Eleven #2
The iron band around Ben’s chest tightened even further, that damn lump still in his throat. He wanted to say something to reassure Franco, but the words felt too heavy. Instead, he did the only thing he could think of. He laid a tentative hand on Franco’s arm, a silent gesture of solidarity.
“You’re enough,” Ben said quietly. “I’m not perfect, and you don’t have to be either.”
The words had slipped out of his mouth with frightening ease, but the weight of them landed hard between them.
I’m not perfect, but you don’t have to be either.
He could feel the sharp edges of everything he’d said, of everything he’d finally admitted. But before he could regret it, Franco leaned in toward him, his eyes not only soft but open.
The space between them closed with a quiet, deliberate urgency. Ben’s breathing hitched, his body aching for something— anything —to break the silence. He told himself it was simply the closeness, the too-intimate feeling of being this exposed with someone else.
It was more than that and he knew it.
Franco scanned his face, and for a moment, Ben wondered what he was searching for. Then Franco’s hand was at his jaw, his fingers warm and steady. Ben’s heart stuttered in his chest, but it was the kind of fluttering, dizzying rhythm that told him, this is it .
This was the moment where everything broke wide open.
“You sure?” Franco’s voice was a low hum, but there was no mistaking the intent behind it. It wasn’t a question, but more of a dare, inviting, tempting.
Ben opened his mouth, but the words that formed there weren’t what he expected. “I think I’ve wanted this for a while now,” he confessed, his voice rough and hoarse, as though he’d been holding the words back longer than he’d realised.
The tension between them surged, electric, tight, painful.
Ben had never been one to fall for the impulse, for the moment, but Franco made him feel as though there was no choice.
Every inch of Ben’s body was alert, his pulse thundering in his ears.
Franco’s eyes held hunger and fire. And for once, Ben didn’t want to pull back.
He didn’t want to hide behind his walls.
I want this.
Then Franco moved.
The kiss came like a storm, sudden and overwhelming.
Franco’s lips were on his, coaxing and slow.
It was nothing like the teasing, the light touches that had sparked something during the day.
This was deeper, a pressure that made Ben’s whole body ache with desire.
Franco’s tongue was insistent, parting his lips with enough force to open him up, sweeping in, tasting, claiming .
Ben was grateful to be sitting. He grabbed Franco’s shoulders, anchoring himself, trying to pull him closer, and the kiss turned frantic, as if there was no tomorrow, no reason to hold back.
Their bodies were pressed together, chest to chest, heat radiating between them.
It was as if every nerve was on fire, every sensation heightened.
Ben was alive in ways he hadn’t let himself feel in years, if ever.
When Franco withdrew enough to look at him, Ben’s pulse raced. Franco’s lips were swollen, pink, and his eyes had that same hungry look, full of desire and something else.
Something tender.
“You sure, Ben?” Franco whispered again. He slid his hand down Ben’s arm, his fingertips tracing the warmth spreading like liquid heat through Ben’s body.
Ben nodded. “I’m sure.” His voice was thick. He swallowed. “I’m on PrEP.”
Franco’s lips curved into a grin. “Me too.”
“And I just had a test. Everything’s good.”
“Me too,” Franco murmured, his hands at Ben’s waist, pulling him in a bit harder.
Before Ben could think, Franco stood, his hand wrapped around Ben’s.
His heart pounded with the knowledge that this was the moment where everything was going to change.
The second Ben’s lips parted beneath his, Franco knew this was more than physical, more than the press of skin, the way their mouths collided with urgency.
It was the years of walls Ben had built, the same walls Franco had watched crumble bit by bit.
Franco had been patient—maybe too patient—but now it was clear: Ben was here with him… all of him .
Franco kissed him deeper, harder. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing, nothing but the need to take, to feel. Ben was here in this raw naked moment, stripped of his perfect control.
And God, it was perfect.
Franco had never wanted someone quite like this, someone who matched him so easily, who could push him just as hard, just as deep. There was a fire in Ben, a spark Franco could sense even when Ben tried to bury it under layers of control. And now?
Now, there was no more hiding.
He could taste it, taste Ben, like whisky, a little bitter, but intoxicating. The kiss was rough, all tongue and teeth, an urgent search to know, to possess. It wasn’t about taking anymore; it was about belonging in a way that felt real, felt right.
Ben’s body pressed against his, warm, taut, every inch of him leaning into the touch. The instinct to pull back, to keep things casual, to maintain control… Franco had left that part of him in the kitchen, back when Ben had looked at him with those damn eyes and said everything in between.
Now, it was just them.
Franco pulled away slightly, needing to hear Ben’s breath, his voice. He needed confirmation this was what they both wanted, needed. The question burned once more in his chest, and it was out before he could stop it.
“You sure?”
Ben’s gaze met his, fierce, determined. “I’m sure.”
That was all it took.
Franco grasped Ben’s hand and led him with quiet intensity toward the bedroom. His heart raced, his body already alive with the promise of what was to come. But this wasn’t about the physical, the promise of skin on skin.
This was about tearing down those walls.
About finally being seen.
When they reached the bed, Franco’s hands were everywhere, moving in gentle but deliberate strokes, pushing Ben against the edge of the mattress. There was no going back, not now.
I don’t want to go back.
This was it.
This was them, and dear God, he wanted it.