Lessons That Were Never on the Syllabus
by Red_921 and Lady Saddlebred
Title: Lessons That Were Never on the Syllabus
Authors: Red_921 and Lady Saddlebred
Archive: once complete, yes, please!
Category: Qui/Obi, Alternate Reality, Angst, Drama, Romance
Rating: occasionally NC-17
Spoilers: Lessons They Never Taught Me In School (archived)
DISCLAIMER: George Lucas owns everything. We own nothing, just playing in his playground.
Special thanks to Katbear and Merrie Amelie, notre betas par excellence!
Feedback: PLEASE FEED THE HUNGRY BUNNIES!!
< > denotes thoughts
RECAP: Ben Kensington is the IT consultant at the School for the Academically Gifted ("the Academy") and has long found himself attracted to dashing but severely computer-challenged Biology Department Chairman Quinn Donovan. Little did he realize that the attraction was mutual, until a campus Halloween party brought them together on a cold, rainy night...
Next day-
Quinn Donovan strolled into his sunny kitchen with a bag of donuts, happily anticipating spending the balance of the day getting to know his new young lover better. The storm had left everything clean and fresh, the fall colors sparkling. He softly whistled a favorite Irish tune, reliving the night before and imagining what might lie ahead.
Quiet. Was Ben still asleep? Clearly not a morning person, or at least not one who lived with a dog who demanded his walk at first light, no excuses accepted. Then again, they had been up most of the night. Up, indeed, Quinn thought, grinning foolishly and caring not one whit that he was doing so. Ah, the recuperative abilities of the young. Sweet merciful heavens, what a night it had been. The lad (<man, man, Quinn, that is most definitely not a lad!>) would be the death of him, but what a wonderful way to go. Tossing the donuts on the counter, he headed up the stairs.
Ben was still dead to the world under the covers, only the top of his russet head sticking out. Quinn quietly stripped off the running suit he customarily wore to take the dog out in the chilly mornings and moved toward the bathroom. He'd let Ben sleep, no hurry to be up and about. While it was tempting to slip back under the covers and see if he'd been missed, something told him not to crowd the lad quite yet. Their relationship was too new and had taken a dramatic step forward last night, into - for him, anyway - uncharted waters. Take it slow for now. There was plenty of time.
Meanwhile, a hot shower and a shave were in order. Then tea and breakfast.
Ben Kensington blinked in the bright sunlight streaming in the bedroom window, and for a moment was completely disoriented. This wasn't his-
Wait. This was a king-sized bed, Quinn's bed. And he had slept here last night -- well, part of the night anyway. When they weren't busy-
<No, freeze and rewind. Don't go there, not yet.> He lay back on the oversized pillows and stared at the slowly revolving ceiling fan overhead, trying to marshal his thoughts.
Hazy memories swirled through his head: the feel of Quinn's heavy silk robe against his bare skin as he sat on the couch and watched Quinn struggling to remove that crazy plaid kilt. The frustration on the chiseled face when he couldn't get the buckles loose. The acid commentary on Scots history before he'd simply ripped the offending garment off and cast it aside.
Quinn kneeling before Ben on the couch, enthusiastically stroking him to completion.
Quinn tumbling to the floor in Ben's arms after Ben sucked him off in front of the fireplace.
Quinn making slow love to him as they lay together in this same bed, hands and lips seemingly everywhere at once, leaving him boneless with pleasure, then drifting to sleep in the arms of the man he'd fantasized about for months.
Ben confusedly rearranged the blankets to camouflage his morning erection, which had eagerly risen to the occasion as he'd thought about the night before. But the other side of the big bed was empty, only an indentation in the pillow confirming anyone else had slept there.
A soft humming from the adjoining bathroom drew his attention. Through the partially open door, he could see wisps of steam emanating from within. Quinn was obviously awake, and from the sound of it, not displeased with the situation. He hoped.
Needing to relieve himself rather badly, and not keen on venturing au natural downstairs, Ben drew on the oversized silk robe from the night before. The tri-cornered tear at the bottom was a vivid reminder of his clumsy fall down the stairs, quite literally into Quinn's arms. He firmly resolved to replace the robe as soon as possible, no matter the cost, though he might be tempted to keep this one as a souvenir. He quietly approached the bathroom door.
Quinn was trimming his beard. Wearing only a light blue bath sheet wound around lean hips, he carefully stroked the razor upward along his neck, all the while humming that same catchy tune from last night. Ben absently wondered if there were words to go with it. The silvering brown hair was damp and not yet combed, his feet were bare and he looked absolutely... delicious. Ben swallowed hard, clenching his fists to keep from reaching out and wrapping his arms around him.
Quinn caught his reflection in the mirror, smiled a welcome and carefully put down the razor. "Good morning, Benjamin. I hope I didn't wake you."
"What time is it?" Ben yawned, and Quinn's grin widened in sympathy.
"About 9:00. It's a lovely day outside. Bernini and I have just returned from his morning constitutional. He keeps me to rather a set schedule, never has learned the meaning of weekends. We thought we'd just let you sleep." The deep-set blue eyes openly admired Ben's naked form beneath the loosely tied silk robe, and Ben blushed under the warm scrutiny. Then the words impacted.
"9:00? Oh, crap, Quinn, I have to go! I still have that projection system to install, and it's going to take hours, and-"
"Of course, of course. I'd forgotten, you did say you had to work today, didn't you? Well, your clothes should certainly be dry by now. Let me just finish here, won't be a moment." He paused, then added delicately, "There's another bathroom right down the hall, if you..."
"Thanks." Ben grinned, relieved. "Meet you downstairs?"
"Make yourself at home. Mi casa es tu casa. There're fresh donuts on the counter. I picked them up while Bernini and I were out. I won't be long."
Dressed once again in his (thankfully now quite dry) toga and sandals, Ben restlessly prowled the living room. Too bad he couldn't stay, but he had to get on that projection system and he'd have to go home first and change. So what if his neighbors saw him coming in wearing last night's Halloween costume? Let them wonder where he'd spent the night, and with whom. They'd never come up with the real answer. He still hardly believed it himself.
In the daylight, the room reflected a comfortable, well-to-do bachelor existence. Dark wood furniture, in a simple classic style that Ben instinctively liked. Narrow floor-to-ceiling windows faced the street and framed the big mahogany breakfront behind the couch, from which Quinn had retrieved the brandy the night before. Beveled glass on three sides, softly lit by tiny interior lights, it held several delicate sculptures and apparent first edition books in cracked and peeling leather bindings. These were evidently Quinn's more valued pieces, each carefully positioned for maximum viewing and appreciation, but safe from an enthusiastic dog's tail.
The wide fieldstone fireplace was surmounted by an oversized, clearly hand-hewn wooden mantel, supported by wrought-iron strap hinges bolted straight into the stonework. Ben peered at it, fascinated by the Roman numerals carved into the front at regular intervals. The claymore and scabbard from the Halloween party hung in a place of honor directly overhead. Recessed shelves on either side held hardback books and knickknacks, along with a small bookcase-style stereo in easy reach from the big leather chair. Old style three-way floor speakers sat in the corners, camouflaged by lush silk hostas in blue-and-white ceramic urns. It was easy to picture Quinn tucked up in his comfortable arm chair, pipe and brandy close at hand, dog at his feet, whiling away the hours in solitary contentment, reading his newspaper, watching the evening news...
Oops, scratch that, no television. Who didn't have a television? Maybe it was in another room somewhere.
In his mind's eye, Ben pictured a large flat-screen television mounted above the fireplace, a top-of-the-line satellite receiver and HD DVR, a kick-ass 7.1 surround sound system and the latest Bose cube speakers, all carefully concealed, of course. The room had great acoustics, but it cried out for sound equipment that would really bring it to life. The house could probably be wired to pipe sound into every room. Oh, what he could do with this place...
The torn plaid kilt lying crumpled under the end table was a vivid reminder of their lovemaking the night before. Grinning, Ben again recalled Quinn grumbling in frustration as he fought with the recalcitrant piece of clothing, then simply ripped it off while Ben watched from the couch, wearing nothing but Quinn's silk robe. As he bent to pick up the ruined garment, a large silver frame caught his eye.
The photograph looked recent. Quinn and Adele Gauliere, in full evening dress, smiling happily for the camera and clinking delicate champagne flutes. The petite French professor fit perfectly in the curve of Quinn's arm, giving the distinct impression she belonged there. Quinn's loving smile bespoke pride, possession. And she was wearing that damned sapphire ring, conspicuously on her left hand. Had this been an engagement party?
He and Quinn had kissed, caressed and groped each other, had made out in this room last night. Ben had sucked Quinn's cock in this room. In front of Adele Gauliere. Campus gossip had them practically at the altar, and this picture only seemed to confirm the rumors.
So what happened last night?
He stopped short. How many people saw him leave the party with Quinn last night? That Jag was probably pretty well known on campus. <Oh, shit...>
"Ben?" Quinn strolled into the living room, casually dressed in khakis and an open-necked shirt. "I realize you're somewhat pressed for time this morning, but I can offer you several different blends of tea, or some rather potent Columbian coffee for the trip home. Your pleasure?"
Ben slowly turned, feeling sick to his stomach. "Tea..." he mumbled in disbelief. <He's offering me tea?> "Quinn..."
"Tea it is. Coming right up. Sorry I haven't anything more than donuts, but I generally go out for breakfast on the weekends. If you'll give me an idea of your preferences, I'll be sure to stock up for next time." The big man was positively jovial.
"Quinn," Ben began again, then stopped, trying to remain calm. His eyes returned unwillingly to the picture.
"Yes, Ben?" The smile was infectious, the tone openly affectionate.
"Quinn, we have to talk."
The older man nodded, smile slowly fading. "Yes, Ben?" He waited, silent.
"Quinn," Ben groped for the right words. "I- I can't stay. I have to leave. Now."
"Of course, I told you I'd run you back to your apartment, just let me-"
"No, Quinn. Alone. I have to go alone. Without you. Me. By myself. Now."
"I... see. Might I ask why?" The tone was carefully neutral now, tightly controlled, revealing nothing.
"Because we can't be seen together, that's why. Especially with me wearing this," he indicated the toga, "seeing as how it's what I was wearing when I left the party last night. With you," he added pointedly. <Please don't make this any harder, he begged silently. Know how badly I want to stay here with you. How much I want to believe that last night wasn't just some drunken one-night stand.>
"Very well." The voice was formal now, rigidly polite, and it slashed at Ben's heart.
"Quinn, no, you don't understand-"
"I understand perfectly, thank you. Pray don't trouble yourself further. No need to explain." He turned to leave, back stiff and unyielding.
"Yes, there is, damn it! Listen to me," Ben begged, angry at being unfairly misunderstood. "Don't you get it? If you drive me home now, people will know I was here last night! With you! They already know we left together from the Dean's party. Do you want to have to explain that? Do you? Because I don't. Last night was," he swallowed hard, "it was wonderful, all of it, and I don't want to share that with anyone. It's... it's ours, yours and mine, and I won't let anyone ruin it for me. For us." <If there even is an us. Oh God, please don't let me have messed up again.>
He stared at the broad back, hoping he was getting through. It was so vitally important that he make Quinn understand that he didn't do this kind of thing with just anyone. He could only hope that Quinn didn't either.
And there was still that picture...
Oh shit, what would happen if Professor Gauliere found out? Would she have Ben fired? What would she do to Quinn?
Quinn sighed and slowly turned back, eyes bleak. "You're right, Ben. I... I didn't think of it that way. Perhaps I should have last night, but... well, it's water under the bridge now. Very well, if you must go, you must." He paused, then with a weak attempt at levity, added, "but perhaps next time you might wish to bring a change of clothes?"
Ben nodded miserably, not wanting to read anything into Quinn's words. He needed to get away from there, away from Quinn, so he could figure out exactly what had happened last night. Much as he wanted to believe the attraction had been mutual, he was afraid to push the issue right now. Quinn seemed genuinely disappointed that he was leaving, but maybe that was just his good breeding coming to the fore. Ben searched the bearded face, studied the body language, looking for any sign of... what? Relief that he was off the hook? Amusement at Ben's naivet?? Contempt?
Quinn sighed again, half-extended a hand toward Ben, then seemed to think better of it. "May I call you a cab?" he asked politely. "I can't think you'd be very comfortable waiting at a bus stop. And you'd get home faster that way."
Ben forced a smile. "Thanks, but it's really not necessary-"
"I insist," said Quinn, more firmly this time, clearly taking charge of the situation. "If you will not allow me to drive you home, then a cab is the only logical alternative." He turned to the phone without waiting for an answer.
Ben shrugged. Small enough concession if it made Quinn feel better about him leaving, he supposed. And a bus would have been awkward. A cab was more anonymous, especially if he could pick it up a little ways down the street. "Thank you, Quinn," he said quietly.
"Of course," Quinn answered absently, dialing. "And we can have some tea and donuts while you wait. It shouldn't take long at all."
Tea and donuts. As if there was absolutely nothing out of the ordinary going on. Ben was now more confused than ever. He definitely needed to get away, so he could think.
"Thank you, 30 minutes will be fine," he heard Quinn say into the phone. Thirty minutes. It sounded like an eternity.
"Now then," Quinn said, gesturing for Ben to precede him to the kitchen. "We have a bit of time before your ride arrives. I'll put on some tea, shall I?"
They ate in silence at the small bar in the kitchen, perched on comfortable stools. After pouring a second cup of tea for each of them, Quinn finally spoke. "Ben," he said heavily, "Last night... well, I know you have to leave, but-"
"Please, Quinn," said Ben, a bit shakily, "I- I know what you're going to say. It's ok, really. You don't have to apologize."
"Apologize?" Quinn said. "I should think so. I acted like a complete berk last night, taking advantage of your less-than-sober state and-"
"Wait a minute," Ben said quickly. "I knew what I was doing, just as much as you did. I wanted it, Quinn. I wanted you. I have no regrets." <Liar,> jeered the voice in his head. <You've got all kinds of regrets; you just don't want to face them right now. Where's that cab anyway?>
Quinn nodded thoughtfully. "Thank you for that, Ben. But while I, too, have no regrets over last night, we have to realize that there may be... repercussions if this were to become public." He sipped his tea. "We must recognize the ultra-conventional environment in which we exist. Somehow I doubt that it would be well received on campus that two male staff members spent the night... intimately." He sighed regretfully and Ben's heart sank. So now Quinn was going to tell him that last night was just a one-night stand and they'd have to forget it ever happened. Just as he'd suspected.
"You don't have to say anything more, Quinn," Ben said softly. "I understand."
"Good," Quinn said, seemingly relieved at Ben's good sense. "You already have enough on your plate with Xandra Criton targeting you, for whatever reason. This would only add fuel to the fire."
Before Ben could answer, there was a knock at the door. The cab had arrived. Ben stood and reached for his jacket. Quinn accompanied him to the door.
"Thanks again, Quinn, for everything. I'll see you later."
Quinn gravely shook hands. "Thank you, Ben. Good luck with the installation."
