgotten I was there.
“Contemplating the pros and cons of having a complete psycho for a best friend,” he says. I snort.
“Well, the cons are pretty obvious. He’s impulsive, he’s unreliable, he bails whenever things get too complicated, he’s a hypocrite, he’s immature, he drags other people down with him. Should I continue?”
“But on the other hand, he writes beautiful songs, he’s a god on the guitar, he loves people hard, and he gives one hell of a blowjob,” James says. I want to roll my eyes and turn away, but… well.
“Yeah, he really does,” I whisper back.
James laughs, and I fix my eyes on Ben, my face boiling. Alex is whispering something to him, and Ben is shrugging it off. God, I hope that nonchalance will last long enough for me to tell him I talked to Garen without getting dumped.
The organ starts up, and everyone stands in unison. I try to keep completely still as my mom’s too-long procession of bridemaids enters one by one. Her sisters, some coworkers, a friend from high school. Christ, is there anyone she didn’t invite to be in the wedding party? Bree comes in last, and there’s an overly dramatic pause before Mom finally makes her appearance on my grandfather’s arm. There is a collective sigh of appreciation, and to be fair, it’s well-deserved. All of her obsessive-compulsive planning has paid off; she looks beautiful. She makes her way down the aisle, and half the people in the audience are already tearing up.
Mom finally reaches the altar, and she and Bill are gazing at each other in a way that might be sweet, if it didn’t make me feel a little nauseated. The Minister raises his hands and booms, “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to celebrate the union of William and Evelyn.”
At least, some of us are. I, however, am fucking gone. I keep my eyes on Bill so that I won’t hold things up when the time comes for me to hand off the ring, but my body is the only thing that’s really present. My mind is millions of miles away. Or, more realistically, a hundred miles away, in a dorm room in New York, with someone it shouldn’t be with.
Why did you have to do this to me, Garen? You left me, and you should’ve stayed gone. You had no right to start talking to me again the day before the wedding, right when I’m so happy with Ben and you’re about to become my family in a way you never wanted to be. It’s unfair, and it hurts, and it can’t be the way things were supposed to happen. It can’t be.
Bill turns to me, grinning, and I fish the ring out of my pocket, holding it out to him. When my hand drops back to my side, something brushes against it, and someone takes it. I look down. James has laced his fingers through mine, and is squeezing so tightly his knuckles are white. I should shake him off. Really, I should. Ben can see, my friends can see, everyone can see. I don’t even know him. But he is the closest thing I have to Garen right now, and no one else in the world seems to understand the real significance of this moment. This isn’t just the part where Mom and Bill get married and celebrate their love and unite forever, or whatever everyone else seems to believe.
This is the part where Garen becomes my brother. This is the part where that possibility – the one I spend all of my time trying not to acknowledge, the one where maybe, maybe, maybe things with Ben might fall apart on their own and he’ll fall in love with some guy way better for him and Garen will show up on my doorstep and everything will be like it was before – is completely destroyed.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
I suddenly realize that my hand is damp, warm, and sticky. I look down. My hand is covered in blood, and there are tiny half-moon cuts on James’ skin where I have dug my nails into him. I try to pull away, but he just steps closer.
“Travis, stop. It’s okay. I’m best friends with Garen. I’m used to ‘fucked up.’ It’s okay,” he whispers, barely loud enough for me to hear.
“You may kiss the bride.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and wait for it all to be over.
I bolt after the ceremony. As soon as we have all made our way out of the church and the rice has been thrown and congratulations have been given, I am using every track-trained muscle in my body to get as far away from that place as possible. I’m the worst best man ever, but Bill should’ve expected that. They should’ve known I wouldn’t be able to do this.
I run until my thighs are burning, my muscles are screaming, my blood is boiling inside my veins. Sweat seeps into my pretty designer tux, and my hair is flattened against my forehead. It’s incredibly hot for April, and I’m out of shape, so I don’t really make it as far as I plan. Not like I’m planning anywhere I want to go. Another city, at least. New Haven? Hartford? New York? Fuck. I can’t get there, but I still make it halfway across town. Gasping and with lungs burning, I collapse in the grass at the edge of the park where Corey and I started really talking again. I’ve passed out enough times in my life to know when it’s coming, so when the edges of my vision start to blacken, I squeeze my eyes shut and curl up on my side. When I finally open my eyes again, my head feels foggy and the world is spinning a little, which probably means I’ve already passed out.
I stay where I am until my head clears. I wantto stay here until there’s nothing left of me. For the first time in months, I actually wish I could die. For the first time in months, I itch for a razor blade in my hand so I can cut myself open and bleed out all the horrible, painful shit I’m feeling. I shove a hand in the pocket of my suit pants for my wallet, which is useless. The sharpest thing in it is a fucking Blockbuster card, which is about as productive as trying to cut myself with a highlighter. I snap it in half, which at least creates more of a jagged edge, and dig the card into my wrist, right above my tattoo. Fuck you, G. Fuck you. It’s not even enough to bleed, just enough to make my skin angry and red. It’s not enough, definitely not enough to make me forget everything I’m suddenly remembering.
