Marked by Him: Rough Love Part 4 Read online

  Marked by Him

  Rough Love Part 4

  Leighton Greene

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  © 2019 L J Greene. All rights reserved. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the author.

  All characters in this book are eighteen or older.

  Contents

  Marked by Him

  Next

  Also by the Author

  Marked by Him

  Rough Love Part 4

  “I’m really sorry,” Xander says, cringing yet again.

  “I know,” Ben sighs. “I know.”

  They’re having breakfast after having slept in, and after Ben’s heard the worst news Xander could have given him.

  Xander is leaving.

  Xander is leaving. Ben’s been turning it over in his mind ever since his boyfriend spat it out this morning.

  He got the news the moment he opened his eyes and smiled into Xander’s face.

  “Baby, I have to move to New York.”

  Talk about a wake up call, Ben thinks now as he eats his oatmeal, trying to tamp down on the bitterness. It’s not Xander’s fault, after all.

  It’s his work. His fucking work. But Xander wouldn’t be Xander without his work.

  Production for season 2 of The Hunter, in which Xander will have his first major role, is moving from LA to New York. Producers want that gritty realness of the Big Apple that, apparently, a backlot at Warner’s just isn’t giving them. Since it’s a hit show with a limited season run and a massive budget, they’re getting exactly what they want.

  They also want Xander, so Xander will have to move.

  “I’m really sorry,” Xander says softly.

  “You keep saying that,” Ben tells him. “I know you are. It’s just…fuck the universe, you know?” He sighs.

  “I won’t have to leave for a few months still,” Xander says forlornly.

  Ben reaches across the table and takes Xander’s hand. “Listen, we’re in a relationship, so I assume you’re gonna support whatever I need to do for my career. Right?”

  “Of course,” Xander says.

  Ben gives a smile that he hopes looks braver then it feels, and squeezes Xander’s fingers. “Of course. And I’ll support you in yours. So if you have to move to fucking New York for a while, I mean, I’m not happy about it, but I’ll support you.”

  It’s the right thing to say. It’s the only thing to say. But it doesn’t stop Ben from feeling shitty about it all week. Just when he’s beginning to find out who he really is, just when he feels like he’s getting in touch with something deep and mysterious inside himself, Xander has to leave.

  It feels, despite Ben’s best efforts to deny it to himself, like abandonment.

  Still, like Xander says, the move is months away, so Ben decides he’s going to pretend it’s not really happening. In fact, he’s starting to get romantic, and it’s both embarrassing to him personally and not working out very well.

  He has an urge to buy a houseplant for Xander’s place to make it look nice, and okay, maybe to send an unconscious encouragement to stay in his place, but the cat eats it and starts ralphing up green everywhere. Xander has to take Henry to the vet while Ben tries unsuccessfully to clean chlorophyll cat-sick out of the carpet. Henry is fine, but Ben sits up with him all night, just in case. Xander tells him it wasn’t his fault, but Ben feels guilty for days. He pays for carpet cleaners, even though Xander tells him to forget about it.

  Ben buys Noah the dog a bone-printed bandana, just to see Xander smile when Noah trots in with it tied around his neck at a jaunty angle, but Ben has to borrow it back later in the week to cover a bruised wrist for a work shift, and it falls off in the dumpster when Ben takes the trash out. But at least that incident doesn’t end in a vet trip.

  And Ben has started watching cooking shows to get ideas. For what, he’s not sure, but still he watches, and then feels like an idiot when he can’t make his own fucking pasta. Xander, of course, can and does, and Ben feels un-needed and faintly annoyed.

  Ben demands a list of all the things he’s allegedly quoted while in subspace, and double checking them makes him even more appalled at his sudden sappy streak. Most of the works he hasn’t even thought about consciously for years. And then there’s the stuff he’s written himself. It’s galling to think that something so personal is coming out without him even consciously realizing it. Xander is full of praise, but Ben’s not sure he’s ready to share his poetry yet. It still feels half-formed. Embryonic.

