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Ben gasps, chin tilted towards the ceiling, eyes closed tightly.
He’s pressing a hand into Callum’s hair, pushing him further into the juncture of his shoulder where Callum bites and sucks at his neck.
Callum’s there, hips between his legs, connected at the one part that matters, heavy weight present, all broad shoulders and shower gel and body hair and man.
His body is unreal. Unreal. Everything teenage Ben dreamt of.
Ben feels wet kisses, warm breath at his collarbone leaving moisture there when Ben pulls at his hair, just to feel him react.
He wants to fight, when he gets like this. It’s the feeling of wanting to throw himself at someone and watch them deal with him. He wants to push and pull Callum and tease him and struggle with him for power or air until Callum has enough and punishes him.
He pulls his hair harder, too hard, and Callum’s lips break contact following the pull.
Callum lets out a growl of frustration between gritted teeth, before taking the hand responsible and holding it fast to the scratching mattress where the corner of the sheet has flung itself off and curled under them from their exertion.
Ben feels Callum’s thumb pressing into his wrist bone, resuming his bites and licks at Ben’s neck, harder now, as Ben can do nothing but whimper. Which is exactly what Ben has always wanted, without ever having to tell him.
Callum wants it. His body, him.
It’s evident; it’s there in the way he’s spread over Ben, purchase gained wherever he can find it, which right now is with his foot at the edge of the bed, knees slipping on the sheets, trying anything to get deeper, and there is no room for Ben but to do anything but submit to Callum. Submit to his heat, submit to his strength, his weight, his mass, his needs, his little thoughts and dirty curiosities that he harboured in his fantasies for so long.
Ben finds that Callum gets riskier when he’s wound up a bit. It usually takes Ben rolling around and slipping from his grasp, just because he can, just because he likes the chase.
It ignites Ben to see the frustration in Callum, the tenacity in his eyes and jaw, in the face of Ben’s smug smile.
Callum becomes more selfish and direct with what he wants, stronger, louder with his moans, as he winds himself up into a frenzy.
And that’s where it starts getting really good.
Like now.
Without warning, Callum pulls out, rising onto his knees and clumsily crawling backwards off to the side of the bed, and Ben feels himself being pulled along by Callum’s hands under the crooks of his knees.
“Wanna try this way,” is all Callum gives by way of explanation, like he owes Ben nothing but that, and Ben lifts up his feet to rest at Callum’s shoulders where he stands.
Callum wets his lips, holding Ben’s ankles where they rest on the meat of his shoulders.
He bends over into Ben, eyebrows drawn together, a frown pulling deep at the corners as he handles the feeling of entering him.
Callum’s knees dig into the mattress, finesse lost with the intensity of the position. It takes a few experimental thrusts, lacking in much aim or timing, and then Callum finally rubs against his prostate and Ben lets him know about it.
Callum exhales with mirth, before bending Ben over further. He slots his nose next to Ben’s, and they stare, heavy breathing and high keening and panting into each other’s mouths as they move.
Ben feels the sweat in the sheared hair at the back of Callum’s neck and pooling in the dip of his back.
“Look at you,” Ben breathes. “Fucking a man like this. Tell me how much you love it," Ben says, because he has picked up on Callum’s reaction any time he reminds him that this is them, this is what they’re doing, two men fucking, bareback and natural and filthy.
“Yeah,” Callum shudders. Ben places his hands either side of Callum’s face, feeling the thick stubble there, then running the tips of his thumbs and resting them at the hook at Callum’s ears.
“Say it.”
“I l- love it,“ Callum closes his eyes on one particularly excruciatingly pleasurable thrust, blowing out a breath.
“Yeah,” Ben encourages.
“Tell me something,” Callum pants. “I wanna hear what you want me to do to you.”
So Ben whispers to him with urgency about what he wants, where he wants it and how. He tells him he wants him to finish inside him, because Ben wants to feel full with him, and Callum meanwhile groans into his neck in response and drives in with all his weight.
It starts getting a bit dry, and Callum pulls out, an apology mumbled to Ben’s confused whine.
