HEART AND SOUL
by Jeanette Grey

Ben glanced at his phone as he killed the engine on his car. As expected, there
weren't any messages. No missed calls.

Through the drizzle and the darkness outside, he directed his gaze out the
windshield toward the warm glow of the windows of Madigan's Bar, wishing he
could see inside. Duke hadn't been at his house or at Danielle's, and Ben didn't
know if he'd be here. If he had to put money on it, though...

With a deep sigh, Ben pulled the collar of his jacket close and threw open the
car door before darting out into the rain, muttering under his breath, "Damn
well better be worth it."

He only had to take a single step inside to know it was.

There at the bar, hunched over a half-drained pint, was the head of short-
cropped black hair and those muscled shoulders. The peek-a-boo lines of a
tribal tattoo.

For a minute, Ben stood there on the threshold, leaning against the door frame
and just staring, his annoyance seeping away as quickly as it had gathered.
Across the room, he saw Mike nod at him from behind the bar before gesturing
toward Duke with a question in his eyes. Ben shook his head and raised his
hand to press his forefinger to his lips. Mike shrugged and moved back to the
other side of the bar, but Ben wasn't looking at him anymore.

How could he?

After letting his eyes scan over Duke's body one more time, Ben finally pushed
away from the wall and strode across the room. The barstool made a rough
noise as it scraped against the stone floor, but Duke didn't flinch at either the
sound or at the way Ben deposited himself into the seat. He raised a hand to
get Mike's attention again, ignoring the wry grin on the bartender's face.

"Two Sam Adams."

"Coming right up."

Mike poured the two beers and passed them over. Ben grabbed one for himself
and slipped the other over to sit beside Duke's mostly empty one. Duke still
didn't look up, but he did mumble out a low, "Thank you," before draining the
first glass and lifting up the second.

"I tried to call you."

"I ignored it."

"I noticed." Ben chanced a quick look over at Duke. From the door, he hadn't
been able to see the other man's expression, and while he had a pretty good
idea what he was dealing with, he'd take any extra clues he could get.

There weren't many. But then again, after all these years, it wasn't like Ben
needed much. Sure enough, in the lines around those cool blue eyes and the
tilt of his lips, Ben could see that Duke was just as upset as he'd expected him
to be.

Ben already knew most of the story. After all, Danielle had been the one to call
him, her voice near-hysterical as she'd relayed the story of Duke walking in on
her with another man. Of Duke storming out and refusing to answer his phone.

Wanting to hear it all from Duke, though, Ben didn't go into any of that.
Instead, he just asked, "So how are you?"

"How do I look?"

Ben sized him up again before answering. "Wrecked."

Duke nodded stiffly but hid the waver of his mouth with his glass. "That's about

right." The two men sat in silence for a few minutes, each drinking quietly until
Duke dropped his fist against the bar. "It's just all... bullshit is what it is."

"What's that?"

"Relationships. Life. The whole damned thing." For the first time all night, Duke
looked up and turned his head, his shining eyes finding Ben's and locking them
inside his gaze. "She fucking cheated on me. With this random pick-up. Tried to
tell me it didn't mean anything, but who does that?"

Ben hesitated before answering, his hand hovering over the bar. He wanted so
badly to reach out, to console him. To touch him. He wanted to tell his friend
that she wasn't worth it and that he should move on.

But everything he wanted to do was selfish. He wanted to touch Duke because
he wanted to touch him. He wanted to turn him away from Danielle because ...

It hurt too much to think about why.

And it didn't matter anyway. Things never worked out the way Ben wanted
them to. Not with Duke.

Exhaling hard, Ben finally decided on a compromise and clapped his hand on
the warm muscle of Duke's shoulder, only resting it there for a second before
withdrawing. He had to grasp the side of his glass to keep from doing it again.
"I'm sorry. I wish ..."

Ben wished for so many things.

"It's fine. It's all fine," Duke said. "It's just ... Don't you ever just want to give
up? On the whole thing? On women?"

The question stung. It was the kind of thing Duke would say sometimes,
though. Especially when he was angry.

Instinctively, Ben bristled slightly, his shoulders stiffening. "Obviously."

Duke didn't even have the decency to acknowledge that he'd fucked up. "Oh,
you know what I mean. Men in your case."

"And sometimes in yours."

It was neither the time nor the place, but Ben couldn't stop the words from
spilling out. He remembered it all so vividly, walking in on Duke and another
man that one time in college. Hell, he'd even dated one for a couple of weeks
after his last relationship had gone to seed. Before Danielle.

It was the hope Ben clung to. It was the knowledge that tormented him and
refused to set him free.

Why will it never be me?

"Fuck off," Duke retorted, but there wasn't any malice to it as he jabbed his
elbow into Ben's ribs. "On love, then. Don't you ever want to give up on that?"

"Sometimes." He never did, though. Because even after sixteen years, love had
never let go of him.

Duke dropped his head into his hands, his elbows resting on edge of the bar,
and his voice was strained. "I just don't see how it can all be worth it."

"I guess ... I guess it just is. There are good times, right? Good memories?"

Snorting, Duke shook his head. "I swear, sometimes I think my best times are
the ones I spend hanging out with you."

