Chapter Twenty-Six
The air in Ben’s flat was thick with anticipation, charged with something Franco didn’t want to name for fear of breaking it.
They didn’t speak at first. Franco shrugged off his jacket, dropped it carelessly on the back of the chair, and turned. Ben was already there, only a step away, watching him with that intent, steady gaze Franco had come to know so well.
God, those eyes. Franco could drown in them.
“Ben,” he murmured, his voice rough, the sound from someplace deep.
Ben raised his hand and brushed his fingertips along Franco’s jaw, the touch reverent, as though he was touching something sacred.
Franco leaned into it without thinking, his eyes closing, a soft sigh escaping him.
Then Ben’s mouth was on his, a press of lips, a whisper of promise.
He slid his fingers higher, running them through Franco’s hair, tugging him closer, and Franco parted his lips with a low moan, hungry for him, for this.
Their tongues met in a sexy duel, and the kiss grew, feeding Franco’s desire until he felt it in every nerve, every breath.
When they broke apart, Franco’s chest heaved. “Take me to bed,” he whispered, his forehead resting against Ben’s. “Make love to me. Let me… let me give you everything.”
Ben’s eyes were on fire as he took Franco’s hand, guiding him to the bedroom.
The room was dim, the streetlight spilling in through the blinds, casting pale stripes across the bed.
Ben turned, standing at the edge of it, and for a moment they simply looked at each other.
Franco swallowed hard. He wanted to remember this, every detail, every shift of light across Ben’s features, the way his hair caught the glow, the shape of his mouth when he wasn’t guarding his expression.
Franco reached for him first, tugging at the hem of Ben’s shirt. “Off,” he murmured. His voice trembled, not with uncertainty but urgency.
Ben lifted his arms without a word, letting Franco strip the shirt away. Franco drank in the sight of him, the broad chest, the curve of muscle, the mat of soft hair covering his pecs, the trail that pointed south. He traced the contours of Ben’s torso, keeping the motion leisurely and sensual.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered.
Ben smiled. “You’ve said that before.”
“Then it must be true.”
“I could say the same, you know.”
Franco laughed softly. “Yeah, but you don’t get to see the mess underneath.” He pulled his own shirt over his head, tossing it aside. Ben’s gaze raked over him, and Franco felt it, as tangible like a physical touch, the heat of being seen, wholly and without judgment.
“Not a mess,” Ben said quietly. He brushed his fingers across Franco’s chest. “Never a mess. You’re…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “They’d have to invent a new word to describe you, because I don’t think there is one that fully describes you.”
Franco caught his hand and pressed a kiss into his palm. “Then don’t tell me—show me.”
Ben kissed him again, deeper this time, walking them backward until Franco’s knees hit the mattress and he sank down onto it, pulling Ben with him.
They sprawled together, their mouths locked, their bodies aligning.
Franco arched into the weight of Ben above him, his hands roaming across his back, down his sides, burning the feel of him into his memory.
They undressed each other, unhurried despite the thrum of desire between them.
It wasn’t the frantic hunger of stolen moments in kitchens or offices.
This was peeling away barriers as much as clothing.
By the time they were bare, Franco’s chest ached with the sheer intimacy of it. Nakedness wasn’t new to him, but this?
This took it to a whole new level.
Ben kissed down his throat, across his collarbone, eliciting shivers when his lips lingered. “You drive me crazy,” Ben murmured against his skin. “Every second. And still… I want more.”
“You have me,” Franco whispered, tangling his fingers in Ben’s hair, pulling him up so their mouths met again. “All of me. Tonight, I’m yours.”
He meant it with a clarity that startled him.
Every wall he’d ever built, every joke, every deflection—it all fell away here, in this bed, in Ben’s arms. He let himself feel everything , then let it show in the way he arched his body, the way he moaned into Ben’s kisses, whispering his name as though it were a prayer.
Ben responded in kind, giving back everything Franco offered and more. His touch was sure but tender, his kisses fierce and lingering.
He knows me . Ben knew the spots that made him gasp, the rhythm that drove him higher, the gentleness that undid him completely.
The world narrowed to sensation: hands, mouths, skin sliding against skin, the pulse of heat building between them.
They moved together with a familiarity that still astonished Franco, like two halves learning they’d always belonged together.
His breath came in gasps, his body taut, every nerve alight.
“Ben,” he groaned, gripping his shoulders tight. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop. ”
“I won’t,” Ben promised, his voice raw, desperate. “Not ever.” He reached for the lube. “Spread your legs. Show it to me.”