I’m in love with my stepbrother. Not I was in love with someone who was going to be my stepbrother. I am – present tense – in love with someone who is – present tense – my stepbrother. And no matter how many times I tell him, tell his friends, tell my friends, tell my boyfriend that I’m not, it doesn’t change the fact that I am, and probably always will be.
“Your mom asked me to come look for you. I’ve been looking everywhere.”
I refuse to look up at him, choosing instead to sprawl back on the ground and check the time on my watch. Four o’clock. Guess it took me longer to get here than I thought. I slip my hand into my pocket for my phone and check my texts. There are twelve, all of which are variations of “where are you” and “call me right now” from assorted friends and family members. I delete them all.
“I talked to him last night. He was on the phone with James, and then Corey gave me the phone. He told me he still loves me,” I say, as calmly as I can manage. Ben is still for a moment before he leans back against the chain-link fence near my head.
“Oh,” he says. It’s a single sound, but it’s enough to make me look at him.
“That’s all you have to say? ‘Oh’?” I say.
"I’m not sure what else I can say, since I always expected this part,” he says hoarsely. “So… are you going there? Or is he coming here?”
I stare. “What do you mean?”
“Well, he told you he still loves you. That’s what you’ve been waiting for, so I-I just assumed… you’re going to get back together with him. I mean, I’m a really good substitute, but that’s all I—”
“Bullshit,” I say, scrambling to my feet. “You’re not a substitute.”
“Are you going there, or is he coming here?” Ben repeats. I grip the fence behind him for a moment, then reach up to brush his hair off his forehead so I can press my lips to his skin.
“Neither. I told him I don’t love him, and that he shouldn’t call me anymore,” I say.
I don’t have a chance to speak anymore before Ben yanks me forward by the front of my suit and kisses me. His lips are smooth and trembling slightly, and I rub my thumbs over his cheekbones, trying my best to sooth him in a way I cannot seem to sooth myself. We part eventually, and I have to stoop down a bit to wrap my arms around him.
“I’m yours, Ben. Don’t doubt that,” I say.
I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine.
“Do you want to go back? The reception started a while ago,” Ben says. I shake my head slightly more spastically than I mean to.
“No. No, I really don’t want to go back. Did you drive here?” I say. He nods, thumbing towards the silver SUV parked a hundred feet away. I hook an arm around his waist and tug him towards it. He laughs, sounding almost nervous.
“Where are we going?” he asks.
I push him against the side of the SUV and kiss him hard. “Nowhere.”
He watches me open the door to the backseat and slide in across the bench. He hesitates before following, and by the time he gets in and shuts the door, my suit jacket is balled up on the floor and my shirt is half-unbuttoned.
“Why are we doing this?” he asks, even as he slides out of his own jacket. I thread my fingers into his hair and pull him close enough to feel his breath on my lips.
“Because there’s no reason not to.”
“How romantic,” he says dryly, and I laugh softly.
“Ben… I love you. I really, really do. And you love me. And it’s stupid not to do this if we love each other and want each other. Okay?” I say. He breathes in and out very slowly, his head cocked slightly to the side as though he’s weighing his options. Eventually, he leans up towards the front of the car and pops open the glove compartment. Shoveling an owner’s manual and assorted papers aside, he eventually plops back down next to me with a condom and a small, travel-sized bottle of lube.
“Do I even want to know?” I ask. He snorts.
“Probably not. But it’s hard to get any real privacy if you live with as many people as I do, so… I don’t know. Welcome to where I lost my virginity?” he says helplessly, gesturing to the backseat. “Ethan – the uh, the first guy, the one before G—” He freezes for a second, watching me, but I make sure I remain as still as possible. “Ethan was the first guy, and he didn’t want to do anything at his house. And mine was out. So, you know. It just sort of happened here, so I started keeping some supplies. And then I eventually just forgot about them until now. It’s nice to be prepared.”
“You’re a real Boy Scout, Benjamin McCutcheon,” I say. “Kiss me.”
He slides into my lap, knees braced on either side of my hips, and we kiss. All the talk about Ethan kind of ruined it for me, but he grinds against me very slightly as I work the buttons of his shirt, and within minutes, I’m as turned on as before.
Without clothes, it’s impossible to really think about Garen anymore, because there’s no similarity. Ben is tiny. He has nowhere near as many muscles as Garen, but there doesn’t seem to be an ounce of fat on his entire body. His skin isn’t as smooth as Garen’s, either, and I rake my fingers experimentally through the trail of hair leading down from his navel. He reaches past my hands to unbutton his trousers, and I slip a hand into his pants as his eyes flutter shut. The way his lips part and his tongue darts out to moisten them is making me almost painfully hard, and I sink down in my seat as he wraps a hand around the grab rail and pulls himself up. I tug his pants over his hips and, squeezing my eyes shut, I wet my lips and slide my mouth down over his cock. He inhales sharply, and I panic, gripping his hips so I won’t choke just in case he thrusts forward. He doesn’t thrust, simply threads his hand into my hair and tugs. Giving head isn’t really all that complicated, despite my somewhat irrational fears, and I assume I’m decent at it, given the soft noises Ben is making. He only lets me suck him for a few minutes though, and then he’s pulling away and shifting off of me so I can return to my seat. He toes off his shoes and strips the rest of the way down. I don’t know if I’m really allowed to look at his body – it’s been so long since I actually had sex that I seem to have forgotten all of the etiquette. Ben isn’t bashful though, about his body or my own. He unbuttons my fly and tugs my pants down towards my knees before moving back onto my lap. I tear the condom wrapper open with shaking hands and don’t speak until I’ve rolled it on properly.