  And as for quoting Seneca, and the fact that Xander has irritatingly taken to calling himself ‘the Icy Bear’ – in third fucking person – Ben is mortified. Mostly because it’s true: he finds Xander’s presence a constant and comforting navigational marker, just like the constellation Ursa Major, Seneca’s icy bear. When he feels worried or lost or insecure, he thinks, At least I have Xander. But that instant warm, safe feeling he gets from it isn’t something he’s sure wants Xander to know about.

  It’s also a potential issue because Xander talks a lot about New York and the things he might be able to do there. Like theatre, his first love, and even stage musicals. Things that might take him away from LA for a long time…maybe forever, in Ben’s worst imaginings. Xander never notices how Ben falls silent when he talks about New York, but Ben is glad, because he doesn’t want Xander to notice.

  He wants to be supportive, he really does.

  “Can you bring the Icy Bear some coffee on the way back?” Xander asks him one time on the phone. Ben has been making coffees all day, and he’s not really in the mood.

  “You’re less cute than you think,” he snaps.

  “Aw, did someone have a bad day?”

  “You know that Ursa Major vacillates, right?” Ben retorts. He’s looked it up on Wikipedia.

  “I prefer ‘oscillates.’ It’s a less emotionally-charged term. But sure, I know that,” Xander says, and he sounds amused.

  Ben can’t think of anything else to say, except, “I’ll bring you some coffee.”

  “And one of those cookie things?”

  “What? You’re breaking up, I can’t –” Ben makes some kooosh tik kshhhhhh noises before hanging up. But of course he brings one of those cookie things for Xander. In fact, he brings three of them.

  Things are getting kind of intense.

  * * *

  “So I’ve written something for you,” Ben says nervously. He tosses Xander a closed, but not sealed envelope stuffed with paper.

  Xander opens it curiously, and then gives him a look.

  “Don’t laugh at me.”

  “I’m not.”

  “I can see it in your face. You want to laugh.” Ben glares.

  Xander unfolds the papers properly and smoothes them out. “List of fears, huh?” He peruses. “This was very thoughtful of you, Benjamin. Thank you.” Xander flips through the back sheets, and Ben sees his mouth quivering. “You – you have a list of horror movies here too.”

  “Yeah. The ones I find most scary. I’m trying to help,” Ben clarifies.

  “Well, thank you. I appreciate it.”

  “No you don’t,” Ben says, scowling. Xander smiles at his pouting and pulls him in for a quick kiss.

  “Really, I do. Although I’m not sure why you
think your fear of – frogs? Is something that I should know about.”

  “You know why,” Ben snaps. “For the thing. When we do it.”

  “You think I’m going to cover you in frogs and get off on that?” Xander asks, but his tone is mild. “Why are you scared of them, anyway?”

  “They ook me out,” Ben explains. “My sister used to hide them in my sleeping bag when we went camping. She told me they were trying to eat me. I was young. Very young.” That last bit is kind of a lie, but Ben has his pride.

  “You’ve also written ‘eye injuries’ here,” Xander observes. “You think I’m going to stick a needle–”

  “No, no, no, don’t even say something like that!” Ben shouts, bolting off the couch. “Seriously, man, that’s not cool.”

  “Okay,” Xander says, trying not to smile. “Hard limit. Got it.”

  “Look, I just don’t see how you’re really going to scare me. I know you’d never really hurt me. I’m not afraid of you.” Ben is flapping his hands around. He feels ridiculous, and knows he probably looks it, but he wants things to work out for Xander, and he’s not sure Xander is really committed to the whole thing.

  Xander shrugs. “Don’t worry so much, Ballard. Your brain will do the work. It’ll scare you for me.”

  “What is that even supposed to mean? You’re going to tell me urban legends and make creaking noises so I think there’s someone else in the room?”

