untitled afflection Au

Untitled Afflection AU for cupidsbow.
R


It was silent inside the car when Ben switched the engine off. The silence of sleek metal and soft leather and air conditioning. The silence of money.

Then he opened the door and the noise of the world was there. To most people, the sounds that greeted him would have constituted silence – the quiet crunch of his shoes on the pale gravel, the call of a bird in a palm overhead and, below it all, the gentle constant rustle of the sea. But to Ben, after the artificial silence, it was noise.

But welcome noise. Familiar noise.

He jogged down the steps between the vibrant pink hibiscus, tapped a key into the pad beside the door, swiped his card and waited for the click. Then he pushed open the door.

The hallway, where he shed his linen jacket and his shoes, wound down, hewn from the rock of the cliff face, opening out into a wide sitting room. The stone floor was cold beneath his feet. He paused at the bar, poured himself whisky, then descended the three steps into the centre of the room, crossing to look out at the view.

The house had be built into the rock, some of her walls the rough chiselled surface of the cliff, others carefully constructed to jut out from them, taking advantage of the natural flow of the land. All that was constructed was white or glass, the entire far wall made of giant panes that allowed one to stand inside and have an uninterrupted view of the wide bay below, the wild green of lush vegetation giving way to the bleached sand of the beach and the lapis lazuli of the sea.

Few of the interior walls were straight, most of the rooms formed from natural hollows connected by rough archways and winding corridors, staircases that snaked up through the rock. Shelves and grottos held shells alongside priceless vases, high technology blended seamlessly with nature.

The touch of a pad on the wall and a section of the vast window dropped away silently into the floor, allowing Ben, glass in hand, to walk out onto the patio. There was no barrier on the far side, nothing to break the view, only the gentle curve of the steps that, after many twists, descended to the beach.

The whisky burned in his mouth like the sun burned in his eyes, harsh and bright and delightful. He left the glass on the little table that waited, like an ever present attendant, just within reach, and wandered back inside, unfastening the first few buttons on his shirt before pulling it over his head. Dropping the shirt on the white sofa inside, he wandered up one of the corridors from the sitting room, taking the steps two at a time as he came across them.

The bathroom had the same stone floor as the rest of the house, and the same wide glass wall. Ben crossed to look out of it, to ascertain once again that there was nothing out there that he needed to concern himself over, then shed his cream trousers and the silk boxers beneath. There was nothing that overlooked his house and no way that anyone could see in without him seeing them first. Naked, he stood in front of the full length mirror on the left hand wall, studying his profile, examining a bruise on his right hip, then he pursed his lips and let out a low whistle. Behind him, at the back of the room, four showerheads simultaneously burst forth with water. He walked across, to stand under their soothing spray.

“Oh God, harder,” he said clearly, and on the final word the voice recognition kicked in, the pressure of the shower increasing to beat down on his shoulders and massage away his aches.

The steady beat of the water on the stone was such that, at first, Ben did not hear the other sound. The low humming buzz. Then he did, shutting off the water with another whistle, this one higher pitched, and stepping towards the window again.

A white motor boat, too far away for him to see clearly, was speeding out of the bay. It was tiny and insignificant, but all the same he reached out and touched a panel on the wall, watching the transparent glass darken to opaque.

But now, of course, he could not see out.

Wrapping a towel around his hips and leaving a trail of wet footprints on the rock behind him, he descended to the main room, pausing just out of sight up the passageway. There was something wrong.

A quick glance into the sitting room told him it wasn’t here. But that was no surprise. He crossed it quickly, keeping an eye on the window, on the open section where he had been outside just minutes before. His empty whiskey glass lay where he had left it on the table, undisturbed.

Down a winding corridor on the other side of the room, through an archway and across of kitchen of gleaming glass and chrome, up some stairs and pause. Was that a sound?

He briefly wished he had stopped to attire himself in more than a towel. His bare feet were soundless on the rock as he stepped closer and closer to the open archway, to the room lit by the bright sunlight. He followed the line of shadow on the floor, inching closer, straining to hear, then, with a bark of sardonic laughter, stepped fully into the room.

“You fucking arse. Can’t you use the door like a normal person rather than creeping around?

Matt, startled, turned away from the safe. His face was as white as his expensively tailored outfit. “Ben… I…”

“You didn’t think I’d hear did you?” Ben said flatly. “You thought you could get in and out without my ever knowing you were here.”

The spots of colour on Matt’s cheeks were as good as a confession and Ben felt a shiver of arousal at the sight.

“So what were you doing, partner,” he emphasised the word, “rooting through my papers?” He sat down in an armchair facing where Ben stood, disregarding the fact that the damp towel was probably going to mark the leather. He had to remain completely in control of this situation. And the erection threatening the tent the towel was not going to help.

