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“What does your girlfriend think of that?”
Willo blushes, or at least Ben thinks he does. It’s kind of hard to tell when he holds his cards so close to his chest. Loud on the pitch, maybe, but here in the din of a pub, surrounded by teammates, he’s a closed book that Ben feels too sober to open.
He coughs, low and fake, “I don’t have a girlfriend.” And okay, Ben can work with that. He doesn’t either, after all, and more so it’s the most he’s gotten out of Willo all night. He’s already planning how he’ll yell at Leo later for abandoning him, but now he’s stuck here and damned if he’s gonna have his victory beer in silence.
“Yeah? What happened to that blonde? The one with the-”
Willo winces, maybe imperceptibly to some, but Ben has nowhere else to look except maybe the wall and this is a lot more fun- which is to say, not that fun at all. Willo does this kind of weird thing with his eyes, looking around in panic.
“We were never- That wasn’t a thing.” He answers with his nose turned to the air, answers like he doesn’t want to talk about it and like Ben should’ve known that. He didn’t. They’re teammates, not friends, not anything between them really except a shared backline on the weekends. Not friends, no. Ben only answers with a noncommittal shrug. He could care less either way; it’s not even fun to watch Willo squirm.
He sips his beer in silence after that, because he’s not getting anything out of this exercise. The team is scattered across the room, drinking, laughing, enjoying themselves. That’s good. Ben would join too if that didn’t mean asking Willo to please scoot out of his way, and also standing awkwardly somewhere in a conversation that he’s too late for. Plus, his knee hurts.
“Good game.”
He’s so annoying. Ben is so annoyed, and if he has to look at Willo’s stupidly punchable- yet oddly beautiful face for one more dry, boring, annoying minute, he might lose it. He’s worked up now, as much as Ben can be- which is to say, not much beyond the annoyance low in his chest. Willo probably doesn’t even notice at all. They don’t know each other like that.
He scoffs, humorously, but only a little, “Mate, no wonder you don’t have a girlfriend.”
Willo has the audacity to look confused and a little affronted- which, whatever, they’re teammates; he can be a little rude under the guise of banter. He only feels a little bad and that must show on his face because Willo rolls his eyes and gives him a wide and toothy smile with those perfectly white teeth.
“O-kay.” He answers.
-
“Stop it then!”
They have such stupid training drills: piggyback rides, throwing balls at each other, whatever Mikel invents at the given moment. It’s not like anything Ben’s ever done, and it’s not something he would complain about either. Not usually, at least, but today he’s stuck with Willo. He doesn’t need to be worried about it- shouldn’t need to be. Willo is just a teammate, even if he’s annoying and keeps hitting Ben with the ball- like a toddler who finds it funny.
He’s gonna punch him, he really will this time, or at least hit him back especially hard. If it was a friend, which Willo is not, he’d probably throw the ball at them anyway. And he does, and it hits his target because Ben meant it too and also because Willo is only two feet away.
“You dick.” Willo’s laughing and smiley as if he doesn’t even care and he probably doesn’t. Next to nothing makes this guy tick, at least that Ben can tell. He rolls his eyes and tosses another ball, lighter, playful.
-
“Up. We’re going out.” Martin’s been texting him all day, trying to drag him to some new club with some of the other boys. Despite popular belief, Ben doesn’t like that sort of thing at all. He’d much rather be home, but Martin’s here to drag him and he won’t let go without a fight. He can see through Ben like it’s nothing, and maybe it is.
Except maybe he didn’t see that the very last thing Ben wants is to spend the night with Willo. He and Gabi show up at the apartment to pick them up, dressed in their finest Prada. All Ben wants is to go to bed and maybe burn Willo’s dumb shirt. The pattern alone is liable to give him a headache. But he goes, because Martin wants him to, and he’s nothing if not a good friend.
“Hey.” Willo’s happy and nice and Ben can only manage a small hey before he’s brushing past his shoulder. His smile is goofy and Ben couldn’t match it if he tried, so he doesn’t.
