Note: This story originally appeared in the anthology 'Men in Uniform 2' published by Torquere Press and edited by M. Rode.

It was a measure of how happy you were at work when you came back after a two-week vacation and felt that you'd missed the place. Rick Franklin jogged quickly up the steps to the museum's staff entrance, only mildly regretful that two days ago he'd been walking through forests, mountains surrounding him, taking deep breaths of crisply aromatic air.

He hadn't missed the city sidewalks or the exhaust fumes, but, yeah, he'd missed the museum. He gave the marble lion guarding the entrance a pat on the head and then swiped his security card, opened the door, and let it close behind him with a comfortingly familiar thud.

The street noise faded to a distant hum and the sunlight was replaced by the dimness his eyes always took a long moment to adjust to. The whole museum was filled with that same dim, rich light, partly to protect the artifacts, partly because the original owner, Mr. Benjamin Bradley, had decreed back in 1920 that it be so. He'd built, stocked, and supported the museum and then left his millions to it; some said he haunted it, but he had apparently not been keen on the general public getting a good look at the exhibits. His portrait dominated the foyer, a spotlight picking out a twinkle in his brown eyes above a beak of a nose.

Rick didn't mind the low light. If you were in the museum for any time at all, you could see well enough.

He changed into his uniform, covering skin the wind and sun had burned brown with the good quality, lightweight black wool Mr. Bradley had insisted on, the pants cut to a modern style, as was the waist-length jacket. The silver buttons on the jacket's cuffs were stamped with the Bradley family crest; a lion's head, which, from all accounts, dated no further back than the arrival in the US of Benjamin Bradley's grandfather, Silas. Silas, who had been blessed with money from a Yorkshire mill and six coalmines and felt the need to disguise his lack of social graces.

Rick wasn't sure what society had been like back then, but he was willing to bet not many millionaires got shunned. Silas had married well, a young girl whose connections made up for her lack of wealth and who burned with a philanthropic zeal she'd passed down to her grandson.

The dazzling white shirt made his tan look even darker, his eyes bluer, his hair blacker. He adjusted his black tie in the small mirror inside his locker door and grinned. "Looking good," he murmured to his reflection, zipping the jacket up to the prescribed four inches from the top. Even if he seemed to be the only one who thought so. When it came to dating he was in less of a dry spell than an arid wasteland. Six months since Tony had left without a backward glance, his final words a complaint as he'd tripped over Rick's backpack.

Tony. Now there was a city boy, born and bred. The closest Rick had come to showing Tony the woods had been a picnic in the park across the street from the museum. And Tony had managed to infuriate a bee into stinging him and, well, that was the last time they did that.

And since Tony, the only man he was even vaguely attracted to who'd given him a look that lingered, warm and appreciative, was the Professor and Rick didn’t even know his name. Plus, the guy hadn't been around for a few weeks before Rick's vacation so it had been a month since they'd shared one of their interrupted conversations.

The Professor was maybe a few years younger than Rick's twenty-nine. The nickname still suited him though; he was all lanky limbs and studious face, with eyes the brown of fall leaves, blinking curiously behind his glasses. His long hair was fine and silky, matching his eyes, caught back in a ponytail, the ends chopped off straight and neat. He dressed in faded black jeans, worn to a silvery-white at knees and ass, and white T-shirts loose enough that most people probably didn't notice the broad shoulders inside.

Rick did. He'd noticed the Professor from the first day he'd shown up, a sketchpad in hand and a backpack Rick was fairly sure was filled with forbidden food and drink because once he settled in front of a painting or an artifact, the man didn't move for hours.

Which was how long Rick would have liked to stay and chat, but unlike the Professor, he had his rounds to do, his wide belt weighed down with a radio, heavy flashlight, and a never-used nightstick, his gaze traveling over the visitors with a casual, friendly regard that he could sharpen and focus into a glare if needed.

So he'd only ever paused long enough to exchange a sentence or two, getting the Professor's ready grin as a greeting, and the conversation was picked up every time he strolled by, as if there had been no gap.

Kind of like playing a chess game by mail, maybe.

The museum was full of children by the time he left the staff area, either with harassed parents riding herd on them, or in summer camp groups, accompanied by chirpy twenty-somethings with whistles around their necks they'd better not be blowing anywhere near Rick, and clipboards clutched to their chests.

