Dinner with Gran

~ Dinner with Gran ~

         Stumbling around the corner towards his apartment complex, arms laden with heavy groceries in their doubled-paper sacks, Ben saw a curious sight. A man, wearing what could only be described as a salmon-pink shirt. He had loose, white, draw-string pants and Berkenstocks, and stood next to the gate-guard holding one end of a dark purple leash. On the end of the leash was a cat. A black and white cat, to be exact, which was currently belly-up in the hyacinths scratching its back in the thick, black loam. The man himself was slightly taller than Ben; the top of Angie's head came to his shoulders, which seemed monstrously broad. He held himself as if it were no big deal that he was out, walking a cat -- a cat! -- and wearing pink. They were in the shade of the little gate-house, so the man's sunglasses were perched on his forehead, nestled in thick, shaggy, dark-brown hair.

         He turned as Angie gestured about something and Ben got a great look at a really, really, really fine ass. His mind went on hiatus.

         Ben dashed across the street, stopping beside the two, and babbled incoherently for a minute; the only thing that made sense out of the whole spiel was, "Will you be my boyfriend?"

         "Excuse me?" replied the man while Angie caterwauled with laughter.

         Ben flushed. The stranger's eyebrows had disappeared into his hairline. His lips twitched, however, and his eyes, which were a light brown, twinkled.

         "Er, uh, my grandmother's coming, IsworeI'dhaveadatebutmyfriendhadtogoout-of-town, I'veneverbeensodesperateinmylife -- please!"

         Rick had walked this street and come up this corner almost every day since September. He could not remember ever seeing this man before. He had caramel-colored hair, cut almost severely, streaked with darker brown and blonde highlights and slathered with gel to stand up on the top in mini-spikes. He wore a diamond stud in one ear and the blue eyes peering over the towering sacks of groceries were just too precious. He wanted most desperately to laugh. Normally, Rick was the one doing the asking, but, of all the pick-up lines he'd ever been offered, masquerading as a boyfriend for a total stranger's grandmother totally took the cake. He made a show of being undecided.

         "What are you cooking?"

         The reply was just as garbled as the first verbal torrent, but Rick caught enough to understand it would be something of a Southern variety, with pork chops. All the while, those blue eyes dashed hither and yon as if the indomitable matriarch could pop out from behind a bush or palm tree at any second.

         "Well, I really should work on my thesis tonight --"

         Ben's mouth again flapped open of its own accord, "N-no, please, you don't understand! She'll be here in less than two hours! Where else am I going to find someone else in two hours! This is a disaster! I can't just have nobody, I --"

         Mr. Salmon-Pink Shirt opened his mouth in deep, hearty laughter, cutting him off. He'd spoken with a middle tenor, but his laugh went slightly lower in octave and Ben held his breath in awe. It was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard.

         "Okay, okay," said Rick when he could finally rein himself in. He thought for a moment he had offended his psuedo-date, but the flush of red cheeks and wide eyes made him smile wickedly. Rick well knew the effect he could have on people when he chose. One did not teach eighteen-year-olds for a living without being aware of what buttons one could and could not press. So, he dusted imaginary dirt off his pants, scooped Tyler out of the flower bed, and started down the sidewalk.

         "I'll see you in an hour then."

         He waved, and Ben just stood there for a minute as --

         "Oh. My. God."

         Angie, who had all this time been snickering into the palm of her hand, met Ben's panicked gaze with confusion. "What?"

         "I just asked a total-fucking-stranger to dinner! With my grandmother! Oh my God, oh my God, I am so doomed! Doomed! I am never going to live this down, she'll heckle me even from beyond the grave! Fuck! I didn't even ask his name!"

         "It's Rick, and he's a professor at USC."

         "Shit, what?"

         "I said --"

         "I heard. How do you know that?"

         She frowned at him and sighed. "Doc, he walks by here every day. Did you see Tyler? Isn't he cute?"

         "Oh, God! He must think I'm a total spaz!"

         "Not totally," she laughed, "or he wouldn't have said yes, now would he?"

         "Fuck, what am I going to do? There's never been anybody in my house before, and my gran's going to be here soon and I haven't done anything all day and there's --"

         "Doc!"

         Ben halted, breathing hard and leaning forward slightly to see Angie through his arms of groceries.

         "Hadn't you better get started? Cooking, that is?"

