Ben Loves a Challenge Ch. 01

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Thanks for checking this story out. I’m not finished with this series yet (six chapters deep right now), but i anticipate it will be between 8-10 chapters long. I hope you stick around to the finish, so to speak… 😉

-PDreadful

*****

Ben DeLuca was dreaming. Candice from HR was blowing him, her lips candy apple red as she sucked his dick in until it hit the back of her throat. He moaned when she bit down just a tiny bit, a twinkle of playfulness in her eye. She slid back down his manhood until it popped out of her mouth. His cock bobbed as she licked her lips, torturing him with anticipation.

Her fingers traced the line between his nuts, tickling the sensitive hairs there, and then she was on his cock again, her mouth warm and tight. Candice’s tits were hanging just below him, perky and large. Real Candice was kinda fat and a big fucking bitch, and he was sure her tits were nowhere near as nice as these. He tried to reach down but dream Candice batted his hands away, speeding up on his cock.

Just before he was ready to blow she pulled off him. His hips shifted in frustration, he was so close. He grabbed her head and forced himself into her mouth, trying to ride her face until he came. The dream shifted, and now his sister Molly’s best friend from high school Elizabeth was riding his cock, thrashing above him in pleasure.

Though he hadn’t fantasized about Elizabeth in years, he still felt the stab of awkwardness that he got when he jerked it to his younger sister’s friends. She was really riding him, her hips moving fast and hard. She suddenly stopped, looking down at him, but it wasn’t Elizabeth’s face. Laura put her finger to her lips and sucked it suggestively. His dick pulsed, and then he was thrusting into her until he came.

He woke up later, feeling like grade-A shit, his dream having him pining for Laura. The rest of it, the pain in his head and a bubbly stomach, those he contributed to last night. Instead of opening his eyes, he opted to lay there for another however long it took for his head to stop hurting.

Something felt off, but he wasn’t sure what. He rolled over, too hung over to care, pulling the sheet up over his head to block out the asshole sunshine that was turning the inside of his eyelids red. He curled up into a tight protective ball safe inside a fortress of Egyptian cotton.

His lower belly itched. Dried residue flaked off when he scratched at it, sticking under his fingernails. Shit, he hadn’t had a wet dream since high school. It was time to get a girlfriend, he needed to get laid. He needed to get over Laura.

It smelled wrong here, he realized with a start. It wasn’t bad, actually it smelled really nice, but that was what was making him feel like something was off. His bed didn’t smell clean like this. Had he actually hooked up with someone last night?

There was too much sunshine for him to be home, too. His bedroom windows were armed with solar blocking curtains, mostly because of the stupid floodlights on his neighbor’s garage that never turned off.

He peeked out, then curled back into his ball, pulling the sheet over his head again. This wasn’t his bedroom. This wasn’t his apartment. It wasn’t even a hotel. He was in someone else’s bed. Who? He strained to remember, but drew a blank. He remembered going out to Sanjay’s going away party. They’d started at a restaurant, then moved to a bar. Drinks and karaoke. Then, nothing.

Okay, who’d been there? At the karaoke bar? He struggled to make his aching head focus, but it kept trying to reboot to avoid the pain. He had to piss, now, too, the urge coming out of nowhere. He didn’t just have to piss, he urgently had to piss. Like, had to piss so bad he couldn’t hide in the bed anymore had to piss.

Squeezing the muscles in his belly, he rolled out of bed, spotting a door that looked promising. He ran in, sighing in relief as he barely made it into the toilet. It felt like he peed forever, it just kept coming, and coming. How much fluid could a bladder hold? He tried to remember, it was a random fact he knew once. Two cups? It had to be more than that. He was still peeing.

He heard movement behind him and his pee stopped instantly, crawling back up his urethra into his bladder. His brain finally came online, and he realized he was butt naked. His heart raced as he grabbed for a towel off the hanger to pull around his waist. Instead of a full towel, he’d grabbed a hand towel.

“Ben?” a male voice called out softly.

Male. He was naked in another man’s house. What the fuck had happened last night.

He couldn’t figure out what to say. He’d left the bathroom door open in his rush to get to the toilet, he realized too late. It felt ridiculous, but he held the small hand towel in front of his manhood, one hand on his belly.

“Ben?” the voice called again. The man peeked in the bathroom, then jumped back. “Oh. Sorry. You should close the door, yea?”

Ben stepped forward and slid the door closed plunging the room into darkness. It canlı bahis şirketleri took him three times of groping the wall before he found the light switch. His reflection looked back at him as the light came on, and he looked like shit. Dark bags under his eyes competed with his five o’clock shadow. His disheveled hair didn’t help, either, the full package made him look like a crazy man.

