Discovery
I.
It's not suspicious at all that Ben keeps volumes of the encyclopedia in his room. There are many reasons a boy might want to have them close to study. There's a whole world of knowledge in them -- any number of things to be interested in.
What has been holding Ben's interest most in them lately is a whole different story. But -- they're not dirty paintings; they're art. The human nude is art, it's beautiful. Not dirty at all.
Still, though, it's easy to ruffle the pages over to a different subject in the book, just in case.
The other books he only looks at when he's sure everyone else in the cabin is asleep. That is when he gets his flashlight and pads across the room to his trunk, and finds the books hidden at the very bottom. He got them from his grandparents' library -- not from the general collection, but separate. Perhaps he should be shocked by the fact of them existing, and in their library... but he isn't, really. He's not shocked, but he's intrigued and fascinating and rather frightened and -- and aroused.
He reads the book on his stomach under the covers.
Slipping then a pillow under me, that I might give him the fairest play, I guided officiously with my hand this furious battering ram, whose ruby head, presenting nearest the resemblance of a heart, I applied to its proper mark, which lay as finely elevated as we could wish; my hips being borne up, and my thighs at their utmost extension, the gleamy warmth that shot from it made him feel that he was at the mouth of the indraught, and driving foreright, the powerfully divided lips of that pleasure-thirsty channel receiv'd him...
He always waits until he has the books put safely away before he touches himself, but it never takes very long.
Once in a while, Ben goes to take out the hidden pictures he found in Uncle Tiberius's trunk. They're very old, the pictures, and the men have silly mustaches and the women odd hair. Some of them are rounded and soft, and some sharp and fierce; some of them have creamy skin and some swarthy; but all of them are naked, and most of them are wrapped up in each other in various different ways.
Ben doesn't look at these very often, because he doesn't want them to become ordinary. As it is, he barely has to touch himself before his orgasm hits him when he studies them.
Even if his grandfather hadn't given him a lecture on the dangers of masturbation, Ben would have suspected it was a bad thing anyway, just because it feels so good.
II.
Mark is popular and outgoing and athletic; he seems shining and golden, all these things Ben feels like he's never going to be. Ben wants Mark to notice him, but he's shocked when Mark actually does. He wanted Mark to befriend him, he wants Mark to like him, he wants Mark watch him play and admire him, he wants, he wants, he wants-- He doesn't know what, but he wants.
When Mark's family moves away, Ben's disappointment is mingled with relief.
III.
Ben walks Jenny home after church. It's cold out, but not too cold. As they walk she talks cheerfully about school, and Ben nods and out of the corner of his eye he watches her rosy cheeks and curly dark hair and bright mittens.
When they reach her house Jenny invites him inside. She takes off her outdoor clothes and they go to the kitchen and she pours him some water.
"Thank you," says Ben. He takes a long drink and then sets the glass down on the counter.
Jenny is watching him. She says, "My parents are at my aunt's for dinner. They won't be home for at least an hour or two."
"Ah," Ben says.
Jenny takes a step closer. She looks nervous and says, "Would you like to kiss me?"
"I -- yes," Ben says, and Jenny's arms come around his neck and lead him down to her mouth. Her lips are cool and chapped but her mouth is hot inside.
After a little while she takes her hands off his neck and she places them on top of Ben's hands, one on her arm and one on her waist. She guides his hands under her sweater, where her skin is warm and smooth and soft. Ben's breath catches in his throat as she keeps going, till she has his hands resting gently on the mounds of her breasts. They are just the right size to fit into his cupped hands; he can feel her nipples brushing his palms through the thin cotton of her bra.
Jenny takes her hands off his and reaches behind herself. The tight fabric of the bra goes slack, and Ben moves it out of the way, rooting his hands to the flesh below. He kisses Jenny again, moving his thumb over one of the nipples.
Jenny says breathlessly, "Do you want to go to my bedroom?"
Ben blinks for a moment before he can think of anything to say. "Yeah. Yes," he says, finally.
On Jenny's bed she lies back and he climbs on top of her, and they kiss some more, and Jenny begins rocking up against him as he touches her, and he can't help thrusting back down against her, and Ben has never done this before, but it feels, oh, so good, and he feels a great wave of adoration for Jenny just before he comes in his pants.