         "Oh, shit, you're right! You'll let him in, right? Tell him which one? I shouldn't want him to --"

         "Yes, yes, Doc, I will, don't worry about it. Now get going."

*          *          *

         Ben lived in a gated community of townhome-style apartments. The outside was as well-manicured as a botanical garden and somehow Rick didn't think the man mowed the grass himself. The opulence gave him pause when he showed up an hour or so later and he scanned his attire again before he knocked. He had on gray slacks now and his only silk shirt, a deep green. He still wore his sandals, but he'd left his shades at home and had even taken a brush through his unruly hair.

         "Come in!" was the response to his knock, so Rick fingered the latch and stepped into the entranceway. He kicked off his sandals, dumped his backpack on top, and sniffed appreciatively.

         "Smells good!" he called, following his nose across a living room that could have fit his entire studio apartment with room to spare. He shuffled his feet luxuriously in the plush, silver-blue carpet, trailed a hand along a black leather sofa, and ducked through an archway into the separate dining room and attached kitchen. The table was already set, and Rick almost laughed to recognize the Corell pattern, sitting smugly in the center of wine-red placemats. The cupboard in the corner held the remainder of the unbreakable dishes, glassware, and, from the bit of cloth showing out of one of the drawers, more place mats and cloth napkins.

         He pulled the scotch out of the paper sack he held and set that on the bar. From under his arm he produced the eight-inch-round ice-cream cake. "I'll just put this in the freezer, and get out of your way."

         "What?" Ben paused in his tornado of activity to stare at his visitor. His mouth dropped open again. "Oh my God, you're fantastic! I just realized I don't have any caramel, and how else am I going to serve the tarts without the cream and for sure you can't not have dessert and what am I going to do now with all those apples and the ice--" He stopped, staring at the inscription on the top, wincing slightly. "Please tell me it's not your birthday."

         Rick grinned. "It's not."

         "Oh, good."

         Then he turned over his wrist to look at his watch. "At least not for another, oh, thirty-five hours or so."

         "What? Oh, God!"

         "Relax. My plans are for tomorrow, not tonight, and I'll have another one for the party, anyway. My friend owns a bakery."

         Ben took the proffered dessert warily. "It looks great. What is it?"

         "Mocha ice-cream, cherry filling, and chocolate icing. Hmm, I take it you're more a tea person?"

         Ben blushed. "Guilty as charged. Earl Grey, milk and two sugars."

         "Blech."

         "Yeah, well, that's one more thing you can blame that on Gran. She raised me and my sis." Opening the freezer, he popped the dish on top of a stack of frozen pizzas, squished in between frozen fruit and hot pockets. He took a second to lean against the black door and actually look at his guest. Rick looked terrific!

         "I'm, uh, Ben," he introduced himself. "Benjamin Blythe. Thank you so much for doing this!"

         Rick grinned and shook Ben's hand. "Fredrick Wengstrom, but call me Rick. Are you a doctor? Angie called you 'Doc.'"

         Ben laughed, blushing in embarrassment. "Uh, no, that's just -- it's, uh, it's my handle."

         "Oh?" asked Rick, noting the renewed flush with interest. "And just what do you do?"

         "Me and my partners run an internet company," he answered, somewhat weakly.

         "What kind?"

         The blush darkened. "Um, the dating kind."

         Rick couldn't help the grin that stretched across his face. "You run an internet dating service and you couldn't find a date?" he teased.

         "I had a date!" snapped Ben. "He just couldn't make it."

         "Uh-huh." Rick placed one palm on the wall by Ben's head, leaning in. "So, what exactly is this handle, then?"

         "Um, um, oh God. It's -- it's stupid, really, I was really young --"

         "Not like you're so ancient now," said Rick.

         "N-no, I suppose not."

         "So, what is it?"

         Ben wanted to melt into the tile of the floor. "Um ... Love Doctor," he murmured, staring at his feet.

         "That's so cute," said Rick. He ruffled the spiky hair and stepped back. Rooting around in the 'china' cabinet, he pulled out some glasses and poured two shots of scotch. "So. Tell me about this relationship we're in. I'm assuming you have some sort of story? How long have we been dating?"

         Ben busied himself again with food preparation. "Um, six months?"

         "Really?"

         "Y-yeah, see, my friends got married and I decided to move out, that was kind of awkward, the three of us, but we'd been together since college and, well, it just seemed the right time, what with the baby coming and all and I didn't want a housewarming, I hate parties, and, um, my gran's real nosy."

