Chapter Twelve
Franco’s hand was on Ben’s neck, their lips locked, and Ben was loving every fucking second. Franco slid his fingers into Ben’s hair, tugging on it, his tongue going deep, and Ben moaned into the kiss.
It was as if the past weeks of glances and careful touches had been holding them back from this inevitable ignition, and now they were hellbent on devouring each other.
They broke apart, then Franco pressed his forehead to Ben’s, his breathing ragged.
“God, I’ve wanted this,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I’ve wanted you .”
Ben squeezed his eyes shut. He yearned to say something that would match the trembling sincerity in Franco’s words, but Franco chose that moment to sink to his knees, pop the button on Ben’s jeans, and lower the zipper as if he had all fucking night.
A low, wrecked sound tumbled from Ben’s lips when Franco fished out his dick and sat back on his haunches, gazing at it, his tongue snaking out to lick his lips.
“Well, don’t just stare at it,” Ben said through gritted teeth. “You’ve got it out now, so you might as well do something with it.”
Franco grinned. “What—like this?” He gave the head a single lap of his tongue, then pulled back.
Ben let out a growl. “I swear, if you don’t—”
Franco took him deep, and Ben’s mind fractured. Heat, wetness, pressure… It was too much and not enough all at once. He moaned, the sound long and raw, echoing off the walls like a confession.
Franco worked him expertly, slowly at first, one hand splayed flat over Ben’s stomach to keep him grounded. Ben’s thighs trembled, every muscle straining toward more, closer, deeper.
When Franco finally pulled off and rose to his feet, Ben nearly sobbed at the loss. Franco’s lips claimed his before ghosting over his jaw, his ear, murmuring soft, broken fragments of Italian Ben didn’t fully understand but felt deep in his ribs, vibrating through every hidden chamber of his body.
Franco grasped the hem of Ben’s tee and yanked it higher to remove it, tossing it aside. He stared at Ben’s chest, smiling.
“Beautiful,” Franco murmured against his skin.
The word hit deep and Ben shuddered.
When was the last time someone called me that? And meant it?
Then Franco eased him down onto the bed and crawled up his body between Ben’s legs that spread for him.
They kissed, Franco’s tongue exploring him, his fingers teasing Ben’s nipples, creating mini quakes that rippled through him, until he couldn’t control his shivers.
When Franco’s mouth closed around a nipple, Ben gasped, arching up, a sharp, electric shock running straight through him.
Franco chuckled softly against his skin, the sound vibrating all the way into Ben’s bones.
“Gonna have to remember that,” Franco whispered.
He sat up, straddling Ben’s hips, and slowly removed his own shirt, a seductive striptease where his eyes never left Ben’s.
He flung the garment to the floor, then bent low to kiss Ben once more, Ben’s hand on Franco’s neck as Franco rolled his hips in a sensual undulation, rocking slowly, grinding his erection against Ben’s.
“Aw fuck,” Ben moaned. He grabbed Franco and tugged him down onto the mattress on his back, leaning over to press his lips to Franco’s neck, his nipples, before the siren call of Franco’s mouth grew too loud to ignore.
Franco let out a low groan of pleasure. “Think we can stop kissing… long enough to take… the rest of our clothes off?”
Ben grinned against his neck. “Let’s find out.
” He knelt up, unfastened Franco’s jeans, and removed them, tugging them from Franco’s slim legs, leaving him in a pair of grey cotton briefs, the fabric stretched taut over a hard cock that pointed toward Franco’s hip, pre-cum already soaking through.
Ben kissed along the shaft, loving the way Franco arched his body, silently demanding more, his gaze locked on Ben’s mouth.
When he couldn’t wait a second longer, he stripped the underwear from Franco’s body, and guided Franco’s dick between his lips.
Fuck, the taste of him…
Franco arched into Ben’s touch, pushing up with his hips, short jerky thrusts punctuated by staccato breaths.
He grabbed Ben’s arm. “You’ve still got too many clothes on,” he ground out, and a heartbeat later he flipped them both, Ben landing on his back while Franco finished the task of removing Ben’s jeans.
He dropped them onto the rug beside the bed with a smile.
“That’s better.”
Franco began kissing him again, slower now, mapping every inch of him with mouth and hands. Each kiss pulled a new sound from Ben, low and involuntary, sounds he’d never trusted himself to make before.
Their bodies tangled, their legs sliding together, their skin slick and hot. Franco moved lower, kissing down Ben’s stomach, pausing to deliver a lingering press of lips on his hipbone. Ben’s hands fisted in the sheets, his hips jerking upward, caught up in the onslaught of sensation.
He lost track of how long they spent kissing, sucking, and stroking each other’s dicks, both of them moving in a restless wave of warm flesh, small gasps of pleasure alternating with wet, erotic sounds that tugged Ben along on a tide of white-hot desire .
