325Author's Note: Beware of lots of poetry and lots of sex (Ben + Anthony + night alone on the beach = poetry and sex). Thanks to Tamie and Cathaneb for making me dust the ol' MLS file off and get my lazy butt to work.
29
Love is a Verb
"Love, love is a verb
love is a doing word
fearless on my breath
Gentle impulsion
shakes me, makes me lighter
fearless on my breath
Teardrop on the fire
fearless on my breath
Night, night of matter
black flowers blossom
fearless on my breath..."
-Massive Attack, "Teardrop"
During the rest of the following week, Anthony sensed that he had earned some sort of new power over Jake, but he didn't have enough confidence in it to truly test its extent, and he wouldn't have known how to handle such a weird sovereignty anyway. He was aware that his relationship with Jake had changed, but couldn't decide which direction the shift had taken. Jake still possessed a hostile resentment that didn't portray any new tolerance or kindness, but he seemed almost embarrassed to share any spiteful jokes or cruel remarks. Anthony was overly careful in how he reacted to this mutation, afraid that maybe Jake had reached the small red bulb at the top of the thermometer of his dislike for Anthony. So Anthony remained woodenly noncommittal when they did interact, using as little conversation or facial expression as possible. The fear in him was ebbing and was replaced with a silent understanding between them, a recognition of position and emotion. It was now unlike any relationship Anthony had ever had with anyone, containing no fondness but still somehow very important. He was almost comfortable with Jake's presence, was no longer afraid of him, and sensed a part of Jake that was tired, quiet, and ashamed, though it was never shown or spoken.
Anthony also grew more and more comfortable with the idea of the play, because of his angel costume. He was eager to wear it, and tweaked it with small quirks, sprinkling glitter over its tips to make it catch and tinker with light; he even went as far as requesting that Brenda sew it in some places where the feathers had come loose. He invited Ben over to help him and Ben had started to come over to the Reeves apartment after track practice, a little obligatorily, since all of the fascination with the wings belonged to Anthony.
One afternoon, Ben was with Anthony on the living room couch, Richard sitting at the kitchenette counter reading a newspaper. They had been going over lines in their scripts with each other, and Anthony had become amused with Ben's mispronunciation of a particular word in his play. Richard, nearly unconsciously, eavesdropped, his mind slicing away from the local news page, sensing that he ought to listen to his son, to see if there was something Anthony shared with Ben that Richard himself had never noticed. He had never really had this opportunity before, because Anthony always retreated to his room when he talked with Ben on the telephone, and when Ben came over to spend nights with the Reeveses the two usually spent them alone in Anthony's room, watching movies.
"Look, that's how it's spelled," Ben defended himself.
"But that's not how you say it!" Anthony laughed, and added good-naturedly, with an affectionate tone that hooked into Richard's attention, made him continue to listen and wait for something more behind it, "Dumb jock."
"You wanna argue?" Ben challenged playfully, and Richard listened even more attentively, the corner of his eye catching Ben reaching for Anthony's body.
Anthony giggled and writhed on the couch as Ben tickled him. "I'm right!" he shouted gleefully.
"Are not," Ben said, a low, drawn-out growl.
"Stop!" Anthony giggled wildly, "Ben, st- st- that tickles, stop! Ben!"
Emotions intruded and blended in a fast red blur inside of Richard. He was jealous of the happy disposition that Ben was able to conjure from Anthony's moods, and he was annoyed by the way Anthony sounded like a young girl giggling under a boyfriend. These things took Richard by surprise, and not being tactful with feelings that he was not accustomed to, was glad to bark them out into a furious, "Anthony!"
Ben stopped immediately, the springs in the couch creaking as he backed away from Anthony. His face was dominated by his eyes as they became wide in their sockets, the brown of his iris swelling and contrasting to the white.
"Sir?" Anthony answered, afterglow laughter dying in his speech in little bubbles.
"I'm trying to read," Richard said sternly, "Be quiet."
"Sorry, Mr. Reeves," Ben said politely.
Anthony stifled a snicker. "Okay."
Richard, annoyed, added sharply, "I mean it."
"Yes, sir."
Richard was not satisfied with this either; the ideas of Ben being a boyfriend and Anthony being only happy when he was with Ben still clung to the sides of his mind and sucked up thoughts never previously solicited, but knew that he couldn't scold his son for things that he had implied himself. To appease the intent sucking in his head, he reminded himself that Ben was an affectionate and jovial boy, and that it was good that Anthony was happy at all, and even better that he had a best friend. The clinging stopped after Richard told himself that such jealousy and suspicion were childish, and they didn't return, even when Anthony asked for permission to camp out with Ben at the beach Friday night. In fact, both Brenda and Richard told him with enthusiasm that he could go, glad that he was doing something that most normal boys did.
On the same afternoon, when Ben and Coby Vickers were in the field house changing after track practice, Ben finally decided that he had no more time to put the subject off. He had been wanting to ask Coby about it all week, and had not had the courage. He approached Coby about it now only because he would not have another chance.
He began as casually as possible, sitting beside Coby on the locker bench to change into his sneakers.
"Hey man," Ben said, elbowing Coby lightly.
"Yeah?"
"Um... tonight... I might do something... and I might need your help."
"Yeah?" Coby said, interested in the secretive tone Ben's voice took. "Whacha need, man?"
"I would've bought some myself, but I dunno... I'd feel weird about. But, um... you got any condoms?"
Coby's lids stretched around his eyes, revealing surprise and, on the heels of that emotion, pleasure. He grinned.
"Big Ben!" He growled, and punched the younger boy in the arm playfully.
Ben had expected this reaction, had dreaded it, and was now embarrassed despite his premonition. He smirked involuntarily and absently rubbed the place on his bicep Coby had hit.
"Gettin' some pussy this weekend?" Coby was excited for Ben, and his cheeks were high, happy and golden under his eyes.
Ben shrugged, knowing he had to play along but uncomfortable nonetheless. He tried without much hope to get the condoms and get out.
"So d'you have any?"
"Yeah, man," Coby said cheerily, and stood up to get his jeans. As he reached into one of the pockets, he turned to Ben again, none of his enthusiasm having ebbed. "So whose pants are you getting into?"
"Oh... um. She's from another school. You wouldn't know her." Ben watched Coby paw through his jeans, rattling change and car keys.
"What's her name?"
