15. Benji
BENJI
BIRDS OF A FEATHER
I was guilty. This time, I truly was. I had made the first step—and the second, third, and fifth.
But in my defense, it had become impossible to hold back any longer.
Wrestling with Sam, being even closer than in the grove, made me sweat and shudder at the same time.
His fingers danced over my body, pretending to search for my weak spots, so they could “win” the match.
No matter where they landed, they couldn’t distract me from his lingering scent—a faint trace of him in the air that made every cell in my body yearn to understand that pull toward him, that urge to get close, threatening to consume my entire existence if I didn’t give in.
It didn’t help that he sat right on my bulge. The friction had already been intense before, but this made things even harder.
He stared at me with those big green eyes that wouldn’t let go of me, and despite the same hunger filling his pupils, he didn’t do anything about it. He kept teasing, playing, inching closer without taking that final leap that would give us some clarity.
Maybe his past had taught him to never make the first move. It would make sense. Shoving your tongue into someone's mouth, especially when you can’t be entirely sure if they were into it, was a lottery with a ninety-nine percent chance of getting your ass kicked. Or worse.
So, you can’t blame me.
I had to do it. If I wanted to know, I had to take that leap.
I regret nothing.
When our lips met, everything went silent, pleasantly, as if nothing besides us existed anymore—only warmth and the rustle of our shirts rubbing together.
I pulled back quickly after the first peck. I had to. Just because he was into guys in general didn’t mean he was into me.
His eyes grew wide by the surprise of what I had done, but, as if this had opened a gate, he leaned down and kissed me again—four, eight, twenty times.
The first kiss was only a short peck, but with each run-up, our lips held onto each other a little longer, until on the seventeenth try we finally let our tongues meet.
He tasted like lemons with a hint of saltiness—a new, wild flavor I never would’ve imagined, yet one I already knew I could get hooked on.
This was bad.
Not the kiss, obviously , but what it meant.
It was like finding a puzzle piece I’d been searching for, one that was enticing, comfortable, and fitting, yet still scary as hell.
I knew why this felt so right—and worse, I knew that there was no way back.
Sure, I could’ve pretended not to understand, but I’d rather leave that for the weak people.
Why deny myself a truth when it presented itself so blatantly?
If there’d been even the slightest pinch of doubt, I wouldn’t have wanted this to continue.
I wouldn’t have wanted Sam’s hands on me, wouldn’t have wanted to climb into him, get to know every corner of his body and soul.
And I sure as hell wouldn’t have had that raging boner.
This wasn’t an experiment; it was a revelation .
No, what frightened me was not knowing yet if everything I felt was because he was a man, or because he was Sam.
He freed his left hand, which had been trapped between our chests, and rested his elbow on the floor, his fingers tapping against the hair right above my ear as if they were afraid to wander further.
I chuckled. His timid moves—eager to explore, yet too cautious to do it without an invitation—were cute as hell.
Sam pulled his head back half an inch, but I chased him, keeping my mouth on his.
My left hand drifted down his back and under his shirt.
That seemed to spur him on—he finally threaded his fingers through my hair, only to stop again just as quickly.
He exhaled sharply and lifted his head another inch, too far for me to keep kissing him.
“Probably shouldn’t run my fingers over your head with that fresh wound,” Sam whispered.
“If it didn’t open when we wrestled, it won’t now,” I whispered back.
“You're probably right.”
His eyes darted around, looking at everything but me, as if he feared that meeting my gaze would make me change my mind.
Restless, my fingers slid higher across the soft skin between his shoulder blades, hoping it showed I wasn’t about to bolt.
“What are we doing, Benji?” he said, his voice barely audible. His gaze wandered from my nose to my lips.
“Do you want to stop?”
“No, definitely not. But...” He finally met my gaze. “Is this a clever idea?”
“Does it have to be?”
“I don’t want us to regret anything.”
“I know that I won’t.”
He blinked, as if weighing whether my words were as honest as I meant them.
“Sam,” I said, winking at him. “If smooching around didn’t make it obvious: I kinda like you.”
The words came easier than I thought they could, and so did his smile.
“Same,” he whispered, his head giving the slightest shake, as if he couldn’t believe this was real. “It’s not you, by the way.”
“Huh?”
“Your kisses. They aren’t wet. A little moist, maybe. But not wet.”
