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‘One glass of wine and you’re anyone’s,’ Ben teases. They’re lounging on the sofa, Christian twisted around to face him, head against the back cushion, one leg tucked under him, the other stretched out across Ben’s lap.
‘It’s my first drink in a while.’
Ben’s massaging his bare foot gently, curious as to whether he’s ticklish and whether the alcohol is masking the sensation, or whether he simply isn’t. Surely everyone is ticklish? ‘And likely there’s still codeine in your bloodstream from the pills this morning.’
He shrugs, brown eyes gazing up, expression a little glazed, shifting so his wrist in the cast rests between them. So far Ben’s the only one to have drawn on the plaster: a circle made up of tiny black dots, a blank at their centre, just like the image of the wormhole Christian showed him, the one he’s discovered that so far he’s not been able to tell anyone about, except in Ben's rough drawing, the empty space is in the shape of a love heart.
‘I thought you were a dick when we first met,’ Christian says randomly, and it makes him laugh.
‘I was a dick to you.’
‘A great many people have been.’
It saddens him to hear it, makes him feel more guilty for getting himself lumped in with them. He presses his thumb firmly into place just below Christian’s toes. ‘What changed your opinion?’
‘You have a more open mind than anyone else I’ve met outside my field.’
‘I’m touched.’
‘I know I’m not easy to get along with.’
‘’Not easy’ is an ever-so-slight understatement.’ He says it gently, kindly.
‘That’s fair.’ He very obviously hesitates before he asks, ‘What changed your mind?’
‘You’re a far better man that I thought you were.’
With a happy hum, Christian shuffles closer, leans in and kisses Ben’s neck. His lips feel so good there, at the pulse point on his throat, but it would be even better if they were mouth to mouth, so he turns his head and Christian’s tongue slips over his without the need for an invitation. Cradling the dark head in his palm, Ben slides his other hand along one leg, fingers pressing carefully into the back of Christian's knee through black denim. Long fingers settle on his breastbone, spread out, Christian leaning into the kiss as his good hand drops lower, curious fingers hesitating at the waistband of Ben’s jeans.
He’s hard before a narrow wrist brushes his groin, moaning despite himself. He feels Christian shifting, and a moment later, he’s in his lap, a knee either side of him on the sofa, forehead resting against his own. He runs his hands down Christian’s sides, sliding his hands up under his shirt, holding him loosely.
‘I want you to take me to bed,’ he murmurs against Ben’s mouth, ‘and I want you to fuck me.’
‘I will happily take you to bed, but I’d like to make love to you.’ The difference is important.
He feels Christian’s nod. ‘Okay.’
It’s rare that, in the past, he’s had fun in bed, proper fun with proper laughter.
In all fairness, Christian managed to dress himself that morning, to find a black jumper with cuffs and sleeves loose enough to go over the cast. So Ben lets him attempt to undress himself, which he half-accomplishes but gets caught in what’s actually a gorgeously expensive cashmere top, and ends up dropping unceremoniously onto the bed with it half up around his head, one arm out, one arm in.
Ben kneels on the duvet next to him, easing it over his head and carefully down his left arm, trying not to catch the delicate fibres on the plaster, while Christian giggles; it’s a sound Ben can’t remember hearing from him in all the months he’s known him and it’s glorious. It goes straight to his dick, so if he was hard when they came upstairs, he’s granite now.
He gathers him up, Christian’s good hand wrapping around his neck as he dumps him very gently in the centre of the mattress. When he kisses him, it’s with real meaning, wanting him to know this is so much more than sex, that he meant what he said downstairs.
‘I have no idea how this works,’ he admits, quietly, mouth on the muscle at the side of Christian’s neck. ‘You were tight enough around my finger.’
‘And your cock’s significantly bigger. I had noticed.’ As if to take his point, he strokes a firm hand along it. ‘You just need to stretch me so you fit.’
‘I don’t want to hurt you.’
‘You won’t. There’s a bottle in the top drawer.’
Ben nods and rolls over, lifts a small, transparent plastic bottle from the bedside drawer which he’s relieved to see looks new. The thought of someone else… but he shuts that down quickly. They’ve both slept with other people, other men, it’s just that Christian’s gone further than he has, been more adventurous. He rolls over onto his back and Christian swings his leg over his thighs, straddling his hips, taking the bottle and dropping it to the mattress within reach. When he leans down to kiss Ben, it traps his injured wrist and hand between them and brings their dicks together, moist tip catching on his foreskin. The sensation is phenomenal. He tells him that, just before he slides his tongue back into the heat of his mouth, hands stroking over his ribcage.
