Arthur prepared for the meeting with a heavy, divided mind. On one hand, the business alliance was crumbling; Elder Mark was livid, threatening to sever ties because of Liam's recent string of absences and apparent lack of interest in Tasha. On the other hand, Arthur was struggling with a far more intimate distraction: Ben.
Years ago, Arthur had divorced his wife because she demanded an emotional presence he simply couldn't provide. Since then, his life had been a singular, rigid mission: to forge Liam into a successor capable of carrying the family legacy. But now, Ben had moved into the hollow spaces of Arthur's thoughts, making him imagine a life—and a desire—he had never dared to consider.
At the council meeting, the air was thick with tension.
"Arthur," Elder Mark began, his voice cold. "For two meetings now, Liam has been a ghost. What is going on?"
"Elder Mark, my son has been unwell. He's recovering."
"My daughter has been complaining about his coldness. It makes me want to cancel our deal and find her a husband who actually knows the meaning of the word 'love'." Mark leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "You have one month, Arthur. One month to fix this, or the alliance is dead."
As the meeting dismissed, Arthur felt a rare surge of restlessness. He didn't head back to his office; instead, he ordered his driver to Liam's estate. He needed to see if his son was truly ill, or if he was simply hiding.
"Welcome, sir," a guard greeted him at the gate. Arthur felt a sharp pang of disappointment—it wasn't Ben.
"Where is my son?" Arthur asked, the word son feeling heavy and strange on his tongue.
"Upstairs, sir."
Arthur marched to Liam's suite and knocked. When the door opened, his heart skipped. It was Ben. Arthur froze, staring at the man who had been haunting his dreams. The guard took the hint and disappeared, leaving the two of them in the quiet hallway.
"Sir?" Ben asked, tilting his head.
"I... I came to check on Liam," Arthur stammered, his usual authority failing him.
"He's resting. You can come in if you'd like."
"No. Actually, I'm about to leave."
"Alright. I'll tell him you stopped by."
As Arthur turned to walk away, Ben's voice caught him. "Sir... can I come with you instead?"
Arthur spun back, eyes wide. "What?"
"I mean, you came to talk. If Liam can't talk, can you talk to me?"
"I... yes. Sure. Definitely."
They walked out to Arthur's car in a charged silence. As they settled into the back seat, Arthur leaned across Ben. Ben went still, his breath catching as Arthur's face hovered inches from his own. Arthur stared at Ben's full, inviting lips, the urge to taste them becoming a physical ache. At the last second, he pulled away and grabbed the seatbelt.
"What are you doing, sir?" Ben whispered, his voice trembling.
"Just... helping you with your belt," Arthur lied, his voice rough.
"Thank you. That was... tense."
As Arthur drove, the silence between them softened. "Ben," he started, keeping his eyes on the road. "How long have you been with Liam?"
"Since he started. Years."
"And I've never truly met you until now?"
"You never wanted to meet me," Ben said plainly. "You were always too busy being harsh and heartless. Honestly, I'm surprised you haven't murdered me yet."
Arthur winced. "Shit. That hurts. Am I really that bad?"
"One hundred percent."
"Well," Arthur sighed, "in this world, if you aren't like that, you achieve nothing. I want Liam to be strong enough to take my place, but I think he just hates me for it."
"I know you don't hate him," Ben said softly. "You just want the best for him."
Arthur felt a lump form in his throat. "Thank you, Ben. I actually had nothing to say to Liam. I just wanted to drive with you."
Ben looked at him, stunned. "What?"
"Relax. I'm not going to kill you. I couldn't, even if I wanted to."
"Why not?"
"I can't tell you," Arthur muttered. "But you're coming home with me for that drink I offered. Understand?"
"Yes, sir."
They reached Arthur's private residence after midnight and began to drink. The scotch was heavy and smooth, and as the bottle emptied, the walls between them began to crumble.
"How old are you, Ben?"
"Thirty-three. Why?"
"You're young," Arthur murmured.
"Not that young."
Ben was clearly tipsy now. He set his glass down and moved closer to Arthur, his eyes searching Arthur's face with a boldness that wasn't there before. "Why don't you do it?"
Arthur blinked. "Do what?"
"Kiss me," Ben challenged, a playful, dangerous light in his eyes. "You've been wanting to all day. Why don't you just do it?"
"Ben, you're drunk."
"I'm tipsy, not blind. I know what I'm saying." Ben let out a mocking laugh. "Oh, I see. You can't do it. You're a coward, Arthur!"
The word snapped something inside the Don. "I am not a coward," Arthur growled, his voice dropping to a predator's rumble. "And yes, I've wanted to kiss you—and more—since the moment I saw you. But I have self-control, Ben. Control that you are making very, very difficult to maintain."
"All talk," Ben provoked, leaning in. "You're nothing but—"
Arthur didn't let him finish. He lunged, his lips crashing against Ben's in a kiss that was hard, rough, and desperate. He kissed Ben as if his entire life depended on the contact, pouring years of repressed longing into the touch. When he finally pulled back, Ben's lips were bruised and swollen.
"I'm sorry," Arthur breathed, his forehead resting against Ben's. "I was too rough."
"Stop apologizing," Ben whispered. "Come here."
Ben pulled Arthur back in, climbing onto his lap and catching Arthur's head in his hands. This time, the kiss was a frantic exchange of heat and hunger. Arthur tried to swallow the very breath from Ben's lungs, while Ben moved against him with an intensity that bordered on feral.
After a few minutes, Arthur's conscience flickered back to life. He realized the alcohol was doing most of the talking for Ben. He gently broke the kiss, breathing hard.
"Ben, you're drunk. You need to sleep."
"I'm not... I want you," Ben giggled, trying to pull Arthur back down. "I want the big, scary Don."
Arthur let out a soft, pained laugh. He stood up, lifting Ben into his arms as if he weighed nothing at all. He carried him to the guest room and laid him gently on the bed. With practiced, careful hands, Arthur removed Ben's shoes, his jacket, and unbuttoned his collar so he could breathe.
He sat on the edge of the bed for a long time, watching Ben drift into a deep sleep. He leaned down, his lips ghosting over Ben's ear.
"I hope you remember this when you're sober," Arthur whispered. "Because I certainly will."