Winter Oranges

  “Oh, that one!”

  “Funny. Have you read it or not?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  Jason stared down into the globe, shaking it gently, wishing like hell Ben would appear. Fake snow swirled, but nothing else happened. “I’ve been busy.”

  “You’re lying.”

  Dylan’s bluntness made him laugh. It also reminded him that Dylan deserved a bit better than a half-assed lie. He set the globe aside and leaned back on the couch, propping his feet on the coffee table. “You’re right. I’m lying. I haven’t felt like reading it.”

  “You don’t want to do it?”

  “I haven’t thought about it much, to be honest.”

  “Come on, Jase. We’ll be on location together in Mexico. You’re telling me you haven’t thought about how much fun that could be?”

  Jason picked absentmindedly at a cuticle. It was a simple question, but an interesting one nonetheless. In the past, he would have considered that possibility a great deal, from every imaginable angle, but it had barely occurred to him this time around. Having it thrust upon him now though, he took a moment to ponder.

  Yes, taking the part would mean being able to spend a lot of time with Dylan, but it also meant having a front-row seat for every other fling Dylan decided to have during the shoot. There was always at least one.

  He hated that part. He always had.

  On the other hand, all extracurricular activities aside, they worked well together. They generally had a good time, regardless of whatever other drama happened on set. And the fact was, he could use the work. He couldn’t live on his savings forever. “I suppose I could use a few months in the sun.”

  “So you’ll do it?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “I thought you just did.”

  “I’ll think about it. But first, I’m going to read it. And then I’ll let you know.”

  “And you’ll do all those things soon?”

  “Soon,” Jason agreed, picking the globe back up. “I promise.”

  He clicked off, still staring at the globe, contemplating his conversation with Dylan. Did he want to take the part? Yes, he’d have fun on set with Dylan, but shooting a movie meant being away from Ben, and that was something he was hesitant to do. How could he leave, knowing Ben wouldn’t have anyone to talk to? How could he abandon Ben for several months at a time, knowing he couldn’t even put in the next disc of Murder, She Wrote?

  Maybe he could take Ben with him? Taking the snow globe along would be easy enough. But the incident in Best Buy worried him. How many times would he get caught talking to an invisible man? How long before StarWatch heard about it and made it front-page news? Taking a snow globe with him to the set every day wouldn’t be the weirdest thing to happen in Hollywood by a long shot, but it was bound to raise a few eyebrows.

  And how could he make this decision at all when Ben wasn’t available to discuss it with him?

  He eventually slumped up the stairs, dejected and defeated.

  Tomorrow would be better. Tomorrow, Ben would be back.

  But what if he wasn’t?

  Jason refused to think about it. He had to believe everything would return to normal by morning.

  He lay down on his bed, the globe in one hand, and stared into the snow-filled interior. He thought about Ben’s smile. About his apparent awe as he lay on the deck, contemplating the stars. He thought about all the things Ben probably hadn’t seen—Las Vegas, Niagara Falls, Mount Rushmore. The Pantheon, the Parthenon, and the world’s largest ball of string.

  He could give Ben those things. But to do it, he’d need to work. He needed to make money before he could spend it.

  It was a long time before he fell asleep.

  Jason found himself in a tiny little house, a fire dancing merrily yet silently in the hearth. Outside the window, a few fat snowflakes fell. Jason glanced down and found he was wearing pajama pants and a T-shirt, his feet bare on a coarse, colorless rug. The entire scene felt strangely surreal, but at least it wasn’t going to be one of those “naked in public” dreams.

  A faint sound caught his attention—somebody turning the page of a book. It was a sound that would have gone unnoticed in any other time or place, but here—wherever here was—there was nothing else. It was silent as a tomb, and Jason shivered.

  Another page turned, and Jason looked up.

  Ben was there. How Jason had missed him before, he couldn’t have said. But now, Ben was all he could see. He sat curled in the corner of the couch near the fireplace, staring down at a book that lay open on the arm of the sofa. He wore the same wool pants and white shirt he always had on, but without the waistcoat. His knees were tucked against his chest, his bare feet visible on the edge of the cushion.

