Work Text:
Fill my heart with song
And let me sing forevermore
You are all I long for
All I worship and adore
In other words, please be true
In other words, I love you.*(c)
*
It's been going on for nigh on two hours, this bittersweet unbearable torture of having to be with Ben, so close to him, and not being able to do the only thing he wishes he could do, touch him; and the longer it lasts, the less strength, either physical or moral, Joe has left to resist his longing.
He's generally a rather rational man, able to judge situations and tell people's motives and find appropriate approaches, but it's becoming clear that when it comes to Ben, none of that works and he's reduced to an incompetent, incoherent, lovestruck fool. He's been trying to understand what the hell Ben feels to him for ages, almost since the very beginning of their friendship – or whatever it is that's been going on between them – and failed miserably.
He wishes he could ask some third party for their unbiased opinion, but that's out of question. It's not like he and Ben have many mutual friends, even fewer of them close enough to ask such a question, and those who could be most certainly perceive the entire thing as a joke and play along. So, nope, Joe's all on his own here and thus can depend only on himself, and if he does something stupid, the blame would be completely his. The problem is, he wants to do something stupid. No, strike that; he longs to commit that one glorious stupidity and finally either spoil everything or perhaps – just perhaps – take it all to a whole new level.
Ben's invitation to come and spend Christmas in London with him and the rest of their band and bring his mom along if he wished to do so initially took Joe aback, and rightfully so. After all, they are due to get together less than a week after the new year, in LA, for the Golden Globes and all the rest of the ceremonies. It was arranged months ago, along with Allen's wedding and other activities they're planning to engage in there, so, naturally, Ben's phone call in the mid-December and his suggestion of a visit came as a total surprise, albeit a very pleasant one. And, of course, he accepted it because, even if he weren't head over heels in love with Ben and missing him terribly, the prospects of getting the band back together at last was a huge motivation.
Joe has long understood, reconciled and accepted his feelings to Ben – he'd have gone utterly bonkers if he hadn't because the intensity of them is something extraordinary. He almost doesn't have a problem about the fact that he's fallen for a guy, not anymore, albeit he'd be a liar if he said he wasn't scared. The current problem is ultimately about what he should do about it. It'd be a much less tough thing to accomplish if he knew what Ben feels, and as to that Joe doesn't dare trust either his commons sense or intuition. This is where a friendly third-party side-observer's help would come in handy, but he's got none.
The major complication about it all is that all these bromance shenanigans started as a joke, and all of them, including Lucy, Allen and half of the filming crew, spurred it on enthusiastically. As far as Joe is concerned, joking normally comes as his sole means for psychological coping with whatever clusterfuck of a situation he has been unlucky to encounter, and this antic about his potential affair with Ben – because, on a fundamental level, it's all only about Ben and him – is not an exception. He doesn't know where his irresistible desire to turn some serious matters in his life into a silly, superficial joke comes from – he supposes it must be something from his childhood, it always is – but that doesn't really matter right now. What does is that he's actually so good at it that it really would be hard for anyone to tell whether he's being serious about Ben and himself or not. For god's sake, in the beginning of it all he wasn't able to tell whether he was serious about it or not, so it wouldn't be surprising if people around them got confused, too. He doesn't give a damn about people, though, the only person whose real thoughts on it concern him is Ben himself.
And Ben is a total mystery to him in this sense. He goes along with this recurring prank willingly enough, and even though he doesn't raise the topic as frequently as Joe himself does, his jokes are always to the point and leave little to ambiguity. That is, if they are jokes at all, of course. Over the past months, they've had lots of very personal moments, ones which only really concerned the two of them, and that has given Joe enough confidence to say that there must be something going on between them, but as to the nature of it... They've been physically close on plenty of occasions, too, both during the filming and off set, hugging each other, lifting each other, holding each other and even falling asleep on each other, but all those things may at the same time have been mere displays of friendly love and affection. After all, they've been doing the same things with Gwil and Rami – well, to a lesser extent, if Joe's honest with himself, but does it really mean that Ben may crave those intimate moments and those unceasing silly jokes as much as Joe himself does? At some moments, it seems that there's indeed a secret only the two of them share, and any physical proximity occurring between them has a more profound effect on them both. At others, however, it all seems purely platonic. There's no certainty about it whatsoever, and its lack is killing Joe.
It's killing him right at this very moment, too. He doesn't know why they ended up in one bed, and he doesn't know whether it's something to be surprised about or, on the contrary, the only development that could have possibly taken place.
Very quietly, he lets out a sigh, doing his best to suppress it altogether but failing all the same. It's coming on one a.m., he's in Ben's bed pretending to watch a movie he's absolutely not interested in, wanting to be with the owner of this bed, trapped under the same blanket, but he doesn't dare to even look in his direction. Joe's due to head back for New York the next day, and for some reason this brief visit to London, unquestionably enjoyable as it has been, still leaves a bitter aftertaste of uncompletedness in his mouth. It's as if he's either been waiting for more or for something else entirely. Perhaps he's been waiting for something to happen which will convince him that all these silly shenanigans they've been having have a more profound motive behind them, but Joe suspects that he's become so confused about the entire situation that, even if there had been any subtle signals, he might simply have missed or misinterpreted them altogether.
