Twenty-Five Arya #3
“Anyway. I’m pretty sure he got alcohol poisoning the other night, but he won’t admit it, and he won’t admit he has a problem, but he’s, like, falling apart.
Fucking up contracts, pissing off clients.
He used to be so reliable. He taught me everything I know.
And he was like a… well, not quite a father figure, but, like, he was an elder gay, you know?
My elder gay. He used to be the sharpest, smartest guy in every room he was in, but now…
now I spend half the time hoping he won’t be in the room, because he’s such a mess. ”
Arya blew out a long breath. He’d said too much.
But Ben kneaded at his shoulder, and Arya relaxed even more as Ben found a knot and worked it out. He sipped his wine, spat it out, and melted into the couch.
“That feels fucking amazing.”
Ben laughed. “You ever get massages?”
Arya shook his head.
“Shit, really? I get one every month. You’d be surprised what leaning over a cello for twelve hours a day does to your back and shoulders.”
“Hm.” A massage did sound nice. But more than that, just being here, talking to Ben, felt nice. It felt…
Cozy.
Fuck. Cozy wasn’t in the rules. Was it?
With Ben’s thumb digging into his shoulder, he could barely remember what the rules were.
“Anyway…” Ben released Arya’s shoulder and reached for his wine. “I was going to say. That’s really heavy. And I’m sorry.”
“It is what it is,” Arya muttered. “Thanks for listening.”
“Of course.” Ben took a long sip of his wine. “You know, when my parents first started the winery, they hired a winemaker.”
“Wait, really?”
“Really. They were still learning the ropes, wanted an expert to help them. He was this big, burly guy, looked like he used to tour with Spinal Tap or something.”
Arya snorted. “I love that movie.”
“Me too. But he was really good at his job. Their first two, three vintages were terrific, and they learned a lot. But somewhere along the way he stopped being as good at his job. Started making poor choices, and worse, being kind of a dick to everyone.”
“Shit. Was he an alcoholic?”
“I don’t know if it was that, or something else, but either way, my parents fought more about how to deal with him than I ever saw them fight about anything else in their lives.
Finally they had to let him go. But the winery’s doing fine.
My mom became the winemaker, and she still does some things the way he taught her.
Just because it ended badly doesn’t mean it wasn’t…
I don’t know, good. Important. If that makes sense. ”
“It does.”
“Good. Here, turn a bit.” Arya shifted. Ben set his wine down and started kneading both of Arya’s shoulders.
Arya nearly came in his pants. He melted backward into Ben’s grip. “Fuck, that feels good.”
Ben chuckled. His thumbs traced firm pressure down the sides of Arya’s neck.
“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Arya muttered. Not that he wanted Ben to stop.
He never wanted Ben to stop.
“I don’t mind.” Ben’s voice had gone deep and soft, his breath caressing the crown of Arya’s head. If he’d had hair, it might’ve stood on end. “I like doing this.”
Arya’s sighed in relief. His life was divided into two parts: before he felt Ben’s hands on him, and after.
Before he met Ben, and after.
Shit. Shit.
He felt something. Something he didn’t think he’d ever felt before. Something he’d never let himself feel before. He’d always bailed out. Avoided commitment. Ghosted and run and pretended and done whatever he’d needed to do in order to keep people from doing exactly what Ben was doing.
What they were both doing.
Liking each other.
Arya liked Ben.
Fuck.
His heart hammered in his chest, trying to break free of his rib cage. The words bubbled in Arya’s throat, but he swallowed them, tried to force them down.
If he told Ben, who knew what would happen? Yeah, maybe Ben might like him back. But more likely Ben would think Arya had lost his mind. They had rules. They had a plan. A quid pro quo. This was an arrangement, nothing more.
Arya was the one who went and got his wires all crossed.
Shit. Shit shit shit.
“Hey.” Ben’s voice started Arya out of his spiral. His lips brushed the back of Arya’s ear, and Arya shivered. He never realized how sensitive he was back there. No one had ever touched him there before. “You’re tensing up. Relax, handsome.”
Arya chuckled and tried to relax. But he couldn’t. Not when all these thoughts were swirling around inside him, ready to burst forth at the first chance.
“Ben?”
“Yeah?”
Arya squeezed his eyes shut. Damn those hands of Ben’s. And damn that wine. He’d only tasted it—hadn’t swallowed a single drop—so why did he feel drunk?
That was the only reason he said what he said.
“This isn’t feeling very fake to me anymore.”
Ben’s hands stilled.
Arya held his breath.
This was it. He’d fucked everything up. He knew what the deal was, knew what the rules were, and he’d said it anyway. He was as big of a mess as Mitchell.
Ben let out a soft sigh.
Arya braced for the fallout.
But Ben didn’t shout at him, or kick him off the couch, or let him down easy.
Instead, he rested his forehead against the back of Arya’s head and whispered, “Me neither.”