“Sorry,” he finally said, his lips puffy and mouth sticky. He turned the water on and caught some in his hands, then rinsed his mouth out a few times.

“Um. Yeah. So, I made some eggs, if you’re hungry,” the man said.

He couldn’t remember last night, and the sun had been too bright for him to see the man’s face, but his voice was vaguely familiar. He gauged his hunger, and as if woken by the attention, his stomach turned violently. “Not hungry,” he declared, unsure if he was ready to go back to solid foods. “Where’re my clothes?”

“Okay, so, don’t freak out, okay?” the man said.

Finally his brain caught up. “Dean?”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “You feeling okay?”

“Dean Kaczmarek? From IT?”

“Yes, that Dean. Your clothes aren’t dry yet, I threw them in the washer last night. They’re drying now. Don’t freak out, okay?”

“Like, Dick-sucker Dean?” Why’d he say that out loud?

He heard an exasperated sigh. “There’re towels above the toilet, in the cupboard. Feel free to take a shower,” Dean said, his voice flat. “I’ll stay out, you can stay in my room until your clothes are dry. Probably another fifteen minutes. Then you can leave, yea?”

He waited for Dean to leave, and swore he heard Dean mutter the word ‘douche’ under his breath. Ben exhaled when he heard the bedroom door shut, then felt like a tool. He shouldn’t have called him that, even if it was what everyone else called him at work. Dean’s sexuality had been flaunted around the office after the jilted wife of his previous boss and lover exposed it publicly. Dean’s boss eventually quit, and Dean had been transferred, but the rumors were juicy enough to persist.

He showered, using Dean’s body wash, rubbing it onto his body with his hands. It smelled good, like Dean’s bed, soothing his aching head. He rinsed clean, scrubbing the remnant jizz from his lower belly.

Realization hit him hard. He’d slept in Dick-sucker Dean’s bed. He was naked. He’d had an intense sex dream, then had woken up with jizz on his belly. Why was he here? Oh god, what had he done last night? Had he been drunk enough to have sex with Dick-sucker Dean? He tried to picture Dean in his head but couldn’t, he had the body shape and hair right, but couldn’t remember his face.

How’d this happen? How’d he go home with a guy he’d seen so little at work that he knew more about Dick-sucker Dean than the actual Dean?

His face heated shamefully as he finished his shower and dried off. He peeked out of the bathroom, checking if the coast was clear, before stepping back into Dean’s room. He noticed his clothes, folded in a neat pile, just inside the closed door. Why’d Dean bother folding them, when he was going to wear them immediately. Gay people were weird.

He picked them up and began dressing. They were still warm from the dryer. It was incredibly comforting, his warm clothes, even if they didn’t smell like his laundry detergent. His jeans were softer than normal, and he wondered what gay magic Dean had worked on them.

He looked around at Dean’s room, trying to remember his face. Two of the walls in the room were a pale green that reminded him of Irish Spring soap and the other two were a mix of green and gray that complimented the other color well. It wasn’t very big, the queen sized mattress and desk took up most of the room.

He was surprised to find it was relatively sparse, a white painted wooden dresser against the wall on the other side of the bed. The mattress was tucked into the corner, up against the wall on two sides. It didn’t have a headboard or frame, it sat on box springs directly on the floor. The sheets were a pale blue, and were mostly hidden under a dark gray quilt. There was a desk next to the window with a huge computer monitor on it, surrounded by a variety of empty energy drink cans in every color of the rainbow. A large black computer sat on the floor underneath. The side of it glowed blue, then changed to green as he watched. It slowly phased into purple, then a deep red.

There was a huge canvas of abstract art on the wall, at least four by three feet. Four three-inch wide bands of deep red paint streaked down the middle of the canvas, the paint textured, as if it had several layers under it. Splotches of pastels were scattered around the canvas almost haphazardly, but the more he stared at it, the more drawn in he was. The splotches were streaked in places, as if there had been too much paint on the brush and it had dripped down the canvas. He leaned closer and found speckles of the dark red from the lines, there were black ones, too, he noticed, nearly concealed by larger splotches canlı kaçak iddaa of pastels.

There was a knock on the door just before his fingers could brush over the red paint, and he pulled his hand back guiltily. “Ben, did you find your clothes?”

“Ah, yeah,” he said. “Coming. Just got dressed.”

Dean opened the door, but didn’t step inside. Ben studied his face, remembering him now. He had reddish brown hair, which was currently sticking up in all directions from an obvious case of bed head. His eyes were steel gray, accented by sharp cheekbones. Ben stared too long, he realized it when Dean blushed, then ducked his head and headed down the hall.