As a matter of fact, though, it's not exactly Ben's bed. It's a bed in the guest bedroom of his home, so, technically, it makes it belong to Joe for this one night he's staying at Ben's. With that in mind, maybe it would be fairer to say that it's Ben who's in bed with him, after all. Confused as he is, though, Joe has no idea whether it means anything at all. He surely wants it to mean something, but...?
They've spent the entire day in the city, walking around, laughing, teasing each other, meeting with the old friends and making a few new ones, and it was Ben's idea to suggest that Joe spent the night at his instead of checking in into a hotel. It's been a long but pleasantly exhausting day, and to polish it off, they ended up switching on some old Christmas movie and chatting about everything and nothing in particular. Were Joe with either Gwil or Rami right now, he could with certainty say that it's as close to a family gathering as it could possibly get because over the past one and a half years, both men have become like brothers to him. If he were here with one of them, sharing the bed while dressed in nothing at all but his underwear and a t-shirt, there definitely wouldn't be any ambiguity or confusion at all. They could be lying here naked, for all Joe knows, and feel perfectly at ease with each other.
With Ben, however, it's all completely different. Every damn thing with Ben is always different.
They haven't spoken a single word for the past half an hour or so, so, giving up, Joe finally chances a brief glance to his left, not really knowing what to expect. The sight which meets his eyes turns out to be simultaneously outrageous and adorable, and for a while Joe simply cannot take his gaze off what he's seeing. Ben looks fast asleep wrapped into the duvet from head to toe, with only a part of his face and the dishevelled top of his head visible above it, his blond hair sticking out in all possible directions. It incites a little emotional storm in Joe, with feelings varying from those of pure adoration to compulsive sexual desire to profound love to mild exasperation. The latter is mainly triggered by the sheer audacity of this insufferably attractive human being Joe has had bad luck to have fallen for, and the rational part of his mind wonders unobtrusively what the hell he's going to do with the situation now.
Ben's obviously done with movies for tonight, and Joe's far from being interested in watching the current one through, either, which means it's high time he went to sleep too. The only problem is that Ben's insolently occupying a substantial of his bed. It's further aggravated by the fact that he's stolen Joe's blanket along the way, and by the looks of him, he's not going to let go of it anytime soon. There's also the matter that it's wintertime, which means it's not particularly hot inside – damn those London winters – so he wouldn't really mind to have a coverlet of sorts for the night. Which leaves him virtually with three options – he can either surrender the entire bed to Ben and find himself a more suitable sleeping surface, or kick him out of here, or stay where he is and try to retake possession of at least some part of the duvet Ben has so selfishly privatised. In terms of common sense, the wisest thing to do would be either the first or the second option, but common sense rarely takes over when it comes to Ben. What Joe wishes to do with all his heart is this latter alternative. He craves Ben's company like a junkie might crave his drug of choice, he yearns for the physical proximity. They're already close enough, perhaps as close as two friends could possibly get, but Joe needs more – he needs the intimacy which friendship is simply incapable of providing.
As if mesmerised, he looks at Ben for a while longer, taking in his features without the fear of being caught doing something he perhaps shouldn't do. With his fair locks and those captivating reddish lips, in this serene state of forgetfulness, he looks angelic, and Joe's not sure he's ever used the word angelic in relation to a male before, but oh well, there's a first time for everything. One of Ben's hands is clamped on the goddamn blanket, and common sense once again rears its head in Joe's subconsciousness, asking that maybe prying it out of Ben's fingers would pose a task nigh on impossible. Joe tells it to get fucking lost, for this one time. He doesn't want to leave and he doesn't want to make Ben leave, either. Maybe it's a chance, he thinks, knowing at the same time that it might as well be the biggest mistake of his entire life instead.
The odds are perhaps not in his favour, but, Joe decides, no pain no gain. And anyway, he's feeling as if he is trapped in some sort of a fairy-tale dream. It's Christmas holidays, he is, of all places, in London again, in Ben's home, in Ben's bed, at a certain stage of undress; there's a proper winter fairy-tale blizzard raging outside and gales of wind howling menacingly, while he's here, in the warmth and comfort, and the only thing he's lacking is a puffy duvet around him, fresh from the laundry. There's another thing he's in dire need of, of course, and that's the man who's stolen his blasted duvet, handsome and fresh from the shower, with the fragrance of his shower gel still clinging to him – Joe can feel it even from his place on the other half of the bed. It's sharp and masculine, and it shouldn't really be doing this kind of things to Joe, but it does, and there's a compulsive desire to immerse himself into that scent, from head to toe, and get dissolved in it.
