Seventeen Ben
seventeen
Ben
It’s all yours.” Arya emerged from Ben’s bathroom already dressed in some light-wash jeans and a violet polo shirt.
“Holy shit,” Ben said.
Arya looked behind him, then back. “What?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in jeans before.” Ben couldn’t remember a single time. They suited Arya, though, the cut accentuating his long legs, the light wash gorgeous against his dark skin. His feet poked out of the hems, and Ben realized he hadn’t seen Arya’s feet before, either.
Ben wasn’t a feet kind of guy, insofar as feet didn’t do anything for him sexually, but he did like to know what a guy was working with.
Someone’s feet could tell you almost as much about them as their hands.
Were they smooth or calloused? Did they keep their toenails trimmed?
Painted? (In Arya’s case, they were painted, a soft pink that matched his fingernails.)
Arya laughed and rubbed his bald head. It still had a few water droplets clinging to it.
“I’m full of surprises,” he said, giving Ben a winning smile.
Ben shook his head, pressing his lips together to keep his own smile from showing.
“Right. Well. I better get cleaned up.”
He peeled off his raglan and sauntered to the bathroom, ignoring the weight of Arya’s eyes on him. Yeah, maybe he shouldn’t have done it, but Arya had seen him shirtless before, and even if they weren’t ever going to have sex again, Ben still liked feeling desirable.
It was as much action as he was going to get, since rule number four prohibited them seeing other people.
Ben stepped into the still-steamy bathroom and locked the door.
He loved his little house, but the single full bathroom was a bit of an inconvenience.
Now Arya knew all his skincare products.
And the kind of bidet he used (top-of-the-line, with built in dryer).
And how well he kept his bathroom clean.
(He cleaned it every week, but you never knew when you were gonna get some random blob of toothpaste somewhere.)
Arya had folded the towel and washcloth he’d used on the corner of the counter, which was surprisingly thoughtful. Ben peeled out of his shorts and compression, giving his dick a light tug to get it and his balls unstuck from his thighs, and turned on the water.
Even with the water running and the fan going, the whole bathroom smelled like Arya. Somehow it had concentrated his scent: musk, tea, rosin. Ben’s mouth went dry, and as he stepped beneath the warm spray, his cock sprang to life.
Ben was pretty regular about masturbating. He read once (well, more than once) that ejaculating regularly helped prevent prostate cancer, and fuck cancer, so he felt it was his duty to keep his pipes clean, so to speak.
He hadn’t had a chance this morning, what with staying out late with the cellos last night and kickball this morning. But he had the chance now. It wouldn’t take long, not with his blood pumping and the smell of man filling the bathroom.
Ben skinned himself back and turned to let the water fall on his exposed dickhead. The sensation was intense, and Ben flinched away quickly, but he didn’t want to jack off with a bunch of sweat trapped under his foreskin.
He braced one arm against the shower wall, rested his forehead against it, and used his other hand to start stroking.
Pleasure pooled in his belly as he breathed deep.
His dick was red, angry, ready for release.
He remembered how it had felt when he hooked up with Arya back in the vineyard.
Arya’s hand on him. Arya’s mouth against his.
Reliving a dozen (okay, maybe two dozen) angsty teenage jack-offs beneath the silver moonlight.
That feeling of being alone in the world with nothing but pleasure.
Or, if he was lucky, someone else to share it.
Ben shifted his stance, spreading his legs so his balls could swing a bit more, but then he narrowed his eyes. There was something in the soap dish.
Was that… ?
Ben paused his stroking, turned his body to block the water with his back.
Swirly white streaks floated in the cloudy water. Ben didn’t use bar soap, so the soap dish never got used. He had a bottle of body wash in the corner, next to his shampoo and conditioner.
Holy shit. Had Arya jacked off in the shower, too?
Ben bit his hand to stop from laughing. That was…
Hot.
Was it rude to masturbate in someone else’s shower? Maybe, but surely Arya had meant to wash it all down and had just missed a spot.
Ben could hardly blame him, when he was doing the same right now.
He used a hand to wash away the remnants of Arya’s load, then got back to coaxing out his own. His erection hadn’t flagged; if anything, it had strengthened.
Fuck, Arya was the sexiest man Ben had ever seen in his life, and he was totally unavailable. Emotionally and physically. Arya had made it clear there could never be anything between them. Arya didn’t date. And even if he did, Ben was a client.
But alone, with nothing but his hand for company, Ben let himself imagine.
His orgasm came at him unexpectedly, thundering down his spine, tightening his taint, spurting out against the shower walls. Ben breathed heavily, stroking himself through the aftershocks. His knees shook. Fuck, he was thirsty. He should’ve had some water before getting in the shower.
He stroked himself one last time, milking out the last of his load, and shook it beneath the spray to drain away along with the rest of the evidence of his need.
He washed his dick off, making sure to clean under the foreskin, and then got to scrubbing.
They still had a fake date to go on.
“This is incredible,” Ben said as he slurped up his noodles.
Arya had taken him to a Vietnamese place in a neighborhood close to the river he called Columbus Park.
“It’s good, right? I’ve traveled a lot, but this is still the best ph? I’ve ever had.”
Ben had to agree with Arya. They had a pretty big Vietnamese diaspora population in the Bay Area and, actually, a decent-sized one in Detroit, too. Ben had surely been to dozens of Vietnamese places by now.
