Obey the Rules, page 19
Xander nudges one with a foot. “This one is mostly books. And the other one is scripts. I’m getting a lot of offers for TV roles, even though my Hunter season hasn’t even aired. And a few theater offers, but nothing really…” He trails off with a shrug. “Anyway, I need something to do while you’re swanning around the Literary Ball tonight. Something to keep my mind occupied.”
“You could come,” Ben offers hopefully.
“Nah.”
“I mean, you could come with me, be my plus one. You were invited with me when they sent it.”
“Oh, I know, baby. But I’m not in the mood.”
Ben stares. That’s not like Xander at all. He loves that kind of thing. Dressing up, seeing people. Most of the attendees will be literary types, and Ben knows he only got an invite himself thanks to Ramona, but still. Xander loves a party. “Not in the mood?” he asks.
“I’ll be fine, I just need a night in.” Xander shoves his hands into his pockets and turns to look out the window, before turning back with a smile. “We have time before you need to get ready, right? We could—”
Ben starts laughing. “Don’t you ever think about anything else?”
Xander raises his eyebrows and looks vaguely insulted. “Actually, I was going to suggest we could look at your play again. We could talk more about it, about Fletcher. If you want.” Ben isn’t sure if he does want. Not right now.
Xander picks up the heavy bag and fishes in it, tossing down book after book on the bed. Ben finds himself transported back to his undergraduate days. Seneca, in translation. An anthology of English literature. A couple of slim volumes of poetry. He picks up one of them.
“Sylvia Plath? You’re going emo on me now?”
“Your Berkeley professors would have you taken out and shot for that.”
“True. So why are you interested in this all of a sudden?” Ben asks, waving at the books. “Ah,” he says, spying one book. “Walt Whitman.”
“Transformation and stripping away layers of the self, right?”
Ben shakes his head a little, wondering what else he might have said that Xander has taken so closely to heart.
Xander snatches the Plath from him and flicks through it. “There’s some incredible stuff in here. She was into blood, too, just like you. Is something wrong?”
“No.”
“You don’t look very well. Do you want to sit down? What is it?”
“Let’s just…lay off the blood stuff for a while.”
“Oh. Alright.” Xander raises his eyebrows a little. “Let’s talk about something else.” But he looks like he knows exactly what Ben is going through, and Ben wonders—if this is the way Xander feels after each time, why does he keep doing it? “You were all about the blood last night,” Xander says gently. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Ben says desperately. “I just don’t want to think about blood right now.” His stomach is roiling again, but he’s determined to keep his lunch down. “Anyway. I’m glad you’re enjoying Plath. She liked Jung, too. So you’ll probably get along.”
“I, uh, decided to branch out from Jung, actually.” Xander sounds almost sheepish. He picks up another book. “After the other day, I started thinking…maybe I should, I don’t know. I started looking around, found this other guy. Welwood. He incorporates some Eastern philosophy into his psychotherapy. I like it so far.” Xander gives a tentative smile, and Ben can tell he’s feeling vulnerable.
“Cool,” he says. “Like your yin-yang and stuff?”
“Yeah. Like my yin-yang and stuff.” Xander grins at him, relaxes.
“Tell me more about why you wear it,” Ben asks, bouncing onto the bed next to him. “I mean, I figure it’s about balance or something, right?”
“Sort of.” Ben keeps smiling at him, willing him to talk. This is usually where Xander starts clamming up or giving non-answers. But this time, Xander rolls on to his side to look at him. “Well. The yin and the yang are complementary but opposite forces. It’s a concept in many Eastern philosophies, and it has a lot of meanings held within it. But to me personally—it reminds me of the cosmic balance.”
“What cosmic balance?”
“Yin and yang. Night and day. Black and white. That balance.”
“Oh.” Ben rubs his nose. “I don’t—”
“Get it,” Xander finishes for him, with a sigh. “I need the reminder, Benjamin. That dark and light are equally important. And that they need to follow on from each other, need to cycle around, and that within each there is still something of the other—that’s what the dots mean.” He holds up his pendant for Ben to see. “And I need the reminder because I’m naturally more inclined to one side of the scale than the other.”