         Rick handed Ben a glass.

         "I don't drink."

         "Ben," he replied. "Trust me. You need to loosen up. Drink it and calm down. I don't bite." He smirked. "Unless you're into that sort of thing." He grinned at the startled, wide-eyed look he received.

         "Um, n-no." Ben took the drink cautiously, downing it in a gulp like he'd seen in movies. He saw Rick move to stop him, in the split-second before his eyes started to water and the insides of his chest seemed to burst into flames.

         Rick nearly snorted his drink. Setting the liquor shakily on the counter, he could only laugh. He ruffled Ben's hair again when he stopped gasping and wheezing. "You are too cute." He gazed at him, perplexed, for a moment. "Are you sure you're single?"

         "I ... I, um, yeah, I work a lot." Ben turned on the tap to take a couple of swift mouthfuls. He wiped his face on a paper towel. "You?"

         Shrugging, Rick leaned against the bar. "Yep. No serious relationships. Been too busy with school."

         "Angie said you were a professor?"

         "Kind of. I'm a doctoral student at USC. I teach two courses on the classics. My thesis is on the effects of literature on culture."

         "You teach English?"

         "Yep. Assuming I successfully defend my thesis, I'll be a full-on professor in the fall, with a full course load. I've only got two classes at the moment, but they've promised me a creative writing class next year."

         "Wow, that's amazing. Are you published?"

         "Some small stuff, here and there, nothing exciting. Is it okay if I take a look around? I want to actually seem like I've been here before."

         "Um, sure, dinner should be ready in about twenty-five minutes." He looked at the clock hanging on the wall. "Which should," he muttered, "be five minutes after my grandmother gets here."

         Shaking his head slightly, Rick went back to the entranceway to grab his bag. He was glad he'd come prepared. Ben's apartment looked more like a showroom than a place someone actually lived. The only thing that gave the place life was a large, faux-antique photo hanging above the fireplace. In it, a stern-faced, but gentle-seeming older woman sat in a chair with a cane flanked by Ben on her right, and a lovely pre-teen girl clutching the armrest on her left. They were dressed in Victorian-era clothes and the photo itself had just a hint of brown tone to hint at age. The frame was tarnished silver. It was all really rather charming.

         Off the entranceway was an office. The desk was c-shaped, with a huge bookshelf-contraption on one side against the wall. The leather chair faced a computer with three different screens. Papers, notepads, and other gobbly-gook littered the top. Books on various programming languages were crammed next to texts on psychology on the shelving unit and the closet held meticulously-labeled files, evidently the overflow from the two black monstrosities in the corner. Rick turned the light back off and retreated.

         The next door led into the bedroom. He smiled in mischievous delight at the four-poster with its large wooden headboard and thick, red, goose-down comforter. He jumped on top with a running leap, scattering pillows and untucking the meticulously-made sheets with their hospital corners. A few scattered belongings from Rick's bag and he was satisfied. He went into the adjoining bathroom. Another well-used toothbrush went alongside the other in the holder, magazines in the rack by the toilet, and a few other odds and ends. There was a second door back out into the hallway. Three more doors; one held a linen closet and vertical-stacked, washer/dryer combo, another the water heater, and the third went into the garage. The only things in there were a motorcycle, a surfboard, and a snowboard hanging from hooks in the wall.

         Rick stared at the surfboard for a minute. His first impression of Ben had been the stereotypical California surfer-dude, but he was a little nonplussed to find that his suspicions were true. Ben really didn't seem laid-back enough to be a surfer. And the motorcycle? Also not what he had expected.

         He went back inside and up the stairs to the loft. This room was open with a banister over the living room, covering the entirety of the rest of the downstairs. It even had its own half-bath. A pool table rested under a low-hanging light in the corner, and a big, flat-screen t.v. hung on the wall in front of an old, but apparently well-loved sleeper-sofa. The remote rested in the crack of a hard-back book lying open on the coffee table. There was an impressive stereo system on one side and a cabinet full of dvds and a mini fridge stocked with ... soda? Soda. Wow.

         But Rick found himself most impressed by the stuffed bookshelf under the large, picture window.

         Shrugging, Rick threw some more of his belongings about and returned downstairs. He tossed the now-empty bag into the front closet. Going back into the kitchen, he said, "I didn't take you for a guy who'd be into Westerns."