“I-I’ve never… I’m not usually on this end of things.”
“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks, pausing with his hand halfway to the bottle of lube. I nod quickly.
“Yeah, I’m sure. Just… promise not to hate me if I suck at this?” I say. He grins.
“You’re not going to suck at this, Travis,” he says. I’m not about to argue with him – what kind of guy would actively try to convince his partner that he has no sexual skill? – so I pour some of the lube onto my fingers and start to work him up. This is the part where being on the bottom with Garen will probably help me out; I move slowly, carefully, even though Ben rocks onto my hand impatiently.
“Travis,” he says, “it’s okay. Y-You can…”
I pour a little bit more of the lube onto my cock, just for good measure, and position myself carefully. I mean for it to go slowly, but Ben’s the one controlling the pace from this position, and he sinks down onto me in one movement. I inhale sharply. “F-Fuck.”
“Are you alright?” he murmurs against my temple, and I nod shakily. “You sure?”
“I’m fine, I just… fuck, you’re tight,” I whisper, and he makes a vaguely gutteral noise, sliding up and sinking back down. It’s so tight, so hot, so good, and all I’m really capable of doing for the first few minutes is pressing my forehead to his shoulder while he rides me. When I can eventually move, I dig my fingers into his hips to guide him, and he leans back slightly so that he’s curved over the headrest of the front passenger’s seat. I shift slightly to make up the distance between us, wrapping an arm around his waist and pressing my lips to his chest. This is one of the most intense physical sensations I’ve ever experienced, but…
He is not Garen. The sex is incredible, and I love Ben so much it hurts, but he is not Garen and it doesn’t matter whether or not this is about making love or expressing commitment or any other cheesy euphemism. This is not Garen’s skin, this is not Garen’s mouth, this is not Garen’s body. This is Ben, and Garen is gone, and why does that hurt so much?
Once we have finished, we both dress slowly, eyes locked on each other. Ben is shaking a little, and I can tell that he’s trying to pretend I can’t see the scratches on his arms. They look relatively fresh – maybe a week old? – but I decide not to mention it. Once he has finished knotting his tie, I slide across the seat to kiss him. He kisses me back, but all I can taste on his tongue is apprehension.
“Do you want to go to the reception now?” he asks. “Your mom told me everything would be over around seven, I guess.”
“Yeah. She and Bill are going straight to the hotel after, though. It’s attached to the airport, and their flight for Paris leaves at five in the morning, so they decided to just save time by not coming home,” I say. I pause, then laugh softly. “I’d really rather not deal with them yet, though. Can you take me home?”
“Of course,” he says immediately. He presses another kiss to my forehead before we move back up to the front seats, and on the way to my house, I stretch across the chasm between the seats to rest my head on his shoulder. Lack of Garen aside, this is one of those moments I know I should savor. I just had great sex with my fantastic boyfriend who I honestly, truly love. It shouldn’t be this heavy. I shouldn’t be waiting for it all to be ruined.
Ben turns the car into the driveway and parks without cutting the engine. “I should go. Can I see you tomorrow?”
I nod. “Of course. I’ll call you when I wake up. You can come over.”
“Alright,” he says. I turn his face towards mine and kiss him.
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.” He watches me open the car door, and waves goodbye once I’m on the porch. The front door is unlocked, which I assume means Bree and James have both returned by now. There are voices in the kitchen, so I shuck off my jacket with a sigh and trudge over to answer all the questions I’m sure they will have. James is pacing around the room with long strides, and Bree is sitting at the counter, plucking the flower petals from her bouquet with deliberation. It takes me longer than it should to realize that neither of them is the one talking.
He stills when I enter the room, his dark green eyes focused on the surface of the table. He raises his mug of coffee to his lips and takes a long sip, if only for something to do to delay speaking. I can’t stop staring at him. He is smaller, thinner, almost as if he hasn’t eaten since he left. His skin is paler even than it was before, and his hair, untouched for months by the flat iron still stashed under the bathroom sink, is curly and slightly longer than before. His clothes swallow up his newly small frame, even though, I realize after a moment, he’s wearing my LHS Varsity Track Team hoodie. Once he has swallowed his mouthful of coffee, he finally looks up at me, almost guiltily. Neither of us moves a muscle. James has stopped pacing, and Bree’s hand is frozen halfway to a petal.
Eventually, Garen cracks the same wide smile I’ve been aching over for months. “Hey, little brother. Miss me?”
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