"Andrea," Ben said promptly. He had thought of this before.
"Cool, dude, that's cool. You nervous? Yeah, you're a virgin, right?"
"Yeah."
Coby dropped the pants and opened a brown, worn leather wallet. He pushed past a few bills of money to fish out a roll of five or six condoms, in reds and blues and yellows. Ben had expected more conservatively-wrapped opaque plastic and wondered if what Coby held was the cheap kind, but did not mention it.
"Don't want any little Bennies running around," Coby smirked with genuine happiness and pride in Ben as he returned to the bench. He sat down. "Your first time, man, alright," he continued, and held out his palm for a low five. Ben slapped it, and wished vaguely that he could tell Coby the truth and enjoy the same encouragement and approval, but merely watched as Coby tore off an alignment of three from the six condoms.
"Don't worry, man, it'll be awesome," Coby grinned.
"Thanks, man," Ben said, and were his cheeks not already flushed red from the physical exhaustion of track practice, the hot rush of disquiet and embarrassment would have been visible.
"Yeah... I was starting to worry about you. I've heard a lot of crap going around about you and some guy."
Ben forced a scoff. "A guy?"
"Yeah. People are saying Jake, Chad, Will and Luke saw you two... you know, on each other in the library."
Ben, who had not figured out how to handle the conversation, especially in the presence of Coby, his mentor and, though he was not completely aware, his improvised father figure, continued to repeat what Coby told him. "On each other?"
"Yeah," Coby said, "You know... like you were together or something."
"Oh, you mean Anthony?" Ben finally progressed. The nonchalance felt large and obvious in his own mind, and he could only hope that it had shrunk once it actually reached the conversation Coby was hearing.
"I guess. The skinny kid that you hang around. Never says anything."
"He's just shy. You just have to get to know him," Ben defended his boyfriend, though it didn't feel like much of a triumph after he'd just had to deny the nature of their relationship altogether.
Coby, not as interested in Anthony's personality as Ben, shrugged that factor of the issue off. "Yeah. Jake's an ass, just tell me if he messes with you. I got your back, man," he said, and to confirm this, patted it genially.
Ben nodded. "It's okay, Jake doesn't bother me," he said, and, now back into his T-shirt and jeans, picked up his gym bag to leave.
"Alright, just remember I got your back."
Ben nodded again, politely. "Okay, thanks."
He waved the condoms at Coby to show his gratitude one last time before rolling them into a compact stack, shoving them down into his left back pocket, and leaving for the Reeves apartment.
Rose agreed to drop Anthony and Ben off at the docks after they had gathered sleeping clothes, sleeping bags, snacks, a portable radio, and, secretly, Anthony's notebook of poetry and condoms (which even Anthony did not yet know about). She told them to expect her back for them early the next morning, and she gave them her cell phone in case of an emergency. Ben assured her that they would be fine, and then he and Anthony gathered their supplies, left the Honda Civic, and descended the wooden steps that led to the sand.
The beach provided a back-door view of April, one that was not accessible from the rest of the city. The month dwindled before them in steel hues, bigger and brighter than the tiny patches of sky that peeked through office and apartment buildings. Anthony understood instantly why the place was special to Ben and why Ben had wanted to share it with him, though he hadn't expected such a contrast to Manhattan, an almost earthen separation from the city, when he'd first been invited.
The water was less impressive than the sky, an inky industrial gray lapping up onto the sand, though it was still the ocean, and it still purred out the soft, hazy roar of spindrift.
After Rose had gone and he was walking alone with Ben down the shore, Anthony, moved by the isolation and privacy he felt in this new serene environment, fitted the fingers on his left hand between the ones on Ben's right. Ben grinned at him and squeezed, beaming and proud that Anthony also appreciated the place.
"You'll like this," he said jovially, a childish eagerness sparking in him. The years lifted in his cheeks, the wind picked his hair up from his forehead, and he looked like a small boy. "We'll have this all to ourselves, all night."
Anthony grinned at him, half from amusement in Ben's simplistic happiness and half from his own anxiousness to spend a night alone with Ben on a beach.
Ben chose a place roughly fifty feet from the shore to set up the tent, close to the wooden boardwalk that separated the parking lot and the sand. Neither of them had been looking forward to erecting it, but they had fun. Ben made various racy jokes about tents and how to pitch tents of a different, more biological nature, and Anthony laughed. Neither of them became upset during the process; even Anthony, who was less experienced with tents than Ben and had even less patience. When it was done they both felt a small, childish pride in the accomplishment, similar to the pride Ben had felt in Anthony's acceptance of the beach.
"You're so good at pitching tents, baby," Ben smirked.
Anthony perched his hands on his hips and accused, "Pervert."
"C'mere and pitch my tent."
"Shut up," Anthony grinned, and kicked sand at Ben.
"Nobody kicks sand at me," Ben said, mocking offense and malice.
"I do!" Anthony said, mocking arrogance and cockiness.
The conversation was childish, and led to a childish chase in which they ran barefoot across the sand, giggling and making it squeak under their feet, all the time without realizing that they were too old for it. Ben chased Anthony around the tent until Anthony ran, laughing, into the open beach, down shore. Anthony could not outrun Ben, who was conditioned and practiced in physical exertion, but Ben let him have a long stretch across the sand before catching up with and tackling him. Anthony squealed and laughed, and wasn't self-conscious about how feminine he might seem. Instead, there was a completion of contentment in him where his insecurities usually were. The tight, warm squeeze of Ben's arms around him gave him no room for anything else, so Anthony was wholly happy, so completely so that it made him giddy, and he giggled wildly.
Ben pinned him to the sand, and Anthony put up a fight that was hindered and useless by his laughter.
"I'm getting sand in my clothes!" Anthony yelled, and laughed at himself.
Ben, in response, clumped a handful of it into his palm, and spread it onto Anthony's shirt.
"Ben!"
Anthony groped for his own piece of the beach, and rubbed it roughly into Ben's hair.
"Hey!" Ben sifted a hand through his hair and shook some grains out.
Anthony giggled sparsely at him for another moment, and then sucked in his laughter so he could breathe. The sudden, unplanned, supernova burst of energy had drained his lungs dry, and the air he began to re-acquire felt hot in his throat.
Ben, feeling the urgent, amplified rising and falling of Anthony's warm chest, rolled off of him to give it room to stretch.
"You okay?"