Adele Gauliere sat quietly in her pastel breakfast room, sipping cafe au lait and reminiscing about the night before. She could only imagine what had happened with Quinn and young Kensington after they had left the party together. What she hoped had happened.
<Cher Quinn,> she thought fondly. <He works so hard, and his students adore him. But mon pauvre petit needs more. He needs someone to love him, all of him, for himself. Ben would be so good for him...>
A soft knock at her back door interrupted her musings. Her Maltese, Cosette, yapped alertly from her cushioned daybed in the corner and ran to the door. Glancing up, she was surprised to see Quinn smiling at her through the curtained glass. Alone. Waving him in, she rose and went to get a second cup and saucer.
"Bonjour, jolie." He was casually dressed, appeared surprisingly well rested. Perhaps not exactly buoyant, but not miserable either. Adele's curiosity mounted.
"Bonjour, mon cher," she smiled, raising her face to his kiss. "Caf?? I've just made a fresh pot."
"Thank you, no," he answered absently, seating himself at the table, carefully sidestepping Cosette, who danced excitedly under his feet. "Away, you glorified excuse for a floor mop, lest I feed you to a real dog. Actually, I came to see if I could interest you in Sunday brunch. I seem to find myself somewhat at... loose ends this morning."
"Oh?" She poured herself another cup and returned to the table. "How so?" Not wanting to pry, but he had clearly sought her out for a reason. "I would have thought you would be... sleeping in."
"Yes, so had I," he replied, sighing. "Unfortunately, things didn't go quite as planned." He wouldn't meet her eye, never a good sign.
She reached for his hand. "Tell me."
She listened quietly, sensing that Quinn needed to explore his emotions, to come to terms with what had happened and what might happen next. He didn't appear upset, exactly, more... resigned? Still, it made her hurt for them both; she had hoped for so much more.
"He's young, Adele, too young, perhaps. He's a grown man, but in so many ways he seems so... na?ve, even innocent. Or maybe I'm just too old and jaded." He broodingly sighed again. "We had one perfect night together. Or so I thought. Now I'm not so sure." He shrugged. "What would he see in an old man like me anyway?"
Adele shook her head reproachfully. "Quinn, you obviously have no idea how much you have to offer. You are handsome, intelligent, educated, charming, well-heeled, what is there not to like? Ben is a very fortunate young man, and I am quite sure he recognizes that."
"You might be the slightest bit prejudiced," Quinn murmured disparagingly, grimacing at her list of his attributes.
"Naturellement. And you are far from old. So Ben is younger than you, what of it? You enjoyed yourselves, n'est-ce pas? Perhaps now you both just need time to think things over. I suspect he was a bit out of his depth at the party. And afterward..." She trailed off, not wanting to embarrass him with graphic details. Given the subject matter he taught, he could be surprisingly prudish outside the bedroom. "Give him some time, cheri. Let him come to you."
Quinn nodded grudgingly. "You don't think I've made a mess of the whole thing?" The blue eyes pleaded for reassurance.
Adele rose and drew him to his feet as well, then moved familiarly into his arms. "Not at all. I do not believe he was trying to avoid the situation, merely hoping to prevent it from becoming common knowledge. It was most sensible of him, really." She stroked his cheek. "Quinn, you deserve this happiness. Grab it with both hands and hold on tight."
"I would love to 'hold on tight,' but too tight can be as bad as or worse than not tightly enough, jolie. You of all people should know that." He kissed the top of her hair as she leaned into him. "I don't want to scare him away."
"Exactement," she applauded, smiling up at him. "Remember, too, that he is in a most precarious position. You are a tenured professor, he is not. You must now be most circumspect, how do you say... 'fly under the radar.'
Quinn chuckled darkly. "Mark Winters would have a stroke. He'd probably think it was worse than if I were having an affair with a student. Not to mention our distinguished Board of Governors."
Adele nodded. "So they do not have to know. After all, everyone 'knows' you are madly in love with me, n'est-ce pas? So let them continue to think so." She gave him an impudent grin and snuggled deeper into his arms.
Quinn held her close. "I do love you, jolie," he whispered into her hair. "No one could ever displace you in my heart, in my life." There was a comfortable silence, then, "But if things somehow manage to continue with Ben, what then? You could end up looking like a fool if it became public knowledge, and I will not allow that to happen."
"Oh, pooh. Do not worry for me, cheri. Enjoy yourself. It will all work out for the best. I know it." She pulled his head down and gave him a gentle kiss. "And who knows? Perhaps I will one day 'fall in love' as well and break your poor heart instead. Que sera sera." She dimpled at him. "Now, you said something about brunch. Give me a moment to change and we shall go." She turned and started for the stairs.
Quinn cocked a sardonic eyebrow. "A moment, jolie? That would be something of a record. I'll just make myself a pot of tea or three while I wait, shall I?"
"Hmph. Ill-mannered cad. For that I think I should just show you the door," she pouted.
Quinn gasped in mock-dismay, then bowed, hand dramatically over his heart. "Ah forgive me, majest?. Your beauteous charms and pearls of wisdom caused me to momentarily forget my humble place in your universe." His eyes twinkled playfully at her, mouth twitching beneath his moustache.
Adele giggled, pleased to see his good humor restored. "Oh, very well, my handsome rogue. I never can stay angry with you. Besides," she added thoughtfully, "I think it will be a good thing that we two are seen together in public today. It will make people think less of having watched you and Benjamin leave together last night, especially as I did not leave with you."
"Given that you did not arrive with me, leaving with me would have been awkward at best, m'dear," he pointed out mildly. "And you were clearly enjoying yourself when I left. It seemed a shame to tear you away from your... admirers."
Adele laughed teasingly. "You are too generous, mon amour. I shall be down shortly. Do try not to step on Cosette while I am away, s'il vous plait."
Quinn grunted as the silky-haired little dog attacked his shoelaces, as if on cue. "Fiendish little beast. Utterly useless, aren't you, petite? A child's stuffed animal, good for absolutely nothing except to take up valuable real estate," he grumbled, gently dragging a fiercely growling Cosette to and fro across the tiled floor.
Adele shook her head amusedly as she walked upstairs to her bedroom to change. Quinn's verbal contempt for her "child" was nothing new. Cosette and Quinn secretly adored each other, but jealously defended their respective claims on her affections. Neither would give an inch while Adele was present, but once alone, Quinn would scoop the little animal into his arms and talk baby talk to her while she covered his face in devoted puppy kisses. Ever alert to the sound of her return, she would invariably find the casual co-conspirators on opposite sides of any room, ostentatiously ignoring one another.
It was nearly 11:00 by the time Ben made it back to his apartment. The night before was still rushing at him, a blur of events blending together as he sprinted up the stairs. He tore the sandals from his feet and tossed them into a corner, along with the rope belt holding his makeshift toga in place.
Buckles hindering. Fabric ripping. Robe ripping. Gravity pulling. Arms holding...
"NO!" Ben shouted into the empty apartment. No, he told himself firmly, now was not the time. Later, much later, when he'd had time to let everything sink in, when he didn't have a job to do. The toga was unwound and wadded up with disdain, then hurled across the room.
Torn and rumpled woolen plaid kilt lying under the end table. Framed picture of the "happy couple..."
How could he let himself get into a situation like this? Again? And with Quinn Donovan, no less. An Academy department chairman, who just happened to be clearly in a committed relationship with another faculty member. A very beautiful, very female faculty member! Would he never learn?
Stripping off his underwear, Ben ducked into the bathroom and turned the shower on as cold as it would go. Maybe that would get his mind off last night. The frigid water bit into his skin, but only momentarily pulled his thoughts back to the present. A towel was roughly scrubbed over shivering too-cold skin. Socks, briefs, undershirt, pants, dress shirt, shoes, tie... shit, where was his tie? Ben dropped to his hands and knees and began frantically digging through the mound of laundry he'd been neglecting.
"Damnit, damnit, damnit!" The mantra slipped out as dirty clothes went flying to the other side of the tiny bedroom. Ten minutes later the tie was still hiding. "Screw it," he muttered, sprinting to the door. Keys, wallet, cell phone. Check. Ben knew the bus was a lost cause - he'd be better off running to the campus.
Taking off at a sprint, Ben fleetingly enjoyed the feeling of cool air through his still damp hair. The sprint slowed to a jog halfway to campus as Ben's thoughts unavoidably drifted back in time to another "morning after" run.
His days at school had always been full of work. Work for classes and work for money to pay for classes. Many of his classmates from high school had elected to enter the workforce immediately upon graduation, with only a handful heading toward higher education. When any few spare moments could be scraped together he found himself trailing along behind two older students in one of his advanced placement classes.
Brian and Garth had an enviable natural ease about them. They worked in tandem to find any available female and "score," as they would loudly boast later. Garth would do the talking and Brian would seal the deal. Together, they instructed Ben on the finer points of working the ladies:
"Never be too nice to a girl, they all want a jackass."
"Pay for dinner, but don't go to fancy restaurants right off. Start with something cheap, lowers their expectations."
"Don't look too nice on the first date. They'll think you're trying too hard."
The advice usually came over drinks before Garth and Brian would head out, but Ben always declined to observe first hand. The idea of hunting for someone to love just seemed wrong, but Garth had disavowed him of that idea, too:
"They don't want love, Ben. They just want sex. And the sooner you figure that out the better off you'll be."
One Thursday night Ben found himself hauled off to the local bar for yet another "lesson." He remembered it was a Thursday because he'd had Net Admin, his least favorite class of the semester, the following morning. Brian and Garth each had a hand on his shoulder, purposefully steering him to a booth in the back.
"Look, Ben, not everyone is great with the ladies starting out. You just need to give it some time," Brian said with a reassuring smile.
"Yeah, you just need a chance to relax and loosen up," Garth chimed in.
"Look, guys, I appreciate the help, but I really don't have time for a girlfriend right now," Ben began, even as he was pushed back into the booth. The two beers at his friends' apartment were already going to his head. He'd learned the hard way that he had no real head for alcohol.
"Brian, why don't you go wrangle us some drinks and see if you can find any likely candidates for young Ben here?" Garth grinned at Brian, who obediently turned and headed for the bar. Leaning over Ben, the tall raven-haired man murmured confidentially, "I bet I know what your problem is," his voice rough over the noise in the bar.
"Problem? I don't have a-" Ben nervously began.
"You just need some liquid courage, that's all, then we'll make sure our boy gets some action tonight." Garth's warm breath tickled Ben's neck, raising the hairs all the way down his arms, even as Brian set nine shots down on the table.
"Come on, Ben! Tonight you're gonna get lucky. Anybody can score here, promise!" Brian cheered, raising a glass and downing its contents in a single gulp. Garth followed suit, then they both looked expectantly at Ben, who reluctantly picked up his own shot.
Panting, Ben slowed to a stop at the last street before the Academy. A hand ran distractedly through his hair - he hadn't even stopped to comb it before he'd fled the apartment. Yeah, it was going to be a long day.
"Ben, it won't take long. You just need to focus," Garth whispered in his ear. The stack of shot glasses was now precariously high and Ben held the last of 12 in his now far from steady hand. Glass touched glass and the tower was complete. Ben sat back with a huge grin on his face, inordinately pleased with his handiwork.
"Steadiest hands in the bar," he giggled. The room was spinning pleasantly, but he still had obligations come morning. "Look, guys, tonight just isn't my night. It's okay, really, you tried. I 'preciate it." His words were slurred, indistinct, even to his own ears.
"Ben, you're just playing too hard to get. But, sadly, the bar's closing, so we'll just have to try again tomorrow night," Brian said, peering around the glass tower. He exchanged a sly glance with Garth, who regretfully shook his head.
"No, Brian, I'd better get him home. You head on back and I'll see you when I get there. No sense both of us losing sleep over this bum," Garth said, with a friendly jab. "Come on, Ben, let's get you up." Garth pulled Ben's arm across his shoulder and hauled him from the booth. "Say goodbye, Brian."
"Goodbye, Brian," Ben called drunkenly. The world blurred as they started walking back to Ben's parents' house.
The process of placing one foot in front of the other was something of which Ben was distinctly capable on any other day. Tonight, however, the amount of alcohol he'd consumed was inversely related to his ability to achieve this seemingly simple task. The progress down the block was slow and unsteady. Garth kept a firm arm around Ben's shoulders, keeping him uptight.
"I know what your problem is," Garth said again softly, steadying Ben's uncertain movements.
"Oh no, I've got enough courage as it is, Garth," Ben slurred, even as Garth abruptly stopped walking. Looking up, he blearily realized they were in a dark alley, several blocks from home.
"Oh yeah, you've got plenty of courage. Your problem is you just aren't interested in girls."
"I keep telling you guys, I'm too busy for a girl, yeah." Ben peered owlishly up at Garth, confused.
"But you're never too busy for me and Brian, right? I think you just have... other tastes, and maybe it's time we find out." Garth slipped a hand behind Ben's neck. A gentle tug and warm lips suddenly crushed his.
Ben had kissed girls before, but this was unlike any kiss he had ever had. This was rough, demanding, hungry. One hand firmly held his head in place while the other snaked down to the top of his pants, pulling his hips hard against the taller man's. He was shoved back against the wall as Garth pressed urgently against him. He could feel Garth's hard erection through the double layer of clothes. Momentarily stunned, Ben managed to work one hand up to Garth's chest, futilely trying to free himself. It only seemed to encourage further assault.
"What are you do-" His question was cut off as Garth leaned against him, driving his tongue into Ben's mouth, nearly suffocating him. A hand slid to the small of his back and slipped inside his pants, then his briefs. A finger probed his opening, even as the hand at his neck pulled Ben even more tightly against his assailant.
Panicked, Ben struggled harder, but his body somehow wouldn't respond to his alcohol-soaked brain's desperate commands. It felt like he was being held under water. He couldn't breathe, could hardly move. Worse, to his horror, he felt the beginnings of a physical reaction to Garth's rough ministrations. What the hell was happening?
"No!" he yelled, wrenching himself out of Garth's arms and frantically pushing the other man away. He turned and blindly stumbled away, neither knowing nor caring where he was going, just needing to get as far away as possible. To hide, like a wounded animal.
Behind him, he heard Garth's derisive laughter. "Yeah, run, little baby, run home to mama's tit. You're a loser, Kensington! You wimp! I knew it! You're nothing but a fuckin' fairy!"
Ben finally reached his house, after stopping twice to throw up in the gutter. His head throbbed, his legs were shaking and he felt chilled to the bone, even as sweat dripped into his eyes. He groped for his house key, thankful his parents usually went to bed early. One look and he was sure his mother would insist on driving him straight to the emergency room, or worse, to the police station.
Shoes in hand, he quietly climbed the stairs to his bedroom. His clothes were wrinkled and in disarray and he stank of stale beer, cigarette smoke and vomit. His stomach roiled, but thankfully there was nothing left to come up. Stuffing his clothes into the hamper, he stumbled into the shower, scrubbing himself violently until his skin was nearly raw. Then he fell, exhausted, into bed.
Next morning, Ben felt like he'd been run over by a Mack truck. Deciding some exercise would help clear his head, he pulled on an old sweat suit and sneakers and headed outside, waving through the kitchen window at his mom, who smiled and blew him a kiss. Just another Friday morning, like any other. Yeah, right.