Ben hears Callum behind him, shuffling, clumsy, and hears a plod of something falling off of the bedside table, which Ben presumes is the lube that Callum was looking for.
Callum leans over onto the sheet beside him to grab the lube. He sees the full expanse of his back, the strength in his thighs, and finally, he returns to Ben. He has his cock in his hand and applies lube directly onto it, spreading it with pumps of his fist, the head shining and it looks fucking glorious.
“Come ‘ere,” Ben breathes, and they embrace again.
Ben feels Callum run his cock over his hole, running it along the seam of his arse, before Ben feels the firm intrusion, cold but warm. Callum sighs, falling into Ben, skin sticky and hot, his hands resting either side of Ben’s head.
“Could do this all day” Callum’s voice fills the room, and the way his stubble feels against his ear has Ben shivering.
“Me too, me too.”
“Just want to book a day off and do nothing but fuck you. Wanna fuck you when I come home, fuck you in the shower, on the sofa, in the kitchen. I wanna go out, leaving you there, come back and fuck you again. I’d fuck you on every single surface, oh-” Callum’s fingers tighten on Ben’s shoulder, nails digging in. “God, promise me, Ben-“
“Y-yeah,”
“-Nothing else but a day of, uh, a day of this.”
They’ll never have the time or the stamina for what Callum’s talking about, but Ben encourages his feverish babbling, rocking back and meeting his timing, his hips a bruising force.
Ben feels him swell inside him, feels the hallmark sign as Callum’s cock stiffens impossibly, his thrusts become devoid of regularity, following nothing but that crashing wave of orgasm.
“Oh,” Callum moans, and Ben begins to fist his cock in time with him.
The bed is rocking, and they’ve given up trying not to make noise, as the bedframe is so shit that even if Ben’s riding him and holding the headboard really still, it is a dead giveaway for what's happening in the room.
Ben examines him closely as he watches it take over Callum. He watches the most direct, physical effect of Ben's body on Callum's body, and it's just his, to treasure, to see again a thousand more times. To commit to memory every twitch of his hips, every movement of his brow, every crease or curl of the lips.
******
“Right. Stop that face,” Ben says, pointing a stern finger directly into Callum’s line of sight.
“Huh? What face?” Callum asks, opening his eyes one at a time. Ben can see the light come through the stubble of his beard like this where it’s got a bit long. He told Callum to trim it, because it’s starting to smart irritation on his chin when they kiss for longer than thirty seconds.
“That face you do.” He snaps his fingers. “That one! Stop it.”
“That’s just my face!”
“No. It’s like you’re getting into the groove.” Ben says, shuddering,
“I’m getting into your groove,” Callum says, the fucking idiot, and Ben hates him so much that he has to kiss him, so he does.
“Every time I look up you have your eyes closed and grinning, nodding your head like the bloody Churchill dog. It’s putting me off.”
"Alright! I’m sorry. I won’t look at you no more. ‘Ere ya go, see,” Callum says, making a point of looking at the discarded plates from dinner stacked on the bedside table, which is still, to Ben’s dismay, vaguely carrying the scent of ketchup if Ben moves his head up the pillow a bit.
“It’s even weirder when you do that,” he laughs, smacking his bicep. He digs his fingers into the meat there, grinding himself against Callum’s hips and they both kiss. Despite the dialogue, it quickly becomes messy and impassioned, tongues meeting before their mouths do.
Callum breaks the kiss, leaning his head down and gently biting Ben’s shoulder. He changes the pace, thrusting slow, shallow, the tip of his cock entering him and pulling out again.
Ben lets out a slow, shaky exhale. He is only human.
“Like that. That's good,” Ben confesses, and Callum hums in agreement. Ben rests a hand on the back of his neck, biting a smile and running his fingers up and down his back.
Just as he’s getting into it again, Callum hurls his top half to the side of the bed, leaning over to grab his phone where it’s on charge on the side of the bed.
Ben opens his eyes, feeling the wrinkle forming between his brow.
