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It was inevitable really, he sees that now.
Thinks perhaps he's always known it.
Regrets to his bones the self inflicted pain of its denial.
Look at us. Everything we've been through and here we are, back together in bed, again.
Months of holding his body taut, and it's liberating how it softens and fades to nothing in his space - in their space. How it's instinct and muscle memory not to fight it. To breathe him in, close his eyes, and open his legs for him.
His skin's warm where his palms brush Ben's parted thighs, and he knows he's watching him, eyes soft and careful in the low lamplight as he dips his head and seals his lips over the delicate skin of Ben's exposed hole.
The kiss lingers there, as it did last night, soft and wet and perfect, the last of a trail bestowed from the wound on his chest down, and Ben wonders absentmindedly if he will always kiss the parts of him most broken by others.
He pushes that thought away though. It isn't even a question.
And maybe that's progress.
He knows why he does it. It's I'm sorry, I'm here, I'd never hurt you, you're safe but it's so much more. In his husband's hands it's you're perfect, you're worthy, nothing they do could change the way I feel, I love you, all of you, just as you are.
He's more gentle than he knew a man could be.
But his thoughts are wandering now, and he wants to be present for this, for all of it. Anything that comes. He's never taking his eyes off them again.
Callum pulls away, cold air hitting the damp of his skin, but it's soon replaced by another sensation, the soft pad of a thumb soothing a circle then dipping inside. There's a pause then, the heat of his body searing as he leans across him to snatch the lube, diverting for a kiss along the way, and Ben doesn't want to lose him now he's this close. But he nips at his lip by way of a promise and lets him go. There's more, and better to come. He's sure of that now.
A beat later and the warmth is back, the welcome intrusion of a long finger deep inside, then two. Callum sighs out a breathy moan, eyes darkening, raising to meet Ben's and he knows he's still open, still full of him from the night before. The obscene squelch of more than just lube, and the lost look on his husband's face gives it away.
It always did have that effect on him.
"Ben....you..."
"Yeah baby, I know. C'mon... need ya."
And he does, that's the thing. If he's honest he wondered if he would. Not need him, he knows with certainty he will always need him, but whether he'd be capable of wanting him, of having him in the same way as before. The way they both used to love.
He suspected he might. The brief touch of skin in the cafe enough to light a spark he feared had died out entirely, a kiss on the street merely fanning the flames. A night at his mum's - same bed, same space - too wrung out by the day and the place to contemplate anything, but all the while that familiar itch beneath his skin at his husband's close proximity.
But intimacy, sex... that's different.
He shouldn't have worried.
Sliding between the sheets, last night, waiting for Cal in their bed in the low light, he'd slipped off his boxers, felt nothing in his stomach but the tingle of anticipation, the swelling in his cock, the familiar ache in his balls.
Cal had joined him, respectful and half dressed, and so frustratingly, beautifully unassuming, and Ben had known without question what he wanted. His husband, inside him, eviscerating the feeling of the fucker that took without permission, the men who should have asked but were too off their faces to care.
It was quick, Cal a little pent up, Ben a little overwhelmed. It was quick, but it was perfect, and they've been making up for it most of the night.
Dawn is making some effort to break, and here they are again.
Callum's hit his rhythm now. The almost trance like state he reaches when he's three fingers deep in Ben (though honestly he barely needed one). Ben whines on each upstroke, the careful pads of talented, familiar fingers brushing just right, each sound he makes mirrored in his ear as his husband kisses his neck and tries to hold it together.
He wants him inside, wants to feel him over and over until there's no doubt in his mind that he's his and his alone, but he doesn't want this to stop. This is peace, in his head and his heart for the first time in months and it's all Callum. The only man he's known who can make his heart race and his soul calm at the same time.
But when he asks, as he always does, the answer is never in doubt.
"Can I?"
"Yeah."
__________
They move together seamlessly, like they haven't been apart. Long, deep thrusts the way Callum knows Ben likes it. The way no-one since Paul has bothered to find out.
They kiss their way through it, as they always have, a symptom of their need to stay connected, stay close. And hasn't that always been the way?
Callum had sought his lips out from the start, and Ben blindly followed. It wasn't what he was used to, not something he cared for from strangers, but it seemed to calm Cal, to ground him and give him confidence in those nervous early days. And Ben found he craved it too. Something that was just for them. Something that set them apart in his mind from any past encounters, fueled the belief they could be something more.
As it was, that was never an issue. The sex was incredible, the kissing instinctive, the climax for both of them heightened from the fusion of lips and tongue, and suddenly there was no other way to be. It was a revelation, fucking and kissing and loving, and the polar opposite of....of...
But, oh. His husband seems to have a sixth sense for when his head is taking him somewhere it shouldn't. Suddenly, there's space between them, nose brushing tip of nose to get his attention, those beautiful blues locked with his own, and he knows what he's searching for. Ben confirms with the smallest of nods and Callum hums his reply. Everything they've been through and yet the trust is still there, still flowing both ways.
He's the luckiest man in the world.
Ben plants his heels at the small of his back, twists a hand through his hair to pull him closer, and the kissing resumes.