"Yea–," Anthony panted, "Just– not used to– running– like that." He grinned briefly, then used his mouth for breathing again. "I'm not as– in shape as you."
Instead of criticizing Anthony for not being as athletic as he should be, Ben found this endearing, and somehow very mature. He smiled, and laid his head down next to Anthony's to rest with him. He traced a shadow on Anthony's jaw with his forefinger, a heavily dark slice of night in the fading daylight, then skimmed the powdery peach-fuzz on Anthony's cheek with his mouth. The feeling was exaggerated under the sensitive skin of his lips, and he let them open and close laxly against it. His breath ruptured the hairs, made them flutter and flatten. The heat rose back up toward his nose.
Anthony sighed, and the sigh turned into a brief giggle. "That tickles," he said quietly, without objection.
"Mmm...," Ben sighed vacantly, a slow and deep sound that felt appropriate.
Anthony recognized the preparation of a kiss forming in Ben's quiet, deliberate movements, and he relaxed his face for it. When Ben propped himself up on one elbow and leaned down, Anthony had opened his mouth and puffed his lips slightly by catching a little pocket of breath inside. The sand crunched quietly with the shift of Ben's hips, and he lowered his head until he could feel the familiar, barely-curving shape that Anthony's lips always adopted. They were hot and dry from his heavy respiration, and his breath was still scalding and irregular.
"Hold on," Anthony whispered heavily, halting Ben by holding his palm against his chest, "Let me breathe for a second."
Ben grinned, and occupied himself with Anthony's neck instead. He gently pinched a soft piece of skin just under Anthony's jaw bone between his lips, then rubbed it with his tongue. Ben felt the content reaction in Anthony's reverent silence, the familiar, gentle, delicate, still little silence that Ben interpreted as a communication more hallowing than words, letting him know that Anthony was slowly closing everything but the feeling out.
"Ready yet?" Ben asked, and enclosed the petal-soft texture of Anthony's earlobe in his mouth. He sucked gently, with the scant skin of the ends of his lips.
Anthony turned his face toward Ben, and Ben kissed him.
"I wanta show you what I brought...," Anthony said quietly, a little like a small child, after pulling away. He fingered Ben's shirt collar.
"What?"
"You'll have to see," Anthony grinned and lifted his eyes from the shirt collar to Ben's face.
"Okay," Ben said. He hoisted himself onto his hands and knees, made his legs firm, sturdy columns in the sand, and tucked both hands under Anthony's back.
"Ben!" Anthony squeaked when he felt himself being lifted. "You can't carry me!"
Ben grunted. With one arm under the bend in Anthony's knees and the other just under his shoulders, he uprooted one knee from the sand and replaced it with that leg's foot.
"You'll break your back, stop it!" Anthony shrieked, but the objection was diminished as he giggled at the feeling, the total reliance and dependency that he hadn't felt since he was very small.
"No I won't," Ben said with some strain. When he lifted himself up onto both feet and into a standing position, he found that it was easier. "No I won't," he said again, with confidence, "You're light."
"Not light enough for you to carry!" Anthony shouted, and locked his arms around Ben's neck when he felt himself slipping.
"Uh-huh," Ben smiled, and wobbled toward the tent until he found better footing.
"Ben, you cannot carry me all the way to the tent! Put me down!" Anthony tightened his arms' grip.
But Ben did carry him to the tent, and Anthony's protests were more based on his embarrassment about how thin he'd become and just how easy it would be to carry him than any worry that Ben would be burdened by it. Ben released his legs gently when he reached the opening flap of the tent and smirked triumphantly at Anthony as he stood on his own.
"You're not going to carry me over the threshold?" Anthony grinned.
Ben smiled approvingly at the idea. He unzipped the opening flap and picked Anthony up again, rather abruptly, and Anthony had to cling rapidly to Ben's shoulders and neck, laughing loudly. They ducked into the cool, dimmed green atmosphere, and the city entered only in muted sounds from between each thread of the tent's fabric.
"It's like a canopy," Anthony said, then presently smiled bashfully at his observation.
"Yeah," Ben agreed, though he had never been to a jungle and couldn't compare it to the tent personally, as he dropped Anthony's legs onto the pallet of sheets, blankets, and pillows they'd arranged.
Immediately, and in the childish manner that both of them had fluidly and unabashedly adopted since their arrival, Anthony burrowed himself underneath the sheets and blankets to test its comfort. Finding it satisfactory, he tucked the covers up to his chin and invited Ben to do the same by grinning up at him.
"So what're you gonna show me?" Ben asked, peeling open the pallet and slipping in beside Anthony.
"It's in my bag," Anthony gestured toward its place behind Ben, in the right corner of the tent.
Ben rolled over, assisted by a grunt, onto his stomach, grabbed one of Anthony's book-bag's straps, and pulled it onto the pallet with them. He propped himself on an elbow as he watched Anthony unzip it.
Anthony pulled out his tattered notebook of poetry and almost expected Ben to make some reverent expression or remark about it, but reminded himself that Ben didn't yet know what it was or its significance.
"What is it?"
"It's my notebook," Anthony said, and expanded the explanation, though it was not much less vague, purposefully avoiding a word as flowery and embarrassing as "poetry", "It's all dirty and ripped– I've had it since seventh grade."
Ultimately, he handed it to Ben, and Ben discovered what it was himself. He opened the cover, and grinned at the slanting "I love Ben" scrawled on the manilla-colored inside.
"Don't even laugh," Anthony warned Ben's grin abruptly, "I know you do stuff like that too– I've seen your algebra folder. You really should erase it..."
Ben shrugged. "No one sees it but us." He wanted to write that he loved Anthony in his folders. He wanted to have just one of the things that all the teenage heterosexual couples at Anderson had.
"Don't look at the ones at the beginning– those are stupid," Anthony laughed, "I was only twelve."
Ben flipped past a few pages. "Here?" he asked.
Anthony frowned at the dates. He leaned over the book and flipped a few pages himself, then grinned suddenly and pointed to a page. "This is the first one I wrote about you," he said.
Ben lifted it with one finger and read, while Anthony propped his elbows on his pillow and his chin in his hands beside him.
Ben the Tree
My little world is suddenly
under his wing
as if that's what
it's been waiting for
All my little affections shifted
scurried under his tree
basking up at his
falling leaves
My little brain cannot begin
to understand
the magnetic events
of being close to you
-A.N. Reeves, Oct. 5th, '00
"So did you know you liked me here?" Ben asked curiously.