He doesn’t say which one, but Ben doesn’t have to ask. Instead, he says, “Where do you pick these things up? You have all these, I don’t know, traditions or rules or something, for yourself. Where do they come from?”
“I was looking for a lot of answers when I was younger. I guess I still am. Oh. My. God. What is that?” Ben follows Xander’s finger, pointing straight at his blue velvet tux on the back of the door.
“Oh, man. You have no idea. It’s gonna be amazing.”
Xander starts laughing. “It’s awful.”
“I know, right? Laurent Maxime couture, his last collection.”
“It’s charming in its awfulness.”
“Wait till you see it on me. I look like an escapee from an early Prince video. I wanted to go with silver cowboy boots, but Ramona nixed the idea. Boring black shoes instead.”
“I love it.”
“You know, I thought you would?”
“Can I fuck you in that when you get back?”
“Sure. Just don’t jizz all over it. It’s on loan.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
They lie on the bed and just talk for a long time, about nothing and everything, and longer than Ben realizes, until the light is fading. “I guess I’d better get dressed,” he says eventually. “And no jumping me. Not till I get back.”
“Are you feeling better?” Xander asks with a compassionate look in his dark eyes.
Ben thinks about it. “Yeah,” he says at last. “I am now. I’m still weirded out that I got so…” He doesn’t want to say it. Because if he says it, Xander might take it personally, and the last thing in the world he wants to do is make Xander feel bad about himself, or like he should be ashamed.
“Into it?”
“Yeah.”
“Sadistic?”
Ben doesn’t say anything.
“Cruel? Monstrous? Aberrant?” Xander continues with a sardonic lift of one eyebrow.
“Stop. Stop it. That’s not—”
“It’s alright, baby, really. It’s fine.” It doesn’t sound fine to Ben when Xander is putting it so baldly. “I know how it feels,” Xander adds. “I feel it almost every day.”
“You walk around thinking that you’re a deviant?”
“I am a deviant, Benjamin, according to the textbook definition. But that’s okay. I wouldn’t want to be one of the crowd.” Xander rolls onto him, pinning him down, his face flashing with pain at the movement. But he folds his arms firmly across Ben’s chest so that Ben has to fight a little for his breath. “But see, you’re different. You’re not like me.”
“I don’t know,” Ben says, his gaze sliding away to the side. He wants to know, and it feels like a betrayal—he wants to hear Xander reassure him and tell him he’s not like that, not like Xander, not really, it was just a one-off thing, an anomaly, an uncharacteristic deviation from the norm. Xander is watching him with a small, sad smile on his lips, and Ben feels a stab of guilt.
“You’re not like me,” Xander says again. “Take it from someone who knows.”
“But I enjoyed it.”
“Sure. You like cookie things too, right? Just not every day. If you had them every day, you’d hate them. But I would eat them all day, every day if I could.”
“Where cookies equal sadism?” But Ben has to smile. “There was that one time when you got sick of cookie things. You didn’t eat any for a week.”
“And there was that one time I let you cut me.”
Ben hates himself a little for feeling so relieved. He wants to say thank you, but it seems so tactless. “I threw up this morning,” he says instead.
Xander gives a little chuckle. “First time I did something like that? I threw up right after.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Didn’t even make it to the bathroom. Not great for my image.”
Ben laughs, then, or tries to. Xander is heavy on top of him. “Are you feeling alright?” he asks Xander. “Mentally?”
“Don’t worry about me. Worry about you. And payback.”
“So you’re planning your grand revenge, huh?”
“Naturally.”
“You could choke me. If you want,” Ben offers.
“We’ve been over this before.”
Ben rolls his eyes. “I know. It’s just…you like it, don’t you? And I want to try it.”
“I like the thought of it,” Xander corrects him. “And you need to stop asking me about it. It’s not going to happen. Too dangerous.”