Jogging slowly down the sidewalk, he let his mind drift. The night before was hazy, like a bad dream, but it wouldn't quite go away. Garth's scornful comments as he had run away haunted him: Loser. Wimp. Fairy. Was he? He had to admit he'd been secretly attracted to Garth. Brian, too, for that matter. He'd told himself it was innocent, a kind of latent hero-worship, but certainly nothing overtly sexual, right? So then what had happened last night? And why did Garth come on to him in the alley and then taunt him like it was foul, dirty, something to be ashamed of?
"Hey, nancy boy!" An all-too-familiar voice from an approaching car. Brian. Ben stared resolutely ahead and kept moving. Yeah, of course Garth would have told his bud all about last night. He'd probably put Garth up to it, damn them both. He'd been suckered, played, but he had nobody to blame but himself. Gritting his teeth, Ben picked up his pace. Mocking laughter followed him, then the car roared past.
The rest of the jog to campus was uneventful as Ben forced himself to concentrate on all that needed to be done when he arrived. All of the components were still in the storage closet on the third floor, while the actual location for the installation was in the server room in the basement.
"My kingdom for a freaking cart," Ben muttered as he hit the button for the elevator. The door slid closed and the sharp scent of burning logs filled the space. A soft sigh escaped before he could stop himself.
Strong hands gripping, caressing his body... Shit, this was not helping!
Relationships after that had been short-lived, few and far between. He distanced himself from classmates, terrified that Garth and Brian would gossip. Girls flirted but mostly gave up after a few tries when he failed to respond. He just couldn't seem to move beyond that night, and buried himself in his studies and work. After graduation, he considered his options, then accepted the assistant IT position with the Academy. Moving away had afforded him a measure of relief from his demons. He dated occasionally, but being on call 24/7 left little time for socializing. Cancelling plans at the last minute because of some technological dust-up on campus did not endear him to the ladies. He had scrupulously avoided close contact with guys his own age.
"OK, if I can splice between outlets 4 and 5, I should be able to run enough cable to get to the install point," he said aloud, forcing his attention back to the task at hand. Stepping out of the elevator, he walked quickly to the supply closet. The door swung open to reveal piles of soft rich blankets and plump pillows surrounded by fragrant cedar-lined walls...
"No!" Ben slammed the door shut. The sound reverberated through the empty hall. He leaned his forehead against the cool wall and sighed. The linen closet abruptly dissolved, leaving only the stark florescent lights of the third floor. His breath was loud in the quiet hall. Ben had things to do; this could not keep interrupting him. Resolutely, he opened the closet again and pulled out the boxes he needed. Projector, mount, jack box, cables, console, speakers, tools, all placed in a careful stack. It wouldn't be the first time he'd carried this kind of pile, just the first time he had done it while utterly distracted. Bending, he carefully picked up the mountain of boxes. The walk back to the elevator was cautionary and slow, trying not to let the boxes tip while his mind fought to keep from wandering away.
Infrequently used, the automatic lights in the basement had never been calibrated properly, leaving him in the dark for the first half dozen steps. The lights slowly flickered on, following Ben into the server room. Fifteen minutes of reprogramming and Ben had the signals realigned and moving to the proper ports in the lecture hall for the install. The cables in that series were mostly overloaded, but that wasn't a problem until and unless Ben got yelled at for it.
Into the racks with the jack box to install a buffer for the output. Ben plunged his hands into the wires, searching for the proper bundle. He only noticed the pull on his sleeve after freeing a hand from the tangle to retrieve a tool. The sharp tug resulted in a loud ripping sound.
Cloth ripping. Soft thud of hardware and fabric hitting a solid wooden floor. Bold grin on soft lips-
Ben gasped. This was going to lead to nothing but problems if he couldn't keep himself under control. Searching for the source of the ripping sound, Ben groaned aloud at the sight of a wide tear in his shirt sleeve, from elbow to cuff.
Tri-cornered tear in an oversized robe. Silk fluttering as he fell down the steps, only to be caught up in strong arms. Tantalizing glimpse of a broad furred chest beneath an open-necked linen shirt...
"Crap." The word barely held the energy it had taken to push it from his lips. This was just how the day was going to be. "Good thing the place is empty. Though with my luck..." Ben trailed off, not wanting to think of who might be around, even on a weekend.
Another thirty minutes to get the correct bundle connected through the jack box and Ben was headed back upstairs to the first floor classroom for the final steps in the installation.
The lights came up much faster in Lecture Hall 7A. After years of use and multitudes of bodies in and out every day, the lights had learned to be quick. With a smaller pile of boxes now, Ben headed to the front of the room, depositing the pile next to a small workspace designed for just such an installation after an update less than a decade ago. While the Academy's Board of Governors was obviously aware that every hall would eventually need its own projection system, they inexplicably chose to wait for each department chair to beg for or, in some cases, outright demand it. Dean Winters had typically waited until Friday afternoon to put the work order through, with just a typically terse note that it would be needed the following Monday morning without fail. Talk about last minute. Ben grabbed the box with the speakers in it and began.
Hand drill, screw, bracket, speaker. Ten minutes for each of the five speakers to be mounted around the room. He'd need a ladder to place the main mount for the projector, but that could wait. He could load the software and set that to updating while he went to get the ladder. Ben pulled the leather desk chair out and slid into it-
Supple leather against his back, warm air blowing over his wet bare legs. Rain pounding on the windshield. Wipers beating a tempo in counterpoint to music softly emanating from car speakers...
Both hands slammed down on to the desk before him. "FUCK!" The word bounced around the empty room.
"MISTER KENSINGTON!"
The deep staccato voice resonated sharply in the empty room. Chagrined, Ben looked up to see Dean Winters standing in the doorway, dark eyes glittering. "Even though students may not be present, you will conduct yourself with some sense of decorum, if you please." There was a pregnant pause. "Unlike last's night's social gathering." The Dean of Students walked slowly down the aisle, eyes sweeping scathingly over Ben as he drew even with the desk.
Ben could only imagine the sad picture he must paint. Dark circles under his eyes, hair tousled and unkempt, and now the long rip in his shirt sleeve. He sighed internally as he dutifully apologized, then gritted his teeth as he endured yet another of Winters' lectures on all his shortcomings. He returned to his work after the Dean finally left, determined to finish his task with no further distractions.
Adele and Quinn enjoyed a quiet Sunday brunch, then leisurely prowled some of the local antique shops. A walnut lantern clock caught Adele's eye, but Quinn bargained so aggressively with the salesman that she all but dragged him from the store, apologizing in rapid French behind his back.
"Quinn, what on earth was that about? You were rude! I'd be embarrassed to ever go back in there after that," Adele scolded when they reached the sidewalk.
Quinn shrugged, unrepentant. "He was being unreasonable. The damned thing was overpriced and he knew it. Did you really want it that badly?"
"That is not the point. I know you are disappointed that your weekend plans did not go as you wished, but must you take it out on everyone else?" She slipped her arm through his and forced him to slow, then stop and turn toward her. "Quinn, don't brood. It is very unbecoming. And it is too beautiful a day to waste watching you pout. Besides, you do not have the face for it. Now you will either, how do they say, 'clean up your act' or you will take me home and then you can crawl back into your hole and sulk. The choice is yours. Decide." Her voice was firm, brooking no argument, and she held tightly to his arm to prevent his moving away.
Quinn blinked, then sighed, shaking his head. "Forgive me, jolie. You're right, I am behaving badly, and I apologize. It was not my intention to embarrass you. I just... well, never mind. If you want the clock, I'll go back right now and pay his asking price. Will that be sufficient to bring me back into your good graces, my darling?" He gazed dolefully at her, and she smiled and tiptoed to kiss his cheek.
"Apology accepted, cheri. And you are right, the damned clock was incredibly overpriced and any other time I would thoroughly enjoy watching you club the salesman into submission. But I think we will instead let him think about it and perhaps come back another time. He just might call les gendarmes if you crossed his threshold twice in one day." She gave him an impudent grin and he chuckled appreciatively, tucking her against his side as they continued down the sidewalk.
Monday morning Ben walked slowly up to the third-floor offices in the Languages building. The last thing he wanted was a confrontation with Quinn's fianc?e, but best to be up front and adult about it. And if he talked to her in her office, she'd hopefully remain calm and professional and not make an emotional scene where others could hear.
<Yeah, right,> he thought glumly. <What would you do if some kid walked in unannounced and told you your woman had cheated on you with another woman?> Oh, this could be really bad, in fact could easily get him fired. Oh shit. What had he been thinking?
He turned to walk away again, but then stiffened his resolve and resolutely returned to the door. He would see this through, come hell or high water. He owed that to Quinn. And while he had no desire to cause Madame Gauliere any pain, he truthfully had no regrets over what had happened. After a thorough soul searching yesterday, he knew he would have done it all over again. He knocked on the door.
"Entrez," called the musical voice.
<Now or never,> Ben thought, and taking a deep breath, opened the door. "Good morning, Professor Gauliere. May I speak with you?"
Sunlight streaming through the window blinds warmed the pleasant room. Dainty bric-a-bracs decorated the bookshelves, interspersed with elegant hardback books. Tasteful watercolor prints and framed photographs added spots of color. A vase of silk flowers sat on the credenza. There was even a soft rug underfoot, in tones of rose and moss green. Ben couldn't help but admire how she had transformed an otherwise nondescript office into something individual, personalized, welcoming. It only made him feel worse.
And, oh shit, there was the same framed picture of her in Quinn's arms he had seen at the brownstone! A bitter reminder that she and Quinn were an established couple and he was nothing but an interloper.
"Ah, bonjour, Ben, comment allez-vous ce matin?" Her friendly smile was like a dagger to the heart.
"Professor, I have to..." He hesitated, trying to find the right words, the right tone.
"Please sit down." She motioned him to a chair across from her desk. "How may I help you?"
"I'd prefer to stand, thanks." He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry to interrupt your valuable time, but- well, there's really no easy way to say this, I'm afraid." He paused again, the practiced speech deserting him before her politely inquisitive demeanor. "Quinn, I mean Professor Donovan and I, we had... we were... oh hell, I mean, excuse me, sorry, but..." Nerve failed him and his eyes dropped to the floor, practically scuffing his feet in shame. The silence was deafening, but when he finally looked up again, he saw only a slightly puzzled smile. Then, glancing at the picture on the desk, her expression unexpectedly softened in comprehension.
"Ben, it might be better to continue this conversation elsewhere, n'est-ce pas?" she said softly, without so much as a hint of inner turmoil. "I have some papers to finish grading before my class this afternoon, but perhaps we could meet after work this evening? At The Dex, peut-etre?"
<How the hell is she staying so calm?> marveled Ben silently. She obviously knew, or at least had a good idea of what he had been about to say. And she looked almost... pleased, even as she casually invited him to join her at The Dex, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Yeah, right, maybe they'd even share a plate of strawberries, then she could kick him in the nuts with her designer stiletto heels.
A horrible thought suddenly occurred to him: had she cheated on Quinn sometime in the past and now saw this as a way to somehow balance the scale? The idea of someone - anyone - deliberately hurting Quinn that way aroused a protective instinct Ben hadn't even known he possessed until now. She'd better not be planning on using this against Quinn!
"Of course, Professor," he said stiffly. "I'd be pleased to meet you at your convenience." He swallowed hard. "However, The Dex might be a bit too... public. Perhaps somewhere... off campus instead?" He could hardly believe how cool and composed he sounded. But he wasn't going to back down now.
Professor Gauliere nodded thoughtfully. "Eh bien, then perhaps you would prefer to come to my home?" She wrote down the address on a pale pink notepad and handed it to him. "Shall we say about 6:00?"
Damn, he'd just handed her the home field advantage. The beautiful but deadly spider was welcoming the unsuspecting fly into her web. Suddenly Ben found himself wishing he had opted for the Dex after all. "Thank you, Professor. That would be fine."
"Merci." She smiled again and picked up her grading pen.
There was nothing else to say.
Adele sighed inwardly as she watched Ben slowly turn and make his way out the door. She could only imagine how difficult it must have been for him to come here this morning. Her approval of the young man rose several notches. Oh yes, he would be very good for Quinn. Now if they could only manage to find their way through the maze of this very new relationship.
She reached out and tenderly stroked Quinn's cheek in the picture. "Don't worry, cheri," she murmured, "all will be well. Just be patient. He is well worth it."
In retrospect, she was pleased he had suggested meeting somewhere other than The Dex. Her initial thought had been to put the "confrontation" on more neutral ground for his benefit, but his tactful suggestion of somewhere "less public," i.e., away from the Academy's prying eyes, was remarkably insightful. She had impulsively offered her own home as an alternative, never stopping to think that it would perhaps put Ben at an even greater disadvantage. Though he had accepted her invitation with little comment, his body language had bespoken a man about to meet his own execution. No doubt he had visions of her making a tearful scene, even threatening to get him fired if he ever tried to see Quinn again. The thought amused her, even as she resolutely returned to her Conversational French test papers.
At precisely 6:00 pm, Ben approached the front door of Professor Gauliere's light-colored brick cottage. Her car's customized license plate - JOLIE - reminded him of the night when he had inadvertently eavesdropped on her and Quinn's private moment outside The Dex. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was about to face a firing squad.
A high-pitched excited barking answered his polite knock. <Oh great,> he thought, <she has a dog, too,> a hyper one from the sound of it. Yeah, this evening was just looking better and better all the time.
The petite Frenchwoman greeted Ben with a dazzling smile. "Entrez, s'il vous plait," she said, stepping back. "Cosette, silence at once, ma petite. Ben is our guest." She dimpled again at Ben. "Please excuse my errant child, Ben. She will not harm you. She is merely... enthusiastic. Please, come in."
"Yes, ma'am," Ben replied politely, then carefully stepped around the small white animal leaping frenziedly at his feet and followed his hostess inside.
The living room was light and airy, with floral upholstered furniture and plush wall-to-wall carpeting. It reminded Ben of a carefully tended garden -- wholly at odds with Quinn's casual leather-and-antiques brownstone. Different, yet very compatible, much like Quinn and Professor Gauliere. It only made him feel worse.
"Please make yourself comfortable, Ben. May I offer you something to drink?"
Ben politely declined, and sat gingerly at one end of the polished cotton sofa. Madame Gauliere seated herself at the opposite end, facing him. The little dog promptly leapt up and settled in his lap.
"You have a lovely home, Professor," Ben began haltingly. "And I appreciate your inviting me to come here this evening. I hope I haven't inconvenienced you in any way."
"Mais bien sur, Ben," she replied, smiling. "How may I help you?"
"Actually, Madame, I wanted... that is, I need to..." Ben flushed, words failing him. He absently petted the dog in his lap. "What's her name?" he asked, trying to buy himself some time.
"Cosette."
"From Les Miserables?" Ben asked.
"Oui, c'est vrai," Adele said approvingly. "I am afraid she can be a bit of a flirt. Please feel free to evict her if she becomes churlish." The sight of the small Maltese comfortably ensconced on Ben's lap seemed to amuse her for some reason.