Rick detoured around one group of fifteen boys in lime-green T-shirts, giving the group leader, a motherly looking woman with gray hair, a smile. She was one of the museum's tour guides and kept swearing she was going to retire before the next summer rolled around, but she never did.

"Rick! Good to see you! How were the mountains?"

He raised his hand in a wave. "Good to be back, Martha. High. Rocky. Same old, same old. Left some fudge on your desk…"

She opened her mouth, started to thank him, and then yelped, and jumped sideways to avoid -- oh. A rapidly spreading puddle. Rick winced in sympathy for whoever had just doomed himself to be teased for years, and then realised it was the wrong color. Coke or root beer by the looks of it.

Leaving Martha to frisk the brats, he called in a request for a cleaner and carried on, varying his route, as he always did, and finding himself at the tucked-away room housing the museum's collection of children's toys through the ages. Most of the kids who visited were eager to go in until they saw that none of the toys used batteries and that their paint had been worn off in places by loving hands. Rick wondered sometimes why no one had added a selection of newer toys to round the collection off, but he still liked to look at what was there. The Victorian steam train, running on its track through a diorama of an idealized English countryside complete with cows, sheep, and a village, was his favorite.

The Professor had been staring at it for hours the last time Rick had seen him, frowning, abstracted, barely acknowledging Rick's attempts to talk for once. He'd already gone by the time Rick had come back for his final round of his shift which had left Rick feeling worried, without knowing why.

It was his job to spot the out of place, anticipate trouble. And the Professor not wanting to talk and leaving early; that was weird.

But he was here now, as if he'd never left. Rick could hear his soft, husky voice, with its vaguely English accent. He turned the corner and walked through the double archway into the gallery.

"Hey!"

He was moving fast, hand fumbling at his belt for his radio, before he realized that the guy who had the Professor in a headlock was wearing a guard's uniform. He got within a few feet, his gaze fixed on the Professor's face, oddly bare because his glasses were -- where were they? Rick caught sight of a glitter of splintered glass and metal on the floor and snarled something old Ben wouldn't have approved of at all.

"Took your time," the guard said, panting as if he'd been struggling, though the Professor was standing quietly, his eyes glazed and unfocused. "I've been calling for backup for the last five minutes to help me with this joker."

"What are you doing?" Rick was pleased to find his voice so calm. "This man's a regular visitor here. And if you called for backup, you were on the wrong channel because nothing came through." He dragged his radio off his belt and held it up, showing the man that it was on. "See?"

"The hell I was! Anyway, you're here now. Help me cuff him."

Cuff him? What with? Who was this idiot?

"Take your hands off him." Rick didn't sound so calm now. "Or you'll be the one wearing cuffs for assaulting a member of the public."

The man gave him a disgusted look. "Yeah, right. Look, what is this shit?"

"You tell me," Rick countered. "Start with who you are -- right after you get your fucking hands off him."

The guard muttered something Rick didn't bother trying to hear and reluctantly loosened his grip on the Professor who stepped away to the side. Rick watched him rub at his throat where the skin was reddened, and then try to push up a pair of glasses he was no longer wearing. Rick was relieved to see the ghost of a rueful smile cross the Professor's face as his fingers met skin.

"They're broken," Rick told him. "Have you got a spare pair in your backpack?"

"Sadly, no, but I do at home, don't worry."

"You're going down to the station, mister," the guard said, his florid face flushing redder. He was a stocky, burly man in his forties, the uniform jacket hanging poorly on him. He gave Rick an unfriendly look. "I'm Tim Gilbraith; they brought me in as a replacement for --"

"Andy?" Rick asked, willing the answer not to be that. "Andrew Bailey? Did he --?"

"Yeah, I think that was his name," Gilbraith replied indifferently. "Keeled over in reception. Heart attack." He gave a short bark of laughter. "Jeez, he's not dead, so take that look off your face. Least he'd better not be; they hit me for a contribution for some flowers, can you believe it? Only just got here, and I don't even know the guy." He pursed his lips. "I'm guessing you're Franklin? They said you'd be back today." He sniffed. "Yeah, they told me all about you, but lemme just say this; you keep your hands to yourself and we're cool; I'm a tolerant man." He turned to stare at the Professor. "But I draw the line at creeps like this."

The Professor raised his hands in a mute appeal and then shrugged. "I didn't do anything," he said mildly. "Except react badly to being grabbed, but that was instinctive." He blinked at Gilbraith. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"What? No!"