Nothing had ever tasted as good as the ph? before him now: gleaming beef broth, thinly sliced steak, vibrant green basil, long translucent noodles.
Arya slurped up his own mouthful, using his spoon to gather broth and keep the noodles from splashing.
Ben glanced around to make sure he wouldn’t be overheard, waited for Arya to swallow, then leaned in.
“Hey. Did you mean to leave a mess in the soap dish?”
Arya coughed.
For a second, Ben was terrified he’d miscalculated and Arya still had food in his mouth. He’d never forgive himself if his joke made Arya choke.
But Arya coughed again, reached for his water and chugged.
“Wrong pipe,” he gasped, making a fist and banging it against his sternum. He blinked away tears. “You’re the devil.”
Ben grinned. “Sorry. I couldn’t help it.”
“Neither could I,” Arya muttered.
Ben chuckled.
“Me neither. Practice got my blood pumping.”
Arya cocked an eyebrow. “Oh really?”
Ben shrugged. “We both had energy we needed to burn off. It’s fine. Next time, I can give you some proper lube so you don’t have to use the body wash.”
“It was conditioner, if you must know,” Arya said, looking affronted. His cheeks were ruddy, though, and he turned back to his soup.
Ben did, too. It was really fucking good.
“How’d you find this place?” he asked around a mouthful of rice noodles.
“My dad used to come here,” Arya said, then scowled.
“What?”
“Nothing.” Arya sat back and sighed, reaching for his limeade. It was made in-house, with fresh limes crammed into the highball glass. He sipped slowly. “My dad’s coming to visit.”
Ben frowned. “Visit?”
“He lives in Iran most of the year. He only visits every few months.” Arya waved his hand like he was trying to scatter an annoying cloud of bugs. “It’s fine. It’s whatever.”
“Sorry,” Ben said.
Arya chewed on his lip, glowering into his bowl. Ben reached across the table and pinched Arya’s chopsticks with his own.
Arya gave a little smile. He pinched Ben’s chopsticks back and sighed.
“It’s just, he’s always cheating on my mom.
He has a mistress in Iran and everything.
And my mom has a… I don’t know, a long-term booty call here, too.
And they both act like it’s fine, but it’s not.
It’s weird, and it was fucking miserable to grow up in that house. ”
Arya dropped his spoon and chopsticks and clapped his hands to his head.
Ben wanted to reach across the table and take Arya’s hand. Tell him it would be fine. Tell him it was fucked up. Tell him…
He didn’t know what.
He just hated seeing Arya like this.
Eventually Arya shook his head. “Sorry. I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.”
He pursed his lips and blew out a breath.
“I don’t tell anyone this.”
Warmth blossomed in Ben’s stomach, and not because of his lunch.
He liked that Arya could talk to him.
“It’s cool,” Ben said. “I don’t mind.”
Arya gave him a rueful smile, though it softened quickly. “You sure?”
“Positive. What are fake boyfriends for, anyway?”
Arya finally smiled fully, his eyes crinkling up in the corners.
“Exactly.” He raised his limeade. “To fake boyfriends!”
“Thank you for this,” Arya said as Ben pulled into his driveway. He spotted Simon at the window, her tail wagging as she watched them park.
“My pleasure.”
Ben turned off the car and stepped out. They’d lost track of time at lunch, and he really needed to grab his cello and suit and get to the Kauffman Center. They had a classical concert tonight.
Meanwhile, Arya had an event out at the Overland Park Convention Center.
Ben still wasn’t entirely sure where that was, but apparently it was a hell of a drive. And Arya needed to go home and change.
Some small part of Ben didn’t want their fake date to end. But that was ridiculous. It was just to keep up appearances. They’d taken photos outside the Vietnamese place, fulfilled the terms of rule number two. They were fine.
But Arya didn’t move toward his car, either.
“Should we… I don’t know. Kiss goodbye?” Ben asked.
He wasn’t sure why he asked.
Except it didn’t feel like a date, real or fake, without a kiss goodbye.
They didn’t have any witnesses, it was true, but they probably could use the practice.
Arya gave him a wry smile.
“You sure?”
Ben shrugged. “We need the practice. Right? To fool other people.”
“Right.” Arya gave him a mischievous smile. “Just remember rule number three.”
Ben laughed. “Don’t worry, there is absolutely zero danger of that.”
Arya Nazeri didn’t date, not for real. It was simple as that.
And Ben didn’t want to be some… some random dick in Arya’s rotation.
But a little kiss, just for practice, wasn’t so bad, was it?
Arya stilled as Ben stepped closer. He rested a hand on Arya’s waist. Arya brought up a hand to cup Ben’s jaw.
Ben closed his eyes as he brought their lips together.
This was different from how it had been in the vineyard.
That had been… brazen. Bold. Meant to make a statement. Namely, Fuck off, Justin!
This was tender. Sweet. Arya played a sonata on Ben’s lips, and Ben hummed in response, matching Arya note for note. Their mouths made music, swirling, lilting, joyful music. The kind Beethoven only dreamed of writing.
Fuck.
Ben broke the kiss before their practice got out of hand.
Arya opened his eyes and shook his head, too, like he didn’t know where he was. Like he’d lost himself for a second.
Slowly, his rich brown eyes came into focus.
“Right. Good practice. I’d better go, though. See you?”
“Yeah.” Ben swallowed.
What just happened?
“See you.”