For a while longer, Joe remains where he is, simply watching Ben in his sleep, letting his adoring gaze run over the features of his face, those fair eyelashes and the tip of his nose and those tempting lips, and then, with a sense of inevitability – as if he was driven by some higher force he's simply unable to resist, moved like a pawn on a great cosmic chess board – Joe switches off the TV and then the bedside light. Silently, he says a brief prayer he doesn't even quite know to which god, asking whatever deity is watching over them not to let him fall flat on his face now and spoil everything irreversibly.
"Ben?" he calls then, very softly, not really knowing whether he'd prefer Ben to wake up or remain asleep.
He doesn't even know why he's doing it, perhaps to check just how much Ben's out of it so that he could estimate his chances of extricating the duvet out of his hands safely enough, or maybe to really wake Ben up and put an end to this insanity before it's too late.
"Benny?" he repeats when there's seemingly no reaction whatsoever but the miniscule twitch of Ben's eyelids, which might simply be just some eye movement while he's still soundly asleep.
Oh well, Joe thinks, not knowing whether he should feel encouraged, relieved or alarmed. Most of all, he's feeling scared and so completely enamoured he can hardly breathe. The only thing he feels like doing right now is gather this sleeping beauty into his arms and never let go. The problem is, the sleeping beauty in question can easily knock him unconscious should he dislike anything Joe is doing.
With a sigh, Joe stretches himself alongside Ben, ever so cautiously – he decides that, since he wasn't able to wake him up a minute ago, he, after all, doesn't want to do it now, not yet anyway. Once he is in a relatively horizontal position, he turns to Ben and begins to pry the duvet out of his sleepy grip, which turns out to be rather slack, thank heaven for small mercies. As a result, the blanket gets safely freed from Ben's clutching hands quickly enough and Joe breathes a sigh of relief when Ben still remains seemingly asleep.
Just what the hell do you think you're doing, you great idiot? Joe's inner voice asks him, exasperated. How would you explain to Ben next morning why on earth you're sleeping in his bed? You're taking it too far.
I'll have you know that it's him who's sleeping in my bed, Joe replies to it in his head and shuts the obnoxious thing off. He doesn't need the common sense anymore; its time has gone. Should have been acting earlier if it wanted to act at all.
Then, very carefully, he drapes the duvet over them both. Thanks to its width, they end up astoundingly close to each other, practically nose to nose. There's still a safe distance between them, which sort of makes the situation just a little less embarrassing should Ben choose to wake up right now, but it's short enough to allow Joe to feel the warmth of Ben's very much undressed body, and it's intoxicating.
And, all of a sudden, Joe is breathless as all his insides seem to squeeze so tightly that he can hardly pull in a single inhale, and then there's a sensation of falling, just like it happens on those rollercoasters rides when the car suddenly rushes almost vertically down, with the only difference being that it doesn't provoke a scream of sheer terror. The sound Joe has to stifle is a quiet, helpless groan caused by the excitement that doesn't take long to start kindling in the pit of his stomach. It's a pleasant sensation, warm and fuzzy, and it makes him want to get close to Ben, closer than physically possible; he wants to be with him, all over him, inside him; he wants Ben's lips on his lips, Ben's tongue against his, Ben's hands on himself and Ben's cock in the grip of his fingers. Or maybe he wants it in his own mouth, Joe couldn't tell right now. He's desperate to turn this physical proximity into physical intimacy, but he's paralysed where he is, he can barely breathe let alone move, and it's an excruciating but at the same time sweet torture.
Joe spends an indefinable while doing just that, watching Ben in his sleep. He'd probably not be able to tear his gaze off him anyway, because right now to him Ben seems like something precious which was made to be adored. He's so close Joe feels the heat of his body, right on his skin, and he wants to scream from the sheer intimacy of it all. He's afraid to breathe, let alone move a single limb, because it seems that if, accidentally, any part of him as much as brushes against Ben's body, he wouldn't be able to restrain himself from just simply going on, obeying this odd gravitation that's been at work between them, and cling to him, take him in his arms and... Joe swallows with difficulty because those thoughts send a shiver down his spine, a pleasant one which ends up in the pit of his stomach with that fuzziness that transforms into the heat of pure desire.
Simultaneously dismayed and infatuated out of his mind, Joe reflects that sneaking in bed with Ben, under one duvet, so mind-bogglingly close to him, might have been one of his most harebrained ideas. In his defence, though, he could say that he couldn't have fathomed it would evoke emotions so profound, but who cares about his excuses now when it's too late. Joe has no idea what exactly he expected deciding to spend the night here, next to Ben, perhaps just to be able to enjoy another moment of being close to him, but it's definitely not this hurricane of emotions accompanied by a severe case of sexual arousal.
With them being so close, this naked body heat is robbing Joe of his ability to function as an adequate human being. Who could have known that the warmth of another person could feel so utterly different when the said person is either dressed or undressed. It might seem obvious, but Joe has never noticed it up until this moment. Perhaps because before, when he slept with someone, he had been anticipating the intimacy long before it actually happened, it was exciting but nowhere near improbable, and with Ben every damn sensation feels brand new. Joe's hands are literally itching to touch him, virtually any part of him, just to prove to himself that he's real, that this is really happening for real, that they are really in one bed, so close to each other.