         "Are you kidding?" asked Ben, sipping on a wooden spoon. "What's not to love? Clint and Wayne are like the awesomest."

         "Right." He watched Ben fuss around the kitchen for a minute. "And the surfboard?"

         "Oh." To Rick's delight, Ben blushed again. "Yeah, well, it's hard to grow up in L.A. without learning how to surf."

         "Do you still?"

         "Yup. Every Sunday. It'd be hard to resist, anyway, the beach's only a couple miles away."

         "I'd noticed," said Rick dryly.

         "Oh, um, yeah, I guess so," mumbled Ben, remembering that Rick obviously lived close enough to walk here. "Um, I jog down on the strand in the mornings, but Sundays Doug and I surf. The agency is closed on Sundays." He put the lid back on the bisque and checked his vegis. "So, um, what do you think?"

         "This place is really amazing. I shudder to think what you're paying for it."

         Ben grimaced. "Yeah, well, after being crammed into Doug and Shelly's place for so long, I wanted some space. Besides, we'd just gotten bought out and the money was burning a hole in my pocket. This seemed like a good investment."

         "You own it?"

         "Yeah. This section down on the end is all condos."

         Rick dropped some ice into his scotch. "Well, the workaholic aspect helps explain why you're still single. Born and raised here?"

         "Um, yeah. College in San-Fran, but came back here when we were done."

         "We?"

         "Doug, Shelly, and me. Doug's the real master-mind. He deals with the clients. I code, mostly, and Shelly's got an MBA, so she does all the books and sees that we all get paid. She was the one who dictated the terms of our acquisition. Really sweet deal, considering that the only thing that really changed was the name and some of the terms of service. What about you?"

         "Southern boy," said Rick. "From North Caro --"

         The doorbell cut him off. Ben's eyes darted to the clock. "Oh, shit! She's early! Fuck, of course she's early, Gran's always early, oh my god, she's early, nothing's ready, I'm dead, so dead, she's going to eat me alive! Oh god, ohgodohgod! Always be prepared! Yeah, right, be prepared, I'll pre -- mmpf!"

         A flustered Ben was really just too irresistable for Rick. He snagged the slimmer, shorter man as he dashed madly around the kitchen, and claimed his lips for a kiss. Red sauce dripped unnoticed on the tile as Ben tangled his other hand in Rick's hair. In the heat of the kitchen, Rick's hands felt clammy and cool. Firm fingers massaged the tense muscles at the back of his neck and the other dipped under his shirt to press against Ben's back and bring them almost indecently close together.

         Ben hadn't been kissed in ages. His mind's split-second of denial and struggle was almost instantly overcome by his body going, "Hell, yeah!" and he melted into Rick's embrace, forgetting everything for a moment, which was, of course, the point.

         "Oh, how cute! Gran, come quick!"

         Ben tore himself away with a smack, of lips and of the wooden spoon impacting his face. "Genny! What the -- what are you doing here? Fuck! I don't have enough food!"

         "Benjamin Oliver!" an older, female voice cut him off. "Is that any kind of language to use when there are ladies present? Do I need to wash your mouth out?"

         Ben gulped. "Um, um, n-no, Gran! No, I --"

         "Then you get on out here and give me a proper welcome. Imagine! Letting an old woman freeze to death on your front stoop."

         Ben sighed, his body tensing up in nerves even as he smiled a little and rolled his eyes. "You're not old, Gran!"

         "Never argue with a woman about her age! Now get on out here."

         Rick plucked the spoon out of Ben's hand as he went by and was left staring at a young woman with bleach-blonde hair who only vaguely resembled the little girl in the portrait.

         "I'm Genny," she said. "Genny with a G."

         "Rick," he replied, shaking her hand. "It's nice to meet you, Genny-with-a-G. You must be the sister."

         She giggled. "That's me!" Her cheerful exterior hid calculating eyes, a gaze Rick met and returned squarely, and some of Genny's suspicions eased. She was delighted her brother was dating again, though she'd worried since he wasn't usually so tight-lipped and evasive.

         Rick set the spoon into the spoon-rest and followed Genny into the living room to meet the ... formidable grandmother? His smile blossomed again as he saw her. This woman reminded him of a pair of elderly spinsters from his own childhood. They'd been true Southern Belles, straight out of Gone with the Wind.