"No, no, she's fine," Ben replied hastily. A warm tongue on his wrist thanked him for his generosity. Ironic that the dog accepted him so readily, given what he had come here tonight to discuss. <Wonder if she'll sic her on me when she hears why I'm here.>
"Now then, Ben. You wished to discuss something with me, n'est-ce pas? In private, you said." She sat back against the sofa cushions, waiting patiently.
"Yes, ma'am. It's about... Professor Donovan," Ben began slowly.
"Quinn? What about him?"
"Yes. Well, you probably already know that he... um... gave me a ride home from the Dean's party Saturday night." She nodded. "Well, he didn't actually take me to my apartment. He... took me to his place instead."
"Yes?" Her tone was noncommittal, neither encouraging nor discouraging.
"And we, that is to say, he and I... well, I ended up spending the night there. With... with him."
"I see," she said calmly. "And the experience was not... altogether unpleasant for you, I hope?"
"Actually, it was quite, um, pleasant," Ben said, smiling nervously. "We talked a lot and had a nightcap, and it was... nice." He mentally kicked himself for not being able to get to the point.
"Bien," Professor Gauliere replied. "Quinn prides himself on being a good host. I am pleased to hear his reputation remains untarnished." She smiled warmly. "So tell me, what did you think of his home? It was I who found it for him, you know."
"It's very nice," Ben replied automatically. Was she toying with him, waiting for him to fall into a trap? "I especially liked the stone fireplace in the living room, and the wooden mantel."
"Ah, oui. It was a floor beam from an old building in Tuscany that was being demolished. We happened across the site and Quinn simply had to have it. The cost to ship it back here was exorbitant, but he was as excited as a child on Christmas morning when it arrived. He has such a love of antiques and oddities, you know. Anything with a story behind it just makes it that much more interesting for him." She smiled fondly and Ben was reminded of an indulgent mother with a small child.
<Yeah, and you'd know all about that, being his fianc?e,> he thought glumly. His gaze slid to her left hand, but there was no sapphire ring. Come to think of it, she hadn't been wearing it that morning, either. Maybe it was being sized or cleaned or something.
Something must have shown in his face. Professor Gauliere leaned forward, concerned. "Ben, are you all right? Let me get you something." She started to rise, but Ben impulsively reached out and took her hand. Frowning slightly, she sat back down. "What is it, Ben?" she said softly. "You spent the night at Quinn's home, yes? And?"
Ben took a deep breath and looked her in the eye. "Yes. I spent the night there. With... Quinn. With... him. Together." He stopped, waiting for her to react. <Please say something, anything.>
"Yes?" she said gently. "You spent the night together. And?"
"And... well, I felt that you should hear it directly from me, rather than just... finding out somehow. Professor, it wasn't Quinn's fault, believe me. It just... happened. Don't blame him, please." It tumbled out in a rush.
"Blame? I blame no one, Ben, why should I? You spent the night together, at Quinn's home, ca c'est tout? Quinn led me to believe that it was somewhat more than that. Or perhaps he was mistaken?"
Ben was stunned. Quinn had already told her? And she wasn't upset? Oh God, had this happened before? Were they both laughing at him behind his back? He'd come here tonight thinking to beg forgiveness for Quinn, to take full responsibility for what had happened. And she had sat there and let him sweat it out, when she already knew. "I- I don't understand," he faltered, torn between relief that it was finally out in the open and anger that he had been played for a fool. By both of them, it seemed. "He told you about... us?"
"Mais oui, shortly after you left. He was rather disheartened that you did not wish to stay, but I told him I thought you had acted most appropriately under the circumstances. And it was very considerate of you to come here tonight to tell me, merci." She smiled warmly at him. "Ben, truly, I could not be happier for you both."
"How?" Ben couldn't believe his ears. "I mean, I was sure you'd be furious, Professor, how could you not be? Your fianc? spends the night with another man and you're ok with that?" <Welcome to the Twilight Zone, Ben. Or Wonderland. The whole world's gone crazy.> He half rose from the couch, tumbling the little dog to the floor. She squeaked reproachfully and moved quickly to the other side of the room.
"Cosette, shhh, s'il vous plait. Ben, relax, please, you are quite safe here, I assure you. And yes, I am quite 'ok' with it, as you say, so long as you give me your word that you did not set out to deceive or to lead him on. Quinn's happiness is very important to me; if you hurt him, you will be very sorry indeed," she said firmly.
Ben slowly resumed his seat. "But... you're engaged, aren't you? I mean, that's what everyone says. I don't understand." He was still struggling to come to terms with what he'd just heard.
"Non," she said simply. "Quinn is free to seek out companionship where - and with whomever - he sees fit." She leaned back against the sofa cushions. "And may I say he has very good taste." She gave him another radiant smile.
Flustered, Ben tried to come to grips with this new revelation. "Um... thanks, I think." He smiled, a bit uncertainly. "You'll forgive me if I admit to being a bit... confused here." She nodded graciously. "You're taking this very well. I mean, if I were in your shoes..." He trailed off, trying to imagine ever being in that position.
"Bien sur. Ben, I am extremely fond of Quinn, but he is quite at liberty to choose his own partners." Her eyes twinkled as she glanced down at his feet. "And I think if you were in my shoes, your feet would be most uncomfortable."
Ben smiled hesitantly at her gently teasing manner. "But if everyone thinks that you and Quinn are this hot couple, excuse me, I mean, are in a committed relationship, why would any man try to come between you? He's scary when he gets angry." He vividly recalled Quinn appearing out of nowhere at his side at the party, his firm, no-nonsense dismissal of Xandra Criton. Outwardly cool, but with an intensity that reminded Ben of a tightly coiled spring.
Adele laughed merrily. "Oh, mais non, mon cher, you misunderstand! It is just the opposite, in fact: I have very nearly as much attention from other men as I could wish for, more than enough to keep me amused, and my gallant chevalier to keep any unwanted attentions away." She leaned forward and squeezed Ben's hand, looking deeply into his green eyes. "Ben, Quinn and I have an understanding that has stood the test of many years. But there are absolutely no plans for a wedding. He is my dear friend and companion, and I am tres contente with the way things are between us. Please do not worry for me, Ben. My world is perfectly fine just as it is."
Ben hesitated, then decided to take the plunge. "Forgive me for asking, Professor-"
"Adele, please. Let us be friends, yes?"
"Thank you. But seeing the two of you together, it sure looks like you're a lot more than just friends." He blushed, fumbling for words. "I mean, everybody says that you're... well... um..."
"Lovers?" she asked kindly. Ben mutely nodded, relieved that she had not taken offense at the question. "Well, and who is to say that we are not? We are both adults." Her smile was ironic, even as her eyes twinkled with an inner amusement.
"Yes, of course," Ben quickly agreed, not wanting to appear foolish in front of this beautiful, self-possessed woman. "But then why would he ever want to look elsewhere? Who could possibly compare to... to you?"
"Merci, monsieur, but after all, a man and a woman need not be in love in order to make love, n'est-ce pas? But a man such as Quinn needs more than just an occasional dessert. He craves a meal." She rose gracefully. "May I offer you a glass of sherry?"
"Thank you." Ben quietly pondered Adele's words, the implication behind them. He had come here this evening to confess his encounter with Quinn to Quinn's "fianc?e." Instead he found himself sitting in this elegant home, having unburdened his conscience and then some, and now she was offering him sherry. Could she actually be... condoning his and Quinn's relationship?
He gazed around the spacious room, trying to picture Quinn there. The floral upholstered gold-and-white gilt furniture and matching drapes looked far too fragile to accommodate the big man. He thought back to the comfortable brownstone, with its oversized leather armchair, the big stone fireplace. The antique claymore hanging over the old wooden mantel. The big bed upstairs. Adele might have influenced choices of colors and textures, but it was clearly a man's home, just as this was clearly that of a woman. Elegant, tasteful, distinctly feminine, like its owner.
Adele handed him a delicate crystal glass. "I hope you will enjoy this," she said. "Quinn generally prefers whiskey, but will condescend to take a glass of an evening."
"Thank you," Ben murmured politely. The small goblet was beautiful and when she gently clinked her glass to his, the bell-like tone confirmed its authenticity. It made him feel clumsy, even oafish, the stable boy amusing the countess. Then he felt ashamed. Adele had been nothing but gracious to him, in what could have been a very uncomfortable situation for both of them. Her manner neither patronized nor condescended. She had been a perfect lady in what could have been a very uncomfortable situation.
But somehow Ben still couldn't get the disturbing picture out of his head of Quinn and Adele waltzing at the Dean's party, seemingly in a world of their own. Of the framed picture of the two of them in each other's arms. Or the image of Quinn effortlessly catching the petite French teacher up in his strong arms and carrying her up that graceful staircase to her undoubtedly sumptuous boudoir. Of hot lips on hotter skin, of Quinn burying his bearded face in her splendid bosom, taking her with a possessiveness that made Ben's throat go dry. He could almost hear her cries of ecstasy as Quinn drove again and again between her silky thighs. His hand unconsciously tightened on the glass and his eyes closed as he swallowed hard.
"Ben?" Her voice was concerned. "Is the sherry not to your liking? Please do not feel that you must drink it. Let me get you something else."
Ben took a deep breath, forced his eyes to open, his dry lips to smile reassuringly. "No, no, it's delicious, Adele, thank you. I'm sorry. I just took too big a sip. I'm fine. Really." He raised the glass again to his lips, willing his hand not to shake.
Adele frowned. "Non, it is more than that." She leaned forward and gently took the glass from his hand, setting it on the coffee table. "Ben, I would like to be your friend. But I will not force you to confide in me, if you do not wish it. Comprenez-vous?" She sat back slightly, letting him make up his own mind.
He gazed into her lovely sapphire-blue eyes, then took another deep breath. "Thank you. This is all very new to me, and the last thing in the world I want is to come between you and Quinn. You said yourself that you're lovers." At her encouraging nod, he continued, struggling to put his thoughts into words. "What man would trade all this, trade... you, for... for the likes of me? He should be here with you right now."
Her laughter reminded him of tinkling silver bells, light, sweet, musical. "Oh, Ben, can you imagine Quinn and that great cheval of a dog here?" Her graceful gesture swept the ultra-feminine room. "Mais non, mon ami, my home, my life is entirely too... what did he call it? Too 'frou frou' for him. He told me once that it made his teeth itch to look at my silk pillows. The rogue." She smiled fondly. "He is far too much of a man to ever be truly comfortable in a woman's world."
Ben chuckled ruefully. "Yes, he is, Adele. He is indeed." Quinn was definitely an alpha male. He frowned, then added thoughtfully, "But why would such a man want to be with... another man? You're so beautiful, so... perfect for him. Everyone says so. I'm sorry, but I'm still having trouble getting my head around that one."
Adele dimpled charmingly. "Merci encore, monsieur. But do not sell yourself short. Quinn is quite taken with you. And I should know. He simply could not find it within himself to make an overture until now. He may appear suave and sophisticated, but he is in truth rather shy, and has more than once found himself in the unenviable position of having to fend off advances by some of his students, of both sexes. Oh yes," she giggled at Ben's astonished look, "do not look so surprised. It is an occupational hazard, I am afraid. Our liaison amoureuse helps to defuse the situation for us both, and it harms no one. In fact, I rather enjoy 'protecting' the big darling." She handed him back his sherry and raised her own glass in a toast. "Ben, my greatest joy comes from seeing people for whom I care happy together. You make my Quinn happy; therefore, you make me happy, n'est-ce pas? Treat him well, and you will hear no discord from me."
"I make you happy, Madame?" Ben smiled and softly clinked his glass to hers. This woman could make a man feel like a king. She was a modern-day Helen of Troy, though Quinn was clearly no spineless Paris. No, Quinn was her Menelaus, a warrior king who would not hesitate to fight for his lady, even go to war to be sure she remained safely at his side.
They sat quietly for a few moments, enjoying the soft music playing in the background, sipping the excellent sherry. Then a thought occurred to him.
"Adele, your license plate. 'JOLIE?'"
Adele nodded, eyes twinkling. "It means 'pretty.'"
"As in Quinn's very pretty lady?"
"His idea, actually. An inside joke. Anyone reading it may interpret it as they wish." She gave him a sly wink and sipped her sherry.
Ben grinned. "You're incorrigible. No wonder Quinn adores you so."
Her smile was complacent. "Et vous aussi, Benjamin. Et vous aussi."
Quinn's palms were sweaty as he scratched out draft after draft. He had given his Advanced Botanicals class their midterm review and a lab assignment, and then retreated to his desk. The normally soothing sounds of pages turning and the occasional murmur of conferring students only served to irritate him as he tried to concentrate. His head ached.
Why was this so damned difficult? It was a simple dinner invitation. To a beautiful, eminently desirable young man with whom he had had amazing sex a few nights before, only to have said young man quite literally bolt the premises the next morning. And though Ben had seemed sincere in his protestations that he was not brushing him off, there had been no contact since. Had he misunderstood after all?
Xandra Criton's approach interrupted his disordered thoughts. "Professor, I'm having a lot of trouble with Question 7. Could you..." She slid her open textbook across the desk and leaned forward, ample charms on full display inside her low-cut silk blouse. He couldn't help noticing she wasn't wearing a bra. Sighing inwardly, he turned his notepad face-down and laid down his fountain pen.
"You need to review Chapter 4 again, Xandra. Look at the section on coelom and you should be able to find what you need."
"But I looked there, Professor, and I couldn't find the answer. Could you show me?" She walked around the desk and peered over his shoulder, breasts now pressed uncomfortably close to his upper arm. Quinn silently groaned at her typically less-than-subtle message and fought the urge to move his stool away. Her cloying perfume made his eyes smart behind his reading glasses. Xandra smelled, dressed - and acted - like she was perpetually in heat. She positively radiated pheromones.
Her coy (<be nice, Quinn, call it innocently flirtatious>) manner was disturbingly reminiscent of the Halloween party. He thought again of Ben, barelegged under his homemade toga, desperately trying to escape her trumped-up harangue on the dance floor. Poor Ben: Xandra's latest in a long line of whipping boys, just because he had dared to stand up to her when she'd blithely assumed he'd help her cheat on her exams. He made a mental note to revise the test questions before Monday morning.
Come to think of it, he hadn't even glimpsed Ben around campus this week. Hadn't he said something about needing to install a new projection system in one of the lecture halls Sunday afternoon? Or had that just been a convenient excuse to get away after...
Forcing his focus back on the waiting girl, he spoke quietly but firmly. "Look again, Xandra, Chapter 4. You'll figure it out. If not, then maybe you need to do some additional research before the exam." He smiled encouragingly at her, hoping that she would get the message and go back to her desk.
The raven-haired girl pouted. "But Professor, the exam is Monday! There's no time for extra research. Unless," she leaned in again, "maybe you could... tutor me later tonight? I promise I'll study really hard." She smiled enticingly and stroked the sleeve of his lab coat. "I could make it worth your while," she whispered, her lips less than an inch away from his ear.