Rick's grin didn't do much to help the situation, but he couldn't resist it. Smart, getting an admission like that in front of a witness.

"Look, Gilbraith, it's like I said; I know this guy; he's not a troublemaker, so I don't see…"

"He's been in here all day," Gilbraith said portentously, waving his hand around the room. "Arrived first thing and hasn't budged."

"Yeah, so?"

"Look, I got kids, okay? And I used to be a cop before my knee -- Anyway, you get a feeling for people like him."

Rick shook his head disbelievingly. "You think he's -- oh, come on! Just because he spent the day in the toy room? He spent a week in the Egyptian Room once; you think he's got a hard-on for mummies, too? A necrophilac as well as a pedophile?"

The Professor grimaced. "You know, I can explain this…"

Rick slashed the air with his hand, building up to losing his temper now. "You don't have to, Professor. You're owed an apology and I'm going to see you get one." He jerked his head at Gilbraith. "You. Your shift's over. I'm relieving you and I'm going to make a full report to Mr. Adams about this."

"Adams?" the Professor asked.

"He's in charge of the museum," Rick said. "The director."

"Mmm." The Professor seemed to lose interest. He bent to pick up his backpack and then slung it over his shoulder.

"He's got drawings in there," Gilbraith said stubbornly. "That's why I grabbed him; he wouldn't let me see them."

"Why the hell should he?" Rick said.

"I would have shown you if you'd asked, not demanded," the Professor said, annoyance sharpening his voice for the first time.

Rick smiled at him. "I'm asking, Professor," he said. "You always seemed shy about your sketches so I never asked before, but I'd like to see them."

Brown eyes, as clear as brook water, met his, sparkling with amusement now. "I've shown them to plenty of people," he said. "Just not you. I think you'll see why soon enough."

Rick took the sketchpad from the Professor's hand and opened it. Leafed through it. Closed it, his face flushing. "Oh."

"Let me see that," Gilbraith snapped.

The Professor stared off into the distance and shook his head. Rick pushed the sketchbook back into its owner's hand and then put himself between the Professor and Gilbraith. "It's just sketches of museum stuff. No kids, not a single one, and I've had it with you giving me orders. We're going to see Adams right now and we'll let him deal with --"

"That won't be necessary," the Professor said crisply. "I appreciate this man's motives, if not his methods, and I'm not interested in getting him into trouble." He stared at Gilbraith and added softly, "And you're only temporary, right?"

"Yeah, but I'm still going to be keeping an eye on you, punk." Gilbraith hoisted his belt higher and walked away, his back stiff, his neck scarlet.

"Jerk," Rick muttered. He turned back to the Professor. "You shouldn't let him get away with it. What if I hadn't come along when I did?"

"I'd have used this," the Professor said, reaching into the pocket of his jeans and pulling out a cell phone, tiny enough to scream 'expensive'. "Trust me, I'd have been fine, but thank you."

"Well…" Rick looked at the stubborn set to a mouth he'd thought about kissing too many times to be able to stare at without getting some interesting reactions. Tingles. Heat. The feeling that they should both be naked and touching. He sighed. "Okay. Your call, I guess."

"I'm going to go home," the Professor said. "I can't see very well without my glasses and I feel… I don't like it."

"Yeah, I can imagine." Rick was not letting himself think about the pictures in the sketchbook. Not. "I could get you a cab," he offered.

"I can do that much myself. I'm near-sighted, not blind."

"God, you don't make it easy to help you, do you?" Rick said.

The Professor moved a little closer and brushed a light kiss against Rick's cheek. "Thank you. Is that better?" He smiled, his mouth curving quizzically. "I can be more convincing than that, but I'm not sure if you want me to?"

Rick grinned and relaxed. That kiss had made it all seem simple. "I think I'd like to be convinced and I think you know that. Look, I get off at eight all this week; maybe we could --?"

"Yes," the Professor said simply. "We could. Tonight? I live nearby; we could… go to a bar?"

He sounded doubtful but Rick didn't think it was about the meeting, just the location. He took a chance, reasoning that if the Professor was going to be another Tony, he'd rather find out now. "I've just come back from vacation, walking part of the Appalachian Trail; how about we go to the park, instead? Ease me back into civilization gently?"

"The park…" The Professor considered that for a moment and then smiled. "I'd love to. I'll wait for you at the staff entrance, by the lion. Unless you need to go home first?"