Ben's chest seemed to warm and ache in equal measures, and he forced a
chuckle from his throat. "Sure, sure."

"Well, it feels that way right now at least."

"It'll get better. You know it always does." Turning to look at Duke, Ben fought
to keep his tone even. "So you guys are really through, huh?"

"Yeah. I can't ... I just can't."

"I don't blame you."

Duke shook his head and signaled Mike for another couple of pints. "There was
other stuff anyway. I'd just been closing my eyes to all of it."

Ben knew about a lot of the other stuff. How many nights had they spent
splitting a bottle of scotch and commiserating? And goodness knew there
wasn't much going on in Ben's love life for him to complain about, so most of
those evenings ended up with Duke slowly pouring out his own discontents and
wondering aloud why he couldn't seem to find Mrs. Right.

Or Mr. Right.

Ben's subconscious wouldn't seem to let that glimmer of a possibility go.

Changing the subject slightly, Ben asked, "So when are you going to see Kylie?"

"Tomorrow. Noon. I already called and got an appointment."

"That was fast."

"Apparently she knows how to take care of her repeat customers," Duke said
wryly, practically spitting out the last couple of words.

"Hell, I'm surprised she remembers you. After the past couple of years..."

"Don't remind me."

"I'm just saying. You've been ... happy."

"I've been content."

Ben shrugged to hide his own resignation. His defeat. "Same difference, right?"

"No," Duke insisted, speaking vehemently. And yet there was the slightest hint
of sadness in the way he spoke, too, his eyes intense as he stared Ben down.
"It's not the same thing at all."

The whole rest of the night, those words would haunt Ben. He watched Duke
put back too many beers to count while nursing his own. Before long, he
switched to soda, knowing he would have to be the one to get Duke home
tonight. That was how things went. As Duke went on about his whole sad
romantic history, Ben listened and said all the right things. But in the back of his
mind, he was thinking about contentment. He thought about settling.

He thought about the half dozen men he'd tried to make it work with and
about how, every time, when all was said and done, he'd let them go without
remorse. Because every time, Duke was there, patting his shoulder as he
drowned his sorrows at this very bar.

And that comforting touch electrified him the way that no one else's ever
could.

Finally, Mike cleared away the last pint glass. Duke lifted his head and opened
his mouth, but Mike cut him off. "Sorry, man. That was last call."

"Come on," Duke said, slurring his words. "One more."

Mike just shook his head and cast a sympathetic look at Ben before walking
away. Ben took his cue and slipped his arm around Duke's shoulders, beginning
to haul him up off of the stool. "There's plenty more at your place," he
promised, figuring Duke would be passed out by the time they got there.

To Ben's surprise, Duke shook his head fiercely. "Don't wanna go there." He let

Ben pull him to his feet anyway, slumping against his body as they began to
stagger toward the door.

"Oh, really?"

"Nope." He spat. "Smells like her."

Ben swallowed, hesitating on the threshold. "So where to then?"

"Don't care. Your place?"

With a deep inhale, Ben nodded, bracing himself before stepping forward. It
was still raining out, the night black and the air cool and damp. He moved them
quickly to the passenger's side of the car, unlocking it and then holding it open
as Duke melted into the seat.

The drive back to Ben's house was short, and he half thought Duke had passed
out after all until his friend spoke up, groaning quietly. "Can we change this
shit?"

"Hmm?" Ben glanced over to find Duke pointing at the radio. It was tuned to a
classic rock station – one that they both liked. But then the lyrics registered.

You're in my heart, you're in my soul...

Ben hit the button to turn the damned thing off before another word could
bleed out. As he returned his hand to the steering wheel, he thought about
what Duke would have heard in it. The story of attraction and love. Of choosing
one person above all others.

But all Ben could hear were the words that would have come next.

You are my lover, you're my best friend.

For sixteen years, he and Duke had been best friends. And ever since he'd

known what lovers were, he'd wanted them to be that, too.

"Thanks, man," Duke croaked.

"No problem. You know I hate Rod Stewart."

Well, he certainly hated him, now.

The walk from the car to Ben's house went more or less the same way the walk
from the bar had, Duke's body pressed against Ben's side, his steps uncertain.
Inside, Ben didn't bother to turn on the lights; the glow from the open blinds
was enough. Walking past his own bedroom door, Ben felt a low pang of
longing. It was so easy to imagine everything being different. That Duke was
here because he wanted to be, and not just because it didn't smell like his ex.

It would be so good to fall asleep in strong, warm arms.

Sighing, Ben kept walking, though, pushing open the door to the spare room
Duke had slept in so many times before. "There you go," he said as he lowered
his friend's body down onto the mattress, already preparing himself to step
away. To go to bed and sleep alone.

Only it didn't quite work out that way. Duke didn't let go, or the booze made
him fall. Or maybe both. Somehow, for an instant, Ben ended up on top of him,
lying there on the bed, their whole bodies aligned.

Even drunk and angry, he smelled so good.

Ben couldn't quite suppress the low groan at the feeling of being pressed
against the length of Duke's frame, and his body was quickly responding.
Realizing he was still lying there on top of him, his surprise and pleasure
paralyzing him, Ben scrambled, trying to think of the right words to say and
trying to find the will to push himself away.