For all their language barriers, Gabi and Martin find a way to communicate well enough and it’s Ben and Willo left a step behind, silent- except for when Willo butts in every so often. Stupid and rude.
Ben could call Leo and have him meet them, but he hasn’t been sleeping lately with the new baby and it’d be a dick move- at least to his wife. They’re too old to be going out like this. Footballers, yes, but they’re not kids. Or, well, Willo is. But Gabi’s married and Martin just adopted a dog, so it should just be Willo going out alone.
It doesn’t make him feel young to drink too many beers and crowd around a small table and pretend he doesn’t see the cameras. He had his fun, back when football was fun and his friends brought drugs instead of stories about games they played all together anyway. He tells Martin as much and gets brushed off in favor of another one of Willo’s jokes.
He kicks at the younger- youngest of them- from under the table, on purpose, though he apologizes like it wasn’t and slips off to the bathroom.
The lights are low and he looks sickly and green under them. His tan is fading, beard needs a trim, shirt stained from where he dribbled, and he really needs to get laid.
-
Willo drives him home when his car breaks down. It’s stupid, hardly a year old, and already broken- cost him way too much to cause him this inconvenience.
“Can you drive any faster?” He’s being a dick and he knows it, but this guy makes him tick, and he also drives like a grandma, apparently.
Willo sucks in a breath, like maybe Ben has actually pissed him off, “Sorry! I’ve got places to be as well.” Nope. He’s too nice for that. Maybe Ben should try harder.
It’s obvious he wants him to ask, but Ben doesn’t. Doesn’t care and doesn’t want to. Willo tells him anyway, because why should Ben get what he wants?
“I have a date.”
“Cool.”
Willo doesn’t look wounded, just glances over and then focuses back on the road.
-
He’s drunk, again. It wasn’t intentional, this time, but they were all drinking and then they stopped and he kept going. More than half the bottle is gone and Ben’s too sloppy, embarrassing even, and too drunk to rationalize, to remember they’ve all been there.
“William.”
“Not even my mother calls me that.” He giggles, patient, because Ben is struggling to stay upright in front of him.
“What is your type?”
He tilts his head and dares to look confused. Everything is overdone on his face, big, comical expressions. Heart on his sleeve, maybe.
“In girls.” He clarifies, tone bitchy and annoyed because everyone knows what he means
Somewhere behind him, there’s a sharp laugh, and Ben’s drunk mind doesn’t register it. He does register Willo looking humorous like there’s a joke Ben isn’t in on.
“Well, I like tits.”
Ben laughs, big and dumb, way too loud, and he’s maybe the only one, even though others have to have heard. He looks around and his teammates avoid his gaze.
“Mate, have you ever felt the touch of a woman?”
Martin swoops in after that, tired of watching Ben embarrass himself, or maybe sorry for Willo. Either way, Ben barely remembers the next day.
-
“Would you date me if I was a girl?”
He hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it. Mostly to tease, because Willo really doesn’t know how to answer these questions, and it’s funny to see him flustered. To maybe annoy him back just a bit.
Willo hums while he considers it. They’ve been carpooling again because, to be honest, Ben hates driving and Willo doesn’t live far. He never asked if he minded, but Willo keeps coming to pick him up, so it must be okay. Ben doesn’t get kicked out of the car, so this must be okay too.
“You’re kind of a bitch. But yeah, maybe.”
Ben giggles before he can stop himself, because he is and he knows it. The ‘maybe’, though, that’s a problem. Willo doesn’t get to say maybe to him, not when Ben’s hotter and older and cooler. Willo would date Ben. He’s sure of it.
-
The bar is crowded, but not too much so. Willo invited him for drinks and Ben went, begrudgingly, because he promised to pay. Ben doesn’t need the money, he shouldn’t be here. But he is. Too late now, even if he swore off drinking completely after last time.
