“God.” Ben shook his head, looking down and wiping a hand over his face, releasing a small, almost sad-sounding laugh. “Of course, you are the cutest fucking drunk.”
“Am I?”
Ben looked at him again, and Alexei wasn’t sure he had ever seen him look so serious. It happened quickly, Ben’s eyes turning a shade darker, his jaw clenching. There was a strange beat of silence that felt heavy and light all at once, and then Ben reached up and ran his knuckles down Alexei’s cheek.
“Yes,” he whispered.
Ben was touching Alexei.
And he was awake this time.
Alexei realized he did not feel strange about this.
At that moment, he only felt like Lex.
The words burst out of him.
“Can I kiss you?”
The words seemed to dance in the air, invisible but loud, and Alexei held in a gasp at himself. He couldn’t process Ben’s face; his heart was thundering too loudly in his ears, clouding all other senses. A ghost of humiliation waited in the wings, ready to hit fully once the adrenaline of this night was over.
It took his brain a moment to realize Ben was saying something.
“What?” he blurted.
Ben bit his lip. “I said yes.”
Alexei blinked.
“What?” he said again.
Finally, that very serious look on Ben’s face broke a little, so he could laugh a little, and Alexei exhaled in relief. He always felt better when Ben was smiling.
“Yes,” Ben said, louder this time.
“But—” Alexei broke off, brow furrowing. Because, wait. But—
Ben leaned forward and kissed Alexei on the mouth.
It was a quiet moment of almost stillness, just the softness of Ben’s lips, so full and gentle against his own. Alexei’s brain gave up and clicked off. Let itself have this. Absorbed the feeling of Ben’s lips into memory.
And then Ben made a soft noise, somewhere between a gasp and a sigh, and his hands pressed forward, thumbs caressing Alexei’s cheekbones, andoh God, Ben was kissing him now. Like,kissinghim. Ben smelled so good, like pine and the lemongrass of the motel shampoo, like sugar and tequila, and underneath it all, that unmistakable hiker smell, of dirt and sweat and skin, and Alexei let go, let go, let go.
He moved a hand to Ben’s hip, pressing a palm over the hem of Ben’s ridiculous oversized sweatshirt he’d put on during the walk back from the restaurant, the one he wore at camp, the one he wore to keep warm. Everything about Ben was soft and comforting, always had been, but now that he was actually, literally at Alexei’s fingertips, everything about him felt extra precious and special: soft cotton and campfires, the warmth of hot chocolate and spring sun. Ben was moss and redwoods, everything that called Alexei home.
When Ben’s tongue nudged at his lips, Alexei opened for him helplessly, the first clash of that tongue against his doing sharp, dangerous things to Alexei’s gut. Repressing a moan, he did the only thing he could think to do, the thing he had been secretly itching to do ever since he’d met Ben. Alexei’s fingertips wrapped around Ben’s neck, inched up the base of his skull. And then he plunged both hands into that hair, smooth and ticklish. And on an almost unconscious instinct, Alexei tightened his fists and pulled.
Ben broke away to gasp. Alexei was so electrified by the sound of it, the raw openness, that he forgot to feel guilty that the gasp might have been from pain. But from the way Ben was looking at him, breath shallow—even if it did hurt, Alexei didn’t think Ben minded. It was dizzying, knowing he had made Ben look like that. Alexei wanted more, just like that. He wanted to witness Mr. 100 Percent Chill come undone. He wanted to be the cause of it.
Through a series of awkward scrambling, of mouths hitting chins and elbows hitting sides, of shoving off shoes, Ben and Alexei navigated themselves farther back on the bed, until Alexei was hovering fully over Ben, Ben’s head resting on the pillows.
“Wait,” Ben said as Alexei moved his mouth to Ben’s jaw, to his neck. “Fuck,” he groaned when Alexei hit the soft skin behind his ear. “Wait,” he said again, and Alexei actually processed it this time. He lifted his head, resting his weight on an elbow.
“Yeah?” he asked, a bit breathlessly. If Ben was going to tell him to stop, he would understand, of course, completely. He would also probably die. He would try to accept his death with humility.
“Are you still drunk? You must be. I don’t want—”
“No,” Alexei cut him off. “I’m not.”