‘Are you sure you want this?’
‘Yes.’ There’s no hesitation as Christian shifts, kissing his way down Ben’s neck, along his shoulder and across his chest. His lips, his teeth, his tongue on Ben’s nipples is delicious; a combination of sizzling pleasure and pain which lights up every nerve ending. He can feel Christian’s cock against his legs as he moves lower, worried suddenly that if he goes any further this could be over before he’s had a chance to experience the sensation of being as physically close to this man as it’s possible to be.
He puts his hands on the narrow shoulders, lifting him, sweeping fingers through his hair, trying not to lose himself in the intensity of the chocolate gaze.
‘As much as I love your mouth on me…..’ He does’t need to say more. Christian grins and nods, sitting up, reaching for the bottle. Ben holds out his hand for Christian to pop the lid open and pours, closing it again and dropping it so he can properly coat Ben’s fingers; the up and down motion gloriously suggestive.
‘Do what you did the other evening,’ he murmurs, lifting up on his knees, legs apart. ‘But in and out, and when I feel loose enough, add a second, then a third. Slow and careful.’
It feels like a gift, like the first time a girl gave him her virginity, only Christian’s far from being a virgin.
This isn’t the best position, but the bruising from the crash is vivid around his shoulder and ribcage, the wound from the bullet is still eye-catching and it’s difficult for him to lie comfortably with his wrist in the cast. Besides, watching him lift his cock and balls out of the path of Ben’s hand is ridiculously hot, and this way he can watch his expression for any hints of discomfort, any signs he’s doing it wrong.
He can count on one hand the number of times he’s ever done this for another person. He takes his time, stroking the little pucker of muscle between the round cheeks, eyes roaming over the slim body sitting over him. For someone who seemingly never works out and lives on vending machine snacks, he’s skin, bone and fine muscle; well toned arms and a taut stomach.
‘I pace a lot,’ he murmurs, reading Ben’s mind, ‘when I’m on conference-‘ He takes a sharp breath as Ben’s finger pushes inside him, distracted from whatever he was saying, pressing down on the slick digit. Ben wants to make a joke but he can’t, focus entirely on the open, blissful expression on Christian’s face.
‘Okay?’
‘Very.’
He feels incredibly tight. Ben pushes deep, gently, slipping almost all the way out and back in, setting a slow rhythm, feeling his lover relax with every breath he takes. Is it really this easy? He’s always imagined it would be something else, something… less, never been interested. But Christian melting around his fingers as he adds a second is gorgeous, and he gets lost in the sensation playing over Christian’s face, the movement of his body, the happy sounds he’s making. He’s still hard, the penetration not having had the effect Ben had imagined it might, and he runs the back of his index finger up the length of him, nudging his thumb under the crown, a touch he knows feels so good. He’s rewarded with a soft, low moan.
‘How do I know?’ he murmurs.
‘Add a third.’
Ben follows instruction for the first time in his life, tangling his fingers, pressing inside, feeling Christian moving on him, taking him deeper. Cautiously, he unwinds them, aware of the muscle stretching around him, the hot channel opening up for him. Christian nods, and he pulls out, watching him shuffle forward, a knee either side of Ben's waist, thighs around his hips, good hand wrapping around his cock.
As he positions him, Ben can feel the resistance, convinced it’ll to hurt when he breaches, but Christian sinks down onto him without a single hint of pain, taking him steadily until his arse is flush to Ben’s thighs and the pressure, the heat is the most exquisite thing he’s ever known.
‘Jesus Christ.’
The smug smirk on Christian’s face makes him laugh, bright and wonderful as his lover folds almost in half to kiss him, tongue sliding into his mouth, holding just the top of his cock inside. When he sits up again, taking him inside himself, Ben takes a moment to thank a whole raft of gods he doesn’t believe in that this is his life. Christian's so fucking tight around him that he’s amazed he’s managing to hold off coming, hard and fast, especially when he starts rising and falling, riding him in a slow, languorous rhythm that’s going to drive him crazy.