Franco knelt between Ben’s thighs, pushing his knees toward his chest and rolling his hips so his shaft slid over Ben’s hole and sac. He hooked his arms under Ben’s knees, then leaned in close, kissing the edge of his jaw.
“I want to be inside you,” Franco whispered. “I want you to feel all of me.”
Ben’s whole body went tight, the words ricocheting through him. In another life, he might have flinched, maybe even retreated into some sarcastic defence. But now?
An electric, unstoppable yes roared through his veins.
“Do it,” he said, his voice low and shaking. “I want it.” He cupped Franco’s cheek. “I want you .”
Franco pressed their foreheads together again, breathing hard. Then he reached for the drawer, fumbling for the lube. Ben’s chest rose in sharp, shallow bursts, his heart fluttering like a trapped bird.
Franco paused with the bottle of lube in his hand. “You’re sure this is okay?”
Ben didn’t hesitate. He brushed over the curve of Franco’s lower lip with his thumb. “Yes,” he whispered. “Please.”
Franco kissed him, a slow, gentle embrace. Then he slid slick fingers into Ben, one at a time, patient and attentive. Ben spread his thighs wider, his hips rolling instinctively, until the burn passed and the first pulses of sensual joy began to trickle through him.
“So tight,” Franco murmured. He added lube, and all of a sudden there was more heat, more need, so much need that Ben truly believed it was possible to die from it.
When Franco finally lined up and began to push in, Ben’s breath stuttered out in a broken moan.
The burn was back, the stretch overwhelming at first, but under it, something deep and aching bloomed.
Franco paused, trembling above him, his forehead pressed to Ben’s, whispering apologies, curses, interspersed with fragments of Italian.
Ben slid his hands up Franco’s back, raking the smooth skin with his nails. “Don’t stop,” he panted. “Please, please, please—”
Franco pressed all the way in, and they both froze, their chests heaving, as though they’d stepped off a cliff and were hanging suspended in the air.
He cradled Ben’s nape, their ragged breaths mingling, and Ben closed his eyes.
He felt split open down to the marrow, every hidden fear, every secret softness laid bare, and yet, instead of drowning, he found he could finally breathe.
Franco started to move, slow and careful at first, and each thrust sent sparks skittering up Ben’s spine, his hips rising to meet Franco’s without conscious thought.
Their bodies found a rhythm, languid building into something more urgent, more desperate.
Ben’s hands were in constant motion, on Franco’s back, his hair, his face, unable to decide where to cling next.
Franco’s name fell from his lips again, each syllable both a prayer and a plea.
Franco pressed their mouths together in a torrent of kisses that collapsed into sharp gasps. “So good,” he panted, his voice frayed. “God, Ben, you feel so fucking good.”
Ben arched up as Franco’s cock grazed over his prostate, wrapping his legs around Franco’s waist to pull him deeper, to keep him hitting that sensitive spot.
He felt as though he was unravelling thread by thread, each thrust loosening something inside him, some part of him wound too tight—until it snapped.
Ben came with a shuddering cry, his whole body seizing around Franco.
The sound dragged Franco over the edge seconds later, his hips jerking, his voice cracking as he buried his face into Ben’s neck.
They collapsed together, their bodies slick and trembling, their breaths colliding in the dark.
Franco stayed inside him for a long, quiet moment, one hand stroking Ben’s hair, the other splayed across his chest as if to keep him tethered.
Eventually Franco eased out of him and gathered Ben into his arms. They lay there wrapped around each other, Ben’s hammering heart slipping back into its normal rhythm.
Franco pressed a kiss to Ben’s forehead, then his cheek, then the corner of his mouth.
His eyes glistened. “Thank you,” he whispered against Ben’s skin.
“Don’t thank me,” Ben murmured. “You just rocked my world.”
Franco pulled back enough to look at him, and Ben’s breathing caught. A thousand jagged memories rose up: the nights he’d lain awake wondering if he was built wrong, the years of pushing people away before they could see the real man he hid beneath all the sarcasm and sharp edges.
“You said you wanted me to be here, with you—just us two.” Ben’s voice cracked. “Well, I’m here, all of me. With you.”
Franco’s face crumpled into a small, luminous smile. He pressed their foreheads together, and for a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Outside, the city murmured on with its varied soundtrack: the traffic below Franco’s window, a distant siren wailing, some neighbour’s laughter echoing faintly. But inside Franco’s flat, to Ben’s mind there was only the slow, tentative synchrony of two people learning to breathe together.
Franco tightened his arms around Ben as if to keep him from dissolving into the night.
“Stay,” he whispered.
Ben didn’t even need to think. He turned into Franco’s chest, inhaling the warm, salty scent of his skin.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Franco kissed the top of his head, another long, lingering press of lips that felt like an unspoken promise.
And for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, Ben was ready to believe it.