Willo orders the beer Ben likes for both of them, so maybe Willo likes it too and maybe he’s being nice. Most likely he doesn’t actually know what he likes. He’s just a kid in a bar, probably trying to look cool in front of Ben. He finishes two while Ben sips on the one, being good, keeping his cool. They don’t talk really, or they do, but it’s so surface level that Ben forgets it all the second it falls from Willo’s mouth.
“Would you date me? If I was a girl?” He’s asking, accent heavier like this, no tact to his words. Willo is proper drunk, and Ben’s going to take advantage.
“No.”
He frowns, looking intently into his glass like it has all the answers. Ben feels a little bad, he always feels a little bad, now, because Willo is as nice as he acts. But Ben is Ben. No changing it now.
“Would you, um, date me if I was a boy?”
That’s new. That’s a very new one. He sounds nervous when he asks, and Ben’s too shocked to even laugh. Something must be interesting in the beer glass- the empty third glass, because Willo won’t dare look up.
“You are a boy.” He points out. It’s a stupid answer to a stupid question, “And I’m straight.”
“Right. Me too.”
-
Willo’s place is nicer than he would’ve thought. Cleaner too. He clearly didn’t decorate it himself, everything’s too monochrome and proper. But it’s nice. Ben sits at the counter while Willo cooks them dinner, because apparently he can cook too. Ben cannot.
It’s not actual cooking to reheat premade sauce and add it to noodles, and Ben tells him as much. Willo smiles and tells him it’s not a date; he doesn’t get the good stuff.
-
“You would make a pretty girl.”
Willo has him shoved into a stall, at yet another club. Ben is too sober for this. Far, far too sober, but Willo’s hands feel nice, and it’s been a long time since he’s gotten laid.
“You’d be the girl.” He pushes back, shoving Willo against the door, grinding against him like they’re back out on the floor. Willo’s hands undo his pants with ease, even with Ben making it as difficult as possible.
“No, I would not.” He adds, just before getting a hand around Ben’s dick and rendering him useless. His palm is warm, the right edge between rough and wet that has Ben stuttering his hips after barely being touched.
“You’re- fuck- good at this.” Willo reaches a hand to his balls, the right pressure, in the right places, driving Ben insane. He’s over the edge faster than he ever thought possible, “You’ve done this before or what?”
“Yeah. I’ve done this before.”
-
He doesn’t tell anyone, out of a combination of Ben threatening him or that he really doesn’t care to share, maybe. But the secret stays in and Ben doesn’t have to crawl out of his own skin. He feels the shame of it anyway. Willo offers to drive, same as normal and Ben turns him down. Willo gives him the ball, sits with him at lunch, annoys him like a pining primary schooler and Ben wants more than anything for him to disappear.
“I’m not gay. Stop fucking doing that.”
Willo’s laugh is breathy and drawn out. He doesn’t stop where he’s pawing at Ben’s waist. He shouldn’t have come over, should’ve known- thought with his brain instead of his dick, and not even that because his dick is not attracted to men- boys- Willo. It’s just not.
“You can pretend you’re a girl. If that helps.” It doesn’t fucking help. That does not help at all. Ben’s going to hit him, he is. “Relax, I’m joking.”
He doesn’t relax, not in the slightest, because Willo’s big hand is brushing over his cock, toying with his waistband, things that don’t happen at a normal movie night with a friend, except that it is happening and Ben can’t for the life of him push Willo away.
“I’ll suck you off, this time. You can pretend I’m the girl.” He sinks to his knees, easy, like he’s been there before- he has. He told Ben that he has. Willo takes the pants with him, has Ben scrambling to lift his hips, free his cock from where it was trapped, hard.
His lips are thinner like this, wrapped around Ben. The feel though, it’s heavenly. Ben has had blowjobs before. Ben is not a virgin, he’s good at sex, because he’s hot and bold. It works for him. This is different, this isn’t Ben being good. It’s Willo, on his knees, being the good one, performing well, like a girl, and also not. He’s experienced in the way he swirls his tongue, good at this. Strong where his hands grip Ben’s thighs, pillowy soft around him, loose and relaxed when he lets him into his throat.