"No, I can shower and change here," Rick told him. "And we can get something to eat, maybe?"

And just like that, he had a date for the night.

With a man who'd apparently spent weeks drawing him, capturing moods he could sometimes remember, encounters he'd rather forget (like that hysterical mother and the child who'd swallowed a fossilized bug) and who seemed to be fascinated by his mouth, sketching it smiling a dozen times or more.

***

"You look surprised."

Rick stared at the house, lit by streetlights and a full moon. It was well-kept, from what he could see, but it was old enough that it could have looked spooky if it had been neglected. The stone lions guarding the steps up to the front door were white in the moonlight, teeth showing in matching yawns or roars. "It's not what I expected, but I like it. Do you rent a room here?" He craned his neck, counting windows. Three floors and an attic; had to have been converted into apartments or a boarding house.

"No, I own it." The Professor licked his lips. "That kung pao chicken was spicy; I need a beer to wash it down with. Coming in?"

Rick followed him, too curious to feel caution. Besides, the hours spent wandering around the park and then sharing Chinese food, their chopsticks busy as they talked, had left him with a conviction that the Professor might be eccentric, but it was Rick's kind of crazy. The man made him feel happy, exhilarated, and content all at once, just like the woods and the mountains did.

"Family home?" he asked as they crossed the threshold, trying not to stare as the Professor flicked a switch and illuminated a marble staircase, light cascading out in rainbows from a huge chandelier high above them. "Wow. This is just..."

"It's quite something, isn't it?" The Professor chuckled softly. "Overwhelming, but not really homey."

"It's not like anywhere I've ever lived," Rick said frankly. "My apartment would fit in this hallway."

"The tent I lived in for a year would fit in the porch," the Professor told him. "I inherited this place six months ago."

Something about that date seemed significant. That date… lions… the Professor's brown eyes… Before Rick could put the pieces together, the Professor touched his face lightly, the first contact between them since they'd met outside the museum. He leaned in instinctively but the Professor shook his head, his palm cupping Rick's jaw, his thumb feathering a caress across Rick's cheek.

"If I kiss you, I won't want to stop there and marble floors are cold." He looked torn, which Rick found flattering and a little cute. "But I don't know if I can wait much longer."

"Why are you waiting at all?" Rick watched the Professor's smile widen and sweeten, and edged closer, feeling only some of the usual first kiss nerves. Something told him any awkwardness wouldn't matter, not between him and -- okay, there was one reason to wait. "But before we do--"

"Mmm?" The Professor bit down on his bottom lip, looking pensive and patient and tempting as hell. His hand fell away, but he slipped it into Rick's a moment later, giving Rick's fingers a gentle squeeze.

"What's your name? I can't keep calling you Professor."

That got him a grin. "Well, I've got a doctorate in art history and I've taught a class here and there, but, sadly they've never put 'professor' in front of my name. Which is Ben."

"Ben, and I'm Franklin?" Rick grinned. "We're made for each other." He meant it as a joke, but once said it struck him as being true and the Professor -- Ben -- just nodded agreement.

"I've been using a room off the library to sleep in," Ben said, leading the way across the foyer and down a hallway, thickly carpeted in deep green. "The bedrooms are huge, well, apart from the ones in the servants' quarters, but they're too far away from the books and the kitchen." He grinned back at Rick. "I work all hours and I get hungry at four in the morning and need a snack or coffee to keep me awake."

The room Ben had been using was small enough to feel reassuring and the long velvet curtains, a rich brown, faded slightly, made it feel a little like the tent Ben had mentioned. Most of the original furniture must have been removed; the room held only a desk, buried under books and paper with a computer striking a discordantly modern note, a low double bed with a rumpled quilt, and a small nightstand beside it, and a long, wide couch, upholstered with more of the brown velvet.

"I like this," Rick said. He could see the library through an interior door, shadowy and promising. Rick loved reading although weight issues meant he could never take more than one or two books on a hiking trip; choosing which two was never easy.

"Good," Ben said. "Enough to maybe come back?"

Rick looked at him. "If you're asking if this is going to be a one-night stand, it's not what I had in mind, no." He wet his lips, feeling light-headed. "Unless the sex sucks, which I don't think it will, though it might be over fast this first time, just to warn you, well --"

"Rick." Ben got close to him, his brown eyes warm and concerned. "You're babbling, you know that?"