  “What? Jesus, where do you get this stuff? No.” Xander runs a hand through his hair and allows himself a proper laugh. “No. I mean, your actual brain, your limbic system.”

  “Oh.” Ben pauses, and then adds, “I don’t get it.”

  Xander stands up next to him and rubs his arm, placating. “You’re wired to feel fear as a survival instinct. That’s what I’m talking about.”

  Ben looks dubious. “Well, just so you know, I don’t like toy frogs either. My sister started using them instead, after she got in trouble for the real ones.”

  “I’ll take it under advisement,” Xander says, ducking his head. Ben is sure he’s laughing again, but by the time Xander looks up again he’s managed to wipe away traces of his amusement.

  “And when are we going to do it, anyway?” Ben demands. “You’re starting to worry me.”

  “Soon enough. There’s no rush.”

  “I get nervous every time I come home, just in case you’re waiting in here to jump me.”

  “I would never do that, not with something like this.” Xander looks alarmed, like even the thought of it is way over a line. “Besides, in one week you went from ‘too drastic’ to buying me a knife as a homecoming gift. Give a guy time to process stuff, you know?” He smiles again, but it’s a little distant this time.

  Ben almost says more, but backs off. He’s surprised to realize that he hasn’t thought about it from Xander’s point of view for a long time, not like that. Ben knows Xander likes these things, but doesn’t really think much about how Xander deals with them in his own mind.

  How he processes them.

  “What do you want to do for lunch?” Xander is asking. “I feel like noodles. Or one of those cookie things.”

  “It must be lonely,” Ben blurts out before he can stop himself. Xander looks surprised, but he gets it.

  “Not so much. Not anymore.” He looks at Ben. “Come on. Cookie time.”

  * * *

  “You’re early,” Xander says, opening his front door to Ben a few days later. He has a half-smile and something is clearly going on.

  “What’s going on?” Ben asks immediately.

  “Well – don’t be mad at me, but there’s a guy in the bedroom,” Xander says, grinning. Ben thinks he’s joking, but it’s true. A hot guy in jeans and a tight t-shirt, and a tool belt. He’s a dirty blond with light eyes and is totally Xander’s type.

  Ben looks back and forth between the guy and Xander, but the guy seems unfazed. “Simple fix,” he says. “I can do it right now if you like. I got some stuff in the truck.”

  “That would be great, thank you,” Xander replies politely. The hot guy pushes past Ben with a nod and leaves, presumably to get stuff from his truck.

  “What’s going on?” Ben asks again.

  “It was going to be a surprise,” Xander shrugs. “I’m getting the hole fixed.”

  “The hole? That I made? That night? When I punched the wall?”

  “Yes. Yes. Yes. And…yes.”

  Ben stares at him. “Why?”

  “You’ve never liked me keeping it, and now you’re asking me why I’m fixing it?”

  “Why now?”

  “Because I don’t need it anymore,” Xander says. “I don’t need it hanging around as a reminder, and neither do you.”

  Ben realizes his mouth is hanging open. “When did you decide this?” he asks, as an excuse to shut it.

  “When I figured out what I’m going to do with you,” Xander says, giving him a sexy-sharp grin and a pinch in the side.

  “Ouch,” Ben growls, shoving his hand away. “And you just had to get the hottest plasterer in the state to do it, did you?”

  “No,” Xander says. “That was just a happy surprise. But look at it this way – if you’d punched him, it would have been a big sign from the universe to keep the hole.”

  Ben admits to himself that Xander has a point there. But he’s not going to admit it to Xander. Not yet.

  “Also,” Xander says, and gets a strange look on his face. “I wanted to talk to you about hitting things. It was going to be my segue.”

  “I haven’t been hitting any more walls,” Ben says immediately.

  “I know. Just – wait till this is done.”

