Noah’s smile slid off. “I know you don’t like us spending time together.”
“Ugh. That makes it sound like I think you’re a bad influence.” Benji hesitated, trying to come up with the right way to say it. He wanted to sound cool and casual. But he also wanted to tell Noah that Max hadn’t had a positive male influence in his life ever, unless you counted Benji, which Benji definitely didn’t. Their aunt never let them meet the guys she dated, and their dad had been out of the picture for most of their lives. Watching Max light up around Noah made something bright and delicate bloom inside Benji that he didn’t know existed.
“You’re good with him,” he said finally.
Noah shrugged. “He’s an easy kid to get along with.”
Benji snorted. “Trylivingwith him.”
As soon as he said it, he knew he’d fucked up. Noah had told him repeatedly that he and Max could move in, and Benji had said no every time. And here Benji was, dancing in with a reminder of how Benji had rejected him.
“Anyway,” Benji said hastily before Noah’s awkward look could get any worse. “How’s my art doing?”
“Oh,” Noah said. “That. I burned it.”
Benji laughed, stepping past him into the hall. “Shit! Guess I have to start from scratch for the exhibition…”
He trailed off. The painting that usually hung above the doorway had been replaced. Where there were once two men on a park bench, there was now a small, unframed canvas on the wall depicting two takeout containers spilling over with pasta.
Benji fought down the instinctive wave of vulnerability that rose up whenever he saw his new style and turned to Noah with a nervous laugh.
“Woof,” he said. “Right up over the door. That’s… prominent. Are you sure?”
“I am,” Noah said, with such quiet sincerity that for a moment Benji wondered if he was talking about the painting. Then Noah cleared his throat, taking Benji’s hand. “Want to go somewhere for breakfast? I can find us somewhere quiet.”
“Let’s make that brunch,” Benji said. He toyed with Noah’s fingers. “I have a confession first.”
“Okay,” Noah said slowly.
Benji chewed his lip. It tasted like the lip balm he’d applied in the car. Noah had put it on him a few times while he was sick, and every time Benji tasted it now, he remembered Noah holding his chin.
“I liked the spanking,” he admitted in a rush. “Not in the moment—it was way too hard, and I was feeling fucked up. And yeah, whatever, I should’ve told you to cool it. But…”
He pulled at a loose curl, fresh with the shampoo Noah brought over. Lip balm, cologne, a soft t-shirt Noah had delivered to the hotel, the heavy coat Noah had dry-cleaned after Benji dumped it, dripping, on the floor—Benji was covered in Noah. He only wished that he could add bruise cream to the list.
“I liked walking around after, when it hurt. I liked the reminder. And I liked when you rubbed away the sting after. And in the hotel, with the bruising cream. Maybe if you went softer?—”
Noah cut him off. “Let’s table spanking for now.”
Benji groaned, annoyed. He’d had awholespeech. “I swear I’ll be okay this time!”
“I’m not,” Noah said flatly.
Benji’s jaw clicked shut, shaken. He hadn’t even considered that. Sure, Noah had brought it up, but he figured he’d be over it by now. It was Benji’s fault for not tapping out.
“The idea that I pushed you so hard,” Noah continued. “And that I didn’t notice… it kills me.”
It slammed into Benji like a punch to the gut.
“Shit,” he managed. “I’m sorry. I was just— I thought?—”
“I know.”
Benji swallowed, trying for a smile. He’d come here for a reason, and he was still trying to get it.
“I hope that doesn’t stop you from anything else you had planned,” he started, leaning in until their chests were pressed together. “Like… what was going to be next?”
Noah looked over his face. Examining him for fever, Benji realized with an exasperated rush of fondness.
