Angels To Fly

You're Fun

Ben did not want to admit how often he thought about Joe from the moment he left the lounge. Honestly, the blond wasn't shocked by his behavior. Ben was used to men loving his build - loving his bleach blond curls and piercing green eyes. So when he came over to Joe in his work attire, a goofy grin on his face from seeing such a scruffy, adorable son of a bitch of a "straight man," he wasn't surprised that the brunet had a tent in his pants.

He did not, however, expect Joe to agree to his offer. One, Ben never did this before. It was strictly forbidden for a dancer to pursue a client or for the client to request sexual favors from the dancer. Two, Ben couldn't get enough of that quizzical pout of the brunet - the sad excuse for a Justin Bieber short side-bang, five-o-clock shadow, and mesmerizing caramel-colored eyes. No, in Ben's mind, Joe was not a client and it hurt him inside that Joe couldn't bring himself to enjoy the company of another man as more than poor judgment, the alcohol or schizophrenia.

Yet he still thought about him. Thought about his crazed American-Italian hands waving in the air as he spoke about directing and writing. Thought about his breath hitched every single damn time he saw Ben. Thought about - fucking heard - Joe's whimper as Ben took his cock deeper, deeper with each passing second.

It was Sunday morning and Joe was all Ben could think about - and he didn't even know his last name. All he knew what that Joe was the son of a bitch "straight" man that let him in - let him reveal his passions and also see his ding-a-ling.

Ben was unconsciousness palming his thigh, his thoughts getting the best of him before a sharp bing rung out, centering him. Shit . He took hold of his phone. He was scheduled to Skype his best friend from back home in London - Gwilym.

Gwilym was bisexual. Ben met him at acting school. The two were active members of the LGBTQ+ club at the school, Ben reppin' the "G" while Gwilym represented the "B," even though with their first name initial, it should've been the other way around.

Ben inhaled sharply, hoping it would settle his downstairs area. He had to take a moment to remember where his laptop was, only to slap his forehead. It was right next to him, under his living room couch blanket.

Ben propped the laptop on the arm of the couch and opened Skype. When Ben's icon indicated an "Online" status, Gwilym took no time to call him.

"Hey buddy." Ben said with a cute wave to his bestie.

"You know, I am so glad that I forced you to set an alarm for our Skype sessions. Now you are right on time instead of a half-hour so late." Gwilym crossed his arms from across the seas.

"Yeah, yeah. I didn't come on here to be insulted." Ben rolled his eyes and Gwilym followed suit.

"It's my job, so stop being a little bitch and tell me what's going on in the states. Did you buy a gun yet? Screw your way through Dutchess County - oh, no - I'm sorry. You were going to leave that life behind in the UK. My bad. You still keepin' that promise?" Gwilym raised a brow.

"You know, I have. Just none that have stayed..." He sighed, averting his eyes from his best friend.

"Yeah...because they were all in the closet. Benny, when will you ever stop this game with closeted boys? Is it the facial hair? Is it the overtly masculine way they dress even though it is not actually that 'masculine.'" Gwilym shook his head, "You know I have facial hair. And I think I dress pretty straight."

Ben waved a finger, "No. First off, I have no idea what you would define as inherently straight in 2018. Also, you have facial hair but you manage it really well. Closeted boys don't and oh - Gwil - I - I did it again." Ben took off his specs to cover his face with his hands in shame.