He’s so mesmerised, so overwhelmed, that he’s actually taken by surprise when Christian lifts his hand and puts it on his cock. Ben happily curls his fingers round him, stroking, thumbing the drops of pre-come over the tip, lifting his hand to his mouth to taste it. Big eyes watch him; wide with desire, intense and unyielding. All that passion with which he’s seen Christian throw himself into his work is completely focused on him in that moment, that same single-minded focus, everything else forgotten. It’s exhilarating, intoxicating, and he’s extraordinarily aware of how addictive it could become.
It’s not long before whatever Christian’s feeling starts to get the better of him. His head tips back, eyes closing, shifting his focus to his own pleasure, changing the angle and gasping, rhythm faltering. Ben’s so close to coming that the sight of him using Ben’s body to get himself off - open and honest, nothing held back - is going to push him over the edge.
‘Chris-‘
He feels it, sees it, smells it; Christian’s orgasm driving through him, cock jerking in his his hand, circle of muscle clenching around the base of him. Ben comes so hard his vision blurs, just for a second. He’s aware of Christian lifting off him, dropping to lie on his side. As soon as he can coordinate his limbs, Ben rolls over, getting an arm around his sweaty, narrow waist, holding him loosely, trying not to let the tsunami of emotions get the better of him. To his relief, Christian settles his forehead against Ben’s, good hand stroking his hip, staying close.
‘I don’t know how I got this lucky,’ he murmurs, wondering if everything he’s feeling is obvious in his gaze; wondering how much of it Christian wants to see.
‘I don’t believe in luck.’
‘Of course you don’t.
‘I didn’t really believe in this either.’
There’s a warmth in Christian’s voice that he hasn’t heard before. ‘This?’ It’s a slight tease, just to draw him out.
‘That word you use. The L word.’ There’s a tentative note to his voice, and Ben gets it. ’No one’s ever said that to me before.’
He’s about to suggest that surely someone has, but there’s bare honesty in the unusually open expression and he realises just in time that he means it literally.
‘That’s... so wrong.’
‘I’m not easy to love.’
Ben sweeps his fingers over the darkly haired jaw. ‘The you I know is.’
A glance away, but only for a moment. ‘Is it always this terrifying?’
’No.’ He answers without thinking. ‘It hasn’t been, in the past. But, then, I’m not the same person who walked into your lab that morning and accused you of being a terrorist. That Ben would never have loved you, would barely have given you the time of day. I’m still trying to work out who I am now… yet I know - I know - you’re a huge part of it. I’ve been in love, many times, and it’s never felt like this; so utterly overwhelming. And yes, it’s terrifying, but at the same time… it just isn’t. It’s easy, obvious. The way I feel about you is… pure. Nothing’s ever felt pure before. I didn’t even know what pure felt like.’
‘Do you always talk this much crap after sex?’ He’s quickly learning to interpret Christian’s tone, often so much more meaningful than his actual words, especially now.
He feigns hurt. ‘I am bearing my heart to you here.’
‘And it’s going to take me a while to work out what to do with it. I don’t mean-‘ He breaks off. ‘The one and only man I thought maybe I was in love with turned out to be cheating on me with two other people.’
‘I’m not him.’
‘I know. But you have form, as you’d say.’
‘You’re not wrong. All I can say in my defence is that it was difficult, different circumstances. I know you don’t have any reason to trust me, but I promise you, if you let me love you the very last thing I will do is hurt you.’
Christian touches the briefest, sweetest of kisses to the end of his nose. ‘Give me time?’
‘All the time in this world, and however many others there are out there.’
. . .
Christian’s spent the last fortnight safely in his lab, working with analysts at NASA, assisting in the interpretation of data from the LSP mission. It means a few late nights, but on the flip side, he’s happy, and doesn’t have to be in early in the mornings. Despite Amelia kicking up one hell of a fuss, the satellite remains under instruction not to send back any more erroneous images that haven’t been directly requested.
At the lab, Simon’s keeping an eye on him, keeping him caffeinated and taking him out occasionally to get food that isn’t crisps and chocolate.
It’s not a formal arrangement, per se, but Ben’s been swinging by to pick him up when he’s done. More often than not, Christian’s been waiting in the car park after he’s texted to say he’s on his way, but not tonight. So he parks up and heads inside, making his way up to the seventh floor.