"Oops," Duke said, laughing.

It was the splash of cold water Ben had needed. Reminding himself that, in
Duke's eyes at least, this was just a mistake, Ben pushed himself up. But as he
did, he imagined he felt Duke's hand on his waist, holding him there for a
second as his eyes closed.

Ben tore himself away from both the heat of Duke's body and the warmth of
the dream. "I'm sorry," he muttered gruffly as he regained his feet.

"S'okay."

"Good night, Duke."

"G'night, Ben."

Ben made it all the way to the doorway before turning to look back. Duke's
eyes were already closed, his body sprawled across the bed, his arms and legs
spread wide. Even in his sleep, his hand twitched, and Ben could almost feel it
again. He could taste the memory of a willing touch.

But it wasn't meant for him. Not really.

Finally, he closed the door. And then he slunk off to his own bed. Alone.

For the longest time, Ben lay there, tossing and turning. There was something
restless to him, and he didn't know if it was just Duke being single again or if it
was something more. If it was all the little teasing touches and the words that
were begging to have more read into them.

All the years he'd spent now, loving and wanting.

Ben and Duke had met when they were twelve. It had been their first Little
League practice, and Ben had been new to town. Back then he'd been scrawny,
the blond hair he now kept cropped close to his skull a curly mess. His mother
had called him sensitive. His father had called him much worse.

At first, he'd been afraid to talk to much of anyone. He'd already noticed the
way the sight of other boys made his throat go dry, and seeing them engaged
in physical activity made it all even worse. Then, in a moment of distraction,
he'd heard people calling to him, and he'd looked up to find a baseball hurtling
toward him. Just as it had been about to make impact with his nose, he'd felt
another body collide with his, sending them both tumbling to the ground.

Over and over, Ben had apologized for not paying attention, but the dark-
haired boy with the beautiful smile had told him it was no big deal as he'd
helped him up.

They'd been best friends ever since. Duke had introduced Ben to the gym when
they'd gotten to high school, and he'd never once made fun of him. Not even
when he came out at age seventeen. They'd roomed together in college and
bought houses just blocks away from each other. There had been moments
when they'd been so close ... so close.

Over the years, that dark-haired boy had turned into self-assured man, and his
smile had only gotten more beautiful.

Ben punched down his pillow and turned over onto his side, trying not to think
about that smile or about the fact that only a single plaster wall stood between
them.

A plaster wall and sixteen years of friendship.

It might as well have been the Great Wall of China.

****

Both men looked a little worse for the wear by the time they pulled up at
Kylie's the next day. Ben had eventually fallen into a fitful sleep, but he'd
woken early, still unsettled. Duke had been up repeatedly, too. Ben had heard
his stomach emptying even from the next room.

Duke had insisted on making his appointment regardless, though, and when
they stepped inside the tattoo parlor, Kylie was there waiting for them, her
electric blue hair done up in little buns behind her ears. She smiled broadly
when she saw them and quickly pulled Duke into the kind of hug that made
Ben's chest hurt. "Come on back, boys," she said with a wink.

Her station was already set up – the big leather chair tilted back and the bottles
of colorful ink lined up. Ben took up his usual position in the seat beside the
wall, grabbing a magazine on his way. He knew he wouldn't end up actually
reading it, but it was useful to have something to at least pretend to look at.

He didn't even keep up that much of a façade when Duke pulled off his shirt.
And when Duke opened his pants, revealing smooth, tan skin without a hint of
either boxers or briefs, Ben was especially glad to have the magazine. He held it
over his lap, desperate to hide what was happening inside his own jeans.

"So," Kylie started, moving around her chair and donning a pair of gloves.
"What did she do this time?"

Duke sighed as he eased back into the seat. "I don't want to talk about it."

"If you say so." She held up the thin sheet of tracing paper for Duke's
inspection. "This what you had in mind?"

Ben admired it from where he sat. The design was smaller than most of Duke's
other pieces – just two little curved shapes with points on the end that Ben
thought looked like blades. Duke examined it more closely before nodding and
then pointing to a spot just below his navel and above his left hip bone.

Kiley raised an eyebrow at him, but Duke just shrugged. "If I hadn't been
thinking with my dick, I would have gotten out of it a lot sooner."

"Isn't that always the truth."

Within minutes, Kylie had the design transferred to his skin, and it wasn't much

longer after that before the low hum of the tattoo gun joined the music playing
in the shop. As always, Ben split his time between carefully-timed glances at his
magazine and even more careful ogling.

Duke was beautiful. He always had been. Their regular workouts had made him
buff in all the right ways, and Ben didn't get enough chances to simply sit there
and appreciate it. His eyes moved over the defined muscles of his chest and to
the lines of tight abs, lingering long at the beginning of the V that led down to
the part of Duke he really wanted to see. To taste.

To fuck.

The sound of a throat clearing brought Ben out of his fantasy, and he tore his
eyes from Duke's body in a panic, a cold fear possessing him that he'd been
caught. When he looked up, though, Duke's eyes were closed.

But Kylie's were open. And she was winking at him.

Ben felt his face heat as he returned his gaze to the magazine. He'd long
suspected that she knew how he really felt, but now there wasn't any doubt.
Not that he was ashamed about it. Unfortunately, the only person Ben really
wished that he could tell was the one person that could never know.

