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Ben slammed Matt into the hotel-room door the moment it was shut, one hand pushing hard against Matt's chest, the other tangled in his hair, pulling his head back against the thick wood of the door until his neck was a long, lean exposure of skin.

Matt responded without hesitation, lifting his chin so he was displayed in an open invitation to touch, his fingers gripping Ben's biceps.

Ben paused briefly to eye Matt's skin, choosing a spot just above Matt's collarbone, before falling onto it, mouth open.

"Don't mark me," said Matt, voice hoarse and uneven. "I have to shoot close-ups tomorrow."

With an eloquent groan of complaint, Ben pulled back before the bite broke skin, soothing the spot with tongue and lips.

"Just head and hands," said Matt, letting go of Ben and pulling at his own dress-shirt, trying to get it free of his pants. "Do whatever the fuck else you want."

Ben unseamed his body from Matt's and joined in pulling at the shirt, his fingers flirting with every flash of skin revealed. After a moment of counterproductive grappling, Ben slapped Matt's hands out of the way, took hold of the shirt-front and ripped the two sides apart, buttons popping off in a machine-gun staccato, ricocheting off the entryway wall and landing on the carpet with soft rain of plinks.

"God!" Matt closed his eyes, heading thudding back against the door. He pressed up into Ben's touch, rubbing his hard-on against Ben's thigh. "That's so..."

Ben pressed back, his cock a perfect fit against Matt's hip. "It's been way too fucking long." He pulled back a little so that he could stare down at Matt's bare chest: the light sprinkle of hair across muscle, the rise and fall of ribs, the smooth, taut drum of his belly. Ben worked his fingertips over Matt's skin, spiralling down through the crinkle of hair and then up over fluttering stomach muscles, raising gooseflesh. Then he pressed closer again, running his thumbs over and over Matt's nipples.

His lips glanced across Matt's open mouth, but he didn't deepen the kiss. He moved on, kissing Matt's cheek, along his jaw, beneath his ear, worrying his earlobe with a gentle tongue and a hint of teeth.

Matt shivered, and his mouth shaped itself into a fey, knowing smile full of want. It didn't look anything like friendship. "Ben?" he said, forcing Ben to look up and meet his gaze. Then, very deliberately, Matt lifted his left arm, keeping eye contact with Ben the whole time, brought his wrist to his mouth and bit off the shirt's cuff-button, spitting it onto the carpet to join the others.

Ben's nostrils flared as he stared first at the ruined cuff and then at Matt's mouth.

Matt lifted his right arm. Licked the remaining button, swirling his tongue around it like the start of the world's dirtiest blow-job. Sucked it slowly between his lips. Bit it off with a sharp tug and spat it onto the carpet.

"Jesus," Ben said. He twisted Matt's nipples hard. "I want to bite you so fucking hard."

Matt arched up into the pain. "Yeah. Bite me. Suck me. Fuck me through the fucking floor." He reached down, sliding a hand over the straining fabric of Ben's pants. "Seven months is way too fucking long. Let's not do that again."

"Good plan," said Ben, thrusting up into Matt's palm once before he stepped back, grabbed Matt's wandering hand away from his cock, and tugged Matt towards the bed.

At the bed's foot, Ben stopped. He lifted Matt's hand and licked a long stripe up his wrist where the gaping shirt sleeve had fallen away. "But I'm not going to fuck you through the floor," he said, and then, grinning at a suddenly frowning Matt, "We don't want you getting carpet burns anywhere that'll show, do we?"

"Bastard!" Matt wrapped a foot around Ben's ankle and tripped him backwards onto the bed, landing on top of him hard, wedging his knees into Ben's sides. He twisted his wrists around until he'd reversed the loose hold Ben had on him, and pushed Ben's arms above his head, pinning him down. "Don't make me hurt you!"

Heat flashed across Ben's face, leaving him flushed and glassy-eyed. He licked his lips and said, voice strained and soft, "Why not?"

Matt went still and just looked down at Ben. "Jen?" he said, the word both a question and a goad.

Ben breathed out and let all the tension drain out of his body, until he was submissive and pliable beneath Matt's hands. "I'm not marrying her with a lie between us," Ben replied, staring into Matt's eyes without blinking. "It's time to let her see if she can really handle it."

"And if she can't?"