         "Evening, Ma'am," he said, kissing her hand with a small bow and avoiding Ben's still-sauce-smeared face and fluttery fidgeting. Rick knew that if he looked over at him, he'd start laughing and laughing would totally blow the whole attempt at schmoozing.

         Gran laughed, delighted at the old-fashioned manners. "Sweetie, you can just call me Mimi. Now, tell me where my grandson picked up such a charmer?"

         "We just happened to run into each other one day," he answered smoothly, aware that Ben's eyes had gone round in alarm.

         "Oh, fate! How precious." She beamed up at him, liking what she saw and heard, the barely there accent softening a voice that could all too easily be harsh. For all his size, Rick seemed gentle and she hoped that this first impression would prove true, because her grandson, even after all he'd survived, was a gentle soul, and she wanted this new man to be real.

         "This, uh, this's Rick, Gran," stammered Ben.

         "Frederick Wengstrom, Ma'am, at your service."

         "German?"

         "Yes, Ma'am, and a good ol' Southern boy. Can I get you a drink? There's wine, or some finely aged scotch in the kitchen."

         "I'll take a scotch, young man. On the rocks." She sniffed. "Is something burning?"

         "Oh, Christ!" Ben exclaimed. He dashed back into the kitchen.

         "Benjamin!" gasped Gran.

         Genny laughed. Both women followed Rick into the dining room. They chatted merrily while Genny fished a fourth set of plates and utensils from the cabinet and Rick poured more scotch, and a glass of merlot for Genny. Then he maneuvered them back away from the whirlwind of activity that was Ben, and offered to show them around.

         Ben kept one ear on their progress from the kitchen. There were the expected ohs and ahs, and then a shriek of laughter from Genny followed by a growled, "Benjamin!" from Gran. He froze.

         What? he thought. What did I forget? Dusting? No, no, I dusted everything. Made the bed? Check. Under the bed? Check. Toilet? Check. Vacuum? Check. Shit, is there hair in the sink?

         He ran his to-do list through his head. He'd been in a cleaning frenzy all the night before and would have been this morning but for Doug's plea that he come by the office, for just a few minutes, only he'd ended up staying all day, hence the panic at feeling like he was up against a firing squad at, literally, the last second.

         "Ah, Benji, that's so cute!" he heard Genny exclaim at some point. He groaned and rescued his pork chops from the frying pan. Shaky hands were setting out laden plates of food by the time the group clattered back downstairs.

         Gran reached over and thumped her grandson on the back of the head as he held out a chair for her. "Didn't I teach you not to leave your underthings just out for everyone to see?"

         "No -- uh, I mean, yes, Gran, I -- wait, what?"

         Genny was giggling and Rick winked at Ben as he helped her into her seat.

         "Manners! Manners, boy!" said Gran, taking her chair with all the elegance of a queen onto her throne. Ben snapped back into action.

         He went to sit down, but Rick captured him first. Ben tried to push him away, but Rick held him tight, licking -- oh my God! -- licking Ben's forehead and eyebrow. Wild-eyed, he stared at the man when released, wondering just what kind of crackpot licks -- licks! -- a man in front of his little sister and grandmother?

         "Tasty," said Rick evilly, giving Ben a smirk. Then he sat down, as if nothing whatsoever untoward had happened.

         Ben flopped into his chair, and then immediately jumped up again to fetch the wine. Rick rescued the bottle from his shaking fingers and poured. Sitting in his chair, Ben picked up his spoon, staring at his cajun-style shrimp bisque. He looked up at Gran's reproving, clucking noise, to see everyone else staring at him, waiting, hands clasped. Dropping the spoon with a clatter, and another death-glare from Gran, Ben said a hasty prayer and added another silent appeal to all the gods that might be, or had ever been, in heaven to save him from making a complete and utter ass of himself.

         Maybe his prayer was answered or maybe Rick was just an angel in disguise. He deftly dodged Gran's inquisitorial approach, steering the conversation away from Ben and to himself time after time. He regaled Gran and Genny with tales of his students and funny excerpts from test papers and essays. He spoke about his thesis and his plans for the coming year, and then, as Ben rose to fetch the main course, maple-glazed boneless pork chops atop rounds of garlic toast, mixed sauteed vegetables, and thin strips of jicama, Rick ever-so-casually mentioned that he played rugby.