Matt didn’t speak, he didn’t have to because they both knew what he was doing there, why he was looking in the safe. Ben allowed himself a brief moment of admiration for his partner, that safe was both hidden and securely locked, he’d poured over the specifications himself before committing to it. Maybe he could get his money back.

“Do you think I’m that stupid? That I would put something so precious in a safe?”

Matt still didn’t answer, but the irritation was beginning to flare in his eyes. Ben could see his annoyance in the tightening of his mouth. Annoyance at himself for being fooled? Or at Ben, for being so cool, so heartless?

He had to stay heartless to keep the upper hand, no matter what Matt did, he reminded himself.

“No, I suppose that would be too predictable. And you are many things, but none of them is predictable.” Matt’s voice was hard, angry, not the voice Ben recognised. “I should have known really, after all you’ve done.” He ran a hand through his shock of pale hair, a sign of is frustration.

Ben smiled. His cock twitched against his thigh.

“Well, partner, technically, what you have done is breaking and entering.”

Matt moved forward, now he was a white and bronze and scarlet silhouette against the bright window, the sunlight suffusing him, making his outline glow. “I think you’ve lost the right to call me partner,” he pointed out, voice tight. “Partners don’t lie, don’t cheat, don’t steal.”

Ben indicated the room with a sweep of his hand. “Who is stealing from whom?” he asked, keeping his choice infuriatingly calm when inside he was a churning mass, half wanting to punch Matt’s accusatory face, half wanting to push him against the wall and rip his clothes off him.

“Half of this is mine! Perhaps more than half. You sit here living off our fortune and I continue to work, making money where I can.”

Ben looked at the finely tailored Egyptian cotton Matt wore. “You don’t look like you are doing too badly for yourself.”

Matt’s expression tightened further, he was on the point of exploding, Ben saw with a certain delight. He stepped out of the sunlight, moving towards the chair where Ben sat. “No, because I have a brain. I always had the brain. The recipe you keep hidden from me is all my own work. Work that, if you didn’t have all the notes as well, I could reproduce and sell.”

“Maybe you devised it, but I marketed it. You would be nothing without me.”

Matt’s face twisted in disgust. Nor you without me.

“Every time I stand in a shop and see those green and yellow cans. Every time I see that commercial with those stupid dancing girls. Every time I sit in a restaurant and hear someone order a glass of Afflection instead of cola or lemonade, every single time I hear the chink of money falling into your account. Fucking hell, man, it was my work!”

“What do you want, the recipe?” Ben kept his voice level, his mind churning.

Matt shrugged. “It was what I was after, as you know.”

“Alone it isn’t worth that much. Were you going to flog it to the highest bidder?” The leather under his legs was starting to stick. He was going to have to move soon.

“I was going to develop it. Improve it. Broaden it’s appeal.”

Alarm bells started going off in Ben’s head. That was a good idea. He shifted, standing, crossing the room to the desk, tapping a keypad under the surface and taking a metal key from the drawer that emerged.

“Come,” he said, going back up the corridor to the main room.

Matt followed, his shoes making a soft scuffing sound so Ben did not need to turn to check where he was. He went up a staircase behind the bar, emerging in a sun-drenched bedroom. They key opened the third drawer in the bedside table, and another complex multi-digit number opened the box secured within that.

Then Ben put a thin sheaf of papers on the bed and turned to look at Matt.

Matt blinked, unsure. “Are you giving me those or just taunting me?”

Ben dropped the towel and walked towards the French windows onto a balcony directly above the patio, facing the same fabulous view.

“I am offering you a choice,” he said over his shoulder. “Take that recipe and walk out of here and don’t come back. Good luck to you. Or come to me, completely, return as my partner and we will use my company and your ideas and develop this product together.”

And he walked out onto the balcony, trying to look nonchalant.

It was a long wait, while Matt decided, and it took all of Ben’s will not to turn and look back into the room. Then he felt warm hands on his shoulders, a naked body pressed against his back. “I choose…” Matt breathed. Then his fingers slid around Ben’s neck. “But this time, together in everything. Not just in body, like before. This time, you will share and I will share and we will sign everything in both our names.”

Ben turned, a smile hovering on his lips. Matt was bathed in gold from the sunlight, that long missed body bare to Ben’s eye. He swallowed.

“You chose not to get involved in mass production…” he began in reproach, watching Matt’s eyes narrow. Then he laughed. “In everything. I promise.” He slid one hand up Matt’s flank, across his hip to where it rested in the familiar curve of his hip.

Matt kissed him, pliant and willing, giving Ben everything. Ben responded, pulling Matt against him, feeling the heat of his skin, his mouth, his hands. “What did you do with the recipe?” Ben murmured, as Matt licked at his neck, hands sure against the swell of Ben’s arse.

“I… left… it… on… the…bed…” Matt replied between gentle nips to the skin. “And, if you go put it away before fucking me, the deal is off.”

Weighing the options, Ben decided it was better not to risk it. The sheaf of papers fluttered in the sea breeze, undisturbed.