He waves at Christian through the glass, and he holds up one hand: five minutes. Ben nods, indicates he’s not in a rush, and takes the time - for the first time - to actually look at some of the frames on the walls of the lab; Christian’s appearances on the front covers of science-based magazines, photos taken with him holding awards, prizes, whatever they are; strange shaped glass objects and small metal sculptures. He recognises one or two of them from the Bowden house, the triangle of glass from the lounge in Salford, wonders where the rest of them are.
The door opens and Christian steps out, flicking off the lights.
‘Sorry. They’re getting ready to crash the LCROSS rocket into the moon's Cabeus crater on Friday.’
‘They’re planning on crashing it?’
‘Yes. They’re going to analyse the debris that gets thrown up by the impact.’
‘Cool.’
‘It’ll be a late one.’
Again, it’s his tone, not his words, that he pays attention to. ‘Want company?’
‘It’s a Friday. You must be able to think of a more exciting way to spend your time.’
‘Are you kidding? What’s a better way of spending a Friday evening than watching a live stream of NASA crashing a space rocket into the moon, with the hottest physicist on the planet?’
He pauses. ’Szechuan king prawn, egg fried rice, pork toast?’
‘Prawn crackers?’
‘Sure.’
‘Cabernet Sauvignon and a taxi home?’
‘I think I can arrange that.’
‘Sex in the lab?’
For a second, Ben isn’t sure he heard him right. ‘You want to have sex… in here?’
He points through the glass. ‘In there. No cameras.’
‘Are you absolutely sure?’
. . .
‘Have you thought that this might be all about you?’ The question slips out while they’re waiting at a red light, and before his reasons for asking are fully formed. ‘Have you made any… enemies?’
‘I may control a satellite but I’m not a James Bond villain. You’re mistaking me for Ernst Blofeld.’
‘You know most people don’t know his first name?’
‘My parents are a massive Ian Fleming fans. My clearest memories of Christmas Days when I was a kid are watching the Bond movie after the Queen’s speech.’
Ben frowns. ‘You watched the Queen’s speech?’
‘Everyone watches the Queen’s speech.’
‘We didn’t. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen it.’
He shakes his head slowly, smiling as he says, ‘Yob.’
‘Geek.’
‘That is a compliment. Geek is what I’ve been aiming for my entire life.’
‘For someone who can start a row in an empty room, it’s surprisingly difficult to argue with you.’
‘How do you start a row in an empty room?’
‘Don’t change the subject.’
‘Sorry.’ He’s laughing softly. ‘I wasn’t sure if it was arrogant of me to think I might be at the centre of this.’
‘You? Arrogant?’
‘Precisely.’
‘The images are being… delivered - however that’s happening - to you, to your lab, via your equipment. There’s some evidence they’re being taken by your satellite-‘
‘One of them.’
‘Okay. But my point still stands. Rebecca’s convinced it’s all about us. What if we’re incidental? You made a call and we were the ones who turned up. It could have been anyone. Rebecca was selected because she seemed to fit your fairly unique requirements, she picked me because we were sleeping together and the case we were working on was going nowhere, and she picked Callum because he was at a loose end. We were random choices. You weren’t. From the very start, you were targeted.’
‘Can we not use the word ‘targeted’?’ Ben smiles at him apologetically. ‘It crossed my mind. After I got shot. I was the only one not directly implicated by that set of images, and yet I was the one who almost died.’
‘So?’
‘So what? It doesn’t change anything.’
‘Don’t… over-react, but… what if there is a scenario where you’re able to control it, co-ordinate it?’
Christian bites his lip, as if trying very hard not to instantly dismiss the theory. ‘All right,’ he concedes, ‘where from?’
‘Somewhere everything’s already happened.’
‘The future?’ He doesn’t confirm or deny that. ‘You’re thinking… we’re sitting in a lab, in the future, sending images back to ourselves in the past?’
He nods. ‘No.’
‘In this scenario, are we doing it for a reason, or just because if we don’t, it wouldn’t ever have happened?’
‘Because if we didn’t, Leah would have died.’ He pauses. ‘Maybe you love me enough by then to do all this to save her.’
‘I love you enough now to do whatever it would take to save your daughter.’ Ben glances across at him as the meaning of that sinks in. ‘It’s just that the idea of us receiving images from our future selves is… a bit far-fetched even for me.’