He also wants to believe that this is, after all, not an accident. There have been way too many ambiguities ever since the beginning of their acquaintance for this to be an accident. Over the months this it has lasted, Ben has done and said plenty of things which, logically, should indicate that this isn't quite a joke to him. The rational part of Joe's mind tells him that, knowing Ben relatively well in real life, it really should not be that hard to decipher his emotions even if he wants to conceal them, and if it can be trusted – and Joe very much wants to do so – there have indeed been plenty of signs that this entire thing is really only between the two of them, and it's not quite a joking matter. His common sense tells him that Ben's inviting him to London, literally days before they were due to meet in LA anyway, their staying together these past few days, Ben absolutely not allowing him to check into a hotel and instead bringing him to his home, his falling asleep in his bed, under his blanket, right next to him, should all mean something, and Joe desperately wants to believe it does – and, sweet heaven, it damn well can – but at the same time he's terrified he somehow got it all totally wrong all the same.
Meanwhile, Joe gets distracted from his mental and physical struggle when he catches a tiny, barely noticeable, movement with the corner of his eye. He gives Ben a more thorough, studying look and notices a stunning thing – he seems to be worrying his lower lip with his teeth. Joe stares at him, half-mesmerised, wondering whether people are actually capable of biting their lips in their sleep, and decides after a short consideration that it is, of course, possible but very unlikely. Which, in turn, can only mean one thing – Ben's not asleep, after all.
For a while, all Joe does is simply gape at him, barely breathing at all, wondering whether he's been awake all along or if he, Joe, simply woke him up with all the hassle with the blanket; and if yes, what this anxious lip-biting means. He can also tell that there's a crease on Ben's forehead, in between his eyebrows, making him look as if he's worried about something. Absurdly enough, in his own utterly confused state, the first thing which Joe actually wants to do is calm Ben down, smoothen that line on his forehead and make him stop working on his lip before he bites it bloody, because to him it's getting increasingly obvious that Ben's anything but asleep and his condition is seemingly bordering on agitated.
Joe's second thought is a question to himself what he would do in a situation when he fell asleep in one bed with his male friend – just a friend, say Gwil or Rami – and woke up to find them snuggled underneath one blanket. He reckons his reaction might be anything ranging from not giving a toss to kicking the said friend out to his own bedroom, perhaps even teasing him for plotting and arranging it all, but he simply cannot imagine himself being as agitated as Ben appears to be. He suspects he could be in one single case, if they exchanged their roles and Joe found himself waking up with Ben like this. Then yes, he'd be overwhelmed, both by the physical proximity, his longing and the implications the entire thing may pose.
And this conclusion – which, for all Joe knows, might be just batshit crazy anyway – is what gives him the so needed courage to take the next step into the complete, terrifying unknown.
"Ben?" he calls softly.
When Ben's eyelids visibly twitch but remain pressed tightly together nonetheless, the only thing Joe wishes to do is take him into his arms and just hold him there until the confusion is gone because Ben looks positively terrified even in the state of pretending to be asleep.
He does absolutely nothing, though, somehow intuitively knowing that it's Ben's decision now, and it cannot and should not be rushed. He gives Ben the time, and after an excruciating while that lasts for an absolutely unidentifiable period, he finally opens his eyes and looks straight at Joe. With the virtually non-existent distance between their faces, the look in Ben's eyes seems so intense it shocks Joe to his very core, as if he's just been electrocuted. Ben's eyes look huge in the darkness which envelops them like a blanket, two barely visible glimpses in the blackness that pools in his eye sockets, but even that little lighting is enough to reveal the profoundness of Ben's panic. That, and something else, something in the intensity of Ben's stare, which Joe, utterly stupefied by everything that's going on right now, doesn't immediately recognise for pure, uncurbed sexual desire.
When he does, at last, he tries to piece together all these scattered titbits of information, realise that there's virtually no ambiguity whatsoever left anymore, just like that, in the blink of an eye which never even happened, that the object of his desire is looking back at him with yearning seemingly matching his own, and with twice as much panic. Before this panic takes over – and Joe suspects it very well might if they just keep on staring at each other like this for a while longer; if they do, they'll have to say something sooner or later, and that would be the fucking end of them – Joe decides it's as perfect a time and place as there will ever be.
Unable to suppress an anxious sigh, he leans in – it's not even a proper movement because of just how mind-blowingly close they already are – and, murmuring that he might be making a damn big mistake, more to himself than to Ben, ends up with his lips merely brushing the corner of Ben's mouth. Just a heartbeat before he closes his eyes, Joe notices how Ben's widen, and then he doesn't see anything anymore – it seems all his senses are now concentrated in one single place and that is the warmth of Ben's skin right beneath his own lips. He's barely touching him at all, but it's already more than enough to send him into a state close to a complete system shutdown. All the while he's doing it, that inner voice, the one apparently belonging to his commons sense, keeps stubbornly repeating inside his head like a broken record, 'You're taking it too far, Joe.'
