Don't Read in the Closet volume one (49 page)

But all Ben
could hear were the words that would have come next.

You
are my lover, you're my best friend.

For sixteen
years, he and Duke had been best friends. And ever since he'd known what lovers
were, he'd wanted them to be that, too.

"Thanks,
man," Duke croaked.

"No
problem. You know I hate Rod Stewart."

Well, he
certainly hated him, now.

The walk from
the car to Ben's house went more or less the same way the walk from the bar
had, Duke's body pressed against Ben's side, his steps uncertain. Inside, Ben
didn't bother to turn on the lights; the glow from the open blinds was enough.
Walking past his own bedroom door, Ben felt a low pang of longing. It was so
easy to imagine everything being different. That Duke was here because he
wanted to be, and not just because it didn't smell like his ex.

It would be so
good to fall asleep in strong, warm arms.

Sighing, Ben
kept walking, though, pushing open the door to the spare room Duke had slept in
so many times before. "There you go," he said as he lowered his
friend's body down onto the mattress, already preparing himself to step away.
To go to bed and sleep alone.

Only it didn't
quite work out that way. Duke didn't let go, or the booze made him fall. Or
maybe both. Somehow, for an instant, Ben ended up on top of him, lying there on
the bed, their whole bodies aligned.

Even drunk and
angry, he smelled so good.

Ben couldn't
quite suppress the low groan at the feeling of being pressed against the length
of Duke's frame, and his body was quickly responding. Realizing he was still
lying there on top of him, his surprise and pleasure paralyzing him, Ben
scrambled, trying to think of the right words to say and trying to find the
will to push himself away.

"Oops,"
Duke said, laughing.

It was the
splash of cold water Ben had needed. Reminding himself that, in Duke's eyes at
least, this was just a mistake, Ben pushed himself up. But as he did, he
imagined he felt Duke's hand on his waist, holding him there for a second as
his eyes closed.

Ben tore
himself away from both the heat of Duke's body and the warmth of the dream.
"I'm sorry," he muttered gruffly as he regained his feet.

"S'okay."

"Good
night, Duke."

"G'night,
Ben."

Ben made it all
the way to the doorway before turning to look back. Duke's eyes were already
closed, his body sprawled across the bed, his arms and legs spread wide. Even
in his sleep, his hand twitched, and Ben could almost feel it again. He could
taste the memory of a willing touch.

But it wasn't
meant for him. Not really.

Finally, he
closed the door. And then he slunk off to his own bed. Alone.

For the longest
time, Ben lay there, tossing and turning. There was something restless to him,
and he didn't know if it was just Duke being single again or if it was
something more. If it was all the little teasing touches and the words that
were begging to have more read into them.

All the years
he'd spent now, loving and wanting.

Ben and Duke
had met when they were twelve. It had been their first Little League practice,
and Ben had been new to town. Back then he'd been
scrawny,
the blond hair he now kept cropped close to his skull a curly mess. His mother
had called him sensitive. His father had called him much worse.

At first, he'd
been afraid to talk
to
much of anyone. He'd already
noticed the way the sight of other boys made his throat go dry, and seeing them
engaged in physical activity made it all even worse. Then, in a moment of
distraction, he'd heard people calling to him, and he'd looked up to find a
baseball hurtling toward him. Just as it had been about to make impact with his
nose, he'd felt another body collide with his, sending them both tumbling to
the ground.

Over and over,
Ben had apologized for not paying attention, but the dark-haired boy with the
beautiful smile had told him it was no big deal as he'd helped him up.

They'd been
best friends ever since. Duke had introduced Ben to the gym when they'd gotten
to high school, and he'd never once made fun of him. Not even when he came out
at age seventeen. They'd roomed together in college and bought houses just
blocks away from each other. There had been moments when they'd been so close
...
so close
.

Over the years,
that dark-haired boy had turned into self-assured man, and his smile had only
gotten more beautiful.

Ben punched
down his pillow and turned over onto his side, trying not to think about that
smile or about the fact that only a single plaster wall stood between them.

A plaster wall
and sixteen years of friendship.

It might as
well have been the Great Wall of China.

****

Both men looked
a little worse for the wear by the time they pulled up at Kylie's the next day.
Ben had eventually fallen into a fitful sleep, but he'd woken early, still
unsettled. Duke had been up repeatedly, too. Ben had heard his stomach emptying
even from the next room.

Duke had
insisted on making his appointment regardless, though, and when they stepped
inside the tattoo parlor, Kylie was there waiting for them, her electric blue
hair done up in little buns behind her ears. She smiled broadly when she saw
them and quickly pulled Duke into the kind of hug that made Ben's chest hurt.
"Come on back, boys," she said with a wink.

Her station was
already set up – the big leather chair tilted back and the bottles of colorful
ink lined up. Ben took up his usual position in the seat beside the wall,
grabbing a magazine on his way. He knew he wouldn't end up actually reading it,
but it was useful to have something to at least pretend to look at.

He didn't even
keep up that much of a façade when Duke pulled off his shirt. And when Duke
opened his pants, revealing smooth, tan skin without a hint of either boxers or
briefs, Ben was especially glad to have the magazine. He held it over his lap,
desperate to hide what was happening inside his own jeans.