"Well... I was sort of confused at myself because I've never written a poem about someone like that. A girl or a boy or anyone. I guess I knew; I mean it's obvious I knew, I just... didn't want to know. Does that make sense?"
"Mmm...," Ben nodded, looking over the waxing and waning of Anthony's changing handwriting.
"Want to see some that are about sex?" Anthony grinned, becoming excited about sharing his work with Ben.
"Sex? Where?" Ben flipped.
Anthony laughed. "Pervert. It's poetry, not porn," he scolded, and found another page. "It's not exactly about sex, since it was before that night at your house... but it's about touch and, well, I have a good imagination, so we didn't need to actually have sex for me to write about it."
Ben chuckled, and read.
A Little Lover's Lament
You're a thick velvet cloud of heat
and my little body below you
can't figure out
how to fit
with you
Your breath is urgent and smoky
and my poor little hands
are trying so hard
to do the things
they should
But your beauty is heavy as fire
and my poor little face
is trying to do more
for you than
just stare
Because when you push that heat against me
my poor little hands
have so much to do
that they get
so confused
-A.N. Reeves, March 16th, '00
"S'good-," Ben started, and before he could give any more commentary than that, Anthony was flipping through the book again.
"These are my favorite," he said, and pointed to a page occupied by two poems. Ben read.
Affections Attempted (How do You Love?)
How do you being to attempt
to drag
your poor little body together?
into sanity
in order to
first
stand up straight
then
look him in his chocolate eyes
and say that you
will be here waiting
when his hurricane affection
knocks you down
and then
How do you arrange yourself,
dripping and soggy,
into being presentable
after he pulls you
from a December ocean?
How do you possibly
pull off impossible
bioluminescence
when his radiation
is casting your shadow?
-A.N. Reeves, Apr. 2nd, '00
As a Violin
You put sharp little curves in me
of bright red emotions that slide
down my body and into my brain
and I am your fierce little
instrument
I am good for playing, with my strings
flattened and fluttering under
your fingers bending around
my curves of little red
supernova
Write your own long stretching symphonies
of twisting me into a violin boy
so that I can be good for
something other than
listening
-A.N. Reeves, Apr. 7th, '00
Anthony watched for Ben's reaction.
"Like 'em?" he asked eagerly.
"Yeah, but..."
"But what?" Anthony's brow wrinkled downward.
"But... you're so hard on yourself in these. Like I'm a lot better than you or something."
"It's a form of adoration; you're supposed to be flattered, dumb jock. And anyway, you are a lot better than me."
"Am not."
"Are too."
"Am not," Ben said, flipping idly through the book, running his fingers over the little indentions embedded in the paper from black ink pens. He took a moment to decide, then finally spoke. "Well hey- I wrote one," he said, as if he'd just remembered it.
Anthony flopped his hands to the pillow excitedly. "You did!?"
Ben nodded, and reached into his back pocket to produce a folded sheet of lined paper. Anthony removed it from his hand promptly, and unfolded it out onto the sleeping bag to read.
You're my sweet little beam
of blonde sunshine
When I'm cold you're my sweet little blanket
of sunshine warmth
When I hold you I hold my sweet little beam
of sunshine golden
You're my masterpiece of
precious yellow skin and hair
You're my sweet little beam
of blonde sunshine
That nobody sees
but me
Anthony blushed, for Ben and for Ben's description of him in the poem.
"I know it's dumb and it doesn't rhyme," Ben said, turning indifferent and gruff, the way he always was when he was embarrassed.
"No! I love it," Anthony said, holding it against his chest as proof. He fully realized that it wasn't good work, but it was deeply precious him. "I'm so proud of you," he teased lovingly. "You wrote a poem!"
"Shut up," Ben teased back, grinning.
Anthony giggled, and slid into the little corner of space between Ben and the sleeping bag, so that Ben was almost on top of him. "Got any more poems in there?" he smiled, and slipped his hand into its familiar nest in Ben's back pocket, where it didn't find the familiar warm cradle it was used to, but plastic wrapping instead.
Interested, he muttered, "What's this...?" and pulled at the object.
Ben started to stop him, his body flinching slightly, but decided that if he tried to cover them up it would seem like a bad thing; and besides, he had an honest explanation for their presence.
Anthony peeled the row of multi-colored condoms from Ben's jeans and studied them silently, his chin and eye-lids lowered. His eyebrows dipped, producing a dent in the skin just above his nose, as if he were trying hard to remember what the things were.
"Are these condoms?" was Anthony's first question.
"Yeah..."
"Where'd you get these?" was his second.
"I asked Coby if he had any."
And finally, "Why?"
Ben fidgeted, trying to remain casual so it might relax Anthony if he were becoming upset. "Just in case. I wasn't planning on anything. I just wanted to be, you know... prepared, just in case."
Anthony rotated the plastic in his hand, unsure himself if they had upset him.
"Oh... Well, that's good, I guess. That you wanted to be prepared," was what Anthony said, and believed it on some level, but inside he couldn't fight the logic that Ben would be let down if Anthony decided he didn't want to have sex, and that Ben must have expected something, because he'd never brought condoms with him before.
"You told him you were going to have sex with a girl?" Anthony asked.
Ben nodded. "Told him your name was Andrea."
Anthony laughed. "Why Andrea?"
Shrugging, Ben said, "I like that name. I think that if you were a girl, your name would be Andrea."
"Oh...," Anthony said, preoccupied with the condoms. He felt dirty in simply holding them. He sighed. "I still don't see why we need one."
"Well... I think Coby told me once that it hurts less if you use one," Ben answered.
"Hurts who less?"
"The person on bottom."
"And what would Coby know about having sex with guys?" Anthony grinned.
"Well," Ben started to defend the logic, "if it hurts less for a girl, it'd probably hurt less for a guy too." Casually, he turned over and flicked on the battery-powered radio beside their bags. He scanned the stations until he found a clear one, and an old, upbeat, jazzy song came through.
"Oh...," Anthony said for the third time, and folded the yellow and blue condoms behind the middle red one. "I don't want it to hurt...," he idled.
"It won't, if it's done right," Ben said gently, setting the radio aside after turning its volume down.
