The Square Peg (29 page)

stared up through tear-blurred eyes at Benedict’s flushed face, his eyes half-closed, the

muscles on his neck rigid. Benedict looked strong. Powerful. In charge.

He proved it a moment later by reaching blindly for Shane’s cock just as it

hardened a fraction more, the caress permission enough for Shane’s mind and body to

find a release as shattering as the caning had been and as welcome.

“Fuck,” Shane gasped. “I can’t…can’t hold off—” It was pointless to say it. He was

already coming, his arse contracting around Benedict’s cock as his spunk shot out over

Benedict’s fingers and his chest and stomach. It had been so long, and he’d been hard

off and on for days; coming was as much relief as pleasure.

He felt Benedict freeze, and the cock in his arse pulsed five or six times before

Benedict moaned and dropped down on top of him. Benedict’s weight was welcome.

Shane put an arm around his waist and hung on, supporting him in case Benedict lost

his balance, and encouraging him to stay where he was. Shane knew when Benedict

withdrew, it was going to hurt like hell, and he’d had enough pain for now.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” Shane breathed into Benedict’s hair. Benedict even

smelled perfect. Shane wanted to wrap himself around the man in his arms and never

let go.

Propping himself up on an arm, Benedict looked at Shane with warmth. “Not

even close, but I love you for saying it.” Benedict hesitated, then reached down, gripped

the bottom of the condom, and eased out. “Sorry, sorry,” he said when Shane winced.

“S’okay.” Shane suddenly decided he couldn’t stay on his arse for another second.

“Give me a hand?”

Benedict helped him get back on his feet, keeping a hand under Shane’s elbow

even when he was standing again. “You want to go upstairs? We should get something

on this.” He brushed his fingers lightly over Shane’s arse, and Shane shivered.

“Yeah, suppose so.” Shane watched as Benedict retrieved his clothes, then

followed him up the back staircase to his flat. He went immediately to the bedroom and

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lay down on his stomach, grateful to be off his feet with nothing touching his backside.

In a minute or two, Benedict came into the room and sat on the bed. Shane turned his

head to look at him, a languid twist. He was so tired.

“Can I put this on?” Benedict held up a tube of some kind of ointment.

“Sure. Just be careful.”

Benedict worked in silence, only hissing in sympathy when Shane moaned as a

particularly tender spot was dealt with.

“Is it worth it?” Benedict asked, his voice subdued. “After, when you came and

there’s nothing left but this?” He touched a fingertip to bruised, hot flesh, and Shane

shuddered, an echo of pain sounding through his body.

“At the time it is. I need it. It still feels good even now. Hurts, but I asked for it to.”

Shane reached back with his hand, knowing it would be taken and held. “Want a mark

out of ten?”

Benedict squeezed Shane’s hand gently, his thumb brushing over Shane’s palm.

“I’m not sure my ego could take it if I failed. Lie to me.”

“Never going to do that. Ever. I’ll give you an eight. How’s that?”

He felt Benedict’s mouth against his shoulder, kissing the place Benedict seemed

to love biting. The kiss was light, but the bruised skin throbbed, a sweet, wistful ache.

“Why do I get an eight when you get an eleven?”

Shane smiled against his pillow, basking in Benedict’s admiration. “Don’t want

you to get cocky and think there’s no room for improvement.”

“Hmm.” Benedict rubbed his thumb over the back of Shane’s neck. “Thirsty? I can

see what’s in your fridge.”

Shane became aware of how dry his mouth and throat were. “Juice sounds good.”

“Juice it is.”

Benedict began to slide his hand free, but Shane grabbed tightly. “Don’t go yet. I

wanted to tell you something. Didn’t get the chance downstairs.”

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The pause before Benedict answered was short but noticeable. “What?”

“I got my test results back. We’re good to go.”

“Oh!” The exhalation that followed was a relieved one. “That’s great news.”