         "Oooh, isn't that dangerous?" asked Genny.

         "A true man's sport," said Gran, eyeing Ben and smirking when he avoided her gaze.

         "Do you ever watch him play?" Genny asked Ben.

         "Uh ...."

         "Oh, no," Rick told them with a wink. "Watching makes Ben squeamish."

         That started a round of 'let's make fun of Ben,' which Genny had always loved to do and had now seemed to find an enabler in Rick. Through it all, the taller, darker-haired man flashed irrepressible grins and winks at Ben and fondled his calves with his toes under the table. Gran sat quietly, making few comments, but she at least didn't confine her digs to anyone in particular, even bringing up long-dead ancestors to abuse.

         Then, oh God, and then, as Ben started to serve the salad, Genny said something about 'yaoi,' whatever that was, Rick went, "Oh, really?" and the conversation spiraled into something that Ben could only classify, somewhat shakily, as cartoon porn. What was really scary, though, was how knowledgeable Rick seemed to be on the subject.

         Gran leaned across the table to pat the back of Ben's hand. "Why don't you pour me another scotch, dear?"

         He got up rather shakily and meanwhile Rick was saying, "If I had a hot half-demon fighting over me, heck, I'd just let him win," and he gave Ben a rather lewd smirk from where he was trying to hide in the kitchen. Ben poured the scotch and drank it, coughing weakly and rubbing watery eyes.

         "Do you need a hand with the cake?" called Rick, when it looked like Ben was never coming back to the table.

         "Cake?" cried Genny. "What cake? Whose cake, oooh, is this a special occasion?"

         Rick rose. "It's my birthday tomorrow. Hm. Technically Sunday, I suppose. Does anyone want coffee? Or tea?"

         "Just scotch," said Gran.

         "No, thanks," said Genny. "But I'll take a coke or pepsi or whatever. Anything dark, really. I know Ben's got some. He's like a soda-holic."

         When Rick entered the kitchen, Ben was leaning, eyes glazed, against the refrigerator, hidden from view of the dining room by the pantry. The scotch bottle and an empty glass were clutched in white-knuckled fingers. Rick pried them out of his grip, returning the alcohol to a safe location, and gathered Ben to his chest, rubbing his back.

         "You have a really nice family."

         "Guh ...."

         "They obviously adore you."

         "Sh-sh-sure."

         "Your gran reminds me of home." He kept his envy tightly contained. His family didn't know; Rick had hidden his sexuality from the time he really understood what it meant to be different.

         Ben looked up. "Home?"

         "Yeah. Dirt roads and farmhouses and roosters instead of alarm clocks." He tilted Ben's chin, nibbling on his lips. "The food was great, just like Mom used to make." He could taste the alcohol, blending deliciously with the sweet sauce from the pork chops and he leaned back, drawing Ben with him to rest against the pantry door. Ben relaxed again under Rick's tender ministrations, falling limply against him, arms wrapping around Rick's neck.

         "You guys are like rabbits," said Genny.

         "Gen!" Ben's eyes popped open as he startled, jumping away. Rick caught him, laughing, and spun him around for another stolen kiss.

         "Geez," continued Genny. "How often do you guys do it, anyway?"

         Ben's mouth opened and closed a few times, but nothing came out.

         "Oh, I dunno," Rick answered. "I think our record is five. Hmm, or was it six? Don't know if that time in the jacuzzi counts." He winked. "No penetration."

         "What?" cried Ben. He smacked Rick. "That's my little sister you're talking to! Shit, man!" He cringed to another cry of, "Benjamin!" from the other room, but continued glaring at Rick. Both he and Genny were laughing.

         "Just teasing, babe," said Rick, slapping Ben lightly on the butt. Ben jumped, yelping and sending Genny into more convulsions of laughter.

         "What are you kids doing in there?"

         "Nothing, Gran!" Ben called, hissing, "Asshole," at Rick.

         Rick leaned forward, to whisper in his ear, "That's kind of the idea, isn't it?"

         Ben had not quite mastered the art of his grandmother's death glare.

         They sang 'Happy Birthday' and retired to the living room for more drinks and chat, but before long Genny started yawning and the round of farewells began. Ben finally closed the door on the two women after promising to bring Rick to his grandmother's annual Fourth of July barbecue and after Genny had managed to get herself invited to Rick's birthday bash the following night. Ben put his back to the door, eyes closed, thanking GOD that they were finally gone.