This time, however, it says it in Ben's voice, so clear and similar to his real, hoarse one that, for a terrifying moment, it seems to him that Ben really is saying it out loud before he understands it cannot be so. He'd have felt it – his lips are on Ben's, and they never moved at all.
"We still can stop," Joe murmurs, now also close to being panic-stricken.
He's actually waiting for this 'You're taking it too far, Joe,' and he doesn't have a goddamn clue as to what he could possibly do if Ben really says it. But Ben doesn't produce a sound, and it's simultaneously a huge relief and something profoundly frightening because it means they really are doing it. Then, he feels Ben shake his head, ever so slightly, and this minute motion provokes such a surge of raw affection that Joe has to screw his eyes even more tightly. It seems as if, before Ben, he'd never loved anyone at all, it feels like his entire universe now revolves around this one single person, and that subtle shake of his head felt so incredibly eloquent Joe can barely breathe. He'd have never thought it possible for a head shake to be this intimate, but here he goes. And then his profound joy is outshined yet again, because the next moment Ben turns his head, and there are his lips on Joe's lips, and he is so stunned he doesn't even have enough presence of mind to kiss him back. When his brain seems to have coped with the fact of what's happening, Joe presses his mouth to Ben's a bit more substantially, in a soft, chaste, uncertain kiss, and oh sweet heaven, he can feel his response.
He feels like a complete, hopeless junkie granted a shot of his drug of choice in the midst of the throes of withdrawal, and just like a junkie, Joe doesn't give a single damn what will happen later. At this particular moment, the next day seems like an entirely different dimension and all he wants to do is dissolve in this brilliant moment of being together. He kisses Ben again, just as timidly, and hears his breath hitch, but the unmistakable longing is there. He can feel Ben's breath on his face, brushing past his nose and cheeks, warm and soft, and it seems that if he doesn't get any closer to Ben immediately, he'd probably suffocate. So Joe sucks at Ben's lower lip, gently, feeling the moisture on his own lips. There's nothing particularly extraordinary about it, not really, but it nearly blows Joe's mind all the way to kingdom come because it turns the innocent kiss into something more substantial, a real, wet, desirous thing which only lovers sick with yearning for each other can exchange, and to Joe it's still nothing short of astounding that those two lovers are Ben and him, and they're doing it all for real.
Stunned and aroused, Joe presses his lips tighter to Ben's, simultaneously relocating his hand to Ben's face, cupping his cheek in his palm and letting his thumb run a tenderest of caresses along his cheekbone, thus effectively bringing Ben's face even closer to himself. The latter gasps and pulls in a convulsive inhale, his mouth opening just a little wider, and Joe doesn't miss an opportunity to sneak his tongue inside. And this is certainly the moment of no return, when a possible joke taken way too far stops being a joke at all and turns into something full of sex, desire and affection all rolled in one.
It feels wet and hot and slippery – just like a proper kiss should – but it's still utterly mind-boggling that he's doing it with Ben, and that Ben responds to him with just as much eagerness, his own tongue in Joe's mouth, getting acquainted with the territory, swirling and brushing against his lips and teeth. It doesn't take this kiss long to progress from an apprehensive, timid thing to a full-blown French, and soon they end up practically all over each other, sharing one breath, because it would be a sacrilege to move away. Joe's hand has long relocated from Ben's cheek to the nape of his neck, pushing him closer, fingers entangled into the short hair on the back of his head. Ben is clinging to Joe with his whole body, too, one of his arms snaking its way around Joe's chest, thus effectively securing him in an embrace so tight Joe can barely breathe. Or maybe it's because his mouth is on Ben's mouth. Or perhaps it's just that he's so absolutely in love that his systems are all shutting down one by one.
As Ben clings to him even closer, his pelvis comes in contact with Joe's, and there's no mistaking the certain unambiguous hardness pressing against Joe's thigh. There's nothing but the layer of fabric of Ben's boxers separating his hard-on from Joe's leg, and the latter feels the heat of it against his own skin, and he can swear, nothing before has ever made him this turned on this fast. With a groan muffled into Ben's mouth, Joe squeezes his thigh in between Ben's legs, pushing them apart just enough so that he could properly feel his erection. He rubs his leg against it, and his actions provoke a chocked, utterly astounded, gasp, and suddenly Ben's lips aren't on Joe's anymore.
"It's all right," Joe pants, meaning to soothe but in actual reality sounding as if he was on the verge of a total mental meltdown, too.
It's not quite caused by panic, though, but by how goddamn horny he is. He captures Ben's lips with his own again, unable to stay away from him for pretty much any period of time, but this time Ben manages to semi-successfully dodge him and Joe ends up kissing the corner of his mouth instead. Simultaneously, Ben's hand relocates back to his shoulder. He doesn't push Joe away, the said hand merely squeezes on it ever so weakly, but the implication of what Ben wants to convey is clear enough even if in his aroused state Joe doesn't want to understand it.
"Is it?" Ben asks, and, judging by the high, terror-stricken notes in his voice, he seems as if he is about to slip into a state close to hysterical.