“But—”
“Please stop asking, baby. I nearly killed someone once.”
“Oh.” Ben feels awful now, although Xander’s tone was the epitome of casual. “Sorry. I didn’t know.” Xander moves off him so that they’re lying side by side, and puts an arm around him, noses into his hair.
“Well, I didn’t tell you.”
What the fuck else haven’t you told me?
“Are you feeling better now?” Xander asks again.
“Yeah.”
“Mentally, too?”
Ben thinks it over. “Yes. I feel okay.” He does, mostly.
“You’d better get ready. I want to watch you get dressed.”
“You’re such a voyeur.” But Ben smiles. It might embarrass him sometimes, but he’s used to it—Xander watching him dress and undress, staring at him like he’s a fat, oblivious zebra in the African grasslands.
“And you’re so compliant,” Xander purrs. “Go.”
Ben goes. Xander watches. It’s a comfortable silence, until Ben starts putting on his boring black shoes that he freshly polished this morning.
“No.” Xander crosses the room to the closet.
“What?”
“Wear these ones.” Xander hands him a different pair of shoes.
“But those are…” Those are brown shoes, which means brown shoes with a blue tux, and Ben is pretty sure that’s a guaranteed no in fashion. Isn’t it?
“You wanted to take a risk, right?” Xander says.
“But—” But the ludicrous blue tux is already going to make him stand out at the Literary Ball. He’s still not convinced he’ll be able to pull it off, anyway, despite the way Ramona cooed about how amazing his eyes would look. He’s half-prepared to look stupid already.
“You know, in Italy right now, it’s big,” Xander says. “Blue suits, brown shoes.”
That sounds like a big fat lie to Ben, and he gives Xander a skeptical look. “But Laurent Maxime is going to be there, he’s giving the keynote address about his new biography. That’s why Ramona’s making me wear it. What if he doesn’t like it with brown shoes? What if he doesn’t know what they’re doing in Italy?”
Xander gives him an incredulous look. “I can assure you, Laurent Maxime knows what they’re doing in Italy. Besides, if you can’t wear silver cowboy boots, you might as well try for the next best thing. You never know, it might piss Ramona off?”
“Sold,” Ben says immediately, and puts them on. When he sees them in the mirror at the bottom of his blue pants, he has another moment of doubt. “I don’t know, man. Are you sure?”
“Benjamin, I am absolutely sure. Besides, even if everyone else hates it, I’ll love it.”
Ben glances at him, confused. “Are you saying you want me to wear them?” That’s not really like Xander. And he remembers a time, not long ago, when he first arrived in this city, when Xander got annoyed at him for just giving in. But Xander doesn’t look annoyed. He looks as though he’s waiting for something. And he’s not saying anything. “Are you fucking with me?” Ben asks. No response, except for a raised eyebrow. “Well—if you’re sure,” Ben says, uncertain. “I don’t want Laurent Maxime shunning me in front of the literary elite.” Xander still says nothing. “Okay. Brown shoes it is.”
“You’d better go,” Xander tells him softly. “Your car will be waiting.”
In the chauffeured town car, sent by Ramona’s agency, Ben suddenly places Xander’s expression. Satisfaction.
Xander, as always, was right. Some people smirked or even snorted at Ben behind their hands when he arrived, but one tiny, uber-famous author, almost as well-known for her fashion sense as for her heavy literary tomes, threw her arms up with a squeal when she saw him. “Gorgeous!” she squeaked.
“Shoes?” he asked, since she seemed like the type to know.
“Daring.”
He wasn’t sure if it was a compliment or not, and she was gone in a whirl before he could clarify, or even introduce himself. But then he ran into Laurent Maxime, and was photographed with him, and Ben is pretty sure he said something like “I, uh, I didn’t—” before the designer started loudly praising him for his sartorial shoe choice.
“Like the Venetians; it’s so now! My God, if only everyone would take a lesson from the Italians with classic suits.”