"I am?" He replayed what he'd just said and winced. "Yeah, I am. Sorry." He summoned a smile. "Got a cure for that?"

"Oh, yes," Ben said softly, a gleam in his eyes. He took his glasses off and put them on the nightstand. "We get naked, stop talking, and fuck."

On the Professor's lips, what might have sounded crude just came across as honest and Rick laughed, already tossing his jacket aside. "Sounds like a plan to me."

Ben's T-shirt landed on top of Rick's a moment later. "You're clean?"

"Squeaky clean," Rick answered truthfully. "Been a long time since I did this."

"Me, too, to both," Ben said. His chest was bare and smooth, the muscles Rick had guessed at the kind built by hard work, not exercise. This close, his bare skin smelled spicy and clean. Rick wanted to get that skin against his tongue, taste it, bite it gently, kiss it better. "Long, long time."

Rick arched an eyebrow. "Really?"

"I've had my eye on someone for months," Ben said solemnly, his mouth quirked up a little. "Waiting to get the chance to see what was under that uniform."

Rick beat Ben to naked by one sock and a pair of shorts and grinned. "Take a look."

The appreciative, heated gaze did as much as the sight of Ben's erection to arouse Rick.

Wanted. Desired.

It had been too fucking long.

They fell onto the bed in a tangle of arms and legs, and kissed with a growing intensity. Rick's mouth found out the shape of Ben's and discovered just how good it felt against his, licked wet, bitten soft. Ben's hands were all over him, one shoved between the pillow and Rick's neck, kneading the tense muscles, and finding every hot spot Rick had there, the other wandering over whatever part of Rick's body it could reach. Rick arched against Ben's body and let Ben do whatever the hell he wanted with those dexterous, curious fingers, parched skin thirsty for even the simplest of caresses.

A pleased murmur Rick's mouth caught between kisses told him that Ben didn't mind the way Rick was rubbing up against him, needy as a cat. In fact, Ben was encouraging him, his hand running over Rick's back, in long, raking touches, scoring the skin lightly on the down stroke but smoothing the faint tingle away with open-palmed gentleness on the way back up, repeating it and going a little lower each time until his hand cupped Rick's ass.

"Love this ass," Ben whispered. One finger traced the ticklish curve where ass met thigh and then, as Rick shivered and squirmed, moved to drag with an equally teasing slowness between his cheeks. That did nothing to stop Rick from squirming, though he spread his legs a little in as clear an invitation as he could give without actually saying 'God, yes, right there,' but Ben's hand went back to a languid, absent-minded palming of Rick's ass.

Being teased was new; Tony had usually been in a rush, sex welcome as long as it fit into his busy schedule and didn't take up too much time.

Ben bit down on Rick's shoulder. "Wanted to do that to it every time I watched it walk away from me and blessed the way your jacket ends at the waist."

Rick grinned. "You're always sitting on yours. I feel cheated."

Ben rolled onto his stomach, propping his chin on his folded arms, his expression mischievous. "Want to make up for lost time?"

By now, Tony would have been making those weird grunting noises that meant he was about to come… Rick spared Tony one final thought and then forgot about him.

Ben was long, lean and strong, his skin pale. The guy needed to get out more; it wasn't as if he didn't want to; he'd told Rick about expeditions to places that made Rick's recent trip seem like, well, a walk in the park. And on his forearms, the skin was still tanned, the kind of burned-in deep tan from being outside a lot that never really faded.

So why Ben had been in the museum day after day for so long was a mystery but it wasn't one Rick felt like solving right then.

He started at the nape of Ben's neck, pushing aside the silky hair, still caught in a leather tie, inhaling the scent of skin and doing it again after he'd licked it wet and seeing the difference. Ben sighed and rolled his shoulders. "Mmm…"

It felt weird to be hard -- and he was; they both were -- and not to be doing more than this, but Rick didn't feel under any pressure to hurry. When they came and it was over, this first time, maybe Ben would want him to leave and he didn't want to go --

"If I fall asleep, feel free to bite me or something," Ben said drowsily.

Rick jerked back, his mouth still parted from the kiss he'd pressed against the small of Ben's back. "I'm sorry -- God, look, just -- if you want to fuck me, you can, or I'll --"

Ben turned his head and gave him an astonished look. "Rick, I like what you're doing now. Feel relaxed enough that I could float off the bloody bed if you weren't holding me down."