Anthony started to argue that that had been the same thing Ben had said before he'd fingered Anthony, but realized that he'd never told Ben that it had been painful, and didn't want to give himself away now.
"I wouldn't ever hurt you," Ben laced the fingers on one hand with Anthony's, and lifted their arms up, propped on their elbows. "All you have to do is tell me to stop, and I will," he promised quietly.
Anthony looked at Ben's pillow, aware of what Ben was trying to convince him and aware that he was speaking in such certain future tense, as if he knew it were going to happen.
"We don't have to," Anthony heard Ben say, and registered the concern and patience in his voice, but could not make it past the part in himself that told him certainly that yes, they would have to do it now, now that he was holding a condom. The condoms had become the idea itself, and Anthony turned it over urgently in his mind as he twirled them in his hand.
Ben moved closer, his body warm. He grinned mischievously, a little shyly. "You want to?" he asked, his voice light with carefulness.
"I don't know," Anthony murmured, twisting the plastic in his fingers and staring at the material of the sleeping bag.
Ben rested his hand on the side of Anthony's neck, thumbing gently his jaw-line.
"We can try it," Ben suggested softly. "And if you don't like it, we can stop."
Anthony sighed. He spread the row of condoms out again, observing all three different colors. "Do you know how to put these on?" he asked.
"Yeah, I guess," Ben said, taking one corner of the plastic between his thump and forefinger. "It can't be that hard." He leaned forward, the sleeping bag rustling deftly with his movement. "You can help me," he said playfully against Anthony's ear.
Smiling involuntarily, Anthony spread the plastic tight between his two hands, displaying the condoms. "Which color?" he asked, suddenly chipper.
"Mmm," Ben looked. "I want blue. Want blue?"
"Blue it is," Anthony said, and started to separate it from the others dubiously. It took him more time than necessary, afraid he might rupture the condom inside. He set the others aside and began to open it as if it were wrapped candy. Sighing, he said, "Am I doing it right?"
"Doin' fine, baby," Ben said encouragingly. He kissed Anthony's cheek, and then Anthony felt him moving to undo his jeans. His belt clinked as it was set beside the radio.
Anthony held the unwrapped condom up. Uncertainly, he slowly poked his forefinger up through the thinner middle. "Is this how you do it?" he asked, assuming Ben knew more about the matter than he did.
"No, actually you have to put it on my schlong."
"Oh, shut up, you know what I mean."
Ben sat up, and unbuttoned his pants. "Yeah, that's right," he said, glancing at Anthony's dressed finger.
"Okay...," Anthony withdrew his digit and watched Ben unzip his jeans and lie down to slide them off.
"Okay, let's see," Ben said, sitting up again and holding his hand out for the condom. Anthony hoisted himself up on his arms and sat across from Ben, folding his legs over each other Indian-style.
Ben pushed his boxers down his lap. Anthony blushed at the red erection's exposure to him, and looked at the radio.
"I thought you were gonna help me," Ben said, starting to peel the blue rubber down his flesh himself.
"Well, what... what do you want me to do?"
Ben took one of Anthony's hand and positioned his fingers around the condom. "Pull it down," he said. "Easy."
Slowly, Anthony pushed the tightly rolled rubber down Ben's penis. He worked so slowly that it suddenly coiled back up and popped off of Ben's erection and smacked the tent's roof. At first, Anthony just stared blankly, unsure of what had happened. But Ben burst into laughter, picking the condom up. Anthony, in realization, blushed and covered his mouth.
"Oh God, I'm sorry," he giggled.
"'S...," Ben laughed harder. "'S'okay!"
"Shut up, I didn't mean to!" Anthony grinned, slapping Ben's shoulder.
"I'm," Ben held his stomach and laughed, unable to do more than shake his head in apology.
"Look, do you want to have sex or not?" Anthony chided, trying to hold his face in a mock-serious expression.
Laughing, Ben nodded.
"I'm not making love to anybody that can't stop laughing at me!" Anthony smirked.
Ben chuckled. "I'm laughing at– I'm not laughing at you– I'm laughing– "
"Well, stop laughing!"
"I'm laughing at the condom!"
"It wasn't that funny," Anthony huffed playfully.
Grinning, Ben leaned forward on his arms to kiss Anthony's cheek. Anthony tensed suddenly when he felt the heavy, warm hardness against his thigh.
"I'll hold it this time," Ben said, leaning back again. "'Kay?"
"Okay..."
Ben unrolled the condom again, and pressed it against his skin with the pads of his thumb and forefinger. "G'head," he told Anthony.
A little quicker and more determined this time, Anthony unrolled it all the way to the base of Ben, then released it triumphantly.
"Good job," Ben grinned at him. "A plus."
Anthony cocked his head. "A plus? What do I get for an A plus?"
"Mmm. Wanna find out?"
Anthony blushed and separated himself from the event until he could become more comfortable with it. "Alright," he said quietly.
Ben's fingers slipped open his jean button, and carefully pulled the zipper down. A white tingling danced down the line under Anthony's belly button like jelly as his inner thigh was brushed.
"Lift up," Ben said.
Anthony lied down on his pillow and switched his weight to his elbows, lifting his hips from the ground. Ben gathered handfuls of Anthony's jeans in each hand and tugged them down past his knees. Anthony slid them off the rest of the way with his feet.
"What if somebody comes out here?" Anthony asked, smiling but serious.
"Nobody will," Ben said, shaking his head assuringly. He leaned down on his arm to kiss Anthony, and slid his free hand up inside Anthony's shirt from his stomach.
"Well, what are we- how are we gonna do this? Should I... turn over?"
Ben shook his head again. "No. Um... remember that night at my house? When you sort of tucked your legs up and put 'em on my shoulders?"
"Yeah?"
"I think we could do it like that. That way, you know, we can be facing each other."
"Oh... let me see if I can..." Anthony tucked his knees up to his chest and held them awkwardly. "Like this?"
Ben sat up on his knees in front of Anthony. "You'll have to lean back a little more...," Ben said, and took Anthony's waist in his hands. He pulled Anthony toward him, then lifted his hips slightly. "Like this. But I can hold your legs up, sorta," Ben said. He demonstrated by wedging the side of his hands into the space behind Anthony's knees separating his calves and his thighs. "See?"
"Yeah."
"You aren't uncomfortable, are you?"
"No, not really. As long as you hold me like this."