Refusing to be caught staring so shamelessly again but unable to keep his eyes
trained on the blur of text in front of him, Ben let his gaze drift up once more,
looking this time not so much at Duke's physique as at the lines of ink that
adorned it. There was the barbed wire that encircled his right bicep and the
huge whorl of bladed shapes around his other shoulder. Sharp curves on his
shin and a series of spikes along his spine.

Each one he had gotten after a particularly painful breakup.

"Love is pain," he'd explained as he'd sat in that same chair a decade earlier. "It
always cuts me, and it always ends. Always. Every single time, except – " He'd
cut off abruptly at the point, never finishing the sentence and refusing to look

Ben in the eye.

Ben hadn't pressed.

His eyes were still tracing over the way the ink hugged Duke's bicep when the
hum of the tattoo gun shut off abruptly. Duke's eyes drifted open, the cool blue
of them zeroing in immediately on Ben, and for a minute their gazes held. But
then Ben looked away, unable to stand the intensity of Duke staring into him
that way. He felt like if they kept it up for even a second longer, Duke would
see everything, all the things Ben couldn't bear to show. Not to him.

"Let me bandage this up and you'll be all set," Kylie said.

"Thanks." With their connection severed, Duke looked down, taking in the way
the sharpness of the ink stood out against his skin.

Ben stood and walked over to the leather tattoo chair, wanting nothing more
than to reach down and run his hands along the edges of the raised, pink skin.
His hands curled into fists to keep him from doing just that. "Feel any better?"

"A little. It makes it ... sort of final, you know?"

"Yeah." Ben didn't entirely know what to do with that. Usually when Duke
declared something to be final, it meant he was ready to put himself out there
again. Ben had been hoping for at least a couple of weeks of having Duke all to
himself.

Kylie moved back to Duke's side, bumping Ben in the process and forcing him to
grab onto Duke's shoulder to keep himself from falling over. His mind only had
an instant to recognize the feel of hot, bare skin beneath his fingertips before
he was righting himself and letting go, staring down at Kylie with a scowl. His
annoyance was only fed by the way the girl smirked as she affixed the bandage.

Duke, for his part, didn't seem to flinch.

When Kylie was done, she led them back up to the front of the shop. On the
way, Duke fixed his pants and threw back on his T-shirt, while Ben lamented
the losses – the actual loss of his access to that skin and the anticipated loss of
yet another opportunity.

The grayness of his mood settled thickly over him even as Duke finished settling
up his account and as they headed out to the car. By the time they pulled up
outside of Madigan's, parking beside the truck Duke had abandoned there the
night before, Ben's stomach was falling, an anguished hopelessness settling
over him.

The man he wanted – the man he had always wanted – was single. And it didn't
change anything.

Duke would never, ever want him back.

"Are you okay?"

Ben looked over at the passenger's side to see that Duke had the door open,
his body already angled to go. "Yeah," he managed to choke out, directing his
eyes downward, his hands tight around the steering wheel.

But Duke wouldn't let it go, and when Ben felt the warmth of his friend's hand
on his arm, the very tenderness of that touch – so right and yet so wrong –
burned. "You don't look okay."

"I'm fine." He looked up and forced a smile. "I promise."

Duke searched his eyes for a moment. "Okay," he said slowly. "If you say so."

"Of course."

After casting one last, concerned glance back at him, Duke hefted himself out
of the car, then turned and bent down to peer back into it. "If that changes. Or
if you need anything..."

Ben's eyes stung. He had to go. "Who else would I call?"

Smiling, Duke patted the top of the car and stepped aside to close the door.
The instant Ben was alone in the confined space, he let out a sigh of relief. But
it still didn't soothe the ache.

"Hey, Ben," Duke called out. He leaned down again to speak through the open
window, blue eyes so warm and soft, and somehow that unexpected sight of
him just made all the feelings in Ben's chest churn hotter. "Just ... thanks. For
last night and today and ... everything."

Ben plastered a smile on his face, holding it together for another minute.
"Anytime."

He pretended to fiddle with his phone as Duke stepped back. But really, he just
sat there, watching the man he loved get into his truck and drive away.

When Ben got home, he set about doing all the things he usually did on a
Sunday afternoon to get ready for the week ahead, but eventually he found
himself sitting on the couch, flipping through channels. One of his teams was
playing, so he settled on that. He knew Duke would have come over to watch it
with him if he'd asked, but he needed the time to think. To grieve, really.

He needed to get his head around the idea of moving on.

Two hours into the game, he looked up to discover he had no idea who was
winning, and even more, that he barely cared. Still, he didn't have the energy to
move or the will to look for something better to do. The game ended, and the
talking heads appeared, rambling on in a low hum of meaningless words. With
the sun low in the sky, Ben could feel his stomach rumbling. But he didn't care.

The post-game wrap-up had slid on into something else when the bright peal of
the doorbell broke the relative quiet. Ben startled and sat up straight on the
couch, clumsily reaching for the remote to silence the television before rubbing
his hand across his face. Part of him wanted to just ignore the intrusion, but

with his car in the driveway, he couldn't exactly pretend he wasn't home.