‘Oh, but multiple universes you’re completely comfortable with?’ He’s marvelling at the first part of what Christian just said.
‘The theory of the multiverse has a basis in science. Time loops do not, no matter what the mad doctor in Back to the Future might say.’
‘Don’t you dare diss Back to the Future.’
‘I’m not dissing it, I like that movie.’ He makes it sound like a confession.
‘See, we do have something in common.’ He’s still smiling, feeling right at that moment like he won’t ever stop.
. . .
NASA’s crazy plan works perfectly, and they sit eating Chinese, drinking a very good red, and watching a rocket crash into the moon. Ben’s not surprised that it’s a lot more fun than a having couple of pints in the pub while yelling at a football game.
Christian’s online with Mission Control in California the entire time, logging off an hour or so after the LRO has made its pass, sending back images while debris is collected for analysis. It’s been lovely - sappy sod he’s turning in to - to watch Christian in his natural environment, interacting with like-minded, brilliant people who share a common language. It brings home to him yet again just how unlikely a couple they are and makes him even more thankful that they’re… well, if not a couple then something. Connected. Just to be a part of Christian’s life feels huge.
Suddenly he wants to introduce him to Leah, to Charlie, to go for ice cream, because for some reason he thinks they would all get on. It could easily be wishful thinking. He just has this crazy need for his kids to meet the person he’s fairly sure he’s still going to be with when they’re grown up.
And if that isn’t as great a mind-fuck as the circumstances under which they met.
He snaps out of it, looking up at Christian who’s moved to stand with one knee either side of his legs, good hand on his shoulder, leaning down with clear intent, with heat in his eyes. Starting at the button in the hollow of his throat, Ben works his way slowly down Christian’s shirt, stopping at the button of his fly, his other hand cupping the now obvious hardness between his legs.
‘Want to give Amelia something to get off on?’
With his mouth close enough to Ben’s that he can feel as well as hear the words, he says, ‘There are no cameras in here.’
Ben steals a kiss as Christian’s nimble fingers slide between the buttons of his shirt and flick his left nipple. He moans softly before managing to reply, ‘Maybe she’s watching via your satellite.’
‘Satellites can’t see inside. All she can see is what’s on the roof.’ His hand goes suddenly still. ‘Shit.’
‘What?’
‘What’s on the roof…. It’s not what’s taking the images we should be looking at, it’s how they’re bring created.’
Ben resists the urge to laugh. ‘Okay. It’s just that I’m a little distracted at the moment.’
‘Oh.’ Christian smiles sheepishly. ‘Sorry.’
‘You’re fine. Honestly, I’m surprised it hasn’t happened before now.’
A warm mouth slides over his, tongue slipping between his lips as Christian traces the line of Ben’s erection through his jeans. When he sits on his lap, it’s precarious, balls of his feet on the floor, the back of the wheeled chair against the desk. It’s uncoordinated and ungraceful, jerking one another off through open jeans, underwear pushed aside; but at the same time, it’s hot as fuck, fast and messy, Christian sobs once when he comes, forehead resting against Ben’s, eyes closed, boneless and warm in Ben’s one-armed embrace. It’s what pushes Ben over the edge, jerking in Christian’s remarkably skilled hand, lifting his face to kiss him.
They’re both aware of the cameras as they head for the bathroom to clean up, Ben even waving to one of them, still unsure if anyone’s watching.
Back in the lab, he asks, ‘So what was the great revelation you got while you were playing with my nipple?’
Christian presses a little kiss to his lips, again taking him by surprise. ‘Have you heard of God’s Eye?’
‘Is that a cocktail?’
‘It’s a fantasy, a fictional satellite that can look through anything, see anywhere.’
‘Kinky.’
‘My point is… most of the the images are distorted photographs, a lot of them taken inside. No satellite we have can do that.’
‘A camera could.’
‘Which would point to someone physically taking them and deliberately sending them.’
‘You’re suggesting someone’s developed this… God’s Eye?’
‘No, I’m not saying that. That would be insane. It’s impossible.’
‘Now it’s impossible. Maybe it isn’t….’
‘Don’t say it.’
‘In the future.’
Christian shakes his head, turning switch off the NASA feed. But Ben knows he’s smiling, possibly even grinning.