  Ben sits on the couch with cat Henry, who has also forgiven him for the houseplant incident, but Noah the dog is too excitable at the noise and interesting new smells, and has to be locked away. Henry switches his tail and narrows his eyes at the hot plasterer, and Ben resolves to feed him tenderloin steak next time Xander’s away.

  The good thing about the hot plasterer is that he finishes quickly and clears out. Ben notices that Xander tips him liberally, but steadfastly ignores it. Then when Xander gives him a smirk, he realizes that he did it on purpose.

  “You like pushing my buttons?” he asks, backing Xander into the wall next to the freshly plastered hole and kissing him possessively.

  “It’s fun,” Xander says when they break, pulling him snugly against his crotch so that Ben can feel him get hard. “Especially since you trust me more these days. Mm. Take your clothes off.”

  “I thought you wanted to talk.”

  “It can wait.”

  Xander fucks him up against the wall, right next to the still-sticky plaster. It’s uncomfortable and awkward and they have to remember to keep their hands away from the drying plaster, and it’s very, very good. Ben comes first, too soon; he had been trying to hang on, but Xander doesn’t let him. He doesn’t bite, but he kisses where he usually bites. Ben pants at him to bite, just bite, please, but he won’t. Ben tries to remember the last time there were only kisses and only fucking and it was a long time ago.

  Xander swipes his fingers through the cum all over the wall and sucks it off thoughtfully while he leisurely waits to get soft enough so that he just slips out of Ben’s ass. He likes the way it frustrates Ben to stand there waiting. “It’s good, isn’t it?” he asks. “Not having the reminder.”

  “Yes.” It’s good. It’s strange. The hole has been there for so long.

  “I’ll paint over it,” Xander says. “When it dries.”

  “Let me,” Ben asks. It’s the least he can do.

  “We can do it together,” Xander says magnanimously.

  “Are we going to talk now?”

  “Sure.” But Xander makes him wait a little longer, spread-eagled on the wall. He kisses him again over the old bite-bruises before letting him go.

  But they don’t talk, because they get sidetracked by showers, and cleaning dried jizz off the wall, and t
hen food and missed phone calls, and Xander’s brother Joe comes over unexpectedly, and they start playing Call of Duty and by the time he leaves it’s late and Ben wants Xander again and Xander wants Ben.

  Next to the plastered-over hole. Again.

  This time it’s all about hand jobs, and Ben has his back to the wall, and the plaster’s dry enough that they don’t need to be careful of it. They do each other slowly, teasing, and Xander lets him last as long as he wants this time. He covers Ben’s eyes gently with his other hand before he comes, because he doesn’t let Ben watch his face, even though Ben protests every time that he’s seen it once, so what’s the big mystery. But there’s a mystery there, because actions make it so.

  And it was so long ago that Xander let him watch that Ben can barely remember, even though he held on to that memory for a long time.

  There’s no biting again, which is weird, just kissing.

  “Don’t you want to bite me anymore?” Ben asks sleepily, once they’re in bed. He feels Xander smile against his shoulder. Xander is snuggled up against him and their arms and legs are tangled.

  “I love to bite you, Benjamin.”

  “Why do you love it?”

  “Probably some Freudian thing.”

  “You don’t believe in Freud.”

  Xander snorts. “He’s not God, Ballard. Or Tinkerbell. Belief has nothing to do with it.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I do.” And that’s all that Xander says about the matter. Ben forgets that he never answered his question about why there are no more bites until the next day, when he finally gets back to his writing critique group, who really like his new play so far, and Ben is so pleased he forgets all about the biting thing by the time he gets home.

  * * *

  Ben never thought he would feel strange about not being covered in bruises and bites and marks, but he does. Xander is being affectionate during sex where he’s usually caused pain, like – like what Ben wants to call ‘a normal person,’ but that seems offensive – and it’s strange and discomforting. He still holds Ben down in bed, or orders him to do things, but that’s all. No bites, no pain, no props. No marks.