He doesn't sound quite like himself, like the generally assertive and at times even arrogant Ben Joe has known so far, and this acts like a sobering slap in the face. To Joe, it feels like he's just been dipped into a pool of freezing water, and his frenzied desire is in a heartbeat substituted with the feeling of devastation and fear so profound he can barely breathe.
With a gulp, Joe moves back immediately, already cursing himself for what he's done. There's once again that inner voice of his that sounds like the Ben he knows, this time yelling at him that he's taking it too far, too bloody far, and that there's no turning back anymore, that he's just spoilt it all, and the terror induced by it is so intense Joe literally cannot drag in a single damn inhale. There's an entire kaleidoscope of thoughts flashing through his mind, which, as opposed to his lungs, is working in such overdrive it's threatening to explode; thoughts of how he's going to explain this entire lunacy to Ben; thoughts of how he's going to apologise for it; thoughts that it'll never be the same again; thoughts that he's just most certainly lost a friend because such things could never just be forgotten or dismissed, that it'll linger with them forever, oppressive like some sort of doom.
"I'm sorry," Joe whispers in dismay, understanding that he should but not being able to take his hand off Ben's cheek. His fingertips draw featherlight lines from Ben's face to his neck. "Shouldn't have--"
Shouldn't have done it like this, he wants to say, shouldn't have done it now, shouldn't have done it at all, Ben, I'm so fucking sorry, but what makes him trail off is the shake of Ben's head and the subsequent feeling of Ben's hand suddenly squeezing on his own, the one that's still incapable of parting with the warmth of his skin. Joe stares back at him in dumb terror, waiting for the disaster to finally happen, waiting for Ben to say something which will mortify him, waiting for Ben to tell him to get the hell out and never show up in his life again. But, against all odds, disaster does not ensue. What happens next is Ben pulling his hand to his lips and leaving a moist kiss smack in the middle of it.
"Ben--" Joe says, but he's interrupted in the midst of his unvoiced apology.
"I'm terrified," Ben whispers, voice hoarse and shaken, but his hand tightens its hold on Joe's. Then he finally opens his eyes and gives Joe an agonised glance. "I want this and I've never been this terrified in my life."
He sounds so utterly unhinged, perhaps even more shaken than Joe himself is feeling right now, that it actually provokes a pang of sheer sympathy in Joe. So it must be even harder for him than Joe could have possibly predicted. As far as he's concerned, what terrified him most of all was Ben's possible reaction to a situation like this, but in terms of his feelings and desires, Joe has long reconciled with it all, so even if this make-out session did come to him as a shock, it was a pleasant one. With Ben, though, it doesn't seem to be quite that simple. Dearly wishing he could soothe his panic at least to some extent, Joe frees his hand from Ben's hold and slides it gently back to the nape of Ben's neck.
"Me, too," he says softly and pulls Ben to himself, this time not to his lips but beckoning him into his embrace instead.
To his genuine relief, Ben moves closer without any detectable hesitation and ends up with his face nuzzled into the crook of Joe's neck, his breathing shallow and erratic and with the air of helplessness about him so profound it seems to be affecting even Joe. Meaning to alleviate it, he runs a calming hand along Ben's spine, and it's a bliss to feel Ben's arms wrap around him with such intensity as if he was drowning and Joe was his last hope for salvation. With a brittle smile, Joe presses his cheek to Ben's dishevelled head, both to convey that he's there for Ben and for his own support because he can't hold it back anymore but he needs courage to finally let it out. There's no running away from it, and Joe doesn't really want to run away from anything anymore – he wants Ben to know it, no matter what reaction it may provoke.
"I think I'm in love with you, mate," he utters softly and then tries and fails to stifle a shaky sigh. He has no idea whether it's the right thing to say right now or if it might jeopardise everything and unnerve Ben even more than he already is, but he believes it's too late for backtracking.
"I think I might be, too," Ben murmurs against Joe's neck so quietly Joe can barely hear him at all.
But he does, and it sends a warm wave of genuine relief over him. And then he simply cannot help himself, because, even though what Ben has just said is absolutely clear, Joe wouldn't be Joe if he didn't at least make an attempt to turn everything into a stupid joke.
"Huh, in love with yourself?" he huffs, but he doesn't really intend to tease, what he wants is to ease the tension. "I suspected as mu--"
"Fuck you, Joseph," Ben retorts immediately and Joe knows he's managed to achieve at least one thing – Ben does seem to have briefly forgotten about his panic. On the flip side, he might have just pissed Ben off with his relentless trolling. "You and the fucking joking horse you rode on into my life! I am in love with you."
He accentuates every word he says furiously, and it's both a hilarious thing to hear – angry, dishevelled, distraught, half-dressed Ben Hardy, squeezed in his arms, announcing in a scandalised manner that he's in love with Joe – and at the same time the most desirable one, and it makes Joe deliriously happy. He laughs quietly because of both.