He's completely mortified, but Jenny says, "No, no, it's okay," pulling him back in close, and he lowers his head back to her breast and she clamps her thighs tight around his hand.
The next Sunday he lasts longer, thank god, and they manage to get him inside of her, and she seems to enjoy it, too, he thinks.
The week after that Ben spends a great deal of time debating with himself what he should do. He's not in love with Jenny, but he still has a duty, he still should be a man, and so the next Sunday he asks Jenny if she wants to get engaged. Not marrying any time soon, obviously, but -- some day, when they're old enough.
He's very relieved when she says no, but that's the last time he walks her home.
IV.
It's warm out; it's spring; but Ben feels cold, so cold. Victoria feels cold, too. Her skin is like ice everywhere he touches her. Her hands, her hands are so cold -- she's going to freeze--
They're not going to freeze. They're safe here, warm in his apartment, in Chicago. The blizzard, death, ice, all of that is far away now. But it still feels so close.
"Please," he says, letting her fingers slip from his mouth, "please." He doesn't know what he's asking for, but Victoria seems to know; she knows everything, everything about him. The snow seems to fall down into her hair as he looks up at her, and she scratches her nails down his chest and he shudders with the rightness of it.
And then she is beneath him, and her mouth is curved into a half-smile. In his life again, in his bed -- Ben has imagined this, so many times, but he never thought, not really, that he would get a second chance.
He can't keep his hands off her, anywhere, the lean grace of her hips, the curves of her glorious breasts, the thick dark curls framing her face as he kisses her, over and over and over. She pulls his hair, hard, as he takes her breast into his mouth, and that's perfect; he shudders again and again as she tightens her grip, moving beneath him.
When he finally moves his fingers between her thighs she's wet, slick with arousal, and here, here finally, she's warm, blazing hot. When he enters her he feels certain he is going to die, but he can't tell how. He's going to freeze, naked on the ice; he's going to burn, combust here at her alter.
She scratches her fingernails down his back again, pulling him in closer, and Ben shakes his head again and again, wishing he could stay in this one moment forever.
V.
Ray's breath is warm on the back of Ben's neck. Ben keeps his eyes closed, controls his own breath. He can hear his own heart, beating fast, and he wills it to slow down and let him sleep.
Ray moves a little, and their combined sleeping bag sounds incongruously loud in their small tent as it shifts. Ray calms again, and after a moment his hand lands on Ben's waist.
"Fraser?" Ray whispers.
"Yes, Ray?"
"I thought you were asleep."
"No. Not yet," Ben says. He starts to move onto his back, but Ray stops him.
"No, don't yet. Just--"
Ben waits patiently for Ray to finish his sentence, but he doesn't. "Yes?"
"You know why I'm here on this adventure?"
This is, in fact, something he has been wondering about quite a lot, ever since Ray repeated his intentions. He's kept himself from questioning Ray out loud, however, not wanting to sound as if he was doubting Ray, or his intentions. Not wanting to scare him off.
Ray takes in a deep sigh. "Do you ever -- do you ever wonder who you are, Fraser? Why you are who you are?"
Ray's hand is burning through all the layers of Ben's clothes as Ben stares forward in the pitch black tent and blinks. "No," he says finally. "I never do."
"That's what I thought," Ray says, and there's a long pause. "I'm kind of jealous of you for that."
"Don't be," Ben says in a low voice, and he does roll over onto his back, now, and he can look over at Ray, make him out at least a little in the dark.
Ray's eyes are closed, but his mouth is open; Ben can see the white of his teeth, the slip of his tongue as he licks his lips. "I am, though. Because me, I don't know that. I just know who you are, and that's not enough, Fraser, you know?"
"I know who you are," Ben says.
Ray's eyes don't open, but he's smiling now. "Fraser, do you ever get lonely?"
Ray knows the answer to that already, Ben knows, but his throat closes up anyway as he tries to answer. He manages it on the second try, his voice husky as he says, "Every day."
"That's what I thought," Ray says, and when Ben leans over to him and they kiss for the first time, it feels so good that it must be something right.