"Okay..." Huskily, Ben said, "Okay... are you ready?"
"Yeah...," Anthony said, still sliced away from the moment.
"Okay..." Ben set his arms on either side of Anthony's shoulders like columns, hovering over him.
Anthony heart grew large, hot and heavy in his chest as more of his bare skin was revealed to the night air, yet kept warm inside the tent and under Ben's body over him. He fidgeted nervously in his position as Ben lowered himself down onto his elbows.
"You sure you're ready?" Ben asked quietly, close enough that he whispered.
"Yeah," Anthony nodded.
As if it were aware of them, the song on the radio changed to something with a slow, throbbing and sucking beat underneath soulful female vocals. Unsure of what else to do with them, Anthony placed his hands on Ben's back, curving his fingers around the sliding bones of his shoulder-blades. He was folded up like a lawn chair under Ben, and felt his own stomach rise against his rib-cage when he breathed.
When Ben's hand left its duty of positioning himself for entering Anthony, it followed his forearm in curving like a frame around Anthony's head. He was leaning down close now. Anthony felt his breath above and the warm, slick moister of the blue rubber against him below.
"Okay...," Ben announced, barely breathing out the two syllables.
Anthony braced himself, tightening his hands around Ben's shoulder-blades. The pain was less than he expected, though, as Ben slowly and gently eased his hips forward. It was a dull, flat, stretching ache, different and less cruel than the sharp stinging puncture Ben's fingers had been.
"You okay?" Ben said, his face against Anthony's neck and his hair grazing Anthony's mouth.
"Yeah," Anthony said, and found himself stimulated by the intimacy of what they were doing. He had concentrated so hard on merely making it through the event that he hadn't thought of being aroused.
They didn't speak much at all during the slow process; the only words exchanged were the heavy and breathy ones of Ben's making sure Anthony was not in any pain and asking permission to go deeper or faster. Anthony remained still except to slightly shift for more comfort or to tighten his fingers against Ben's back. Somewhere along the way he discovered that he could use Ben's hips as something like stirrups on a saddle for his feet. The red ache was always there, though sometimes it was more like a rough scratching of a bad itch, which wasn't altogether very painful. What sustained him, truthfully, was the feeling of Ben's belly rubbing against his groin with his movement. This was what made the pain below it seem less important or hindering than it was, and it was what made Anthony continue to tell Ben he could move faster. There was also the idea in general of what they were doing that made Anthony not want to stop; he reminded himself and repeatedly basked in the awe of the fact that he was having sex with Ben, intercourse with Ben, doing it with Ben, and his favorite: making love to Ben. When it was over he would no longer be a virgin, nor would Ben. He was losing his virginity to Ben, Ben was losing his to Anthony. It would be worth it, he thought, just to have the event exist in time after it was over.
But the time that it took seemed stretched for both of them, and when it was almost over they were both breathing hard with aching, sore bodies. Ben came first, stopping suddenly to shudder against Anthony. Having that happen was so magnificently arousing to Anthony that it didn't take much effort or time before he came himself, sucking his breath in.
Ben slowly, wearily, slid out of Anthony and collapsed as gently as he could onto Anthony's chest, laying a sweaty cheek against his skin.
"Damn," Ben panted.
Wincing, Anthony stretched his legs. The joints and muscles burned from being so tightly folded into such an awkward position. He drew a long breath and let it slide out of his lungs. He sighed, resting his hand against Ben's hair.
"I feel like I've done about a million sit-ups," Ben hissed.
"I think my legs are gonna fall off," Anthony replied.
I wonder if I bled, he thought suddenly, but was too exhausted to worry about it any further.
"Mmm," Ben moved against him, exhausted himself, but restless with the warm peacefulness of post-orgasm. He moved his body up so that his head was next to Anthony's on the pillow.
"We had sex," Ben whispered.
Anthony grinned, looking up at the point of the tent above him. "Yeah..."
"We fucked."
Anthony frowned at the obscenity.
Ben moved closer, and said gently, "We made love."
Anthony smiled again. "That's my favorite."
"Hope the condom didn't break."
Anthony snickered, not strong enough to laugh yet. "I hope I don't get pregnant."
Ben chuckled slowly and quietly, and laid his arm across Anthony's stomach. "Your parents'll disown you."
"Mmm. Good. I can move in with you."
Ben smiled at the idea. "That would be fun."
"Have you ever thought about have a kid, really? Adopting one? With me, I mean. Not now, I mean... if we grew up and lived together."
"No, I haven't ever thought about that..."
Anthony dropped his head so that his cheek was against the pillow and he was facing Ben. "You'd be a good dad."
Ben grinned, and pecked the tip of Anthony's nose.
"If we adopted a kid, it would have a really good life with us," Anthony continued. "It's so stupid that there are laws saying gay couple can't adopt kids. They could have really happy lives with gay people; there are straight couples out there that beat their kids and leave them on doorsteps and molest them. But couples can't adopt them and save them from that because they're the same sex. That's so stupid."
Ben was attracted to Anthony's passion about the matter. He moved his nose against the other's cheek. "Well... think about Jake. If we had a kid and sent him to school with two dads, he'd get it from kids like Jake worse than we do."
Anthony sighed. "I guess you're right... But we could homeschool our kid."
"Then we'd have to stay home all the time teaching it."
"I could teach it," Anthony argued eagerly, as if it were going to happen soon. "I could be a writer and stay home and write and teach, and you could go to work-"
"Shh," Ben hissed, holding up his index finger, his eyes focused elsewhere.
"What?" Anthony asked quietly.
"Did you hear that?"
"No, what?"
"Shh, listen."
Anthony lie tensely still and waited for a sound. He'd almost given up and announced to Ben that he heard nothing when the tent dipped at the base as if poked from the outside with a small finger, and there was a scratch against the material.
"What-?" Anthony started, but was interrupted by a small, high, pathetic yowl.
Curiously, Anthony pulled his boxers up and crawled to the front of the tent. He slowly pulled the zipper down so that the flap collapsed into the inside, and he peered in the direction of the scratching.
"Ben!" he gasped quietly. "Look!"
A tiny, scrawny black kitten stared at Anthony with large eyes, lifting each leg and shaking sand from its paw as it walked toward him. It mewed again, opening wide its small mouth to show little white teeth and a minuscule pink tongue.
Anthony gently reached for it and set it down inside the tent, where Ben was peeling off the condom.