He finally made his way to the door and peered through the peephole, only to
see blue eyes staring back at him. The dull ache in his chest tightened, and he
pressed his forehead to the wall for a second, his eyes squeezing shut as he
braced himself to pretend that everything was fine.

He was so tired of pretending.

With one more deep breath, he pulled open the door and pushed his best smile
across his face. Even he could tell that it was weak, though.

"Hey," Duke said, holding up the case of beer he'd brought. "I hope you don't
mind..."

It didn't escape Ben's notice that Duke would never have been so tentative
about dropping in like this before.

"No. Come on." Ben stepped out of the way to let Duke through, before
following him to the kitchen and accepting the beer he proffered.

"So," Duke started but then hesitated. He leaned back against the counter. And
it was all so awkward. "I just, um ... I was wondering ..." He swallowed and
fidgeted with his bottle before beginning again. "I need to change the bandage.
On the new ink."

"Right."

Duke looked up at him, and there was something in his eyes, Ben thought.
Something new. "Remember how you helped me? Last time? With the one on
my back."

Ben was getting hard just thinking about it. "Sure."

"Would you help me with this one?"

The beer bottle slipped in Ben's fingers. He just barely recovered before it
could fall to the ground. "But ... I ... Just ... Really?"

"Yeah," Duke broke in, his voice low. "Will you?"

There was no way in hell he couldn't reach that damn tattoo on his own. And it
was so close ... It would put Ben's hands so close to ...

"Okay."

Duke set down his beer and headed to the bathroom, an unspoken expectation
that Ben would follow. By the time he caught up, Duke was standing there
amidst the white and blue tile, his shirt already on the floor, and he was
opening up his pants. Feeling his own cock go to steel, Ben hovered in the
doorway. How many times had he fantasized about an image just like this?

With his pants pushed down to just below his hips, the thin line of hair trailing
down his abdomen beginning to bloom into short, black curls, Duke stood there
expectantly. His voice broke as he asked, "Well?"

His heart pounding, blood rushing and his chest so tight, Ben pushed past Duke
to sit on the edge of the bathtub, fearing his legs would give out if he tried to
do this standing. "Come here."

Duke turned toward him and stepped in close. Without even meaning to, Ben
found his eyes dipping down lower, past the plastic of the bandage. With the
way Duke was holding the waistband of his pants to keep them from falling
down completely, there wasn't much to see. But for a second, Ben thought he
caught the tell-tale line of a hard cock pressing against the fabric. He wondered
if Duke was just as turned on by all of this as he was.

"Do you... How..." The knot in Ben's throat made it hard to get the words out.

"Just take the bandage off. Please."

Ben nodded and then brought his hand up to hover over the warm, tanned skin
of Duke's abdomen. For a second, he let it linger there, unable to bridge that
thin gap of air. Finally, he felt his fingertips graze flesh. And it hurt. To want so
much. To be so close.

Placing his other hand on Duke's thigh to steady himself, Ben carefully began to
peel back the first strip of tape and then the next.

"How does it look?" Duke asked huskily.

"Beautiful." As he pulled away the last bit of tape and exposed the tattoo to the
air, Ben felt an overwhelming urge to press his lips to the smooth skin beside it.
To run his nose along the length of the cock just below it. The ink was still
covered with a little bit of blood and goo, though, and he knew it needed to be
cleaned. Only, the more he thought about how he would possibly go about
washing it, the more distracted he got. "You're going to have to take your pants
off, or they're going to get wet."

"I know." Duke started to slide the fabric down, and just as everything was
about to come into view, Ben closed his eyes.

He couldn't do this.

"I – Duke, I – "

"It's okay," Duke whispered, and then somehow he was on the floor, kneeling
in front of Ben, their faces at eye-level with each other. Ben blinked,
disbelieving and so aroused. Then, almost silently, Duke exhaled his name.

"But – " Ben didn't get the next word out. He didn't get any words out, because
suddenly there were lips, soft and warm. He felt stubble against his chin and a
hand at his waist, and it was Duke.

He was kissing Duke.

The muffled groan that fell out of his throat was his body catching up with his
mind. Parting his own lips, Ben kissed back, grabbing onto bare skin and pulling
closer, closer, closer. He gave himself over to it – to the thing he'd wanted for
as long as he could remember. And suddenly it seemed like it was his.

A traitorous thought bloomed in the back of his mind, though, and even as he
was opening himself, his tongue darting out to touch, he felt the bottom falling
out. In one swift motion, Ben tore himself away. "Duke. What – ?"

Duke just shushed him and placed small kisses all around his mouth and chin. "I
had to know. I didn't – I didn't want to – "

Ben heard those words louder than all the others. I didn't want to. The parts
inside of him that had started to open slammed back down. "You – "

"Not unless it was real," Duke interrupted. "Not unless I knew you did, too."

Ben's thoughts were reeling. "Unless I – "

Duke pulled back and placed his hands on the sides of Ben's face. Looking at
him levelly, he intoned, "Unless I knew you wanted this, too."

"This?"

Nodding, Duke leaned forward. And just before their lips could meet again, he
whispered, "This."