“Yeah. Should’ve told you, but there was never a quiet moment.”

“It’s been a busy day,” Benedict agreed, then cleared his throat and said, imitating

Shane’s accent, “You were running around like a blue-arsed fly.”

Shane snorted. “That sounded nothing like me, you cheeky git. And it’s not blue

now, is it?”

“No, it’s red and purple. Still gorgeous, though.”

“I’ll take a look at it later.”

“You will?”

“Sure. Why not?” Shane wasn’t planning to stand staring at his reflection for

hours, but he wanted to see what all the heat and pain looked like on the outside.

“No reason, I guess.” Benedict stood. “I’ll get you that juice.”

Shane stayed awake for long enough to hear the quiet gurgle of the juice being

poured, but he didn’t get to drink it. Sleep took him, and when he woke, Benedict had

left for work, leaving a business card propped beside the coffeemaker.

Shane picked it up and studied it, absently rubbing his still-throbbing backside. It

was for a local tattoo and piercing parlor—the one Vincent used. On the back of the

card, Benedict had written
Make an appointment for your next evening off. I’ll drive.

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Chapter Fifteen

“Did you see this?” The first thing Shane did after getting into Ben’s car was throw

the newspaper at him.

“Hey!” Ben held up a hand too late to deflect the paper, then picked it up off the

floor and shoved it back at Shane. “Yes, I saw it. You were right about her, okay? Rub it

in all you want. I should have let you yell at her when you wanted to.”

Shane still hadn’t shut the passenger side door. “I doubt it would have done any

good.”

Ben had spent half the day pissed off about the article and only recovered

midafternoon when he’d focused on work hard enough that he’d forgotten about it.

Now he found himself getting pissed off all over again.

“She makes it sound as if we’re some kind of dive bar with people fucking in the

bathrooms and snorting cocaine off each other.” Shane flicked the paper open to the

article and stabbed at it with his forefinger. “I don’t know how she managed to make us

sound like complete deviants without actually saying it.”

“It’s a rare skill.”

“And it’s right near this other article about some stupid rich mogul called Carter

and his million-dollar loft apartment renovations. Makes what we did look like nothing

in comparison.” Shane sounded disgusted.

Ben sighed. “Shut the door, will you?”

Shane did, with more force than was strictly necessary. The car’s frame

shuddered. “It’s not just me,” he said. “I know it’s not. Everyone who’s come in today’s

said the same things.”

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“It’s not just you,” Ben reassured him. He wished he’d had someone to

commiserate with earlier in the day, but his relationships with his coworkers were so

focused on work they barely knew more than each other’s names. “Seat belt.”

“Fuck seat belts,” Shane muttered, but he put it on anyway so Ben could finally

pull away from the curb.

“Are you sure you want to do this today? At all?” Ben asked as they pulled into

the plaza that housed the tattoo parlor. The plaza was busy, but most of the shoppers

had chosen to park close to the supermarket that dominated it, and it wasn’t difficult to

get a spot close by the parlor.

“Are you having second thoughts?”

“A few,” Ben answered, opting for honesty instead of projecting the calm

decisiveness that Shane seemed to like from him. He’d been doing some belated

research, and some of the images of infected nipples had been the opposite of arousing.

“I didn’t realize they can take six months—or more—to heal. And there’s the risk of

infection, or the piercing moving or getting ripped out…”

“All true. Why do you think I’ve never done it? Though Vincent’s happy enough

with his. That boy’s a metal detector’s dream date.”

“I just thought it’d be hot,” Ben confessed. “Hot making you do it, watching you

when it happened…fun to play with later.”

“Fun to torture me with, you mean.” Shane rubbed his nipple through his T-shirt.

“This one’s still bruised. God help me if you ever get your hands on some clamps.”

Ben took note of that, seeing it as a broad hint, not genuine apprehension. Shane

had his own way of asking for things. “I’m not wasting my money on ordering some off

a sleazy site,” he said. “I’ve got some clips for sealing bags that would work just as

well.”