Ben made an abortive shrugging motion. "I'm not giving you up for her. She knows that."

Matt nodded, let go of Ben's wrists and sat up. He shuffled down Ben's body until he was astride his knees. The button of Ben's pants popped open easily under the practiced twist of his fingers; the zipper slid down smoothly; and Ben's cock thrust up between the V of fabric, surrounded by a coil of dark hair.

Ben lifted his hips helpfully and Matt tugged the pants down until the smooth, unmarked skin of Ben's abdomen and upper thighs was bare.

"Are you sure?" Matt traced the length of Ben's cock with one finger. "Really sure?"

Ben's cock jerked and he let out a hissing breath. "Yes, I'm fucking sure!"

"Good. I'm tired of being careful." Matt leaned forward until his mouth was just above Ben's hipbone. "How much pressure do you think it would take to make a hickey here?"

"Fuck knows." Ben put his hand on the back of Matt's neck, not pressing down, just playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. "Let's find out."

Matt dropped a gentle kiss on Ben's hip--making Ben sigh--then trailed his tongue along the triangle of bone.

Ben's free hand bunched up a handful of the bed-covers.

Matt slid one hand beneath Ben's ass, holding on tight, moving the other to rest on Ben's belly, offering no pressure yet, just the hint that it would be there if Ben moved, and then he carefully ran his teeth over Ben's skin in a slow, smooth glide.

Ben moved restlessly beneath Matt's touch, the tension returning to his muscles. His cock twitching with want.

The arc of Matt's mouth came to a stop right over the ridge of Ben's hip, and he sucked hard, his cheeks hollowing with the effort of it.

The fingers on the back of Matt's neck clenched on a handful of hair, and Ben could feel the pressure of Matt's mouth everywhere: on the pulse throbbing in his neck, on the hard nubs of his nipples, on the tight skin of his balls, and even on the tingling arches of his feet.

Matt's mouth made lewd sucking sounds against Ben's skin as he increased the pressure.

Ben started to pant. The idea of what Matt was about to do like an electrode poked into his brain and hotwired straight to his cock.

Without warning, Matt bit down hard; hard enough to bruise.

The cry forced from Ben's throat sounded like a gull, floating high on a distant updraught. He closed his eyes and moved his hand off Matt's neck before he was tempted to leave marks. His untouched cock felt like a brand: burning hot and pulsing with each beat of his heart.

Matt swirled his tongue gently as he increased the pressure with his teeth, biting harder and harder. With sweat-slick fingers he tightened his grip on Ben, keeping him pinned to the bed as he started to writhe.

Ben moaned. Geometric shapes were swimming behind his eyelids and he let go of the bedspread to grab at the headboard, gripping it so hard it creaked beneath his hands. He couldn't keep his body still. He wanted it to stop: wanted Matt's mouth off his hip and on his cock. He wanted it to never stop: wanted to turn Matt around and take Matt's cock into his own suddenly watering mouth so they could both keep on going for as long as possible.

Beneath his teeth, Matt felt the moment of breaking point, tasted the sudden salt surge of blood on his tongue. He didn't ease off, just closed his eyes and savoured the feel of Ben in his mouth.

Ben's world turned carmine; his skin turned inside out; he cried out, voice ripped from him by some powerful, unstoppable, nameless thing that rushed at him through the endless thunder of his blood and savaged his insides.

Matt heard Ben cry out, felt him shake with the tsunamis of pain that were racing up and down his muscles. He stopped biting and let go with a slick, kissing sound just as a warm lash of come wet his arm and underneath his chin. Matt looked up, startled.

Ben's face was a rictus of savage ecstasy.

Matt kissed the bruise he'd just made and Ben jerked again.

For Ben, everything was carmine, red, scarlet, until the pain slowly collapsed back into a normal world of flesh, leaving behind only a dull throb that ached through his hip like an aftershock, and he just lay there, lost in sensation, beyond thought, tears tracking down the sides of his face.

"You okay?" Matt ran a gentle, apologetic hand through the come on Ben's belly.

Ben blinked a couple of times and then lifted his head to look at Matt. "Wha..." he cleared his throat, "... the fuck was that?"

"I always said you were a masochist," Matt replied, smiling fondly. He lifted his hand to his mouth and sucked a finger clean of Ben's come.

