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and for this night, everything is perfect.

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It was wrong. This is wrong. 

And still it feels perfect

Larry’s not thinking properly (how could he?) sprawled out on delicate linen bed sheets. They aren’t his. His own are white - these are a soft shade of blue. But he revels in it because they’re not his. They don’t smell like his; they don’t feel like his; they don’t look like his. And that makes it even better. Larry’s bare skin rests against it and he wishes they were his. 

A pair of familiar, gentle, chilled hands trace their way up his stomach; up his chest - surveying the land before sliding smoothly back down to rest at Larry’s hips. The pace they’ve fallen into is slow and sensual. Like they could make a moment a lifetime - their own untouched lifetime. Careful lips begin trace where hands once roamed, guiding a path up his abdomen and across his chest. Time is taken for each of his nipples, teeth scraping against the sensitive muscle and Larry stifles a moan, shifting against the bed spread. Soon he lets out a shaking breath as the ministrations shop. This feels so new; so nerve wracking. Still, it’s perfect. 

Larry’s eyes flutter open to meet Ben’s light-blue stare. The older man smiles and it’s a tender reassurance. The corners of Larry’s mouth curve into a responding grin and he nods. There’s a flash of excitement behind Ben’s eyes before he seals the unspoken promise with a kiss, then sliding down Larry’s body. There's a pause as he parts the younger man’s thighs, kissing along the soft flesh there, as if he’s taking it in. Ben takes care of Larry like he's fragile; irreplaceable. Like he’s complete silence or a petal in his palm. 

Ben’s fingers wrap around his cock and Larry shivers, nervous, as if this is his first time. “It’s okay.” The older man whispers, eyes locking with his once more. His lips meet Larry’s again and he draws him into the kiss as he pumps his fist antagonisingly slow. Larry moans, pressing closer to his now-lover, holding onto his muscular back. 

Now could this be wrong? Why would something so good be wrong? But he can’t think and he’s glad for it, because if he could he’d cry poems and pleas. 

Luckily he has Ben, nipping along his jaw, now, pondering each rosy mark which forms as he traces down Larry’s neck; how they’ll form deep bruises - tales of this night. Larry gasps as Ben tightens his grip, running his thumb over the tip of his cock. The older man grins against his friend’s skin, stilling his hold. 

Larry starts to make a sound of protest but is stopped as Ben’s lips slide around him, swallowing him whole. He claws at the sheets, moaning his now-lover’s name. Ben encourages him, swirling his tongue precisely as Larry’s fist finds his hair, pulling tightly, reactively. Ben thinks of how beautiful Larry is; how lovely he tastes. 

When the younger man finishes, he does so in a string of breathy words, chanting Ben’s name like a montra; like they’ll save him. For a moment he likes to imagine they do. Ben gently rubs his thumb across Larry’s hip, prompting him to open his eyes. The older man’s gaze is slightly concerned but it melts away as Larry smiles. 

“Hey, I hate to ask you…” Ben glances down to his awaiting, dripping cock, grinning somewhat sheepishly. 

“Oh, of course!” Larry hesitates for an inept moment, in awe because it’s not over yet. 

Though it doesn’t take much longer as he assists Ben, the older man collapsing with a sigh, halfway lying atop his friend. Larry pulls Ben closer, wrapping an arm around him and threading his fingers through greying hairs. 

It’s been a car crash in slow motion and here come the shockwaves of the impact. He’s regained the ability to think and thoughts spill in like insults. The first time; the last time; the only time. Larry pulls Ben closer, burying his face in the crook of his neck, swallowing back threatening tears. He curses to whatever guiding force drives this universe - be it God or a pair of dice - because this was wrong. 

Ben rolls over, pulling Larry with him, and they lay there for a moment, just staring, misty-eyed and wishing they truly regretted this. “I’m sorry-” The older man eventually speaks first, hand gently holding his friend’s jaw as he searches his eyes. “I’m sorry I love you.” 

Now Larry doesn’t stop himself as he cries because he cries for Ben and he cries for himself; he cries for the past and cries for the future; the cries because he naively wishes so much. “Jesus, Ben.” He sniffles and the older man’s thumb brushes away the streak of a tear, eyes warm with affection. “You know I can’t. … I do, I just-”

“It’s okay.” Ben whispers, pulling Larry closer. There’s guilt in his words. “I know.” Ben’s skin feels like fire against Larry’s and he wishes he could let the flames consume him because he doesn’t want the road to end here. 

There are no proper words for either man, so they lay in silence. Together they will pretend it’s not wrong. They wish that they will wake up tomorrow in each other's arms. That they’ll take a shower together and be late to tomorrow’s morning meeting. That Mat or Simon will tease when they kiss in public and Martha and Jim will take photos as blackmail to hang over their heads. 

For tonight they will bury the truth and pretend it’s not wrong. And when Ben’s phone goes off and they both know it’s Charlotte they will pretend it’s someone else. And when the sun rises and Ben is alone he will weep in the silence and be late to tomorrow’s morning meeting. 

However, right now they pretend it’s not wrong because how could something wrong be so perfect?