<No time for extra research?> Quinn thought in mild disbelief. It was only Tuesday afternoon. Quinn carefully removed her hand and placed it back on her textbook. "Xandra, you're a smart girl. You know the material; you just need to apply yourself. It's not a hard question, but you do have to look for the answer. Check your notes, or borrow someone's. We went over it in class." He handed the textbook back to her with a 'shooing' motion, barely noticing as Xandra sashayed back to her seat, short skirt twitching in her best "look what you're missing" message. Half-stifled snickers emanated from a cluster of senior boys near the back of the room as she flounced into her seat and tossed her long hair back over her shoulder. One patented Look from the front desk and they hastily returned to their studies.
Re-reading what he had written, Quinn sighed and tore it up. Damn it, his doctoral thesis on obscure botanical poisons during the Renaissance hadn't been this hard! He knew what he wanted to say, but it probably wasn't a good idea to commit it to writing. Better to talk first, face to face. Unfortunately, there was no neutral ground where he and Ben could talk with any hope of privacy. He had racked his brain trying to think of a way to communicate without making it sound too forward, but nothing had come to mind. Even that thrice-damned lab computer had refused to cooperate by breaking down when he'd actually wanted it to.
<Get on with it, old man,> he told himself firmly. <It's just a dinner invitation. If he says no, then you have your answer. But if he says yes...>
Quinn again put pen to paper, chewing on his tongue as he concentrated.
Entering his apartment building, Ben tiredly opened his mailbox, looking forward to a cold beer and a couple of DVD's. What a day. What a week. And it was only Wednesday. He'd been running non-stop from one building to another, one crisis after another, starting with that damned projection system debacle Sunday afternoon. He'd barely had time to breathe, much less think about anything but work. He'd fallen exhausted into bed each night almost as soon as he got home, too tired to even dream, which was probably a good thing, all things considered.
Riffling through the bills and circulars, he nearly missed the small mottled tan envelope, hand-inked in a neat burgundy script. <Quinn?> They hadn't spoken since the morning after the party. He suddenly felt as if he was holding a Harry Potter howler. Resisting the urge to open it right there in the lobby, he hurried up the stairs to his apartment.
Grabbing a beer out of the refrigerator, he settled on the living room futon and carefully unsealed the envelope, revealing a single folded sheet of matching notepaper:
Dear Ben,
I hope this finds you well.
Would you do me the honor of joining me for dinner at my
home on Saturday evening? While I cannot claim to be a
gourmet chef, I generally manage not to burn the spaghetti.
Shall we say 7:00 o'clock? Transportation will be provided.
In hopeful anticipation of your acceptance, I remain
Your humble servant,
Quinn Donovan
So charmingly old fashioned. So very... Quinn. Ben read the note again, workday fatigue replaced by wistful daydreams. Even after talking to Adele Monday evening, he'd shied away from initiating any contact, afraid he might have burned his bridges when he'd walked away Sunday morning. He'd even managed to avoid the Ferguson sciences building, thankful that for once no repair orders had come in from that quarter. He had even wondered if Donovan had been avoiding him. Apparently not.
<Quinn wants to make me dinner.> A home-cooked spaghetti dinner, followed by- He mentally shook himself. <Don't read anything into it, Ben, it's just dinner.> Though a fresh pair of briefs and a toothbrush would easily fit in an inside jacket pocket. Quinn had suggested he bring a change of clothes next time.
Saturday was a lifetime away.
Quinn stretched his arms over his head and sighed, feeling his lower spine pop comfortably. Glancing at the clock, he decided it was time to call it a day, but he'd wanted to get those new test questions into the system. In fact, he had ended up redoing all of his exams, and had even sent an email to his department recommending they do the same. Thursday was his busiest day of the week, with back-to-back lectures and labs, and midterms started the following Monday. Hard to believe the semester was already half over.
Xandra's protestations yesterday about a lack of time to do additional research had both amused and annoyed him. After all, one could hardly expect her to sacrifice a weekend of partying for something as trivial as midterms. Quinn could hear Mark Winters' oft-repeated warning in his head: 'The Critons are one of the Academy's biggest financial contributors.' Bugger that. In 25 years of teaching at the Academy, he had never given preferential treatment to a student because of his or her family's financial support of the school. Good grades had to be earned in his classes. Any student who was genuinely having difficulties or who expressed interest in additional research was welcome to come to him for help, but those who didn't pull their own weight got what they deserved.
Xandra's classwork had been unusually erratic this semester, even for her. When she cared enough to actually apply herself she did well, but most of the time she couldn't be bothered, even in her major. Only her besotted lab partner had kept her ahead of the curve so far. No doubt she'd manipulate poor Mr. If-I-do-all-her-lab-work-and-spend-enough-money-maybe-I'll-get-laid into "tutoring" her for the exam as well. Quinn sighed. Good Lord willing, she'd graduate in the spring and be out of his hair for good. Four years of Xandra Criton was enough to make him seriously consider retirement.
Ani Walker was Xandra's complete polar opposite. The boy was a sponge, greedily absorbing his teachings, questioning, prodding, eager to learn. Yet he retained a child's insatiable zest for life. Ani was everything an educator could wish for and, he admitted to himself, everything he would have wanted in a son. If he had retired upon reaching his 25-year milestone, he'd have missed his opportunity to mold the young prodigy. There had been an immediate connection at the incoming freshmen meet-and-greet last summer. He had quickly become the boy's mentor, tacitly overlooking the occasional missing volume from his private research library, always returned to precisely the same spot without so much as a bent page. The boy was devouring texts that would have given upperclassmen migraines, and his questions in class were both intriguing and insightful. Yes, retirement would have to wait until Ani graduated, hopefully with a major in Biology, undoubtedly with honors. He'd make a brilliant researcher one day. Who knew, he might even one day step into Quinn's position here at the Academy.
As he logged off and watched the system shut down, his thoughts wandered. Had Ben gotten the invitation yet? He'd mailed it right after class, afraid he'd lose his nerve if he delayed. Would he accept, or would he tell him to go jump in a lake? Quinn grimaced. He wasn't used to not feeling in control of any given situation. He and Adele had a familiar, comfortable - if not overly exciting -- routine that had stood the test of time. She made life easy for him. This was altogether new, and more than a little unnerving.
Turning off the big brass desk lamp (Adele's congratulatory gift when he'd been named department chairman a few years earlier), he reached for his jacket and started for the door. Behind him, the phone suddenly rang, causing him to jump in the dim light from the hallway. The caller ID showed a local number, but no name. He almost let it go into his voice mail, but his conscience smote him. If it was a student calling with a last-minute question, he should answer. Midterms were next week, after all. "Biology Department, Professor Donovan."
Silence.
"Hello? This is Professor Donovan. Who's calling, please?"
"Quinn?" The voice was quiet, hesitant.
"Yes?" Definitely not a student.
"It's... it's Ben. Ben Kensington."
Quinn's heart leapt. "Hello, Ben. How are you this evening?" <He called!> Almost as if he had known Quinn was thinking of him. He struggled to keep his tone light, social, just one colleague to another.
"Fine, thanks. I... I got your note. About dinner Saturday night?"
"I hope you'll be able to come. Nothing fancy, very casual. Do you like spaghetti?" <Keep it calm, Donovan. Don't let him hear the pathetic eagerness in your voice.>
"I love spaghetti. It's really nice of you to invite me. I... I'd love to come to dinner Saturday, thank you." A bit more enthusiasm crept into the musical tenor voice and Quinn fought back a self-satisfied grin. Yes!
"Wonderful. I'll see you Saturday evening then. I'm afraid I have to run, was almost out the door when you called. Have a pleasant evening." <Polite, but not too forward, don't want to scare him into thinking this is some big seduction scene or something. Yeah, too right you don't. Just hold it together until you hang up.>
"Thanks again, Quinn. I'm looking forward to it."
"As am I. Good night, Ben." Quinn stood at the desk for several minutes after Ben hung up, listening to the dial tone and trying not to let his imagination run away with him. Suddenly he felt better than he had since, well, since Sunday morning. Whistling his favorite Irish rebel tune, he strolled out the door and waved to the janitor mopping the floors in the hallway. The old man waved back, grinning. "Have a nice night, Professor!"
"I intend to!"
Ben studied the array of wines on the shelves. Traditionally more of a beer drinker, he was bewildered by the colorful display. Chardonnay, Bordeaux, Riesling, Chablis, Merlot, Gew?rztraminer, Beaujolais, Pinot Noir. The decorative, wholly non-descriptive names made his head ache. He'd thought to bring a bottle of wine as a host gift, but what went best with spaghetti? A quick unobtrusive check on his smart phone: Chianti. Of course. But there were so many brands, most priced well above what he could afford.
He checked his wallet again and impulsively decided to splurge. He'd worry about details like rent and utilities later.
Quinn proudly surveyed his brownstone. The cleaning service had done an superlative job. Even the light bulbs in the fixtures were sparkling. He made a mental note to send Adele an appropriate thank-you for her recommendation. If the evening went as he hoped, he'd have to find her something really outstanding. That over-the-top clock she'd admired Sunday afternoon would be perfect, provided the shopkeep didn't call the cops on him. Might even be worth it at that.
He'd bought 650-count Egyptian cotton sheets and coordinating towels for the master bedroom, blithely ignoring his overstocked linen closet. The torn dressing gown had been replaced, along with a beautiful emerald silk right off the store mannequin. With Ben's auburn hair and leaf-green eyes, it should look sensational.
The local produce, however, proved to be a disappointment. Too late to change the menu: he'd specified spaghetti and his homemade spaghetti it would be, if he had to drive clear to Boston for the right ingredients.
There was a knock at the door. Puzzled, Ben went to open it.
"You Kensington?"
Ben nodded.
"Yer cab's here. Wan' me ta wait downstairs for ya?"
"I didn't call a cab..." Ben began uncertainly.
"Supposed to pick up a Ben Kensington at this address and bring him to-" The man consulted a paper in his hand. "13297 Eli Whitney Drive." He looked back up at Ben. "So, ya ready, or need me ta wait for ya?"
<'Transportation will be provided.'> "Give me just a moment and I'll be right down, thanks."
"You got it, buddy." The man turned and went back downstairs.
Ben combed his hair for the umpteenth time, gargled mouthwash, grabbed his jacket and the wine and locked the door behind him.
Quinn prowled the downstairs like a caged animal, glaring at his watch every minute or so. A fire was burning in the living room and soft jazz played on the stereo. Bernini, coat gleaming with good health and apricot conditioning shampoo, interestedly watched him pace from the safety of the hearth. Damn it, that cab should have been here by now.
He stirred the spaghetti sauce, then checked and rechecked his shirt for spatters and debated a quick change. Would the maroon button-down look better than the light blue? He'd already changed clothes three times. <Relax, bucko,> he told himself firmly, <it's just a casual dinner.>
The garlic bread was in the oven, the salad was crisp and colorful, and his special secret dressing was chilling in the refrigerator. Maybe he decided not to come after all? No, he said he'd love to come to dinner. <So where is he?>
He'd decided to use placemats and napkins instead of a tablecloth, to give the meal a more casual, intimate feel. Besides, spaghetti sauce would be a bitch to get out of Irish linen. The brass chandelier gave the dining room a warm glow, accenting the grain of the walnut furniture. He adjusted the dimmer switch, then changed his mind. He checked the glasses again for water marks, polished the flatware with a dish towel, refolded the napkins. A small dust spot on the drop-leaf table was carefully wiped off with the same cloth. He glanced again at the clock. 6:58 pm.
Damn, his palms were sweating again.
The cab pulled up to the curb. Ben tipped the driver, then slowly mounted the short steps and grasped the heavy claddagh door knocker. He hoped no one could hear his heart pounding in his chest. It sounded like thunder.
"Ah, Ben, good evening. Please come in," said his host, opening the door wide. Ben breathed in the well-remembered pipe tobacco, mixed with a spicy aroma wafting down the central hallway from the kitchen.
"Hi, Professor," he said, suddenly shy. <Oh man, he should wear blue all the time. Those eyes...> "I hope I'm not late."
"Right on time, to be sure. Everything's all ready. Let me take your coat."
"Thanks. I- I brought a bottle of wine, hope that was ok." He extended the paper bag, belatedly wishing he had at least thought to take it out of the paper bag first.
Donovan studied the label. "Excellent choice, Ben, thank you," he said approvingly. "Are you a wine connoisseur?"
"Definitely not," Ben laughed, relaxing. "But you said spaghetti and I figure you can't go wrong with Chianti, right?" The evening was definitely looking up.
"Too right, lad. We'll just open it and let it breathe a bit, shall we?" He hung Ben's jacket in the hall closet, then turned toward the kitchen at the rear of the house. Ben followed, stopping to pet Bernini, who ambled from the living room to greet him. The light from the big stone fireplace made the golden retriever's silky coat glow and brought back memories of another night, except that this time it wasn't raining.
The aromas coming from the kitchen were positively mouth-watering. A large red pot bubbled on the stovetop and Ben took an appreciative sniff as he entered. "It smells wonderful, sir. Thanks again for the invite."
Donovan carefully uncorked the wine and took glasses from an overhead cabinet. "My pleasure, Ben. I'm no great shakes of a cook, but I do enjoy good spaghetti. There's a salad and dressing in the refrigerator, would you just put them on the table? The pasta will be ready in a few minutes, and there's fresh garlic bread in the oven. Nothing fancy, but I hope you'll enjoy it." He carried wine and the glasses into the dining room. The deep voice drifted back to him, almost as an afterthought. "And Ben, it's 'Quinn,' not 'Professor' and certainly not 'sir.' No need to stand on formality." The lightly accented voice held a hint of laughter, and Ben grinned self-consciously. Old habits died hard. Then again, it wasn't as if they hadn't gotten awfully damned familiar the last time he was here!
Opening the refrigerator, he found a colorful tossed salad and a carafe of homemade dressing. His stomach rumbled approvingly and he blushed, hoping Donovan hadn't heard. A warm chuckle behind him confirmed his worst fears. "Glad to hear you brought your appetite, Ben. If you're hungry, then even if it's not perfect, it'll still taste good, right?"
"I'm sure it's delicious, Quinn," Ben said hastily, carrying the salad and the dressing into the dining room. Donovan followed with a basket of steaming garlic bread, then a platter of pasta and meatballs in a thick tomato sauce, which he placed between them on a colorful hot pad. Motioning Ben to sit, he extended his hand for his plate to serve him.
They ate hungrily, savoring the flavors and the company. Ben's Chianti perfectly complimented the entree, and they finished the bottle over toasted almond gelato for dessert. Quinn reminisced about his childhood in Northern Ireland and Ben told carefully edited stories of his college days. It was a comfortable, relaxed atmosphere and Ben wondered why he'd been so hesitant to accept the invitation.
He insisted on helping Quinn clean up, over his host's protests. Then they adjourned to the living room, where they made themselves comfortable before the fire. Quinn poured them each a small grappa before settling into his oversized leather armchair. Ben made himself comfortable on the couch opposite, while Bernini stretched out at his master's feet.