"It's a kitten!" Anthony said, watching it wander curiously around their pallet.
"It's a stray," Ben said, as if that were a different species altogether, and flung the condom out of the tent and into the sand before Anthony zipped it up again.
"Ben, that's gross," Anthony said. "What if someone decides to take a walk over there?"
"I'll throw it away later," Ben answered, pulling his own boxers up.
Anthony returned his attention to the cat. Gently, he held it with both hands and cradled it next to his chest. "It's probably hungry. Give me some chips or something."
"Anth, it stinks," Ben wrinkled his nose, but pawed through his bag for the potato chips anyway.
"No it doesn't," Anthony said, scratching softly behind the animal's ear. It mewed again as it smelled the salt of the opened bag of chips. Anthony reached in, spread a small pile onto the sleeping bag, and held a small crumb up to the kitten's mouth.
"Here you go," he said in a high, gentle, nurturing voice, and the kitten snapped at the chip, crunching it greedily between its tiny teeth. Anthony smiled and broke apart another chip for it.
Ben frowned, thinking the cat was too malnutritioned and dirty to be cute. But Anthony cradled it as if it were the most adorable thing he'd ever seen, letting it lick his fingers clean of salt.
"It stinks," Ben repeated.
Anthony clucked his tongue at Ben. "It does not," he pouted, and petted the cat's back. "Big mean Ben thinks you're stinky," he told the creature. It crunched the chip in response.
"I'm not mean, I just don't want to catch some disease from a stray," Ben said in defense.
"Aw," Anthony said, holding the cat toward Ben so that its face and belly were shown to him. "How can he be carrying a disease?"
Ben smiled involuntarily. "It still stinks," he muttered, breaking his own chip up and feeding the kitten himself. "Anyway, are you sure it's a he?"
Anthony craned his neck to look down the cat's exposed underside. "It's a boy," he confirmed, lightly scratching its ribs with his fingertips. Ben watched Anthony's long, slim, gentle fingers, a little hypnotized. Anthony was so careful and delicate. Ben decided that he wouldn't mind being in the kitten's position.
"Well, you wanted a kid...," Ben said, amused, and lowered himself on his side, propped on his elbow.
Anthony grinned, and arranged his sitting position so that the small of his back was against Ben's thighs. "We'll adopt him," he said decisively. "It'll be a joint custody."
"But that means we have to be divorced."
"Not necessarily."
Ben sat up a little. "Hey. Is his tail broken?"
Anthony observed it, touching lightly the kink near the tip of the cat's tail. It mewed loudly in protest as Anthony did this, and he withdrew immediately. "Must be...," Anthony said sadly. "What do you do for a broken tail?"
Ben shrugged. "I think they heal on their own."
"We'll put a band-aid or something around it, just in case," Anthony told the cat, craning his neck again to touch his nose to the kitten's.
"If I break my tail, will you be that nice to me?" Ben nudged Anthony's shoulder, smiling.
Anthony looked up, cocking his hair out of his eyes. "Oh, your tail works just fine," he smirked.
"Mmm, it does?" Ben smirked back, tickling Anthony's cheek with one finger. Playfully, Anthony nipped at it. Grinning at each other, still romantically drowsy with the love-making after-math, Ben moved his fingers around Anthony's face and Anthony suckled at the tips until the cat mewed at Anthony again, trying to claw his way up Anthony chest in search of more food.
"Ow," Anthony said chidingly, peeling the kitten from his T-shirt. He broke another chip from the pile and fed it. "He needs a name," Anthony, who had childishly assumed responsibility of the animal before he was sure he'd be able to keep it, announced.
"Stinky-ass," Ben suggested.
"Shut up," Anthony said, slapping Ben's outer thigh. "How about...," Anthony took a long moment, "Neptune."
"Neptune?" Ben raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah," Anthony chirped.
"You're so weird. No kid of mine is going to be named 'Neptune'."
"Well, we're certainly not calling him Stinky-ass."
"Smelly-ass?"
"You're disqualified from naming him. What about E.E.? Like E.E. Cummings."
"Mmm. Okay," Ben agreed.
"Okay," Anthony smiled, and set the cat down on the pallet in front of the pile of chips. "Hey, little E.E." he gently stroked his back, affectionately watching him eat.
Ben smiled at E.E., not because he found him cute, but because he was drawn to Anthony's sympathy towards the kitten.
"I love you," he said, pushing a strand of Anthony's hair behind his ear. He'd meant to say it when they were making love, had planned it, even, but had forgotten and was angry at himself for it.
"Love you too," Anthony said, more boldly than usual, smiling genuinely at Ben.
Ben beamed at the change, and held an arm out. "C'mere," he said, and felt his heart expand in the heat of his adoration.
"Mmm," Anthony pulled the sleeping bag up to his chin and cuddled against Ben. "What about E.E.?" he asked. "He'll probably get thirsty too..."
"I think I brought water bottles," Ben said, turning to go through the things in his bag. He turned a tupperware lid upside down, set it in the sand, and poured some water from one of the bottles into it.
Anthony grinned as Ben lowered himself back into the sleeping bag. "You would make a good dad. You're so resourceful," he giggled a little.
Ben pulled Anthony close by his waist. The radio had been playing something fast fit for a dance floor, but now slipped into a slow acoustic. Ben ran a hand up Anthony's shirt and lightly rubbed his bare back.
"I'm glad we did it...," Anthony said, his blue eyes wide and shining in their closeness to Ben's face.
"Me too," Ben touched Anthony's nose with his.
"'M tired now," Anthony murmured, sighing and lulled by the back-rub. "But it just now got dark out..."
"S'okay," Ben said, moving his hand up to the back of Anthony's neck. "Take a nap if you want."
"Mmm," Anthony half grunted, half sighed at the feeling. "M'kay..."
And he did, burying his face in the front of Ben's shirt and breathing hot cloudy air against it. Ben's breathing slowed at the feeling of Anthony's body rising and falling against him, and soon he rested his head on his folded arm and slept as well.