Callum’s looking at the black screen to see his own reflection. He pulls the face at himself.
“Oh yeah. Fair enough. Wonder how long I’ve been pulling that face for.”
“I’ve seen you have that face eating a really good lasagne before. And that scares me.”
“You are better than lasagne. And that is the highest compliment I can give you.” He gives Ben a soft peck on his lips.
Ben laughs.
But before long, Callum tuts, sitting up on his knees and pulling out, his dick looking obscene between his legs.
“Now I feel all self-conscious.”
“Oh babe –!”
“Nope, turn around. Ruined it. Gonna have to roger you from behind,” Callum sighs, already manoeuvring Ben’s hips, who goes willingly.
Ben narrows his eyes over his shoulder. “You ever say ‘roger’ again to refer to our sex life, I will kill you.”
“…Roger.”
“Callum!” he laughs, twisting round, hand reaching out to smack him, and Callum laughs, avoiding him.
“-Roger Federer. Roger Hunt!”
“The fuck is Roger Hunt?”
“Ex-Liverpool player. Think he’s dead. Is he dead? 'Ang on. Let me Google it,” he said, actually reaching over for his phone again.
Ben with two fingers plucks the phone out of his hand before he has had a chance to enter his password, and chucks it onto the carpeted floor. It lands with a dull thud.
Callum looks at him, blue eyes wide, aghast.
“My phone,” he laments softly.
“Come and fuck me. I’m getting cold, and I need to be in early tomorrow. You know I ain't pleasant when I’m tired.”
“Sorry,” Callum placates him, rubbing between Ben's shoulder blades so he lies on his belly, putting a pillow under his hips and kissing behind his ear, tongue tracing the ridge, in the way he knows will always cause Ben’s hairs to stand on end. He rubs the side of his face against Cal’s, practically purring, and feels heat curl low in his stomach.
Callum makes good of his word, lining himself up and dragging his cock on Ben’s rim, and finally, finally, entering.
They both sigh, and Ben loves that sound, like his body is where Callum’s has wanted to be all day, like it’s a pleasure he cannot go without and he’s finally there, indulging himself. Callum thrusts leisurely, and Ben is thinking about riding him for rewarding his good behaviour, when he hears Callum’s mouth open.
Suddenly, “what is it that that Churchill dog used to say?”
Ben opens his eyes. “Shut up.”
“Was it ‘oh yes?”
Ben sighs, giving up. “No. It was more like, ‘oh yush!’ Emphasis on the ‘yush’.”
“…What would you do if I said it when I came?”
“I genuinely will stop fancying you.”
“You fancy me?” he asks with a happy gasp, head tilting to the side.
“Callum, you are literally inside of me.”
“Aw, you fancy me.” He rubs his nose against Ben’s, kissing his cheek. “I fancy you. Sexy.”
“Right, we’re stopping this. No talking for five minutes.”
“What if we need to? What if I need to use a safe word?”
Ben splays his hand out in exasperation. “We don’t have a safe word.”
“Maybe we should get one. Right, ours is ‘oh yush’.”
“No it’s not! No it’s fucking not!”
“Yeah. Churchill dog is the foundation of our trust. Right in the middle of BDSM. We’re talking chains, um, ties. Spiky… things. What else is BDSM?”
“This conversation.”
“Baby, we just need to accept that-“
“Right, get out of me. Out you get. Terrible man.”
Callum sits up straight, hair sticking up. “Can I rim you instead?
“...Fine.”
Callum claps gleefully.
****
Ben could think of better places to take his date than his mum’s bar when she was on shift, where even so much as holding hands would attract some commentary from her.
In fact, as if to prove Ben’s point, his phone pings with a message from his mum as soon as the two walk away with the pints they'd just ordered.
“he is LOVELY, son. Very handsome! :o)”
Jesus.
They've been messing around for about a month now, and much to Ben’s surprise, Callum had not got bored of him. He thought the butterflies might dull after getting the first couple of shags out the way and the excitement of going behind people’s backs had disappeared.