Quinn reached for his pipe. "So, Ben, how was your week?" he said offhandedly. "I didn't see much of you around campus."
"Oh, the usual, you know, putting out fires, finishing up the sound system in the auditorium," Ben replied. It seemed so long ago, another world. Another Ben, who would never have imagined himself a dinner guest of a department chairman in his home.
"I'm sure we keep you very busy. It must have been hard for you since Smitty retired. I've often wondered why they didn't replace him, get you some help." Quinn drew contentedly on his pipe, the flare from the bowl momentarily accenting his profile.
Ben tried not to stare, recalling Quinn in that same chair, in a plaid kilt and open-necked linen shirt. A Celtic king on his throne, his favorite hunting dog at his feet. A living portrait, preferably in oils. He reluctantly dragged his focus back to the question. Work. Right. "Oh, well, it's not so bad. I manage. Smitty taught me a lot when I came on board." He wasn't about to start complaining about problems at the school with one of its senior faculty! Sipping his grappa bought him a moment to compose himself. "Mmm, this is delicious. It's Italian, isn't it?"
Which brought to mind his costume from that night, the clumsy toga made from a Good Will bed sheet. He suddenly saw himself kneeling at King Quinn's feet, offering up an earthenware mug of strong spirits. Or Ganymede serving immortal Zeus, king of the gods. Hadn't Zeus abducted the young mortal and brought him to Mount Olympus to be his 'cupbearer,' roughly translated as his personal slave? The thought was oddly appealing-
"Yes, it is. I try to bring a few bottles back with me each year over the summer holiday." The words seemed to come from far away. "More?"
"No, thanks," Ben said quickly. "All that wine, now this. Goes to my head." The mother of all understatements.
Quinn nodded. "Yes, grappa does have a rather high alcohol content at that. Small doses are best." Oblivious to Ben's inner turmoil.
The conversation flowed easily from one topic to another. Quinn was a natural storyteller, well informed on a variety of subjects, and Ben enjoyed listening to him. Then, as Quinn rose to stir up the fire, he surreptitiously slid over a bit on the couch, hoping the implied invitation wouldn't go unnoticed.
Quinn rose from the hearth and turned toward him. "Warm enough?" The blue eyes seemed to glitter in the firelight and Ben flushed, feeling like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He nodded, then daringly patted the sofa cushion next to him, inwardly jubilant when Quinn accepted the invitation. One arm lay across the back of the sofa, fingers barely grazing the back of Ben's neck, tickling skin still sensitive from a fresh haircut that morning
"So..." Quinn said softly, apparently awaiting some sign from Ben as to how to proceed.
Ben found himself comparing Quinn's carefully restrained approach with that of his only other same-sex encounter. Garth had been a total asshole, he knew, but he'd been na?ve enough to believe that the upperclassman's boorish behavior that night had been the norm. When he'd panicked and run away, Garth had called him a loser, a fairy. Brian had branded him a "nancy boy." The hurtful labels had stuck like glue. He had felt dirty, perverted, afraid to let anyone get too close, for fear of having his "dirty little secret" exposed. "Walking wounded," people called it. Ha. More like dead man walking.
But sitting next to him now was the living personification of his every guilty romantic fantasy. He felt none of the shame and degradation that had dogged his heels since that awful night. This felt natural, right, inevitable. It couldn't be wrong, not with Quinn.
Ben turned slightly and felt the blunt fingers move with him, gently stroking his neck and shoulder. The touch was soft, intimate, and Ben fell into the crystal-blue gaze, even as he leaned into the caress. Quinn reached out to draw him nearer and Ben came willingly, sliding across the cushioned seat. His lips parted and Quinn met them with his own. The kiss was thoughtful, searching, layered with promise, and Ben sighed and closed his eyes as he pulled Quinn's head closer. The kiss deepened as they awkwardly embraced, and Ben felt himself melting under the gentle assault, penis stirring awake.
Quinn groaned his name, bearded lips grazing his cheek. Ben shivered at the desire in the gruff voice. It was thrilling to know he could compel that kind of longing in this man. He turned and Quinn eagerly met his kiss, tongue now roving Ben's mouth, setting his nerve endings on fire. Wow, could this guy kiss. For a moment Ben envisioned Adele Gauliere in Quinn's arms, but when Quinn's hand brushed against, then boldly grasped Ben's rapidly hardening sex through his trousers, the specter of the petite Frenchwoman smiled benignly and vanished. Quinn was clearly with him, not with Adele or any other woman. Any lingering doubts evaporated with her.
Quinn groaned again in Ben's ear, then unexpectedly eased away, a pained expression on his face. "What's wrong?" Ben asked breathlessly.
Quinn grimaced. "Nothing serious, love. Just a bit of a cramp in my knee. This couch really isn't designed for making out." He caressed Ben's cheek, then stood, visibly wincing. "Give me a moment?"
"Of course. Are you sure you're all right?" He really did look like he was in pain.
"Old tennis injury," Quinn said absently, carefully flexing the offended limb. "I fell during a rather fierce competition a few years back."
"Been there, done that. I played on my college team," Ben murmured sympathetically, trying not to stare at the bulge in the pleated trousers that mirrored his own simmering arousal.
"Did you now?" Quinn's eyes lit with enthusiasm. "We'll have to have a go of it sometime. The campus has an excellent court."
"I'd love to," Ben replied. "That is, if you're any good," he added teasingly, thinking to divert the older man from his discomfort.
"Comme ci, comme ca," Quinn said modestly. "Ah, yes, that's better," he added, cautiously putting weight on the leg, then straightening. He paused, then held out his hand. "Would you... ah... care to accompany me upstairs?"
<Hell, yes!> thought Ben, allowing Quinn to pull him to his feet and into his arms. They kissed again, hands roaming, then moved toward the stairs.
Quinn could hardly believe it when Ben invited him to join him on the couch. He had deliberately retreated to his easy chair after dinner, ceding to Ben the decision as to how the evening should progress. The younger man's scrutiny as he had lit his pipe had not gone unnoticed, nor had the slight tremble in the fingers that clutched his after-dinner drink. Was he, too, remembering the night of the party, when they had-
<No, stop right there, Quinn. Don't get ahead of yourself. You didn't ask him here tonight to trap him. Let him make up his own mind.>
Outwardly calm, he sat facing his guest and admired the highlights from the fire in the rich auburn hair. When his fingers casually grazed the back of Ben's neck, the younger man leaned into the touch, eyelids drooping pleasurably to half-mast. Quinn drew him into a loose embrace, delighting in the full lips that had haunted his dreams. Ben's mouth tasted of spaghetti sauce, wine and grappa, and Quinn's tongue roved its depths, even as a slow fire bloomed in his belly and below.
He nuzzled Ben's cheek and neck, breathing in the clean smell of shampoo and a tangy aftershave. "Ben..." he groaned against the soft skin, enjoying the silky texture of hair tickling his face. He stroked the younger man's back, offering comfort, pleasure, and Ben crept even closer, as if to burrow under Quinn's very skin. He allowed one hand to move down the taut ribcage, then found the swelling below that spoke volumes. Lightly brushing the back of his hand against Ben's crotch through his pants awarded him a low throaty moan. He squeezed the growing erection, feeling his own respond with gratifying enthusiasm. He was amazed once again at the physical impact this young man had on him.
A sudden cramp in his bad knee jolted him out of the pleasant interlude. He stifled a cry as he worked to straighten the offending joint. Ben drew back, frowning concernedly. "Quinn? What's wrong?"
Wonderful, Quinn growled to himself. Now he's going to think you're a doddering old fool, falling apart at the seams. "Nothing serious, love. Just a cramp. Give me a moment."
"Are you sure you're all right?" Ben started to rise even as Quinn stood and carefully flexed his right knee. He waved him back to his seat, trying to appear nonchalant. Trials and tribulations of being six-feet-four, he supposed. Most furniture, apart from his comfortably sprung leather chair, wasn't designed to accommodate his long legs. It was a nice vantage point, though. The younger man's flushed face and kiss-swollen lips were giving him all kinds of ideas.
He downplayed the old tennis injury, determined not to give any impression that he was, well, old. Certainly parts of him were feeling anything but right now. Ben commiserated, and Quinn was delighted to learn he also played. "We'll have to have a go sometime soon. The campus has an excellent court."
"I'd love to," Ben replied, then added, with an impudent grin, "That is, if you're any good."
<Cocky little bugger... Wonder how good you are? Just let him wonder for now.> Now again able to put weight on the injured leg, Quinn took a deep breath and held out his hand.
"Would you care to accompany me upstairs?"
When they reached the master bedroom, Quinn reached into the closet and drew out a large white box. "I hope you like it," he said simply, handing the box to Ben.
"For me?" Ben asked, surprised. "Why?" <Oh, way to go, Ben, that was rude.> "Sorry, I mean..."
Quinn shrugged, smiling. "No reason. Call it... wishful thinking. Go on, open it."
Ben carefully opened the box and found a dark green heavy silk robe. It was like nothing he'd ever seen. "Oh, wow..." He lifted it out of the tissue paper and held it up in front of himself, then looked up at Quinn. "Thank you," he breathed.
"Try it on," Quinn urged. "I'd love to see you in it." Ben grinned and headed for the bathroom, Quinn's indulgent chuckle in his ears.
The dressing gown fit perfectly and felt incredibly sensual against his bare skin. Ben stared at his reflection in the mirror. The robe was clearly expensive, well beyond his meager clothing budget. 'Wishful thinking,' Quinn had said. That Ben would stay the night? <Great minds...>
Searching through the pile of discarded clothing on the floor, he found the last-minute impulse purchase. Blushing at his own audacity, he dropped it into the pocket of the robe. Then he took a deep breath and slid off his briefs, now completely naked beneath the lush fabric. One last glance at the mirror, then he returned to the bedroom.
"I knew it," Quinn remarked when Ben emerged from the bathroom. "The color is perfect on you. Turns your eyes the same color. Beautiful." Ben preened in response.
"It's gorgeous, Quinn. I love it. Thank you." He could hardly contain his pleasure, both at the unexpected gift and the admiration in Quinn's eyes and voice.
"You're very welcome, Ben. Wear it with pleasure." His smile turned slightly predatory. "Or... not." He reached for the ties, then slowly peeled the robe off Ben's shoulders, letting it drop to the floor. His hot gaze slowly raked the naked, visibly aroused younger man from head to toe. "Magnificent," he breathed.
Ben smiled. "Yes, you are," he said softly. Stepping close, he reached up and touched Quinn's bearded jaw. "I love your beard. The way it makes you look so... so noble. Like a head on a coin. And the way it scratches... oh, yes..." he added breathlessly as the tall man nuzzled his neck. He tilted his head back, pretending to consider. "You know, you're a bit more... dressed than you should be about now. I want to see you. All of you."
Ever so slowly he unbuttoned Quinn's shirt, pulling it free from his trousers. He hardly believed his own daring, but if the heated look in those cerulean-blue eyes was any indication, he was doing everything right. Quinn's shirt fell away to reveal the broad chest Ben remembered. He lightly brushed the backs of his hands against the taut mahogany nipples, evoking a low moan that only heightened his desire to claim, to possess, to own.
Reaching down, he grasped the leather belt, slowly unbuckling it and pulling it free. The leather was soft and supple and for a brief moment Ben imagined it cracking the air like a whip over his head, or even across his own skin. Quinn holding a short leather leash, attached to a collar around Ben's own neck. His pulse quickened as erotic fantasies again danced through his mind and he struggled to concentrate on the task at hand.
Pressing a kiss to Quinn's belly, he slowly unzipped the trousers. "You really are gorgeous, Quinn," he whispered, pausing to look up into those incredible blue eyes again. "You take my breath away." His tongue curled into Quinn's navel and the hard stomach muscles convulsed, even as the heavy cock swelled and lifted inside the boxers. Ben felt again that odd sense of power, of control from their first night together when he had undressed Quinn in front of the fireplace. It was a heady feeling, like the brandy they had shared that night. Had it only been a week ago?
Quinn grasped Ben's shoulders and drew him back up and into his arms. "Ben... Ben," he muttered hungrily, rubbing his bearded jaw against Ben's naked shoulder and neck. Ben raised his head to meet his hard kiss, melting bonelessly into the embrace. This was what they both wanted, and each gave and took without reservation. Hands grasped, caressed, aroused, even as mouths swallowed each other's moans of pleasure and begged for more.
"Get naked. Now," Ben commanded when they finally broke apart.
"Yes, sir," Quinn growled softly, before stepping back to undo his pants and let them slide to the floor, along with his boxers. Ben's eyes feasted on the sight of the tall man standing proudly naked before him. So different from that ugly snatch-and-grope in the filthy back alley a lifetime ago. Garth had been all about ravaging, defiling and conquering. Quinn offered himself to Ben, giving him the choice of whether to accept. Ben instinctively knew that he could walk away at this very moment and Quinn would let him go without a protest. Yeah, no chance of that happening, he thought. He felt as if they had somehow been lovers for years. A lifetime. Many lifetimes.
Quinn unabashedly stared as Ben walked slowly toward him. The silk robe hung in graceful folds from the narrow shoulders, draping artistically over the slim form. The dull sheen of the material flowed like water when he moved. The naked lust in those green eyes was almost as arousing as the thought of the naked body below. Quinn was sharply reminded of their first time together, when Ben had morphed from a stumbling (quite literally) and uncertain lad into a seductive siren, after only one kiss. He wondered how he could possibly have thought he'd been abandoned after that first night.
His breath caught in his throat as Ben slowly turned in place, arms extended, inviting his inspection. The robe swirled gently around the bare thighs. Quinn was reminded of a Renaissance statue, cool marble but with an inner heat that made the temperature in the room rise several degrees. "I was right," he observed. "The color's perfect for you. Turns your eyes the same color. Beautiful."
Ben blushed pleasedly, running his hands over the material. "It's gorgeous, Quinn. I love it. Thank you." Green eyes glowed like lanterns in the light of the bedside table lamp.
"You're very welcome, Ben. Wear it with pleasure." It was an effort to even speak, to keep himself from crushing the smaller man against him. Slowly, he told himself firmly. <Go slow. Let him come to you.>
Quinn reached for the silk ties, eyes on Ben's face, alert for any sign of reluctance. Finding only sweet eagerness, he slowly peeled the robe off Ben's shoulders, letting it drop to the floor. "Magnificent," he breathed. <And mine for the taking,> he added silently. <Unbelievably, unmistakably mine.>
Almost as if reading his mind, Ben gave him a seductive smile. "You know, you're a bit more... dressed than you should be about now." He reached for Quinn's shirt buttons, lightly caressing his chest before moving on to his belt and trousers. Quinn thrilled to the intimate contact, bending to nuzzle the soft skin where neck met shoulder, then covering Ben's lips once again with his own as the younger man stepped fully into his embrace.
"Get naked. Now."
The throaty command sent a bolt of desire straight to Quinn's groin, and he obeyed with alacrity. Stepping free of his clothing, he drank in the younger man's obvious pleasure in him, while his mind catalogued every nuance of the equally naked and blatantly aroused Ben before him. A marble statue indeed, now magically come to life.