All of the arguments and all of the misgivings disappeared beneath the
pressure of that perfect touch. Falling forward, Ben let his arms wrap around
the hard lines of muscle along Ben's back and side, taking care not to touch the
fresh tattoo as the two men let their mouths explore.

Over the course of so many years, Ben had had a lot of opportunities to
imagine what it might be like to kiss his best friend. What he'd never imagined

was that it would be better than he'd ever guessed. So much better.

Between kisses, he dragged in ragged breaths, trying to explain everything he
felt, but there wasn't room in his lungs. There wasn't enough air or space, and
what little he had of either was all being spent on the man before him.
"Wanted it. So much. For so long."

"Always," Duke agreed. "Just didn't think I could. Not until last night."

Ben pulled away slightly. "Last night?"

Duke nodded, his hand tender on Ben's jaw. "When you asked about the times
when I was happy. I meant it, Ben. It's always been with you. And I realized, I
want ... I want all of it. All the time. I'm finally willing to admit that."

It felt like something cracked in Ben's ribs, and he pressed his face hard against
Duke's neck, his arms wrapping around the other man's waist so tightly as he
laughed. "I want that. I do."

Slowly, he shifted one of his arms to place his palm against Duke's heart, then
trailed a single finger down the center of his chest, past his navel and then
lower.

He paused just before he hit the still-raw skin beside Duke's hip, circling around
it gently. Pulling back, he said, "We do need to get this washed."

Duke's face fell, his hands dropping away from Ben's face. "Oh."

Ben caught his wrists, smirking. "So what are you waiting for?" At Duke's
hesitant expression, Ben brought their joined hands down to the waistband of
Duke's pants, now hanging low on his hips. He pushed them lower, then
pressed his lips to the other man's jaw, whispering, "Best way to do that is in
the shower."

With a low, "Fuck, yes," Duke's mouth found Ben's. Together, they pushed his

pants the rest of the way down. Ben had to close his eyes against what he knew
he would see when he glanced down, sucking hard on Duke's bottom lip to
keep from crying out. When he did finally look, the noise in his throat could not
be contained. And neither could he.

Duke's cock was long and thick, rosy with need and leaking. Ben had seen it
before of course; hell, once he'd even caught a glimpse of it erect when they'd
been in the shower after practice at age sixteen. But he'd never seen it like this.
Not when it was it was hard for him.

He couldn't help himself from reaching down, surrounding the solid length of it
with his hand. He pulled a few slow strokes and slipped his thumb through the
slick drop at the head before reaching down to his balls, learning the shape of
him. When Duke moaned at the contact, Ben swore he felt it in every part of
him. Before long, though, Duke was stilling Ben's hand, breathing harshly as he
kissed his way to Ben's ear. "Slow. Please. I've been imagining this all day.
Hoping. God, I hoped you'd touch me."

Moving his hand to Duke's hip and pulling him close, Ben breathed, "I want to
do more than touch you." They met in a blistering kiss, and Ben scraped his
teeth along Duke's tongue. "You're gonna feel so fucking good inside me."

"Jesus."

Their mouths only separated long enough for Duke to pull Ben's shirt over his
head, but then he was urging Ben up, his fingers tugging at the button of his
jeans. Ben stood on shaky legs as he felt his body exposed, the hot flesh
between his legs meeting cool air.

And then warmth.

Hot and wet and...

At the sight of his erection disappearing into Duke's mouth, Ben nearly came on
the spot, all those years of longing making him feel like his skin was too tight.
Yet here it all was. Everything he'd wanted. Everything.

He had to make it last.

Gritting his teeth, Ben managed to pull himself away, his fingertips looking for
purchase in the short strands of Duke's hair. Grabbing him by the jaw, he
panted out, "Up. Up." Duke rose, smiling, and then Ben had him in his arms.
Naked. Hard cocks touching.

Ben swore beneath his breath as he turned, keeping one hand on Duke's hip as
he reached for the control on the shower. Waiting just a few seconds for the
water to get up to a bearable temperature, Ben pulled the curtain back and
then prodded Duke, motioning for him to get in.

After kicking his pants the rest of the way off, Duke complied, stepping beneath
the spray. And for a moment, all Ben could do was stare. Slick with water,
warm, tan flesh rippling, and that ass. Those arms.

Ben still couldn't believe that this was happening.

Duke broke his reverie, twisting beneath the spray to look at him, his mouth
tilting up with a knowing grin. "So you gonna wash this tat or what?"

Letting a low growl build in his throat, Ben stepped into the shower behind
him, wrapping his arms around Duke's waist and letting his erection press
against his skin. "That and more," he breathed, searching for Duke's ear and
sucking on the flesh there, scraping his teeth against the lobe.

Ben made a point of moving carefully and tenderly as he reached for the soap,
lathering up his hands before moving toward the marked skin above Duke's
hip.

He made sure he washed it thoroughly. But he didn't exactly take his time with
it either.

As soon as he was done, Ben reached forward to turn off the water, then

returned his hands to Duke's skin, tracing from hip to shoulder and back again,
making teasing brushes against his length without ever giving him enough to
really enjoy it. He brushed his lips along the side of Duke's throat too, scraping
teeth over skin and reveling in the warm sounds of pleasure falling from the
other man's mouth.