He'd stopped asking last night, eventually, when the sounds Ben was making reached a level that put beyond doubt that he was more than "ok."
It made him bitter at first, that he couldn't just be fucked by his soulmate after desperate, lonely months apart without the constant checking in; but as time moved on, as they pressed closer, he found he welcomed it. The familiarity of comfort, reassurance from a man who proferred nothing but. It's who Callum is, what the man who chose him does. And he'll always be in awe of it.
He feels him swell inside, slides his hands to the rounds of his arse to pull him deeper, and let's him take him.
You're such a good guy. Such a good guy.
‐----‐-----------------------‐-----------------------------------------
"Do you think you'll always get these?"
"Hmm?"
"These...goosebumps, on your neck, when I tell you I love you."
It had taken a while, some hours later when he woke. The scene so familiar from countless febrile dreams, echoes of a thousand memories more, that it hardly registered as real. Until the mass of brown hair on his husband's pillow raised and fell with a sigh in his sleep and.....
His husband.
His husband is here. Warm, and real, and inches away. Back in his arms, wearing his ring, the unmistakable smell and slick of him on his skin.
He takes up the space like he's never been away. Reclaiming a side of the bed, a piece of the heart, that was only ever his to own.
Finally, he can suck in a breath that curls deep enough to reach the bottom of his lungs, shuffle closer, and try to bite down the clawing feeling he doesn't deserve this.
Callum nuzzles his neck, soothes it with open mouthed kisses while he waits for a reply, and muffles a sharp intake of breath when Ben snuffles and turns in his arms to face him. He's beautiful, and smiling, and the happiest Callum's seen him in... well since.... but it's bittersweet. He'll never forgive himself for turning away.
"Not just on me neck, darlin'. You're welcome to check. And yes, baby. Always. I've missed 'em. It's good to feel 'em again."
"It's good to see 'em."
"Yeah, well. It's been a bumpy few days."
And wasn't that the truth.
He knew in the marrow of his bones that they'd never be over, not really. Though it's only now, from the safety of Ben's arms that he can truly admit that.
For all the painful silences, the clipped conversations, the hastily repented words, there'd always been that flicker, hadn't there? A tender look heavy with regret, a bowed head, the hint of a longed for smile.
It's why he stuck it out so long. Why he endured each glimpse of him across the square, every one more painful than the last. Why he couldn't conceive of moving on.
But once he had him back, getting back to them, to forever felt desperate in its urgency. The need to prove to himself as well as his husband he could be there for him instantly overwhelming. So much to repent, to redeem.
So much time lost. So many nights when they could have had this. He'll never let him spend another night without him.
To be honest, it's been on the tip of his tongue since that kiss.
He'd launched himself at his husband like a thing uncaged, held him firm between his palms, pushed back against him as he raised his head to meet him, and poured into him every ounce he had of I'm sorry, I'm here now, I missed you, I need you.
It was bruising and desperate, warm and familiar, spine-tingling in its urgency, and hands down the most tender, perfect thing he'd felt in months.
But it couldn't last.
They'd pulled away, eventually, a little bashful at snogging on the street, a little wary of what should follow, enveloped in a fresh and fragile silence, and it felt dangerous - that familiar churn in the pit of his stomach. Like the wrong word, the wrong assumption could shatter the delicate bubble they were rebuilding.
Callum wanted to grab his hand, pull him inside and make what he'd always referred to as 'the flat' a home, before he changed his mind.
Only life got in the way.
For all the Hollywood romance of kissing in the street, of declarations of love through an open window, it hadn't gone entirely how Callum had pictured. He could have stood like that for hours, just breathing him in. The press of his husband's lips, the smell of leather, the soft whimpers of relief set a fire in him, and for a moment it was everything he'd fantasized about. Just him, just them. But reality soon came crashing in. There was the small but pressing matter of his imminent twelve hour night shift, and a ten year old waiting for her tea.
The weekend passed in much the same vein. Snatches of sleep before trips to the park, the cinema, anything to distract a restless, anxious little girl from her thoughts. Hospital visits to drop off supplies, leaving with more questions, more anxiety in the pit of his stomach, then headlong into another graveyard shift. They'd seemed a good idea at the time, avoiding evenings alone in their flat, dodging Witney's depressing nights out, sleeping away the day to avoid bumping into....
But now he's needed again, wanted, there's nowhere he wants to be less. The night shifts are done.
"I missed you Cal, so much. Missed this."
His voice is soft, still sleep laden, but it cuts through Callum's thoughts, the hand on his cheek easing them out of the quiet bliss of just taking each other in.
"So many things I've said to you over the last few months I wish I could take back, but that ain't one of them. I missed you. So so much. I'd've given anything to hear ya say it back."
And hasn't he hit it right there. The source of this guilt, this disgust at himself that he can't seem to shake. Maybe it's written all over his face, Ben reading him like he always has. Or maybe it doesn't need to be. Maybe he disgusts his husband too.
All that he's said, and not said, all that he's done, and not done, and hasn't he been just as guilty, moreso even, of tearing them apart? Hasn't he been stupid and stubborn, pushed him away, said things that frankly he didn't mean... to Kathy, Frankie, Phil....Ben.