He held out a hand, somewhat surprised that it didn't shake, and Ben came to him without hesitation, pressing his entire body against him. They hit the side of the bed, overbalanced and fell backward onto the mattress.
The two men tumbled together onto the king-sized bed. The sensation of skin on skin, practically from head to toe, sharply escalated Ben's desire. Any lingering doubts vanished as he lay within the warm circle of Quinn's arms and felt the answering hot arousal along his belly. "Want you," he muttered into the broad chest. "Want you inside me." He squirmed against Quinn's erect cock, feeling the older man shudder at the sensation.
"Slow down, lad," Quinn admonished. "We have all night. And we shouldn't rush into anything."
Ben sat up, stricken. "You- you mean- you don't-" <What the hell?>
"Of course I do," Quinn hastily reassured him. "But I also want very much not to hurt you." He cupped Ben's hot cheeks and pulled him down for a long kiss. "Ben," he said slowly, "I don't know how much experience you have in such matters - it's none of my business. But our somewhat - disparate -- physical differences must be taken into consideration."
Ben's anxiety was momentarily blunted by amusement at the stiff, even prudish explanation. To say Quinn was "well endowed" was an understatement. Ben remembered all too well the strain in his jaws the morning after their first encounter. Well, if tiny Adele Gauliere could handle it, then Ben Kensington could, too.
Quinn kissed him again, deliberately, lingeringly. "Ben, I would love nothing better than to make love to you tonight, to be inside you, but we will go slowly. Or we will not go at all. Understood?" His tone brooked no argument, and Ben grudgingly agreed.
Quinn was relieved when Ben didn't argue with him. While he understood in theory what was supposed to happen sexually between two men, the reality was considerably less clear. Given his area of academic expertise, the last thing he could afford right now was to appear foolish. And he did have serious concerns about hurting Ben. Crudely put, he was "hung like a horse." Admittedly, most men would have been given everything they owned to have his problem. But it was a mixed blessing, to say the least.
As he was grappling with his predicament, the younger man began teasing his nipples, nuzzling his neck and chest, all the while glancing up through impossibly long eyelashes and weighing the impact of his every move. Quinn grabbed a handful of the russet hair and yanked, causing Ben to yelp, but he got his point across: behave or begone.
Ben pouted, then resumed a leisurely track down Quinn's body, mapping each angle and curve, much as he had done that first night in the living room. Except thankfully this time Quinn didn't have to worry about falling down. He lay back against the pillows, floating on a cloud of pure sensation. He tried to pay close attention to Ben's ministrations in order to return the favor in kind, but it was getting harder and harder to concentrate before the assault on his senses.
Ben sucked on his toes, nuzzled his insteps, then his ankles and back again. He certainly seemed to be enjoying himself. Who knew feet could have so many erogenous zones? Soft nips and kisses up the insides of the calves, then a surprisingly agile tongue circled his kneecaps, gently licking the long surgical scar on the right, before moving up the insides of the thighs, teasing and tickling. Quinn's cock enthusiastically welcomed him closer, nudging the top of Ben's head as he approached. Then he felt the first darting touches of a wet tongue on the very tip, hands reaching to steady it as a warm mouth slowly engulfed the head, teeth lightly grazing the underside.
Quinn could hardly breathe. There was a roaring in his ears. While he couldn't actually see what was happening, just the idea of a naked Ben lying between his parted legs, using hands and mouth to pleasure him was enough to drive him insane. Dignity forsaken in the passion of the moment, he moaned out loud as Ben's teeth found a particularly sensitive spot. Naturally, the sound only made Ben return to that spot again and again, clearly determined to murder him with pleasure.
"Ben," he gasped, "please- I can't- Ben," whimpering. "Stop, please, lad. I- can't- hold back- much-" Words failed him, as he felt his climax quickly building.
Ben abruptly ceased his ministrations and Quinn felt strangely bereft at the loss of contact. Then he felt something cool and wet being carefully applied to his length. Struggling to sit up, he stared, mesmerized, as Ben squeezed a gel from a small tube onto his fingers, then carefully smoothed it along Quinn's aching cock. Ben glanced up and saw him watching and grinned, holding up the tube. "I, um, brought it with me. Just in case we... you know..."
"Very resourceful," Quinn murmured approvingly, lying back against the pillows and making a mental note to buy a case of whatever it was Ben was using on him. A corner of his scientist's brain automatically catalogued the likely ingredients and their properties. He desperately tried to remember any of the on-line research he had embarrassedly read on male-male sex after their first encounter, but it was becoming impossible to think clearly. He couldn't remember the last time he had wanted anyone - man or woman -- as badly as he wanted Ben in that moment. As in so many things in life, the anticipation was every bit as pleasurable as the final consummation.
But what if the extra lubrication still wasn't enough? Fixating on the problem, he knew, could lead to other problems, and the last thing they needed was for Ben to think that Quinn had suddenly lost interest. "Ben," he murmured, reaching down to touch Ben's head, to draw his attention. "Stop a moment, please. Give an old man a break, eh?" He hardly recognized the sound of his own voice.
Ben sat up again. "What's wrong, Quinn?" he asked softly, caressing Quinn's hip. Even that simple comforting gesture set Quinn's cock twitching.
"Nothing's wrong, I just... let's just... savor the moment, shall we? We have all night." It sounded lame even to him and he reached out, inviting Ben to lie beside him. Ben complied, dropping soft kisses along his shoulder and chest. Quinn murmured appreciatively and pulled him closer, enfolding him in his embrace. The lad was like hot liquid silver in his arms.
They lay quietly for a minute or two as Quinn wrestled with his thoughts. Why the devil had he chosen botany over human physiology for his graduate studies? He clasped Ben's hand in his own, feeling the slick emollient on the fingertips, and raised it to the light, studying the long fingers, the elegant slim wrists. "What is this stuff?" he asked absently.
"Lube. Lubricant. It's supposed to help with... you know. Penetration." Ben didn't seem concerned - or even particularly surprised -- at Quinn's lack of knowledge on the subject. At least he wasn't laughing at him.
"Ah. Very good idea. But speaking from a purely anatomical point of view, it seems to me that even that may not be... sufficient." He stroked Ben's cheek even as he struggled to put his thoughts into words. "Ben, nothing would please me more right now than to ravage you into oblivion, but I- I'm afraid of hurting you. I do not cotton to pain, either in the giving or receiving. Can you understand?" His voice and his erection momentarily wavered and he felt the hot embarrassment color his neck and face.
Ben raised his head and smiled. "Of course, Quinn. I know it's not going to be easy, and yeah, it might hurt some at first, but I'm not afraid. You're- we're worth it. Quinn's hips arched reflexively as Ben gently squeezed his cock. He tried to remember how to breathe in that moment. The look of absolute trust in Ben's green eyes humbled him, even as the thought of fully possessing that beautiful body overrode his preternatural fears. He groped for Ben's other hand, the one holding the tube, and Ben handed it to him, with a deep kiss. Then he slowly twisted around to face the foot of the bed, exposing his shapely rear, and reached back for Quinn's hand, awkwardly guiding it to his entrance.
Swallowing hard, Quinn carefully parted the smooth cheeks to reveal the puckered anal rosebud. It looked so small, so defenseless, and he quailed again at the thought of trying to force something the size of his own penis into it. <Impossible, he thought, absolutely impossible. Highly improbable, at best.> He gingerly touched the opening with his fingertips and Ben quivered, murmuring encouragement as he drew his knees up into a fetal position, offering himself to his lover's touch. "Go on, Quinn," he urged softly, "keep going. It feels good. Don't stop."
Quinn liberally applied gel to his thick blunt fingers and stroked the sensitive skin. He could feel Ben bearing down, consciously trying to relax his muscles to allow him room to maneuver, and caressed the smooth globes as he debated how best to proceed. Slowly, ever so carefully he inserted the tip of one finger into the taut opening, enthralled when Ben groaned and pressed back against his hand, seeking more. <So hot, so tight...>
Gradually, as his confidence grew and as Ben continued to urge him on, Quinn let first one finger, then two slide in and out of Ben's opening, grinning broadly when he hit the prostate and Ben bucked upward and cried out in surprised delight. Oh yes, definitely a good sign. His own cock enthusiastically bobbed, begging to join the party.
After several minutes, Ben carefully moved away from the encroaching fingers, then straddled Quinn's prone body, staring deeply into his eyes. Reaching back, he grasped Quinn's straining member and guided it toward himself, hissing as the head slowly penetrated the thick ring of muscle. The feeling was electrifying and Quinn fought to remain still, clenching his fists into the sheets and holding his breath, forcing himself to let Ben to find his own comfort level. He'd never have imagined anything could feel that good: tight, hot, arousing him even further (if that was even possible) but simultaneously keeping him from coming. <Something to be said for gravity,> the scientist whispered in his head and he almost laughed out loud, then told his inner biologist to shut up and take the night off.
Ben moved judiciously atop him and Quinn tried to imagine what the smaller man was feeling at that moment, what he would feel if something the size of his own cock was inside him. Sex with Adele was pleasurable, to be sure, but seldom passionate. She was an adorable confection, a loving and adroit bed partner, but his self-imposed restraint tended to result in a mutual pleasuring rather than actual intercourse. He longed for a partner with whom he could release his inhibitions and love without reservation.
But now... If his rapid breathing and throaty moans were any indication, Ben was loving having Quinn inside him every bit as much as he was. Quinn reached up to stroke Ben's cheek and the green eyes opened, gazing down at him in triumph. Quinn's grin was every bit as big. They'd done it!
"Ooooh," Ben whispered as he shifted slightly, sending sparks up and down Quinn's nerve endings. "Oh, wow. It's incredible..." Quinn wholeheartedly agreed, then reflexively arched upward as Ben began to slowly slide up and down, gradually increasing the tempo as he gained confidence, his moans echoing Quinn's own as their excitement mounted again.
An eternity or a minute later Quinn's climax hit him hard and he urgently gripped Ben's hips as he came deep inside him. Ben's climax followed quickly, then he collapsed on top of Quinn's prone body, both men sweating and panting for breath. They lay quiescent for a few moments, then Quinn reached up to touch Ben's face. "Are you all right?" he asked softly.
"Mm hmm," came the dreamy reply. "Terrific. You?"
"Yes," was all Quinn could manage in that moment.
A few moments later, Ben lazily sat up. "Stay there," he whispered. "I'll be right back." Quinn wanted to protest his leaving the bed, but couldn't find the energy. He vaguely heard water running in the bathroom, then a warm washcloth gently wiped his chest, stomach and genitals. It was so soothing, he felt like purring. Ben's indulgent chuckle came from somewhere near his hip. "Like that? Thought you might." A soft kiss to his hipbone, then Ben climbed back onto the bed and settled in the curve of Quinn's arm, head nestled on his shoulder.
Ben's fingers drowsily tangled in Quinn's chest hairs as he listened to the steady, comforting heartbeat. He knew he'd be uncomfortable come morning, but it had been so worth it. He felt none of the fear, the shame and disgust after Garth's assault. Quinn was a generous, exceptionally self-controlled lover, flatly refusing to take any chances if Ben wasn't wholly with him. He felt cherished, desired. Even loved.
Step by step, Ben retraced the events of the incredible evening, committing them irrevocably to memory. His mental journey hit an emotional speed bump when he recalled the vulnerability in Quinn's voice as he'd tried to explain his reluctance to cause Ben any pain. Strange that Quinn had focused so much more on Ben's well-being than on his own pleasure. Post-coital reverie notwithstanding, that same fierce defensive instinct he'd felt when he'd confronted Adele in her office washed over him again. Poor Quinn... so eager to love, but always afraid of intimidating those to whom he wished only to be close. Adele's comment about "protecting" him suddenly made sense: she recognized the same fragility in him that Ben did. Strange allies, united in a common desire. One corner of his mouth lifted, all he could manage of an ironic grin...
He drowsed in the pleasure of Quinn's warmth, tucking his new-found insight into a corner of his mind. He'd happily safeguard Quinn's heart if Quinn could be convinced to let him in.
Quinn idly caressed Ben's hand where it lay on his chest. "My beautiful Sebastian," he murmured, eyes half closed, a soft smile playing on his lips.
Ben stirred. "Sebastian?" he said slowly, raising his head. Had Quinn just called him by another man's name? Who the hell was Sebastian? And what was he to Quinn?
Quinn blinked. "Did I say that out loud?" He frowned, as if trying to collect his thoughts. "I'm sorry, Ben, didn't mean to wake you. I was just thinking how much you remind me of Saint Sebastian. He was a very popular subject during the Baroque period, you know. Artists would have fought to have you model for them." He smiled reassuringly, but Ben heard the chagrin in his voice at the faux pas. He decided to humor him.
"A saint. I remind you of a saint. With halos and robes and harps and stuff? Now? After what we just did? Hmmm, not quite sure how to take that," he said teasingly, propping himself on an elbow. Who would have thought this handsome "egghead" of a biology professor had a thing for art? No wonder Quinn had so much trouble with computers and all things electrical - he'd been born in the wrong century! It explained a lot.
Quinn sat up. "Let me show you." He rose from the rumpled bed and began searching among the books stacked haphazardly in a corner. "Ah, here we are," he said enthusiastically, apparently oblivious to his own nudity, even as "Professor Donovan" clearly came to the fore. Intrigued, Ben obediently sat up to look over Quinn's shoulder at the big art book reverently held in the large hands.
Those hands... strong fingers, supple wrists... <Oh yeah, book. Art book. Right. In Quinn's hands... shit, Ben, get a grip! Yeah, I'd like to get a grip, all right, and not just on that book...>
"Such an exquisite subject, so eternal, so picturesque," Quinn began, already warming to the subject. "Now you must remember, the real St Sebastian, the patron saint of soldiers and athletes, was actually a member of the Roman Praetorian Guard, and much older than what you see here. But he's usually portrayed as a beautiful youth, indicative of the style of the period. See the arrows? This is a typical romanticized rendering of his martyrdom. Though he didn't actually die from being shot with those arrows at all." He paused, considering. "Well, he was shot with arrows and left for dead, but he survived. And then later on he was clubbed to death by order of the Emperor for converting people to Christianity, and-"
Catching Ben's bemused expression, he paused, animation fading from his eyes. "I'm sorry, Ben. I just ramble on and end up boring people to tears. I can't seem to help myself. You probably couldn't care less about a man who died centuries ago and who doubtless never looked anything remotely like this, even when he was young. Undoubtedly hairy, with lice and warts and halitosis and God alone knows what else." He grimaced and moved to set the book aside, but Ben stopped him with a gentle kiss to his shoulder.
"No, it's ok, Quinn, really, it's, it's... interesting. Motivating. I just wanted to be sure we were talking about" - he indicated the open book on Quinn's bare lap - "him, and not somebody else you were wishing was here. Instead of me, I mean." He touched the color plate illustration and added, smiling, "I don't think I mind being compared to this guy, not when he gets you that worked up anyway." He grinned. Art history books as pornography. The man sure as hell didn't need any help in that department.