         "Now," said Rick softly, putting both hands to either side of Ben's head and leaning in closer, "was that really so bad?"

         Ben's baby blues, slightly dilated from alcohol consumption, stared up at him. "N-no," he murmured. "I guess not. I guess ... that you need to get going, too, huh?"

         "Oh, I think I can at least help you clean up a little. Let them get safely away and all. Mmm, what do you say?"

         "That's, er, okay with me."

         "Good. And I think I'll start right here."

         Leaning a little closer, Rick drew his tongue along Ben's lips, tasting the chocolate still in the corners. He dropped his hips, sliding against Ben seductively.

         "This really was a most enjoyable evening," he whispered. "Thank you."

         "Y-you're welcome."

         Rick drew back, clapping his hands together and making Ben jump. "Right. So what next?"

         "Next?"

         "I'm assuming you have a dishwasher?"

         Ben blinked cutely, his mind about as far from dinner clean-up as could be. "Um ...."

         "Or did you have something else in mind?"

         Ben couldn't stop staring at those lips. He was afraid to step away from the door, wondering if he'd be able to stand if he relinquished its support. His whole body was tingling from Rick's previously close proximity. "Er ...."

         I have a gorgeous guy in my house, thought Ben. I know more about him than my last boyfriend ... and he's volunteering to do the dishes. What the fuck is wrong with me that I'm just standing here? He's been putting the moves on me all night! Right? Or is that just really good acting? He wowed Gran and Genny's totally in love with him already ....

         Rick tapped Ben in the forehead. "Yoo-hoo, Earth to Ben, you in there?" He grinned back as Ben blinked dazedly back at him.

         "Um ...."

         "I said, 'Do you know what you want?'"

         "... Yeah."

         Rick scratched his head, wondering how much Ben had had to drink. He looked either plastered or high, and neither was particularly conducive to his plans for the rest of the night. "Um, Ben?"

         "Yeah?"

         "You kinda have to move away from the door if we're going out."

         Ben blinked. "Going out?" He saw that Rick had his Berkenstocks on again and was holding a light jacket.

         "Do you not want to go anymore?"

         "Go?"

         "Yes, Ben." Rick sighed. "Never mind. I'll just see you tomorrow. Shall I pick you up at seven?"

         "Um ... okay." Ben frowned, puzzled. Did I miss something?

         Disappointed, but no less amused, Rick gave Ben a light peck on his wrinkled forehead. Gently, he steered him away from the door. "Okay, then. See you tomorrow."

         The door closed.

         "Yeah, sure," murmured Ben. "Hey!" He yanked the door open. "Hey!" he said again.

         Rick paused. He turned around, eyebrow arched in query.

         "Aren't you -- well, I -- you call that a goodnight kiss?"

         "It's late, Ben, and you're drunk."

         "Am not! Come back here."

         He really is cute, thought Rick. Smiling, he decided to humor Ben and went back up the walk. He stopped just on the lip of the door, standing toe to toe with his flustered host. "Yes?"

         Pressing up on his tip-toes, Ben threw his arms around Rick's neck and kissed him. Rick leaned back into the kiss, hands going from Ben's hair to his shoulders, his sides, hips and butt.

         "Oh, God," moaned Ben, starting to feel a little light-headed.

         Rick expected him to draw away, but Ben rubbed against him, locking his elbows against any attempt at escape. Rick could have easily broken the hold; Ben was standing on his tip-toes, after all, but he really didn't want to. The short kisses they'd shared earlier had been nothing to this. Unfortunately, if he didn't let go, the walk home was going to become very uncomfortable.

         "Ben?"

         "Nngh!"

         "Ben." Grabbing the blonde's arms, Rick pushed him back and away. "I have to go, and you have to get some sleep." Unable to resist the adorable pout, Rick stepped back in for a quick kiss. He turned Ben around and smacked him lightly on the bottom. "Go on, now. And, Ben?"

         He turned around quickly -- too quickly -- catching himself on the door frame. "Yeah?"

         "Good night." He grinned, smiling wider at the scowl he received in return.

         The door slammed shut and Ben leaned against it, closing his eyes, fingers ghosting over his lips. He scowled again. "Asshole." He needed a shower. A long, cold shower.

         Laughing, Rick headed down the walk towards home. He sang softly and whistled, "Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me ... mmmm."

~ END ~