"So,"
Kylie started, moving around her chair and donning a pair of gloves. "What
did she do this time?"

Duke sighed as
he eased back into the seat. "I don't want to talk about it."

"If you
say so." She held up the thin sheet of tracing paper for Duke's
inspection. "
This what
you had in mind?"

Ben admired it
from where he sat. The design was smaller than most of Duke's other pieces –
just two little curved shapes with points on the end that Ben thought looked
like blades. Duke examined it more closely before nodding and then pointing to
a spot just below his navel and above his left hip bone.

Kiley raised an
eyebrow at him, but Duke just shrugged. "If I hadn't been thinking with my
dick, I would have gotten out of it a lot sooner."

"Isn't
that always the
truth.
"

Within minutes,
Kylie had the design transferred to his skin, and it wasn't much longer after
that before the low hum of the tattoo gun joined the music playing in the shop.
As always, Ben split his time between carefully-timed glances at his magazine
and even more careful ogling.

Duke was
beautiful. He always had been. Their regular workouts had made him buff in all
the right ways, and Ben didn't get enough chances to simply sit there and
appreciate it. His eyes moved over the defined muscles of his chest and to the
lines of tight abs, lingering long at the beginning of the V that led down to
the part of Duke he really wanted to see. To taste.

To fuck.

The sound of a
throat clearing brought Ben out of his fantasy, and he tore his eyes from
Duke's body in a panic, a cold fear possessing him that he'd been caught. When
he looked up, though, Duke's eyes were closed.

But Kylie's
were open. And she was winking at him.

Ben felt his
face heat as he returned his gaze to the magazine. He'd long suspected that she
knew how he really felt, but now there wasn't any doubt. Not that he was
ashamed about it. Unfortunately, the only person Ben really wished that he
could tell was the one person that could never know.

Refusing to be
caught staring so shamelessly again but unable to keep his eyes trained on the
blur of text in front of him, Ben let his gaze drift up once more, looking this
time not so much at Duke's physique as at the lines of ink that adorned it.
There was the barbed wire that encircled his right bicep and the huge whorl of
bladed shapes around his other shoulder. Sharp curves on his shin and a series
of spikes along his spine.

Each one he had
gotten after a particularly painful breakup.

"Love
is
pain," he'd explained as he'd sat in that same chair a decade earlier.
"It always cuts me, and it always ends. Always. Every single time, except
– " He'd cut off abruptly at the point, never finishing the sentence and
refusing to look Ben in the eye.

Ben hadn't
pressed.

His eyes were
still tracing over the way the ink hugged Duke's bicep when the hum of the
tattoo gun shut off abruptly. Duke's eyes drifted open, the cool blue of them
zeroing in immediately on Ben, and for a minute their gazes held. But then Ben
looked away, unable to stand the intensity of Duke staring into him that way.
He felt like if they kept it up for even a second longer, Duke would see
everything, all the things Ben couldn't bear to show. Not to him.

"Let me
bandage this up and you'll be all set," Kylie said.

"Thanks."
With their connection severed, Duke looked down, taking in the way the
sharpness of the ink stood out against his skin.

Ben stood and
walked over to the leather tattoo chair, wanting nothing more than to reach
down and run his hands along the edges of the raised, pink skin. His hands
curled into fists to keep him from doing just that. "Feel any
better?"

"A little.
It makes it ... sort of final, you know?"

"Yeah."
Ben didn't entirely know what to do with that. Usually when Duke declared
something to be final, it meant he was ready to put himself out there again.
Ben had been hoping for at least a couple of weeks of having Duke all to
himself.

Kylie moved
back to Duke's side, bumping Ben in the process and forcing him to grab onto
Duke's shoulder to keep
himself
from falling over. His
mind only had an instant to recognize the feel of hot, bare skin beneath his
fingertips before he was righting himself and letting go, staring down at Kylie
with a scowl. His annoyance was only fed by the way the girl smirked as she
affixed the bandage.

Duke, for his
part, didn't seem to flinch.

When Kylie was
done, she led them back up to the front of the shop. On the way, Duke fixed his
pants and threw back on his T-shirt, while Ben lamented the losses – the actual
loss of his access to that skin and the anticipated loss of yet another
opportunity.

The grayness of
his mood settled thickly over him even as Duke finished settling up his account
and as they headed out to the car. By the time they pulled up outside of
Madigan's, parking beside the truck Duke had abandoned there the night before,
Ben's stomach was falling, an anguished hopelessness settling over him.

The man he
wanted – the man he had
always
wanted – was single. And it didn't change
anything.

Duke would
never, ever want him back.

"Are you
okay?"

Ben looked over
at the passenger's side to see that Duke had the door open, his body already
angled to go. "Yeah," he managed to choke out, directing his eyes
downward, his hands tight around the steering wheel.

But Duke
wouldn't let it go, and when Ben felt the warmth of his friend's hand on his
arm, the very tenderness of that touch – so right and yet so wrong – burned.
"You don't look okay."

"I'm
fine." He looked up and forced a smile. "I promise."

Duke searched
his eyes for a moment. "Okay," he said slowly. "If you say
so."

"Of
course."

After casting
one last, concerned glance back at him, Duke hefted himself out of the car,
then turned and bent down to peer back into it. "If that changes. Or if
you need anything..."