Ben followed him. “Uh, hey,” he said, struggling to ask the question on his mind, afraid of the answer.

Dean didn’t turn around. “What?”

Dean lead him to the door. “Did we, ah… I mean, I was naked and, um, stuff, on my, ah… In your bed. Naked, um, with no clothes. Did we, ah, um, did I…”

The look on Dean’s face shut his babbling mouth for him. “Are you asking me if we had sex?”

Ben blanched, unable to ask. He nodded his head, feeling like a child being scolded by the principal.

Dean sighed, completely annoyed. “No, we didn’t have sex. I don’t do straight guys. You drank. And drank some more. And then some more. Your,” he used air quotes here, “your ‘friends’, were tired of you crying about how you missed your ex-girlfriend from, like, six months ago or something. They left your ass at the bar. You passed out, and everyone left, and I couldn’t just leave you there alone.

“I woke your ass up enough to stumble to my car, which you freaking puked in, thanks a lot for that two hundred dollar detailing bill, then dragged you into an elevator and then up to my room. I cleaned the puke off you while you yelled at me because you were a dick to Clara and she left your ass, for good reason, too, it sounds like.”

“It’s Laura, not Clara.”

“That’s not even remotely the point!” Dean snapped. “And, for the record, I gave you my bed and slept on the couch. Your straightness is fully intact.”

Ben looked down at the ground. He didn’t remember any of that. “But why was I naked?” he asked, his throat catching.

Dean groaned. “You pissed yourself. Are you happy? I cleaned you up, wiped you down, then rolled your ass into bed while I slept on the couch. So, yeah, naked, because you were a filthy, drunken mess. Do you always get so trashed?”

He shook his head, unable to meet Dean’s eyes. “No, I was…” He sighed, studying the well-worn beige carpet. He inhaled, then sighed again. “It would’ve been our anniversary, me and Laura. Last night. Our fifth one.”

Dean didn’t say anything for a breath. “Yea? Okay. Well, you’re cleaned up now. Go home. Also, you’re gonna wanna pretend you didn’t come here, or you’ll get made fun of, at work, yea?”

Dean’s hand was on the doorknob, waiting for Ben to put his shoes on. He leaned over and thrust the left shoe on, unable to meet Dean’s eyes. “Yeah, but, ah, I mean… You said you cleaned me up, after… my underwear…”

“Oh baby Jesus, are you asking me if I touched your junk?” Dean exclaimed, his cheeks turning red. “I didn’t, just so you know.”

“You’re gay,” he said, the words spilling from his mouth as his head throbbed to the angry ocean sound of his pulse.

“Ben, you’re an ungrateful asshole, you know that? Like, a massive twat. I should’ve left your ass at the bar, yea? I didn’t touch your precious straight-guy dick, ya freaking baby. Yes, I’m gay. Obviously, since y’all call me Dick-sucker. Just cause I’m gay doesn’t mean I’ll go feeling up sniveling, puke covered, piss-stained dick-having twats for fun. Do you go around slapping every woman you find with your balls? Have some freaking common sense,” Dean growled. He pulled open the door and gestured harshly with his hand. “Leave.”

“I’m sorry,” Ben said, feeling even more like a tool. “I didn’t-“

“Yeah, ya didn’t. Get the hell out of my apartment, and don’t talk to me at work. Next time your drunk ass gets left somewhere, I’m not gonna help you.” Dean’s ears were pink with anger, not as pink as his cheeks. It was cute.

Ben swallowed hard, then immediately pretended he’d never had the thought to begin with.

“Dean,” he said, his voice choked as he finally met Dean’s eyes. Anger burned bright in his grey eyes, and the threat of violence, no, not violence. The threat of punishment, of being punished by Dean, sent a pulse of lust straight to his cock.

“Leave,” Dean commanded, cold and furious at the same time.

Another pulse of lust. What was wrong with him? He swallowed hard, then ducked his head down again, unable to meet Dean’s eyes. Ben practically ran from his apartment, as if he could’ve outrun what had happened. He didn’t stop until the sunshine was on his face, burning into his alcohol-pickled brain in the most unpleasant way.

“Fuck,” he said, running his hands through his still damp hair. “Just, fuck.”

Dean ignored canlı kaçak bahis him on Monday. Ben could count on one hand the amount of times he’d seen Dean around work before, but today he’d seen him three already. Twice Dean had coldly ignored him, and the third time had been in the break room. Dean threw his lunch away, he hadn’t even been done, and stormed out when Ben came in.