At first, Duke seemed willing to just stand there and be touched, but before
long, he was twisting in Ben's arms, turning to him and capturing Ben's mouth
with his. "Bed?"

"My bed."

How many times had Ben dreamed of that? Of tearing down the walls and
demolishing the damned guest room? Of having Duke in his arms. In his bed.

They dried off quickly, and Duke grabbed Ben's wrist as if to drag him bodily
from the room, but Ben resisted. At Duke's answering growl, he just laughed.
"One minute." He stepped over to the medicine cabinet and pulled out the jar
of ointment he still had from his last tattoo, then forced Duke to keep still for
long enough to rub a thin layer of it over the ink. "There."

There wasn't any stopping them after that. A tumble of limbs and dancing
tongues, they stumbled through the house and backwards into Ben's room.
Together, they fell onto the bed, first one of them on top and then the other.
With more purpose now, Ben felt the hot flesh of Duke's erection in his hand,
the soft weight of his balls. When Duke touched him too, his hand drifting even
lower toward the tight opening between his cheeks, he groaned, wanting
more. He needed more.

As he was pushed to his back again, Ben inched his way up higher on the bed,
reaching out blindly while still kissing hard at Duke's lips. Finally, his hand
connected with the drawer of his night stand, and when Duke realized what he
was doing, he let up slightly, holding more of his weight off of Ben's body and
directing his mouth downward. Ben's hand connected with the bottle he was
looking for, and he grasped it, then passed it to Duke with a pleading look in his

eye.

Duke took it and continued his downward path. This time, when Ben felt that
hot breath on his cock, he gave in, and a minute later, feeling slick fingers push
into him, he let his legs fall open, begging quietly in a low voice. He begged
Duke to touch him and to take him. To fuck him and to make love to him.

When his body was fully open, Ben intensified his pleas, and before long, he
felt cold air on his cock. He looked up to find Duke staring at him, blue eyes
burning. Slowly, Duke pulled his fingers away, and then he crawled up Ben's
torso, holding himself up above his body.

Their cocks brushed, and Ben's breath caught. "Please."

Duke reached over to the side of the bed, grabbing a couple of tissues to wipe
his hand and then plucking a packet from the nightstand drawer. He tore the
wrapper with his teeth and extracted the rubber before reaching down to roll it
over himself.

Spying the bottle of lube on the bed where Duke had discarded it, Ben reached
down, opened the cap and then drizzled a little into his palm. Looking at Duke's
heavy length, bobbing between his legs, he felt his own cock throb, his body
longing to be filled – his soul longing to share this one last thing with the man
he'd shared everything else with.

"Hey," Duke said quietly, touching Ben's jaw. "You all right?"

"So much more than alright." With that, Ben reached down and wrapped his
hand around the sheathed length of Duke's cock, slicking it.

Then there was nothing to do but feel. Feel the blunt head of it pressing. His
body yielding. The stretch and the burn.

"God, Duke," he hissed. His nails dug into Duke's skin, one hand at his hip and
the other at his neck.

"You feel so good, baby. So tight. So ... "

Ben watched Duke's head tilt back and felt the last slow slide, the hot press of
hips against his ass. He lifted one leg to curl it around Duke's hips, heel digging
into his thighs. There was nothing he wanted more in the world than to keep
him there. To make this moment last.

But then Duke was moving, the steady push of his cock into Ben's body making
nerves flare. Already, Ben was reaching for his cock, only to have his hand
knocked away.

"Just watch," Duke breathed as he wrapped his hand around him. Ben obeyed
happily, but he had to drop his head back after only a few seconds. It was too
much – the slick length of Duke's cock pushing in and out of him. The curled fist
of his hand pumping. "I can't believe I'm inside you."

Ben groaned. "Me neither." He couldn't say anything else. Reaching for Duke's
face, he connected their mouths, but that was all he had the energy to do.
Thrusting against each other, their bodies were strung taut, muscles straining.

"Fuck. I'm gonna – "

"Yes," Ben exhaled. He felt one more hard push into his body. A second.

And then all he could feel was the sensation of his balls rising, his orgasm
exploding in a hot rush, come pulsing across his abdomen, and Duke's cock.
Duke's mouth.

Duke.

Duke.

Duke.

They both collapsed down into the mattress in a sweaty heap. Ben twined his
arms around the naked body atop his, feeling the warm rush of breath against
his neck. And he never wanted to let go.

Too soon, Duke was pulling back to press a soft kiss against his lips. Ben
loosened his arms with reluctance, trying to keep the frown from his face as he
watched Duke pad across the room. He returned a minute later without the
condom, a washcloth in his hand, and Ben lay still as he let his friend wash the
evidence of what they'd done from his body.

When Duke began to pull away again, Ben stopped him, holding onto his wrist
and taking the cloth from his hand. In a practiced move, he tossed it at the
hamper in the corner and then tried to tug Duke to lie back down with him.
"Stay?" he asked, suddenly vulnerable, nervous. "Don't go."

"I won't," Duke promised, leaning down to kiss him. "But I don't want to sleep
in the spare room tonight."

Wrapping his arms around Duke and pulling him close, Ben swore, "Never
again. Never, ever again."