"Trying to outdo me here?" he asks gently. "All right--"
"Joe, stop," Ben interrupts him, sounding pleading and just a tad exasperated. "This is not--"
"--I love you more, buddy," Joe grins against Ben's ruffled hair, and now there's definitely no turning back.
"--a contest," Ben finishes, giving up. "You're insufferable."
He shakes his head and then shifts inside the protective circle of Joe's arms. The latter loosens his hug a little to give Ben some freedom of movement, and when he moves back, he gives Joe a glance in which surprise, relief and hope are all mixed together in equal proportions. He looks astoundingly beautiful, even in this darkness which doesn't even seem like darkness anymore. This comfortable gloom around them is enough for Joe to be able to tell the features of Ben's face. He adores every single one of them; his expressive eyes and his full lips and those sharp cheekbones and his pointy nose and his fair wavy locks. Absolutely out of the blue, there's an absurd thought in Joe's mind that he'd make a perfect archangel Michael if anyone decided to shoot a movie about him.
"Do you?" Ben asks meanwhile, ever so softly, and his eyes are so huge and so hopeful Joe has only one desire – to pull him back to his lips and kiss him till both of them cannot breathe.
"I do," Joe replies. He doesn't smile anymore because he doesn't want Ben to get an impression that he's kidding him. There's been way too much of kidding already. "And I'm also in love with you, Ben, terrifying as it is. And I want you, too. I missed you like hell these past several months. Didn't know what to do with myself," he smirks now, but that's not exactly humorous.
Being able to put it into words, all those numerous controversial feelings, of joy and anxiety and fear and love, is nothing short of surprising. But it's a good surprising all the same. He's glad he can let Ben know about how he feels at last, whatever it might lead to. This way he can at least be certain that he's done all he could.
"Man, how did we get ourselves into this?" Ben mutters.
It's not exactly a question directed at Joe, nor does Ben look like he's speaking to himself. Then, with a softest of sighs, he leans in, back into Joe's embrace, and his face ends up pressed against Joe's neck once again. There's an ever so timid press of Ben's lips to the side of it, but they linger there for a while, all of a sudden giving Joe the feeling of complete peace. No matter how they're going to address it all later, the now belongs only to them; this magical snowy night with ferocious gales howling outside and them enclosed into this astounding bubble of intimacy, a universe of their own, and for just this one night, they can belong to each other. At least for tonight, there's understanding and trust between them, and Joe intends to live through every single second of it consciously.
"I don't know," he sighs quietly, in reply to Ben's question. "Do you mind if we spend this night like this?"
Astonishingly, he feels Ben's smile on his skin, and it's ticklish and just a tad scratchy, which once again reminds Joe of the astounding fact that he's in bed with his best male friend.
"Right now, I think I want to spend every bloody night like this," Ben murmurs, and he finally doesn't sound panicked. He sounds as if he's finally stopped struggling and decided to surrender. "I've wanted this for way too long."
As he says it, his hand travels to the back of Joe's head, fingers burying themselves into his hair, fingertips massaging his scalp, and Joe wants to yell at the top of his lungs from the sheer carousel of various, pleasant and fuzzy, feelings that he's overwhelmed with. He doesn't, though, he wouldn't have enough wind to do it anyway. The only thing he can do is tighten the secure circle if his arms around Ben, thinking that he's longed to do it ever since he saw Ben dressed as Rogerina; just take him into his arms like this and hold him there and never fucking let go, feel every ounce of heat and every strain of Ben's lean muscles and his every breath on his own skin.
"Since when?" Joe asks quietly and feels Ben shrug one of his shoulders, a little clumsily.
"I'm not sure I understand it myself. Since sometime during the filming? I think it was already pretty strange between us even back then, but I didn't want to acknowledge it for quite a while. Everyone talked about chemistry, so I went along with it. I think it hit home only when you started this shitshow on Instagram. I mean, when everyone is joking about something, you have to consider the possibility of at least some truth in it, and I realised there was actually more truth than I'd initially bargained for. And I also felt sort of jealous seeing you and Gwil and Rami on that promo-tour you made. I know it's ridiculous, but I couldn't help it. I wanted to be there with you, and I absolutely couldn't go."
This has been the longest and the most coherent piece of talking Ben's produced in quite a while, and, listening to his hushed, hoarse voice, every word accompanied by a warm puff of air on his skin, Joe finds himself falling even harder for him. He couldn't have thought it possible to be more infatuated than he already is, but it seems there's absolutely no limit to the profoundness of his feeling.
"I'm still not sure you're not having me on," Ben adds after a short hesitation.
"I'm not," Joe replies honestly. "I think I fell for you on the third day of filming, when we were still shooting Live Aid."
As he says it, he can't hold back a dreamy smile because those memories are some of the most vivid; him seeing Ben adjusting his drum kit and being trolled for it by either Gwil or someone else, his look of slightly hurt exasperation, and then the face he made and the totally dorky grin which followed, and, even though Joe didn't want to acknowledge it at that moment, merely attributing it to Ben's general amiability and his good looks, he knew that he genuinely liked the guy, perhaps way more than he should like a mere colleague of his.