“What’s up that bitch’s ass?” Justin asked, dropping a bottle of diet Coke on the table in front of him.

Hugh pulled up a chair next to him. “I’m pretty sure it’s dicks.” He laughed at his statement then started to unwrap some type of deli sandwich on ciabatta that he’d bought out of the vending machine. “You know, cause ‘a him being a dick-sucker.”

“Ah, yeah,” Ben said, feeling conflicted. This wasn’t unusual banter between them, but he didn’t like it anymore, though he couldn’t have explained why. “You know who’s a dick-sucker?”

“Ah, we’ve established that it’s Dean,” Justin said with a snort.

“Nah, forget him. You two! I can’t believe you freaking left me on Friday night,” he accused, feeling sour.

Hugh laughed with his mouth open, flashing his perfect white teeth. “You’re such a bitch. ‘Boo-hoo, Laura left me cause I have a small dick!’ You cried, bro.”

“You’re an asshole,” he snapped. “Like you’ve never been sad about shit?”

“Ya need ta get over that whore,” Hugh said. “It’s been a million years now.” He took another bite of his vending machine sandwich and wrinkled his freckle-covered nose before putting it back down on the wrapper.

“It’s been six months,” he defended. “Why’re you such an asshole about it?”

“Cause you’re a little bitch when it comes to Laura.”

“Ah, let him be, Hugh,” Justin cut in, possibly seeing Ben’s discomfort. “Besides, we didn’t leave ya. Hugh called you a cab.”

“Um, no?” he declared. “You guys left me.”

Justin looked over at Hugh, who sucked in his bottom lip, a nervous tick of his. “Ah, yeah, so… Um, funny story, that…”

“You left me, you douche,” he accused. He was beginning to think that maybe he should downgrade High from a friend to just a work friend.

“Yeah, but I had a pizza waiting outside my door when I got home, so it all worked out in the end,” Hugh said, laughing. “Had pineapple and everything.”

“You’re such a dickhead,” Ben said.

“How’d you get home?” Justin asked, looking sheepish. “Sorry. I shoulda made sure. Hugh said he’d handle it, and I was kinda drunk. Sorry, Ben.”

Ben frowned at his friends. He almost answered, but remembered Dean’s warning to him. “Does it matter? Obviously I did. It’s just, you guys shoulda had my back. I wouldn’t’ve left either of you.”

“Yeah, dude, I’m sorry. Seriously, how’d you get home?” Justin asked again.

He decided he wasn’t going to tell them the truth, but not because they’d make fun of him for sleeping in a gay dude’s bed. He found he wanted to protect Dean, because he was sure that at least Hugh would give him a hard time about it. “Bartender called me a cab and shoved me inside. I puked in the cab, so I had to pay two hundred dollars. You guys should have to pay me back.”

“Fuck you, bro. I didn’t make you drink too much, I didn’t make you cry like a bitch over your ex-whore, and I didn’t-“

“Stop calling her that,” he snapped. “She’s not a whore.”

Hugh looked at him in disbelief, clicking his tongue. “Touchy. You need to get over her. It’s not healthy, how much of a bitch you’re acting over her.”

“Go to hell, Hugh,” he said, pushing himself up from the table.

“He’s right, about getting over her,” Justin said, looking apologetic. “It’s been six months. I know she broke your heart, but you need to move on.”

“Yeah,” he agreed without agreeing. He left his friends at the table and threw his lunch away, feeling a certain connection to Dean, who left in a similar way.

Dean avoided him all week, and by Thursday it felt like it had before. At least Dean had stopped turning the other way when they passed in the corridor. Still, he wouldn’t look at Ben. Despite things sort of going back to normal, Ben felt different. He couldn’t place it, didn’t know what it was, but his eyes followed Dean, watching his movements, his facial expressions.

Thursday afternoon it hit him. He needed to apologize for being an asshole to Dean. The way he’d reacted was unacceptable, and that was what was bothering him. He waited for Dean to leave that afternoon, determined to make it right. Ben waited for Dean to leave for the day, but after half an hour and no sign of Dean, he left, determined to catch him the following day.

The same thing happened on Friday, though. He passed Dean in the hall and said hello in the morning, but Dean’s gaze was locked forward as if he wasn’t even there. That afternoon he decided Dean must have another escape route, because he didn’t leave through the front door, and he wasn’t in his office. Ben was frustrated that it was the weekend, he’d have no ways to interact with Dean until Monday.

Unless…

He didn’t actually screw up enough courage to go to Dean’s apartment until Saturday night. He didn’t remember which apartment was his, though, and couldn’t get through the security door without a key, anyway.

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