****

Ben opened his eyes to a dim wash of light. It took him a moment to realize
that the bed was cold and that he was curled around nothing but a pillow. It
took a little longer to remember why that was wrong.

He sat up with a start and looked around, searching for anything to prove that
what had happened the night before had been real. His heart was just starting
to sink when he spied the blue sheet of paper on the other pillow. The pillow
that smelled like Duke.

Ben –
Had to get to work early and didn't want to wake you. Meet me at Madigan's
tonight?

D

He read it three times, but there wasn't anything to read, either between the
lines or in them. Nothing about the note showed that anything had changed.

Still, he folded it carefully and, after retrieving it from the pile of clothes still
sitting on the floor in his bathroom, he placed the slip of paper in his wallet.
There was a small pocket of doubt in his chest, something black and painful.

But there was nothing he could do except wait.

All day at the office, his mind kept darting back to flashes from the night
before. The feeling of Duke's mouth on his. The taste of him. What it felt like to
come with their bodies entwined. As the day wore on, though, those thoughts
were interspersed with other things. Memories of all the years they'd spent as
friends and of all the times he'd thought that maybe...

He told himself that fucking your best friend was more than 'maybe.' But in the
end, he still didn't know.

A series of meetings conspired to keep him at work far later than he'd planned,
and by the time Ben finally pulled into Madigan's, it was almost seven. His body
tightly wound with nerves and fear, he had to keep himself from running to the
door.

But then he stepped inside and stopped short. There, just a few feet in front of
him, was the head of short-cropped black hair and those muscled shoulders.
The lines of ink he'd felt beneath his fingertips. The ones he'd tasted.

Ben didn't bother to look at Mike as he strode across the room. Singularly
focused, he pulled out the barstool and settled onto it, feeling simultaneously
like a man who'd won the lottery and one who was about to be led to his
hanging. Duke turned to look at him, and Ben's heart nearly cracked open.

He wanted to touch him. To kiss him and to love him.

And he wanted it for always.

A shiver swept up his spine when Duke made no motion toward him, just
smiling and waving at Mike to bring another couple beers. "So how was your
day?"

Ben's mouth hung open, and he had to force it to work. "My day?"

"Well, I know how your night was," Duke said, smirking.

To hear it referred to so flippantly made Ben feel cold.

Fortunately, Mike chose that moment to plunk down his beer in front of him,
and Ben grabbed it quickly, swallowing down a few long pulls to stall. The
doubt ballooned inside his chest, pushing out everything else.

Ben put the glass down and wiped his mouth, but remained staring forward,
uncertain if he could meet Duke's eyes without giving far too much away. They
passed a minute or two in strained silence. Ben's muscles felt corded, an
impulse to run welling up inside of him.

He didn't know if he could go back to being just friends.

In his periphery, Ben noticed Duke fidgeting. It was unlike him; usually he had a
graceful stillness to him, the long lines of his body not prone to nervous
movement. And for a second, Ben wondered if maybe Duke was just as nervous
as he was.

If Ben's own silence could be mistaken for doubt.

As Ben was resolving to speak, Duke opened his mouth. "So I made another
appointment with Kiley."

Ben's mouth went dry. His chest hurt.

"What?"

Duke looked over at him, blue eyes twinkling. But there was something
vulnerable about him. Something he'd only really shown to Ben the night
before.

"Yeah," he said slowly. He dragged one hand across his scalp. "I was thinking.
To have all these mementos of how things ended ... "

Ben sucked in a breath and held it.

He didn't know how he'd survive it if this was over. If what Duke was really
saying was that he was ending this.

But then Duke smiled. "I thought maybe ... maybe it would be nice to have one
that was about a beginning."

"A beginning?"

"Yeah." Hesitantly, Duke reached over, as if waiting to see if Ben would stop
him. He ran a tentative hand down Ben's thigh, eventually resting the warm
weight of his palm on his knee. "That's what this is, right?"

Ben couldn't help himself. Although he could barely manage it with how
broadly he was smiling, he leaned halfway out of his seat and grabbed Duke by
the neck to plant a firm, chaste kiss against his lips.

And it felt so fucking good.

It was only when Duke laughed and squeezed his shoulder than Ben
remembered himself. He opened his eyes to see Mike staring at them with a
knowing grin and a shake of his head. Blushing, Ben started to pull away
sheepishly, but Duke didn't let him get far. He pressed another warm kiss on
Ben's lips and grabbed his hand.

"The new tattoo? I'm thinking I'm going to get it here," Duke said. He placed
Ben's hand against his heart.

A dim memory of lyrics moved across Ben's mind.

You're in my heart, you're in my soul.
You'll be my friend should I grow old.
You are my lover, you're my best friend...

The steady pulse of Duke's heart beneath his hand made Ben's smile crack and
his eyes prickle. "Here?" he asked.

"Here," Duke agreed. Leaning in close so he could speak into his ear, he added,
"Right where you belong."

THE END

Author bio: After brief, unsatisfying careers in advertising, teaching, computers,
and homemaking, Jeanette Grey has returned to her two first loves: romance
and writing. When she isn't writing, Jeanette enjoys making pottery, playing
board games, and spending time with her husband and her pet frog. She lives,
loves, and writes in North Carolina.