"A poor substitute, my beautiful Benjamin, I assure you, once one has beheld the real thing," Quinn said fervently. Carefully laying the book on the bedside table, he turned to take the younger man once again in his arms. Legs tangled together, they sank back into the warm bed.
Ben yawned and stretched as he watched Quinn pull on a running suit, while Bernini whined impatiently for his morning walk. Watching Quinn get dressed was almost as inspiring as undressing him, especially when the older man gave him that sexy grin as he slid into the pants. Ben sat up against the pillows and unabashedly enjoyed the show, but made no attempt to leave the warm bed.
"I shouldn't be long," Quinn said, adroitly sidestepping the excited dog. "He's usually good about getting his business done quickly." He detoured on his way to the door for a lingering kiss. "You might look in the second dresser drawer. I took the liberty of picking you up a change of clothes." He gave Ben a lopsided smile. "I know I probably shouldn't have presumed, but after the last time..."
Ben laughed out loud, then tried not to wince when certain muscles protested the sudden movement. "Don't remind me! You can't imagine the strange looks I got coming back to my apartment Sunday morning in that damned toga and sandals." He gave an ironic grin of his own. "I brought clean underwear and a toothbrush with me. You know, just in case. They're in my jacket downstairs."
Quinn blinked, then leaned against the doorframe and let out the engaging full-bellied laugh Ben remembered. Bernini barked happily in counterpoint to his master's amusement. "Ben, you are an unending source of delight, truly," Quinn gasped out after a moment. "I can see we're going to have a most interesting and entertaining time of it." He continued to chuckle as he headed down the stairs, Bernini at his heels.
Ben waited until he heard the front door close, then gingerly got out of bed and headed for the bathroom. Quinn had been exceptionally conscientious last night, but he'd have been surprised not to feel something afterward. Especially considering what had been inside him. He luxuriated in a long hot shower, then shaved and brushed his teeth with the new toiletries Quinn had left out for him. The spicy aftershave made his skin tingle pleasantly and he made a mental note to get some for his apartment, maybe even the matching cologne. And definitely more lube.
In the dresser drawer, he found a pair of stonewashed jeans, a green-and-blue-striped button-down shirt, cordovan leather belt, even new socks and underwear. The cashmere pullover sweater was unlike anything Ben had ever felt. He admired his reflection in the full-length mirror on one of the closet doors. Wow, Quinn really had an eye for color and design, probably from studying all those art books. He was easily wearing better than a month's salary. And he could only guess at the cost of the silk dressing gown at the foot of the bed. Ben wasn't really sure if he should be accepting such expensive gifts, but he hated to hurt Quinn's feelings. Well, he'd deal with that later.
Carefully hanging up the green robe next to Quinn's navy paisley on the back of the bathroom door, he ran a hand through his damp hair, then ambled down the stairs.
Ben curiously explored the downstairs of the brownstone while he waited for Quinn and Bernini to return. An Academy professor was obviously paid more than a lowly IT guy, but Ben doubted even a tenured department chairman could afford this place without some other source of income. Maybe he played the stock market.
Once again he was struck by the tasteful simplicity of the eclectic furnishings. Antiques (undoubtedly authentic, even to his untrained eye) mixed pleasingly with the big leather chair and comfortable sofa near the wide fieldstone fireplace. Adele had said Quinn enjoyed things with a story behind them, such as the wooden mantel salvaged from a demolition site in Tuscany. Ben suspected the majority of the furniture had been similarly "rescued." The effect contrasted sharply with Adele's formal, probably professionally decorated home. This place might never be featured in Architectural Digest, but it was an appealing blend of resolute individuality and anarchic structure, if there was such a thing. Rather like Quinn himself: defiantly idiosyncratic, but with an innate dignity that commanded respect.
The dining room's bow window faced the intersecting street of the big corner lot. Ben recalled stories of intimate dinner parties hosted by the biology department chairman during Graduation Week. Apparently it was something of an annual event, by invitation only. He wondered if Adele served as hostess. The thought probably should have bothered him, but it seemed oddly unimportant at the moment.
The study at the rear of the house was dominated by a handsome wooden desk, its navy leather top safeguarded by thick beveled glass. Diplomas and certificates lined one wall and Ben saw that Quinn was himself a summa cum laude graduate of the Academy. Somehow he'd have expected nothing less. And he had received his doctorate from Cambridge, impressive. The framed photo next to the diploma had to be Quinn's parents, judging from the strong resemblance. They looked so proud, gazing up at their tall son in his cap and gown. He wondered if there were any siblings.
Ben studied a picture of a jubilant Quinn and Mark Winters in sweaty tennis whites, hefting a doubles trophy. Quinn's right knee was hideously swollen and discolored above an Ace bandage and he leaned heavily on Winters for support. This had to have been the tournament Quinn had mentioned last night. Hopefully the injury hadn't come from an ill-advised victory leap over the net. If the photo was any indication, he'd be a formidable opponent. Given his impulsive challenge last night, Ben would do well to get in some practice.
Studying the room from an ergonomic point of view, Ben frowned. Did Quinn rely on just that ugly overhead fixture for light? Bet he got killer headaches from eye strain. No wonder he wore reading glasses. Then again, that boat anchor of a monitor and full-sized keyboard didn't leave a lot of room. Track lighting over the desk would really help open up those shadows. At least he'd had the presence of mind to put the ancient tower CPU on the floor. And holy crow, a dot matrix printer! Did they even make tractor-feed paper anymore? Not to mention drivers for that relic. The thing belonged in a museum. He took a closer look and saw it was unplugged. Yeah, probably hadn't been used in a while.
With a high-speed laptop, a flat-screen monitor and a color laser all-in-one printer he'd have more than enough room to spread out. Surely the Academy could afford to upgrade their biology chairman's home office. He must already have an Internet connection, or he couldn't access the campus server. A wireless router would be ideal-
Ben drew himself up short. He was doing it again, rearranging Quinn's home like he was moving in! A week ago he had mentally converted the living room into a state-of-the-art home theatre, now it was the study. True, the place was a target-rich environment begging for a technological makeover, but it was not his house, much as he might secretly like it to be. With one last glance, he resolutely returned to the kitchen to put on a pot of tea.
Quinn and Bernini returned to the brownstone after about an hour. The morning was unseasonably warm and clear, so they enjoyed a leisurely breakfast in the walled-in wraparound garden at the rear of the house. Ben particularly liked the free-form stone fountain in the far corner, which Bernini and several squirrels treated as a communal source of drinking water. High walls of the same stone were banked with bushes and vines. A wrought-iron table and chairs sat invitingly under a large shade tree, whose autumn colors glowed in the morning sun.
Outside the kitchen door were the remains of a fair-sized vegetable garden. Quinn explained that his background in botany led him to prefer home-grown vegetables to those available in the grocery stores. Having spent countless hours weeding and tending his mother's plantings growing up, Ben fully appreciated the sentiment.
"That salad last night didn't come from there, though," Ben observed. "Too late in the year."
Quinn's lips twitched under his moustache. "True, but the Academy has a greenhouse. I just, ah, helped myself to a few specimens. A couple of my Advanced Botany students might come up a bit short on their mid-semester assessment, but I think they'll manage to scrape by." He shrugged philosophically. "C'est la vie."
Ben chortled at the thought of Quinn sneaking into the Academy greenhouse in the dead of night, pilfering his own students' experimental vegetables just so he could make him a spaghetti dinner. "What if the campus police had caught you?" he sputtered.
Quinn laughed with him, then reached for Ben's hand across the table. "A small price to pay, Ben, and worth every penny, to be sure." He kissed the palm and closed Ben's fingers over it. Ben felt the blood rush simultaneously to his face and his groin at the intimate gesture.
"So... where do we go from here?" he asked, as Quinn released his hand and picked up his tea cup.
"Excellent question," Quinn mused. "I suppose it might be a good idea to first consider where we have been." He glanced up, then back at the table, cheeks coloring above the neat beard. "This is something of a... first for me."
"Me, too," Ben smiled, a bit self-consciously. "I mean, when you offered me that ride home from the party, all I thought about was getting home and going to bed. My own bed. Instead, I wound up having amazing sex with an Academy professor in this great house, and..."
Quinn chuckled dryly. "Yes, I see the problem." A squirrel scolded from a high branch and Bernini briefly looked up from next to Ben's chair.
"What about Professor Gauliere?" Ben asked softly after a few moments. Even after Adele had assured him that she and Quinn were not a "couple," even after the shared passion of the night before, he still needed to hear it from Quinn himself.
"Adele? What about her?"
Ben nodded. "Yes, Adele Gauliere. Blonde, very pretty, about so tall? Teaches French? Your... fianc?e?"
Quinn shook his head in wry amusement. "Ben, shame on you. You've been listening to the campus gossip. Adele and I are very close friends, have been for a number of years, ever since she came to the Academy. Yes, yes, I know," he held up a hand to stop Ben's protests, "everyone has us picking out china patterns, or worse. I've heard the stories. That's all they are, stories." Then, seeing Ben's pained look, he quickly sobered again. "Ben, Adele is no threat to you, I promise."
With appealing candor, he explained his pleasure in squiring the petite Parisienne to campus events, gallery openings, the theatre, knowing any man would have traded places with him in a heartbeat. She was witty, glamorous and beautiful, the epitome of womanhood, but the wee vixen positively delighted in encouraging the most outrageous campus whispers about the two of them. It was harmless and really rather flattering, to his way of thinking. They enjoyed each other and the rest of the world was welcome to speculate on the exact status of their relationship at its leisure.
But over the last several months, Quinn continued pensively, he had begun dreaming of hair the color of a summer sunset, of changeable green eyes and full sculpted lips on a lean, strong face with a slight cleft chin. He had wanted to believe it was just another manifestation of his growing appreciation of the human form in fine art, like Michelangelo's David or a Botticelli angel, something to be admired in a purely artistic sense, nothing more. But after the night of the party, he'd had to admit he had been deluding himself.
Ben wanted badly to believe him. Quinn certainly sounded sincere. And last night...
Sensing his disquiet, Quinn spoke softly. "Go on, Ben. Ask me anything. I won't lie to you."
Ben took a deep breath. "The picture," he said simply, staring into the blue eyes. "In the living room."
Quinn nodded. A small birthday dinner in Adele's honor last year. She had looked particularly beautiful that night, and a guest had taken several pictures of her during the evening, jokingly suggesting that she could have a whole new career as a professional model. She had requested a picture of the two of them, which she had framed and presented to him on his birthday later that year.
"She is very dear to me, Ben, I make no apologies for that," he said firmly. "But as a friend, a close, intimate friend. Human nature being what it is, rumors have inevitably sprung up about us. Adele is a loving, gracious and caring soul, and I count myself exceedingly fortunate to have her in my life. That she holds me in high esteem as well is a blessing for which I thank God every day of my life."
It should have been enough. Though Adele had tacitly acknowledged that she and Quinn had been casual lovers, it would be rude to bring the subject up right now. Then he remembered the 'biology lesson.' It seemed highly improbable now, but still...
"There are a lot of rumors floating around campus about the two of you," Ben said slowly.
Quinn nodded. Common knowledge.
"Are they... just rumors?"
Quinn sighed in mock resignation and rolled his eyes. "What have you heard?"
"Well, there is one in particular that's been making the rounds lately," Ben said hesitantly. <I can't believe we're even having this conversation,> he thought.
"Ben, are you blushing? It must be truly salacious. I can hardly wait."
"They're saying you and she hosted a... private seminar of sorts recently, off campus. On biology. Human biology."
Quinn's eyebrows climbed toward his hairline. "Really? I hadn't heard that one. And when was this... 'seminar,' exactly?" The blue eyes danced with barely suppressed mirth.
"Um, about a month ago, I think. You were both away from campus for a few days?"
Quinn thought back for a moment. "Oh yes, that mind-numbing biology colloquium in Philadelphia. Adele accompanied me, but she spent her time combing the antique shops and clothiers. She found a pair of tea tables she liked and we tag-teamed the shopkeep on the trip home. He caved like a house of cards. Never knew what hit him." He rose to his feet. "More tea? No? Back in a moment." He strolled toward the kitchen, cup in hand, and Ben could hear him chuckling to himself. "... seminars on human biology, what will they think of next? Probably be after me again to teach sex education classes, seeing as how I'm apparently the de facto 'campus expert' on the subject..."
Ben grinned, strangely relieved. "If they only knew," he murmured, leaning down to pet Bernini. The dog rose and bowed in an invitation to play. Ben stood and the dog dashed away, then turned and barked excitedly as Ben tossed a ball to him.
<I could be happy here,> he mused to himself. The idea somehow didn't seem that farfetched anymore.
Quinn returned moments later, fresh cup of tea in hand, along with a plate of sliced fruit, which he set between them on the table. Tossing a biscuit to the dog, he said quietly, "Ben, you should know that it was Adele's idea that I drive you home after the party. I don't know that she exactly foresaw how the evening ended, but the French do love to see couples come together." He idly waved a hand in the air. "Vive l'amour."
Ben was dumbstruck. Quinn was so calm, almost ironic. The blue eyes regarded him warmly and Ben's heart skipped a beat. He loved Quinn's eyes. "Why would she think you'd want to be alone with me?"
Quinn smiled. "Because, my dear Benjamin, she picked up on my... interest... almost from the start, even before I could bring myself to recognize it for what it was. I only knew that, apart from her, I had heretofore had little interest in the company of women. They simply held no allure for me. I can fully appreciate the beauty of the female form, but frankly, it doesn't keep me up nights." He sipped his tea. "Even in my youth, girls weren't a high priority. I was a dedicated student, and resented anything or anyone that took me from my schooling. I must have been an insufferable prig." He shrugged self-deprecatingly. "Oh, I dated now and again, when I couldn't get out of it, but it never amounted to anything. Though there was one rather cheeky debutante from Bryn Mawr... well, never mind." He smiled again. "I just told myself I had a low sex drive and was grateful that I needn't worry about marrying for money or position."
Ben nodded. "You went to the Academy, didn't you?" Of course he had; Ben had seen the diploma in the study. And that offhand reference to "money or position" confirmed that Quinn probably didn't have to rely on his teaching salary to survive.
"Yes, I'm a graduate of the Academy. And once I received my doctorate, I was invited back here to teach. The majority of my students have been receptive to my offerings over the years, and I have a good life." He sipped his tea. "But something was still lacking, something I didn't want to examine too closely, as it might prove... inconvenient."
<That's putting it mildly,> thought Ben. "And what was that?" Knowing the answer already, but needing to hear it.
"You." It was said simply, but with a heartfelt intensity that took Ben's breath away.
Quinn rose and walked around the table, his expression as gentle as the big hand that reached out to stroke Ben's hair. The intimate touch made Ben shiver, even as he leaned into it. Quinn crouched down beside his chair, so that they were eye to eye.
"Ben," he said softly, "I know we've not had much time to get to know one another, and we should probably not rush into anything, but can we perhaps start again, take things slowly and see what happens? Admittedly there will be problems and issues to deal with, and maybe it won't work out for us. But there's good reason to try."
The smile on the younger man's face was like the sun coming out from behind a cloud.
~the end~
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