Ben groaned and let his head fall back onto the bed. He lifted a trembling hand to wipe at his face. "So why the hell didn't you ever do that before?"

"In a word," said Matt, as he moved up the bed, stretching out next to Ben, putting a hand on Ben's still-heaving chest, sliding their legs together, pressing his cock into Ben's sweat-slick side, uncaring that they were both still mostly dressed, "Jen." The word sounded bitter as it fell from his tongue, more honest than he'd ever let it be before.

Ben turned to look at him, his face still wet with tears.

Matt looked back.

"It's not Jen who's going to have a problem with this," said Ben, after a long, loaded silence. "Is is?"

Matt trailed his hand along Ben's shirt and pressed a finger to a nipple. "I really fucking doubt it."

Ben sighed. "For suck's sake, Matt. You couldn't have said something sooner?"

Matt leaned forward and licked a stripe of sweat off Ben's neck. "I'm saying something now."

"And what is it exactly that you're saying now?" Ben put his hand over Matt's, stilling the restless plucking at his nipple.

"I'm saying..." Matt pulled away and rolled over onto his back, looking up at the ceiling. "... I'm saying that I saw you first."

Ben gave an amused snort and rolled onto his side to face Matt, propping his head up on his palm. "What am I? A marble? A nickel? A stray dog?" He poked Matt in the ribs. "What are you saying, Matt?"

Matt slapped Ben's hand away, suddenly angry. "I'm saying don't marry her." He sat up, back turned to Ben, glaring down at his ripped shirt. "I'm saying don't fucking marry her, okay! That's what I'm saying."

Ben watched Matt's hunched back, a hungry, hopeful look edging onto his face. "Why shouldn't I marry her, Matt?" he asked, voice gentle. "I thought you liked her?"

"What the fuck do you want me to say?" Matt demanded, still not looking at Ben. "That I can't stand the thought of her having you in a way I never can? That I'm so jealous I feel like I've got acid eating away under my skin every time I see you with her? Or maybe--here's a good one--maybe you want me to say that I'm so fucking in love with you that I don't even fucking want anyone else anymore? That I haven't been with anyone else since the last time we..." Matt trailed off, and just sat there, hunched over, as though in pain.

With an effort, Ben managed to get his wrung-out body working enough to sit up alongside Matt. "Okay," he said.

"Don't fucking patronise me!" Matt pushed up onto his knees and made his way to the edge of the bed.

"Jesus, Matt." Ben lunged at him, grabbing his ankle. "What part of 'Okay, I won't marry her' don't you get? Or is that not what this conversation is about?"

Matt stopped trying to kick his ankle out of Ben's grip. "What?"

"I'll break up with her tomorrow," said Ben.

"What?" Matt looked stunned.

"What do you want me to say?" Ben asked. He pushed his fingers under the edge of Matt's pants, flirting with the bare skin of his leg. "That you saw me first? That sex with you is better? That you're prettier?" Ben smiled, it was light and happy, all about joy; a smile that had everything to do with friendship. "Or maybe just that I'm only half as in love with her as I am with you? And that if one of you has to go, it's a pretty fucking obvious choice. Will that do it?"

Matt closed his mouth with a snap. He narrowed his eyes, glaring at Ben. "I hate it when you yank my chain."

Ben toed off his shoes. "Or maybe I should make it a statement of intent?" He pulled off his socks and dropped them off the end of the bed. "I want you to fuck me." He lifted his shirt over his head, heedless of buttons, and tossed it aside. "Hard." He shimmied out of his trousers and kicked them aside. "Hard enough to leave marks." He lay down. "Right now."

"Maybe," Matt said, conversationally, as he began to strip off his own clothes, "I want you to get carpet burns while I fuck you through the floor. Did you think of that, smartass?"

"I'll tell you what," said Ben, spreading his legs wide, "fuck me here on the nice soft bed, and I'll promise not to mark your face or hands."

Matt crawled up the bed until he was poised, face to face, above Ben. "Okay," he said, one hand moving unerringly to Ben's hip and pressing down on the purpling bruise. "You've got yourself a deal."

Ben rocked up into the steady pressure of Matt's hand, and his reply, whatever it might have been, was lost, muffled into a wordless moan by the deep, tropical heat of Matt's too-hard kiss.

* * *