“That’s what you’re thinking about?” I couldn’t help breaking into a laugh.
“No, really,” he replied, louder this time, a blush creeping onto his cheeks. “You're a good kisser.”
“Takes one to know one.”
His ears twitched back as his cheeks turned almost tomato-red, his smile widening into a fat grin.
I pushed into his back, and he didn’t need a verbal invitation to lean down and kiss me again.
Our mouths locked onto each other, proving the point we had just made: our kisses were the best freaking kisses of all time.
If there ever were a contest, we would’ve won.
Our kisses deserved to be mentioned in the book of world records, or in a lexicon as a sample example of how it should be.
Sam seemed to agree. The longer we made out, the more he loosened up. His tongue wrestled with mine, and this time, we were both winning. His body moved in waves, rubbing over me, making the throbbing in my pants worse.
Cautious as he was, his fingers let my head alone, but trailed up and down my ribcage, until he pushed himself off just enough to slip underneath my shirt. His touch was like magic. Wherever his fingers landed, they sent out little waves of pleasure.
Maybe things weren’t complicated at all. Perhaps it didn’t matter if I liked this because he was a man or because it was him in particular; it could be both. Or neither. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that we were having a blast.
I moved my hands down his back, wrapped them around his hips, and rolled him over. He squeaked again, like he had so often this evening, but this time, it didn’t just make me chuckle—it made my dick throb.
His brown hair fell back as he rested his head on the floor, eyes wide, waiting for whatever I had in store.
Now that we were lying side by side, I had better access to his body. His shirt had ridden up enough to reveal his belly button, but when my gaze drifted there, I couldn’t help but notice that his bulge was elevated, too.
The sight made my mouth water. He wanted this. He was into it, just like me.
“Are you good?” I asked.
He sucked in his lips, nodding.
“Just checking.”
I grinned as my right hand followed my gaze, sliding down his chest, over his exposed abdomen, pausing briefly at his waistband.
I probably shouldn’t have, but my brain wasn’t in rational mode anymore.
All I could think about was how we had already crossed a line we couldn’t come back from.
We might as well go all the way. And I did.
My hand moved further, over the rough fabric of his shorts and onto his bulge, cupping his dick, pressing in to feel just how hard he was.
Sam gasped, his whole body quivering.
I brought my lips to his, letting our tongues meet again, when— KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK.
We both flinched apart as if invisible strings had yanked us back. I jumped into the armchair, running my fingers through my hair. Sam rocked toward the wall behind him, leaned against it, and crossed his legs, tugging his shirt down over his lap to hide what was underneath.
My heart pounded. I panted.
Why now?
An angry “What?” was all I managed to get out.
The door cracked open, and my mom's head poked through.
“I cleaned the shirt.”
As if I cared. I was just about to rip the one I’d lent him off his body...
Mom stepped inside and held it out toward Sam, who jumped up and took it from her.
“Thank you so much,” Sam said, breathless, sneaking a glance at me as if he feared she had noticed.
“You’re welcome,” Mom replied. She shot me a glare as if she wanted to call me out for the way I’d snapped at her. “I’ll be going to bed now. Please feel free to help yourself to a drink. Just try not to be too loud. Your father fell asleep in front of the TV.”
“Good night, Mom.” I cleared my throat. “And thank you.”
“Good night,” she said, too, and nodded once more at Sam before closing the door behind her.
We both stood still until we heard the soft click of the other bedroom door. Our eyes met, and after a second of shared shock, we couldn’t hold it back anymore. Sam snorted first, the suppressed laughter spilling straight over to me.
“That was close,” Sam chuckled, his shoulder dropping.
“So close,” I agreed.
We chuckled for another minute, one of us constantly reigniting the fire just as the other started to calm down.
I pulled my legs up onto the armchair, rounding my back and pressing it deep into the worn-out cushion. What had we just— almost —done? It wouldn’t have ended where we’d been interrupted; that much was certain.
At least the problem in my pants was gone now, just like the entire moment had slipped away, thanks to my mom, thanks to myself, thanks to everything.
I turned to him. “Sam?—”
“I guess—” Sam pressed his lips together. “Yeah?”
“No, you go on.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Please, finish your sentence,” I growled.
“I guess I’ll change back now,” Sam said.
“That’s what she cleaned it for.”