"Oh." Rick rubbed at his forehead. "I thought that was a hint to get on with it."

"Uh, no." Ben smiled and closed his eyes. "Idiot."

It was said fondly enough, but with a clear dismissal of every doubt Rick had, that was infinitely reassuring. Rick rolled his eyes; when had he gotten this insecure? Taking the initiative, he straddled Ben's legs, low down, without putting his weight on them, and bent over, biting one firm cheek hard enough to get a yelp. "Wake up," he said, doing it again on the other side, less forcefully because he was grinning now. "Fall asleep after, not during, or you'll hurt my feelings."

"Well, I wouldn't want to do that," Ben murmured. He bucked up on the final word, getting his knee under him, and twisted, his eyes gleaming with a challenge, his mouth smiling. "Come here."

They weren't, Rick realized soon, going to need condoms after all. Something had changed, some switch flipped, and if he'd been hungry before, he was ravenous now. There just wasn't going to be time to stop, not if stopping meant moving an inch away from Ben.

"Want to --" he said, panting, struggling to get Ben to hold still, dammit, so he could kiss the flat stomach, lick the fine, dark hair there a shade darker, and then sink his mouth down over that hard, wet-tipped cock and take it as deep as he could, feel it nudge his throat, fill the forced curve of his tongue.

"So do I," Ben said. "Why don't we just --?"

Rick gave Ben's ribs a final kiss and wriggled around until his feet were by the pillows. This was something he didn't do often because it was just too much input, too hard to concentrate on what was being done to him because he was trying to make it good for the man he was doing it to, but if it got him what he wanted he'd put up with… He finished the thought and chuckled. Put up with the hell of having Ben suck him off. Well, wasn't he noble?

Ben didn't ask what he was laughing at, just gave Rick's thigh a reproving nip and then slid his hand between Rick's legs to cup his ass and tug Rick closer, bestowing a friendly, fondling pat on Rick's balls on the way.

Eyeing Ben's equally friendly cock, a few inches away from his face, Rick smiled and made his own adjustments to Ben's position before giving Ben's erection a quick stroke by way of an introduction, followed by a more leisurely lick.

Then he paused and groaned. "God, oh, God, oh, don't stop --"

Ben's tongue, oh, Jesus -- this was taking a blow job to a whole new level. Delicate, precise, maddeningly fleeting touches with the tip of his tongue, interspersed with lavish, unexpected licks from root to tip.

"Not until you come," Ben promised, his words muffled as he'd apparently decided that right then was the perfect time to nuzzle his nose into Rick's balls. "God, you smell good."

"You smell… edible," Rick decided. He took the head of Ben's cock between his lips and lapped at the slick wetness there, tangy and sharp. Ben's hips jerked forward and he put his hand out, and held Ben in place. He was out of practice and he was damned if he was going to ruin the moment by choking.

The angle was awkward, Ben's mouth and fingers as distracting as Rick had expected, but the reality of a cock in his mouth grounded him. Ben’s cock, fuck, yes, a dozen fantasies come true and yet not, because he'd never thought it would be like this, as comfortable as if they'd been lovers for months, but with the edge of novelty still there. He'd imagined encounters in the museum -- pure fantasies, those, given the security cameras and the visitors -- and he'd imagined meeting Ben by chance, but this relaxed, instant intimacy had no place in what he could admit now had been prosaic, faceless fantasies, designed to get him off.

This was real: his own stifled moan as Ben took him in deep, his head still, his hand encouraging Rick to thrust at whatever speed he wanted, and the urgent push of Ben's hips against the curve of Rick's hand.

Rick kept his hand in place. He wanted to be there, nowhere else, when Ben came in his mouth, come spilling out, and he could feel his own climax approaching, drawn, coaxed, demanded by Ben's clever, quick tongue. He came, and turned his head away from Ben's erection as he did so, because he really didn't trust himself not to bite right then. He sank his teeth instead into the point of Ben's hip and sobbed out Ben's name as the wave of pleasure hit him.

Then he pushed Ben to his back and got between his legs, giving Ben's mouth one swift, deep kiss before ducking down to finish what he'd started, his hands working the hard, hot shaft, his mouth filled, empty, filled, as Ben fucked it with strong, choppy, desperate thrusts.