When Ben woke up it was only two hours later, but he'd slept so heavily and after such fatigue that it felt like it'd been all night. E.E. had had enough potato chips and water and was sleeping as well, curled into a small furry ball against Anthony's warm lower belly. Ben guessed Anthony must have set him there at some point after he'd had fallen asleep, and wondered why one of them hadn't rolled over on him. He propped himself up on his arm to look down at them, and felt the photographer's lament of wishing his eyes were tiny cameras in which he could capture and keep the scene. Anthony's face was serenely placid, his thin pink lips parted in breathing, and E.E. was cuddled tightly against him, even his tail curled up toward his face. Ben smiled, now feeling a sorry for thinking the animal ugly. He gently scooped it up with one hand and held it, scratching under its chin with the other.
"Hey," he said to it. The kitten yawned and stretched at being waken, then writhed to be set down again.
"Fine," Ben said, lowering it onto the sleeping bag. E.E. padded back to where he'd lain, against the soft warm wall of Anthony, and coiled himself again.
"Yeah, I don't blame you," Ben mused vacantly, groaning and stretching his arms and legs. He shook out of his boxers some of the sand that had crept onto his side of the sleeping bag, unzipped the tent front, and walked out into the sand. Anthony, who had waken at the movement, raised his eyelids just high enough that he was able to watch Ben leave from under them, then re-settled himself on the covers to go back to sleep, assuming Ben was going to pee and would be right back.
Ben noticed the condom on his way to the shore and, sneering and realizing that Anthony had been right about it being gross but not being in the mood for actually picking it up and carrying it to the nearest trash can, he kicked sand at it with the side of his foot and created for it a shallow grave. When he reached the shore, letting the fizzy tail-ends of waves encircle his ankles, he glanced down both directions for people on the beach and, seeing none, reached down into the warmth of the inside of his boxers and peed an arching trail into the water. Ben stretched again, pushing back his shoulders, when he was finished. Tired from his nap, he backed far enough away from the shore that the waves didn't reach him, and sat in the sand. It was a nice place to be, his part of the beach, and he'd always considered it his own private reminder that Manhattan was a natural part of the Earth underneath the buildings. And now, being here with Anthony, he thought of how like the beach the boy was. He was a part of Manhattan but he was something separate and purer, though tainted by the environment, his saltwater blackened.
It was poetic. Ben was proud of himself. He'd have to present the comparison to Anthony, or maybe write a poem about it.
In thinking about Anthony's purity, Ben was also reminded that that was how he'd seen Anthony when they'd first met. When was that, October? Ben assigned each finger a month and counted. That meant he'd known Anthony for seven months, once the last few days of April were over.
When did he say they were leaving? In the summer... May or June? Ben thought, and couldn't remember.
He'll be gone.
Amazingly, he realized that it was the first time the concept had occurred to him. It seemed a hard thing to forget, but somehow he'd never dwelled on the fact that one day Anthony would go back to South America.
Ben dipped his eyebrows, the muscles tightening together, as if there were something confusing about the idea. His chest grew gradually heavy and solid as if it were slowly mutating from skin and bones into marble. He felt suddenly offended and hurt, as if someone else had tauntingly spoken of the concept to him. Ben folded his arms tightly around his knees as if in defense. A breeze flirted with the soft thickness of his hair and he felt it tickle his scalp.
You don't know what you've got till it's gone, Ben thought randomly, and was suddenly infuriated by it. He spoke out loud, hoping he could project some fury onto something or loosen the tightness in his chest if he did.
"I already know what I have," he said, but the tightness seemed to close in on the air he released from his chest; it ached even more, and his voice cracked. When he realized that the ache was from tears building up, it weakened him, and he let them out, fresh and hot on his cheeks.
"I already fucking know," he hissed desperately, syllables interrupted by little sob hitches. He closed his fist around a clump of sand and slung it hatefully into the ocean. The roar of the waves swallowed any sound of the grains falling, and when the tiny tantrum helped Ben none, his face crumpled and he pushed his forehead against his knees, still hugging them with his arms.
"Ben?" Anthony called, poking his head from the tent. He'd gotten up when he'd realized how long Ben had been gone. He spotted Ben curled in front of the water, and directed in voice at him. "Hey! What are you doing?"
Terrified his voice would crack again, Ben replied carefully, turning his head only slightly, "Nothing!"
Anthony smiled. "Well, get back in here and warm me up, boy!"
Ben sighed shakily and pressed the heels of his hands into his eye-sockets, knowing he couldn't yet, not without Anthony noticing the tears.
Anthony crawled out of the tent, then trotted across the sand. "What are you doing?" he called again.
Ben heard him coming. He sighed again, surrendering.
"Hey-," Anthony stopped, then lowered himself to his knees beside Ben. He began again, gentler but with a rattled urgency, "Hey... what's wrong?"
"When are you going back to Bolivia?" Ben burst, pressing his wrists harder against his eyes.
Anthony stared. "The end of May...," he said quietly, unsure of how to react. He had never seen Ben cry, and it made the boy a different person. The idea of Ben crying was so foreign to Anthony that he forgot that crying was actually a normal occurrence that happened very regularly in the universe. For a moment Anthony could only watch it and the strange boy beside him, not a mature, handsome, smiling and joking young man, but a boy with wet, slick, red-rimmed eyes and a young face, childish in the way it seemed smother and overwhelmed with emotions that were too big for him.
"Fuck," Ben whimpered, biting his lips to keep them from gaping in his sorrow.
"Come on," Anthony said gently, taking one of Ben's wrists and realizing that he wanted to comfort him. It was a new feeling, the gentle ache of seeing Ben upset and wanting to hold him to make him feel better. It was a part of loving Ben that Anthony hadn't had the chance to experience before, a soft, adoring protection.
"Come on," he repeated nurturingly. "Let's go back to the tent." Anthony stood up and offered his hand, subconsciously thinking that the crying must have weakened Ben physically.
Ben took it, and Anthony squeezed it as they crossed the sand between the shore and the tent.
They entered silently and Anthony zipped the flap while Ben wiped, sighing, at his eyes and cheeks.
"Here," Anthony said, sitting and patting his lap. Ben seemed to understand exactly what he needed to do to be comforted and did it with a precocious grace, his years returning to him. He was more like a man now, who was emotionally fatigued and was aware that he needed rest. He sighed softly when he felt Anthony's thin, delicate fingers in his hair.
"S'okay...," Anthony murmured, raking his fingertips softly across Ben's scalp.
Ben nuzzled Anthony's leg and wrapped his arms around his waist, then hugged tightly, clinging. As he had before, Anthony slowly and wordlessly combed Ben's hair with his hands until he was asleep.