“Cheap and sadistic. I don’t half pick them.” The fond look Shane gave him saved

the words from being anything but a gentle tease, and Ben responded by leaning over

and kissing that smiling mouth.

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“Want me to change?” he murmured, his fingers finding the nipple Shane had

planned to pierce and tweaking it sharply. “Be nice to you?”

Shane sucked in a sharp breath. “Not particularly.”

“Okay. Then let’s go.”

The inside of the place held the lingering smell of cigarette smoke even though

Ben was pretty sure it’d been illegal to smoke indoors for, like, ever. There was flash all

over the walls, a couple of couches that looked as if they’d been there for decades and

were probably at least partially responsible for the smoke smell, and haphazard stacks

of photo books everywhere.

Shane went over to the desk. Behind it sat a young woman with long dark hair

shot through with blue and purple dreadlocks—real? some kind of extensions?—and a

bored expression. “I’ve got an appointment,” Shane said. “Brant.”

She leaned forward and ran her finger down a page in the open book in front of

her. “Uh-huh. Jasper will be done in a few. Then he’ll take you. Piercing?”

“Yes.”

“All the jewelry’s over there.” She waved at a large case on the wall. “It’s all

labeled. Just pick out what you want.”

There was a selection of rings and rods to choose from. Ben and Shane stood with

their shoulders touching and looked at them. After half a minute, Shane shrugged.

“Your idea. You choose.”

“You’re the one who’s going to wear it,” Ben protested, but he tried to imagine

what a few of the rings would look like pushed through Shane’s nipple and felt his cock

stir in response. God, what would it be like to tug on a ring that went through Shane’s

skin? What sounds would Shane make while he was doing it? “How about that one?”

He pointed to a fairly plain but solid-looking gold-toned ring.

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197

“Yeah, sure. It’s fine.” Shane turned to him. “I don’t care all that much, to be

honest. I’m doing it because you want me to. And I’m a bit curious, I suppose.” He

rubbed the back of his neck and tilted his head to look at Ben with a smile.

Ben lowered his voice. “About how it’ll feel?”

Shane nodded. “During and after.” Ben glanced down and saw Shane was half-

hard inside his jeans. He wished they were somewhere alone so he could reach out and

cup Shane’s erection, encourage it to grow.

Instead, he changed the subject. “Tattoos aren’t like that, I hear. I mean, it hurts

while you’re getting them done, but then it’s over.” Vin had told him that afterward it

wasn’t any worse than a bad sunburn.

“Ever think about getting one?” Shane asked.

“I don’t know. It’s hard to guess what I wouldn’t get sick of after a few years.

Anything I’d have picked when I was twenty would be embarrassing by now.”

“Brant?” Jasper had come out from the hallway behind the desk that led back to a

handful of doors.

“That’s me,” Shane said. He jerked his thumb at Ben. “He wants to watch.”

“Fine with me.” Jasper was a walking advertisement for his job, muscular, his

arms covered in a swirl of color, dense and detailed. Ben wondered if it was possible to

tattoo yourself, but decided he didn’t care enough to ask.

After telling the receptionist which ring they’d chosen, they followed Jasper. The

back room was cluttered but clean enough, a chair that looked disturbingly like a

dentist’s chair in the middle of it, a stool nearby.

Ben swallowed, his stomach uneasy. The smell in here was predominately

antiseptic. Add in the chair, and he was left fighting memories of painful sessions

getting cavities filled.

Without being told, Shane took off his jacket, a beat-up leather, and peeled off his

T-shirt.

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Jasper eyed him appraisingly, and Ben felt a twinge of possessiveness that was

ridiculous under the circumstances. Jasper wasn’t gay—or at least Vin hadn’t said he

was—and his gaze wasn’t at all inappropriate given that he was staring at Shane’s

chest.