It was Callum’s idea, of course, to come here. He introduced himself formally to his mum, a handshake over the bar proffered over the paper straw holder and discarded limes from the couple who were in front of them. Ben looked on, heart pounding, trying to calm himself that the two major parts of his life, usually compartmentalised and never conflated, were shaking hands in front of him.
There was no crumbling of walls, no explosions, no world ending. Just his mum, and his… person, shaking hands and smiling politely.
Drinks served, he pulls Callum by the corner of his over shirt, and leads him to the furthest corner from the bar, hopefully away from his mum’s prying eyes.
“She’s lovely,” Callum remarks, placing the drinks on the table. He irons his shirt with his hands before sitting down, tapping his leg in time with the music. He reaches out to hold Ben’s hand over the table, but Ben lifts his drink to his lips instead.
“Mm. A pain in the arse sometimes, though.”
Callum laughs. “She’s fine.”
Ben bristles, for no reason other than he doesn’t want to think that this is serious enough that Callum feels he needs to get along with his mum for his sake.
Before he has a chance to act on his irrationality, the music picks up.
Two more beers come, and Callum pulls him to his feet to Ariana Grande, and twirls him around despite his better judgement. The buzz from the alcohol has alleviated a lot of his previous angst, and he revels in the weight of Callum at his front, who tries to grab at Ben every time Kathy goes into the back to retrieve something.
“Ever the respectable gentleman?” Ben whispers into his ear with his hands braced to his chest, and then tucks his face into the crook of his neck as they sway.
“Tryin’ to be,” he hears Callum laughs in response, the vibrations of his deep voice absorbing into his lips. “Don’t exactly make it easy…”
Ben chances a look over his own shoulder, and upon noticing the absence of his mum, bites the lobe of Callum’s ear and his hands wander lower, squeezing his bum through his jeans.
Callum leans into the bite, and breathes deeply.
“I wanna take you home,” says Callum in a voice so low that Ben barely recognises it.
“Now?”
He tuts. “Later. I want to take you home. I’ve been waiting all my life to ask a good looking bloke to come home with me.”
“Play your cards right, and we’ll see,” Ben winks. Callum oohs, before stepping back and taking out his phone from his pocket.
The red light of his banking app illuminates his face in the dark.
He gives a small cheer, quickly flashing the screen to Ben. “Wages came in at midnight. Shots?”
They leave an hour before close, loose-limbed and bantering. They are both half-cut, having stayed for another two shots, the last of which mostly ended up on Ben’s shoes as Callum snorted at something Ben had said.
Callum walks him hand-in-hand to his dad’s gate, and kisses him goodnight, before insisting to walk him to the back door, despite Ben promising he did not need an escort. They kiss goodnight again, but as Ben reaches the entrance, he turns around and sees that Callum has stayed where Ben left him. Ben swallows, glancing down, struggling to ask for what he wants.
He doesn't need to.
Callum, undeterred and confident now, with a determined set to his brow, covers the distance in two strides, and kisses him deeply against the back door. A surprised laugh bubbles from Ben’s chest into Callum’s mouth, and Ben feels him smile back into the kiss.
Callum’s hands slide to Ben’s waist, bunching the fabric there to pull him closer, and Ben replaces the laugh with a pitchy moan.
“Can I come in?” Callum whispers, leaning back to meet his gaze, breathing unsteadily.
Ben looks up, and runs his knuckles over Callum's sternum.
“Ok.”
Callum grins and leans down, kissing him once more, lingering and soft.
The lights are off inside when he enters, so Ben assumes no one else is in. He hears the water filling up in the washing machine and the creak of the pipes that accompanies it. The kitchen smells of the cherry cleaning spray that Sharon likes to use, and an undertone of whatever his dad had for dinner.
Callum has his hands in his jean pockets, looking at the title of the cook books on the shelf in the white light that creeps through the back door from the street lamps outside.
“Come upstairs?” He chances, the words stuck in the air. Callum smiles politely, nodding and taking Ben's hand as they climb the stairs. The atmosphere feels so much more dense in the quiet of his home.