I don't want to talk to Ben, or about Ben.
Here's to having to never see him again.
I don't know who he is anymore.
I don't want none of this in my life....you're all the same.
They play in his head on loop. All the times he got it wrong, all the chances missed, all the lies he told.
A familiar weight starts to build in his chest, as it has everyday since he found out the facts, and suddenly its an effort to breathe, to spit out the truth and hope he understands.
"I wanted to say it. Hoped when I put my arms around you you'd feel it. But I should'a said it."
"Second I left that pub I wanted to take back what I did say, tell ya I missed you too, hear you out, but I was so pigheaded Ben! Why was I was so pigheaded! I knew you was struggling, knew you weren't right and I just....I just...."
"Baby, you didn't know. I didn't want you knowing."
"But I should have, Ben! I should have! I should've trusted my gut, asked more questions. I know you, I...."
The breaths are coming fast now. Thick, heaving sobs that get stuck in his throat, starving his lungs. For a second it feels like he's drowning, until he's gathered in by strong, safe arms, and Ben's lips find his ear to soothe him.
It takes a little time. Ben rocks him and shusshes him and strokes the shell of his ear where he knows he loves to be touched, and eventually he calms enough for his husband to speak, and know he'll be heard.
"I'm sorry. I weren't having a go. I...."
"You have nothing to be sorry for."
Ben nods, slight and shallow, and bites his lip in a way that tells Callum he doesn't believe that, but he doesn't argue. Callum suspects he knows him well enough to know it's not a point worth pressing, now now, and anyway, he seems anxious to move the conversation on.
"You know, after I ended things with you, I told you we'd fallen apart long before... before he came along. Well that ain't right. That was him, L-lewis, getting in my head. We didn't fall apart. We just, I dunno...we just lost sight of eachother. But I.... I ain't looking away again."
And he's right, isn't he?
He promised once that he'd never put anything ahead of Ben, but he had. His own pride, his anger, his determination to live their life the way he wanted to, and he let it blind him. He knew his husband wasn't right. Knew he was sinking, but he followed his own script, played the part of the scorned man. A copper who ignored the evidence, paid no heed to the warnings. Kheerat, Kathy, even Phil.
Ben's always said you get me, you see me, and he does, he always has. And despite everything they've gone through this year he still believes he does. But to see someone you have to be looking, and he stopped looking. He'll never forgive himself for that.
It strikes him now, eyes firmly fixed on him, how simple it is to speak from the heart after weeks spent carefully curating every word.
"Me neither darlin'. Promise. I ain't losing you. Can't. "
That word. Loss.
They won't voice it, not this morning when time is theirs, not in the sanctuary of their bed, but beneath everything they've said this morning, last night, last week, there's an undercurrent of life's too short, time's too precious. A lesson learnt in the last few days.
It feels grotesque somehow, to be this happy when Lola.... When she....
But he is happy. Giddily so. They both are. And he can't help but feel they deserve a little bit of that. There's tough times to come, difficult conversations ahead. There'll be times when they'll need to seek solace in their love. They have to take joy in it while they can.
He tightens his hold a little, and Ben takes the hint, shuffling closer to curl into his chest. Lying like this, head over his husband's heartbeat never fails to crack him open, and he sighs - brings a hand up to worry the skin of his thumb with his teeth. Callum waits, strokes his arm, presses a kiss to the top of his head, but he won't let him do this alone, not anymore.
"You OK?"
"Yeah."
"Yeah, I just.... I look at Jay, Cal, how scared he is, and I just wanna forget it all, y'know? This past year. All of it. None of it matters, not really. I just know I don't want a future if it ain't with you."
"I've been a shitty husband, Ben."
"Nah. I ain't havin' that. It ain't a competition darlin'. We just gotta trust our instincts more. Trust in this. I am us, remember? I'm here for all of it, if that's still what you want?"
"Course it is. It's all I've ever wanted. You know that."
It's been a devastating year, one of deep sorrow and unimaginable bliss, but right here, in the quiet of their bed it's like nothing has changed.
This is who they are isn't it? What they are together? Ben pushes and rails and Callum lays his heart on the line and they work it out.
They work it out.
Only something has changed.
This time, against his instincts, Callum had to step away, to give Ben the time and space to work it out himself. It nearly killed him, to let them dance around eachother like strangers, to sit on that bed and say there'd be nothing between them if there was a little more space.
Part of him will always wish he hadn't said it. Wish he'd gone with his gut and spoken the undeniable truth, the way he clung to hope his husband would. How much pain he could have spared them if he'd closed the gap, taken his hand, made his admission while he had the chance
I could move to the moon and I'd still be looking down, hoping you were looking up because your heart was hurting too.
I'd be anywhere you are.
But it's about trust, about relinquishing control and trusting that they are everything to Ben, as they are to him. And he got there. They got there.
He thinks perhaps they'll be stronger for it.
His husband's moving. The weight of his body pressing over his, and he sinks into it, heart full.
"Kiss me? Properly? Don't stop."
And so he does.
So much to make up for. Forever to do it.