"Just saw you fussing over your drum kit and I was done for good. And I think I set off that shitshow, as you put, solely for the purpose of seeing how you'd react to it, to the mere implication that there could be something… you know… something like this. My father's death played a role, too, because you guys were there for me back then and--" Joe trails off abruptly, wishing dearly he hadn't brought that up as memories of his late dad still echo with way too much pain inside him.
He swallows with difficulty and sighs, hoping to get rid of the sudden lump in his throat. It doesn't help – it very rarely does – but there's another thing which works better than his sorry breathing exercises. It's Ben's lips, leaving a softest trail of kisses from his neck to his jaw to his ear. They have absolutely nothing to do with anything sexual; these ones are full of the same tenderness and compassion Joe felt back when they were all returning from their little adventure in Scotland, when he fell asleep on Ben's shoulder, lulled by the gentle rocking of the car and soothed by Ben's almost palpable affection. He reckons that was actually the moment he allowed himself to cherish the hope that, on Ben's part, it wasn't just a friendly inside joke either. Something was happening between them then, something very special and subtle which they shared while snuggling in the backseat of Gwil's car, something which belonged only to them. It's the same thing right now, and Joe is finally pretty certain about the true nature of it.
"I'm sorry, Joe," Ben whispers into his ear, ever so quietly. His hand slides slowly back to the nape of Joe's neck, and the sentiment is absolutely clear.
"And I can't thank you enough for it," Joe replies sincerely, because back then, Ben and Gwil practically pulled him out of the swamp of depression he'd been slowly but surely drowning in.
Then he shifts his position so that he could look at Ben again. This time, the latter holds his gaze without any visible signs of that awful oncoming hysteria. Quite the opposite, he seems to be almost serene, which is a huge relief. There's a stray blond strand falling across Ben's forehead, and, acting purely by impulse, Joe reaches out to brush it away. Ben doesn't even blink as he does so, and this direct, somewhat mesmerised, stare once again evokes the recollections of that notorious shooting of I Want to Break Free, with the only difference being that then Ben also looked stunned whereas now there are no traces of his previous panic or shock or fear left anymore, just raw, intense affection.
"I love you," he murmurs, his lips barely moving at all as he says it, but there's confidence in it and Joe can't contain a sigh of relief. He couldn't even in his wildest dreams imagine anything like this just a few hours ago.
"I love you too, Benny," Joe whispers back and he's ready to repeat it one hundred times more if needed. It's almost scary just how intense his happiness is; it's perfect, everything is perfect, Ben is perfect and this night, this magical, wonderful night is the most perfect of them all. "Let's give it another try, huh?"
As he asks it, he leans in closer again, just like he did before, and when his lips touch Ben's, his response is gentle and eager, and the most incredible thing of all of it is that he feels Ben's smile against his own mouth. It is so absolutely glorious Joe cannot suppress his own happy grin, and for a while all they're doing is simply smirk against each other's mouths, and it feels like the best thing that's happened to him in a long, long while.
There's no confusion when Joe moves his hand away from Ben's cheeks and slides it all the way south, over his t-shirt clad shoulder and chest, over that enviable firmness of his abs and further down still, until it finally finds the promising semi-hardness inside his boxer shorts. Ever so cautiously, still afraid to provoke or unnerve Ben, Joe presses his palm to the half-formed hard-on and is delighted when he feels Ben thrust his hips forward, towards his hand. Still smiling into Ben's lips, Joe strokes him there, feeling how right beneath his fingers the semi-hardness transforms into a proper, fully engorged erection, and it's totally exhilarating, this feeling of being able to make the one person he loves aroused this fast.
Joe cannot say he knows what the hell he's doing – theoretically and technically, of course he does, wouldn't be all that tough even though he's never ever done anything like that to any other man but himself before – but even despite the general knowledge, he's still feeling like an utter rookie. He doesn't give a damn, though, deciding that there's no need for some particular sacred knowledge to be able to love someone, and when he ends up astride Ben's hips, squeezing both their cocks in his hand, moving against him fluidly while not capable of leaving Ben's tempting lips, it seems to work just perfectly. They seem to work just perfectly, as they've been doing in every other aspect ever since their first meeting.
Much later, when this is over and both of them are lying sated and entangled into each other's limbs, with his arms around Ben and his lips pressed to the back of Ben's shoulder, with the fingers of one of his hands intertwined with Ben's warm ones, hearing and feeling Ben's even breathing against his own chest, Joe feels so thoroughly satisfied, so marvellously at peace with everything, so inexplicably happy for the first time in god knows how long, he is absolutely certain he doesn't want it to ever end. Long ago he used to think that whatever he felt to Ben was purely physical, a desire which could be quenched if he finally got what he wanted – sex, but it is turning out it's about so much more than just that, and he needs it to go on, to progress and unfurl and transform into something more solid, something which would imply nights like this on a regular basis.
Before he falls asleep, still holding on to Ben and with his mouth still resting half-open against his warm skin, Joe promises himself to do all he possibly can to make that happen.
*