Callum excuses himself to the toilet as they reach the summit of the landing, and meanwhile Ben gives a timid knock on his dad’s door which is met with resounding silence.
Ben does a quick glance of his room, kicking his laundry on the floor into his cupboard and hiding a beer bottle he was pre-drinking from earlier in his underwear drawer.
When Callum re-enters, he is glassy-eyed, flushed and smiling lazily.
He joins Ben in bed without hesitation and catches Ben’s lips in a hungry kiss, climbing on top of him and struggling with getting his own t-shirt over his head. He manages with the help of Ben, and it leaves him with his chest heaving from exertion and hair in a floppy mess.
“In a rush?” Ben asks haughtily with a raised brow, as Callum undoes his belt with haste, and tries to undo the button on his jeans with shaking hands.
“Piss off,” he laughs, but allows Ben to swat his hands away to undo the button and zipper. He shimmies his boxers down in quick succession, kicking them off from leg and then the other.
Ben ushers him forward so that he is straddling his chest, giving him a few strokes before he takes him into his mouth as Callum strokes his cheek, head tilted back and back straight, thrusting shallowly as he grunts.
This lasts for about a minute, before Ben knows something is off.
Because, despite Ben being the king of head, he knows a case of whiskey dick when he sees it.
“Baby, you’re not hard.”
“Sorry, I was a moment ago. Give me a minute? I promise I'm in the mood."
After Callum tries to revive what is well and truly unrevivable, however, he crawls off Ben's chest and slumps.
"Fuck, stupid thing.”
“It’s alright, it happens to the best of us. Let’s just go to sleep, yeah?”
It takes a bit of pouting from him and promises of if I just have some toast and coffee I will be fine, but Callum finally agrees that tonight is a no-go.
“Tomorrow morning,” Callum says, wrapping the warmth of his arm around Ben’s neck, pulling him into his chest.
Ben can feel the heat and the sweet, yeasty smell of beer on his breath, and it really should be disgusting but it’s not, because it’s him.
“I will be ready tomorrow morning. Six AM, sharp. Callum Highway will be here, ready for sex, whenever you want.”
“Okay,” Ben snorts, reaching up to pet Callum’s damp hair, knowing that there’s no chance on God’s earth that either of them are going to be awake at six AM with that hangover.
“And it ain’t because I don’t fancy you, neither. Because I do.” Callum said, very seriously indeed.
“Alright, babe” Ben says, laughing silently.
He can’t wait to tell Callum all of this tomorrow.
“Hmm. Love it when you call me that. Makes me feel loved.”
Ben freezes. “Hm?”
“It does, yeah. Feel my heartbeat in my knees when you’re around me,” Callum yawns, patting Ben’s hip and settling in closer behind him.
In the safety of the darkness, Ben’s smiles against his pillow.
Maybe he will keep this to himself.
Callum tucks himself in closer to Ben, and Ben feels the strength of his arm as he holds him, he feels their thighs intertwine, the heat of his chest. He hears him tunelessly hum ‘Into You’ by Ariana Grande, which they had danced to earlier.
His heart stretches at how they can do all this now, everything Ben used to go to sleep fantasising about, and it not be under the guise of ‘mate’, but rather under the promise of something more. All summer, and this is what they should have been doing. This is what they had been yearning for.
“I like ya,” Callum confides into his hair. “I do… you know.”
He smells faintly of Ben’s Lynx spray that he keeps in the bathroom cupboard at the end of the hall. Callum must have sprayed it on himself when he excused himself there earlier.
And behind that is the smell of him: warmth, fresh sweat, and boy.
Ben blinks into the dark nebula of his bedroom and holds his breath.
“Do what?” and then, when he doesn’t reply, “Callum?”
“You know,” he yawns, rubbing the lobe of Ben’s ear between his forefinger and thumb. “You know.” His hand slips into his hair, and he fingers it deftly for a bit. And then he’s asleep.
He’s definitely not saying a word about this.