They lay together for a while after they'd come, and Rick stopped worrying that he'd be expected to leave. Ben was wrapped around him with a matter of fact possessiveness, making the odd contented murmur, his hair, loose now, sliding through Rick's fingers as he combed it out.

"You asked me my name," Ben said. They'd reluctantly taken the time to clean up, in a bathroom that was all marble and mahogany, with the biggest, deepest tub Rick had ever seen, and had gone back to bed with a beer each and a matching pair of grins that Rick would have condemned as sappy on anyone else.

"I couldn't keep calling you the Professor, could I?" Rick took a long swallow of beer. Nice. European, dark and bitter.

"I only told you my first name."

Rick opened his mouth and then paused. Click, click, jackpot…

"Your last name's Bradley, isn't it?" Ben nodded and Rick groaned. "Oh, shit. I knew it. I did. The lions, the fucking lions. God."

"I love the lions," Ben said wistfully. "Is this a problem?"

"I don't know," Rick said honestly. "Maybe?"

"Fuck." Ben put his beer down, reaching across Rick to do it. Rick stared up at Ben's chest and couldn't help kissing it as it went past. "Oh…" Ben made a soft hum of appreciation. "Does that mean it's a problem but we're still good?"

"No, it means I can't keep my hands off you." Rick put his own beer down and pulled Ben to him. "So what's the deal?"

"Old family tree with not many live branches on it these days. I'm a twig on one of them. Six months ago my great uncle died but he hadn't been involved with the museum for decades --"

"Yeah, he had a stroke, right?"

"Mmm. And that was when the board appointed Mr. Adams. Then he decided it was time he retired and my uncle got worse and they came looking for me. Well, not me personally; just someone from the family to step in."

"You're going to take over?" Rick blinked, trying to picture Ben, faded jeans and ponytail, sitting where Mr. Adams sat, his short, portly figure encased in a pinstripe suit.

"I said I'd consider it." Ben wrinkled his nose. "After I got my doctorate, I went a little nuts on the alternative lifestyle and bummed around the world for a few years. Maybe the tent was overdoing it, I don't know. I'm just not all that good at settled and responsible."

"Is that why you've been at the museum so much?"

"Yes." Ben shrugged, which brought him even closer to Rick, close enough for Rick to be able to kiss Ben's shoulder without moving much. "If I say I'm doing something, I don't change my mind. Before I promised, I wanted to get a feel for the place. It all got a bit much one day and I took a break, just left the city, but I couldn't stay gone for long."

"You missed it?" Rick nodded his understanding. "Me, too. I wondered where you'd gotten to. Didn't think I'd see you again and I was kicking myself for not making a move sooner."

"I missed it, yes, but I missed you more," Ben told him. "I didn't want to start anything if I wasn't going to stay but it was getting really hard not to just grab you."

"No grabbing when I'm on duty." Rick tried to sound firm and stern and failed miserably judging by the snort of laughter from Ben.

"If you insist, I'll wait until you take a break."

"Might be best." Rick cleared his throat. "Those drawings of me you did…"

"You like them?"

"I'd like to look at them again some time," Rick said. "And, yeah, they're good."

"I've got dozens of sketchpads," Ben said. "I prefer them to photographs. They're kind of like diaries, I suppose; I look at them and remember all the places I've seen. And when I left I couldn't see you in my head and the drawings weren't enough; I knew I had to come back."

"Glad you did."

"So, I guess that's it." Ben didn't sound too regretful. "I'm going to be chained to a desk starting next Monday."

"You get five weeks a year paid vacation," Rick said.

"I do?" Ben grinned. "How many do you get?"

"Three."

"Think they could overlap?"

Rick figured this was the point where he told Ben that their work relationship would make a personal one untenable, but he closed his mouth on the speech.

He wasn't walking away from Ben. The museum, if he had to; he'd been offered a position at the art gallery a few blocks away from the museum, with a pay raise and less hours, and he knew he'd have no trouble finding a new job if that didn't work out, but not Ben.

"I think the vacation schedule's something you handle, actually. Mr. Adams always does."

"Can I abuse my position shamelessly?"

Rick chuckled and swatted Ben's ass. "No."

Yeah, he was going to have to change jobs.

He'd miss the lions, but it wasn't like he couldn't visit them.

From nine to five on weekdays, ten to six on Saturdays, Sundays and holidays closed.



Return to Home

Click here if you'd like to send feedback