He tries to be cool about it, he does. He muffles his moans, swallows them down, keeps his hips nice and relaxed, not bucking up, definitely no touching, but nothing can be done to help the way he tenses, the way the groans escape his mouth and he comes down Willo’s throat without even a warning. He’s not an asshole, he just really didn’t know it was coming.
Willo swallows it down like an expert, because of course he does.
-
“Have you ever even been with a woman?”
“Yes, Ben.”
“And?”
“And I’m gay.” He shrugs, and Ben's glad that the questions don’t bother him. Nothing bothers him, and that’s maybe the best thing about this. He’s not bothered that Ben’s kind of an asshole about the whole thing, and a selfish one too. At least he was. He’s not being one right now, or maybe he still is. Willo has him on his back, legs bent up , feet flat on his bed. It’s not comfortable, and neither is the way his fingers scissor out of Ben’s ass. He doesn’t do this- he hasn’t done this. Willo has. Willo knows what he’s doing, the way he pauses to let Ben adjust, the way he palms his cock along with it, keeps him hard, makes sure he’s enjoying it- even while Ben chats shit.
“This sucks.”
Willo looks up at him. He knows it doesn’t. He knows a lot, by now. He knows that Ben doesn’t like to touch, except for when he’s drunk. That’s the only time he’s ever blown Willo, and it ended with Ben teary eyed and sloppy, cum covering his face, ruining his shirt. He knows what noises Ben makes when he likes it, he knows how to get them both off at once, and how Ben wants it after a tough game.
“Do you want to be on your hands and knees? It’s more comfortable that way.” Willo knows this and Ben knows nothing. He shakes his head anyway. He can do this, like this, “You also wouldn’t have to see me.”
“Why wouldn’t I want to…” That’s the problem with this. Willo gets a hand on his dick and Ben gets loose lipped and gives away too much. It’s the opposite of how he plays, how he lives, and it’s annoying.
Willo’s smiling, holding back laughter as he slides up Ben’s body, pushes his hips wider. He’s big like this, or at least Ben feels small- like a girl. He looms over him, inches from his face, and Ben suddenly wants to beg- because he’s empty and for the first time in his life that means something, and because Willo’s puffy lips are right there, and for the first time in his life, he wants to kiss them.
“Kiss me.”
Willo does, because he’s good and he’s nice and he's never once called Ben on his shit. He doesn’t start now, he just leans down and sucks Ben’s bottom lip in his mouth and kisses him, not at all sloppy, and not wet, not like his hole, which is very much wet and needy and Ben wishes he knew enough about this to get exactly what he wants without breaking their lips. His best attempt is to grab at Willo’s hips and drag him closer. Willo just laughs into his mouth, breathy and happy.
When he pushes in it hurts and Ben can’t really understand why anyone would do this, but Ben’s still kissing him, and the next one he has, is that this is the greatest thing ever. Because when he relaxes and lets Willo go, when Willo expertly fucks into him, drawing out noises he never thought he’d make, hitting somewhere that has him ready to come a few thrusts in, and questioning his sexuality all in one. All of that falls away with each thrust that follows.
Willo is good at this. Ridiculously good, like he’s had too many bodies and Ben shouldn’t want this- want him- nearly as bad as he does. And he does want it, he really wants it. He wants to feel this forever, wants to come on Willo’s cock and also wants to feel Willo come in him.
“Willo,” he moans, “I think I’m gay.”
Willo just laughs and rams that spot an extra time, two, and then Ben’s coming hard, clenching down and just feeling, feeling Willo’s big cock stuttering, feeling hot cum wash inside him. It’s too much; he can’t help it when he cries, and he can’t help it that Willo’s arms make him feel more soothed than he’s maybe ever felt.
“You are so, so annoying.”