Holy fuck. Ben had just taken him to heaven with seven words.
With a shudder, Franco pulled his knees up, exposing his pucker, holding his breath to await the gentle pressure that always felt so fucking good.
Ben’s lips locked on his as he stroked his fingers deep into Franco’s body, and Franco let go with one hand to cup Ben’s nape, deepening the kiss, feeding him moans of spiralling pleasure.
The first slow press of Ben’s cock inside him stilled his breath and made his pulse race, the way it did every single time.
His ankles rested on Ben’s shoulders, and Ben locked his arms, gliding into him in a steady rhythm that didn’t stay that way for long.
The smack of flesh against flesh, punctuated by their mingled cries, filled the air, breaking now and then when they kissed.
Franco couldn’t get enough of him.
And when Ben came inside him, Franco didn’t hold back, unable to stifle the sounds, hide the trembling, or mask the sheer rapture of being undone in Ben’s arms. He let Ben see him completely, messy, vulnerable, radiant.
And Ben, with his own ragged cries and shuddering release, met him there, equal and unguarded.
“Now come for me,” Ben demanded, his slick hand on Franco’s shaft.
Franco groaned as he pulsed warmth, coating Ben’s fingers, his heart soaring when Ben’s mouth claimed his, connecting them.
“Mine,” Ben murmured breathlessly against Franco’s lips, and Franco let out a low moan.
Seven words had taken him to new levels of rapture.
One word broke him.
They lay together, Franco’s limbs heavy, his skin damp, his heart pounding. Franco rested his cheek against Ben’s chest, listening to the steady beat beneath. He closed his eyes, letting the sound anchor him.
“I meant it,” Franco whispered into the darkness. “Tonight, I gave you everything. No walls. No pretending. One hundred percent me. ”
Ben kissed the top of his head, holding him tighter. “And I’ll treasure it. Always.”
They stayed like that until sleep claimed him, wrapped around each other as though neither could bear to let go.
The morning light was merciless. It streamed through the blinds in thin, golden spikes, painting Ben’s skin in soft relief.
Franco blinked awake to find himself still curled into him, his head on Ben’s chest, Ben’s heart beating under his cheek.
For a moment, he let himself drift, his eyes closed, pretending the world outside didn’t exist.
If I stay here long enough, maybe it will all stop—time, decisions, departures. Just me and Ben, forever in this cocoon.
Ben stirred, his arm tightening around Franco’s waist, as if his body didn’t want to let go even as his mind woke. When he opened his eyes, they found Franco’s immediately, sleepy but steady.
“Morning,” Ben murmured.
Franco tried to swallow past the lump in his throat. “Morning.”
The quiet was broken only by the faint hum of traffic outside and the cry of gulls drifting in from the river. Franco was used to their comfortable silences.
This one had edges, sharp and unspoken.
Ben brushed a thumb across Franco’s temple. “What time’s your flight again?”
“Late evening. Just before ten. Gives me most of the day.”
Ben’s fingers lingered in Franco’s hair, combing through it gently, absently, as if memorising its texture. “Do you want me to come with you to the airport?”
Franco’s chest tightened. He’d been rehearsing this in his head for days, telling himself it was kinder, easier, to make a clean break at the flat. Airports were brutal, all sterile light and forced goodbyes. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—watch Ben fade behind security glass.
“No,” Franco said, too quickly. He caught Ben’s flinch, subtle but there, and his heart ached. “I mean… I don’t want to remember you there. Standing behind the barrier, waving. That’s…” He trailed off, searching for the words. “I’d rather say goodbye here. Where it’s just us.”
Ben’s eyes softened, although his jaw worked as if he were biting back a dozen replies. Finally, he nodded. “All right. Here, then.”
Franco exhaled shakily, relief and regret twined together. He pressed a kiss to Ben’s chest, over the steady thrum of his heart. “Thank you.”
They lay there longer than they should have, Franco clinging to the illusion of an ordinary morning.
Ben eventually got up and went into the kitchen, and soon the scent of brewing coffee filled the flat.
Franco joined him, barefoot, wearing one of Ben’s T-shirts, pretending for a little while longer that this was simply another ordinary day.
But reality crept in with every glance at the clock, every thought of what waited for him at his own flat. His suitcase wasn’t zipped. His passport still lay on the counter. Florence loomed, as thrilling as it was devastating.