Well, okay, Ben thought. Everyone around started agreeing, and by the end of the night, even the laughers were congratulating him and commenting on his fashion choices at a literary gathering. He owes Xander one, and that’s the first thing that comes out of his mouth when he gets back.
“Yeah, you do owe me,” Xander agrees, but he’s not talking about the same thing. Ben sees the gleam in Xander’s eyes, and wonders immediately how fucked he is: very, or royally. Suddenly the fourth cut from last night and making Xander beg seem like Really Dumb Ideas.
“Oh, shit,” Ben says.
“Yeah.” Xander throws aside his book and stands up from the bed, where he’s been lounging. “My turn to play, baby.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
There’s practically electricity coming of Xander, as he stalks a little closer to Ben.
“Well, okay, but,” Ben says, stalling for time, “I mean, are you going to give me some idea of—” He’s backing away, hands raised in a conciliatory gesture, and he’s half smiling, but half really scared.
“Yes. I am,” Xander says. “Some idea.”
“Oh.” That’s not how it usually goes, so Ben feels a little better. Xander is at his most scary when Ben has no idea what his plans are. “Okay. Good.”
“It’s nice of me, right? Because last night, you didn’t give me much idea.”
“Well, I—” Ben starts, but Xander cuts him off.
“Come here.”
It’s torturous to feel dragged across the room by the sheer force of Xander’s will, when Ben’s head is screaming No, you fool, stay over by the door! Xander is smiling, just a little, and he looks…Ben doesn’t even want to think about it. He feels more like a zaftig zebra than ever.
“You know, you should really go easy on me, I was totally new to everything, so I—”
“Be. Quiet.”
Xander sounds dangerous. Ben’s feet, in those goddamn brown shoes, are dragging, but still moving forward, until he’s looking straight at Xander’s mouth, inches away, because Ben is too worried about what he might see in his dark eyes.
“I’ve found myself feeling uncomfortable today,” Xander’s mouth says. “Do you know why?”
Ben shakes his head. Xander told him to be quiet, so he doesn’t say anything, but from the faint twist of regretful lips, Xander seems like he was hoping Ben would forget.
“Hm,” Xander says, and begins to untie the leather strip holding the yin-yang from his neck. “Turn around.” He ties Ben’s hands behind his back, and, yeah, that’s a worry. Xander doesn’t tie him very often, not unless he’s going to be really physically hard on him, because it’s mostly for Ben’s protection—to stop him reflexively covering himself. No broken fingers, Xander said once. Hard limit. Xander turns him by the shoulders again to look over his face, but Ben still can’t meet his eyes.
“I think perhaps we should have a recap,” Xander continues. “A report card on how you did. Would you like that?” He wraps his fingers around the back of Ben’s neck, as though he’s going to pull him in for a kiss.
“I’m sorry, okay, I shouldn’t have—ow!” Xander’s fingers have dug in sharply, just for a moment.
“I said, be quiet.” Xander turns him by the neck and pushes him gently up against the wall, face first, pressing his body into the cool plaster. Ben leans his forehead against the wall. “I’ve been thinking, all day, about what I wanted to do. But first I had to make sure you were okay. And you are okay, aren’t you?” Ben nods clumsily, his nose scuffing against the wall. “Well, that’s good. I hate it when my toys break. Would you like to know what I’ve been thinking about?”
Ben wants to shake his head, because no, not really, and hesitates a little too long. Xander’s fingers dig into his neck again and he yelps.
“I asked if you wanted to know what I have been thinking about all day.”
Ben nods frantically; Xander is in one of those moods, and Ben doesn’t want to give him any excuses.
Xander puts his mouth close to Ben’s ear and speaks softly, his breath warm. “I thought about making you scream, making you hurt, making you cry—I thought about getting out a gag, so I could do whatever I wanted and no one would interrupt. And I thought about making you afraid, Benjamin, making your heart race and watching you trying to scramble away from me across the floor.”
Ben closes his eyes. His forehead is prickling uncomfortably. Xander’s lips curl against his ear.
“But then I realized that wouldn’t be enough. Not after last night.”