  Jason stood there, stunned into silence by a simple, shocking revelation: he’d never truly seen Ben at all. Yes, he’d seen Ben’s projection—fair skin and dark hair, with luscious full lips that Jason had longed to kiss—but seeing him now, somehow more solid and vibrant than the fire in the grate, Jason realized what he’d seen so far was only a hazy image of Ben’s true self. Ben’s skin was ghostly white, a sad reminder of his poor health. It stood in stark contrast to his hair, so thick and dark it seemed to reflect shades of violet. His lips were vividly, perfectly pink, and when he looked up, his head jerking in Jason’s direction, his eyes shone shockingly blue in the paleness of his face.

  “You’re beautiful,” Jason said. “Exactly like Snow White.”

  Ben Adam’s apple bobbed. “What’s happening?” His voice was quiet. It was as if he were speaking to himself rather than Jason. He shook his head, his eyes wide with shock. “Is this real?”

  “I think I’m dreaming.”

  Ben jumped from the couch as if he wanted to bolt, knocking his book to the floor in his haste. He backed up, but it was only two steps until he hit the wall and stood there, his arms wrapped protectively around his chest, shaking his head in denial. “No, it can’t be you. This can’t be real. It can’t be—”

  “Why not?”

  “It must be me,” Ben went on as if Jason hadn’t spoken. “I’m dreaming, but I don’t dream in this place. And so . . .” He swallowed again, glancing around the room in near panic. “Am I dead? Did I finally die?”

  “You’re not dead,” Jason said, torn between amusement and confusion. “I’m only having a dream.”

  Ben shook his head emphatically. On the bright side, his panic seemed to be fading already. Now he was simply confused. “It can’t be.”

  Amusement won, and Jason found himself laughing. “Why not?”

  “Because we’re both here.”

  “Right. Because I’m dreaming.”

  Ben shook his head in bemused exasperation. “Then why do I think I’m dreaming?”

  Jason frowned, contemplating. Usually his dreams weren’t so vivid. Usually, they weren’t so logical. Yes, this place was strange, and yet nothing was shifting or moving like it did in his dreams. Everything felt real.

  Solid.

  He looked again at Ben. For the first time since they’d met, he couldn’t see through Ben’s form. Ben’s clothes were different, and his feet were bare, and when he leaned back against the wall, he didn’t miss by an inch or more like he did when he projected himself into Jason’s home. When he reached out to steady himself by placing his hand on the mantel, his fingers didn’t sink through like they normally did. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the wood.

  “This is your cabin? The one inside the globe?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I think we’re both really here.”

  “What do you mean?” Ben asked. “Are you telling me we’re dreaming together?”

  “Maybe. Or maybe . . .” Jason swallowed, looking at the fire. At the open book still lying upside down on the floor. At the window, which showed only a pale-gray sky and a few strange trees. “Or maybe I found a way inside.”

  Ben pondered that for a mome
nt. Skepticism gave way to wonder, and Ben’s eyes went wide. “But . . . but how?”

  “I don’t know. I was lying in bed, holding the snow globe—”

  “Oh my God!” Ben reached for the arm of the couch. He leaned on it as he moved back to his original spot and sank carefully onto the cushion. “Could that be it?”

  “Could what be—”

  But Ben held up his hand, stopping Jason’s words. “I wonder.” He glanced at Jason, looking him slowly up and down. “I’m afraid to leave. What if I come back and you’re gone?”

  “Where would you go? Where would I go?”

  “I want to check. I was too tired before, but I only need a second . . .”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Ben chewed his lip thoughtfully. “Promise me you won’t go anywhere.”

  “I promise.”

  Ben nodded. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. And then . . .

  Nothing.

  Nothing changed. Ben sat utterly, frighteningly still. Jason wasn’t even sure he was breathing.

  “Ben?”

  Still nothing.

  Jason’s heart leapt in alarm, but just as he took a step forward, Ben seemed to jerk awake, gasping soundlessly for air, holding his chest with one hand. “You fell asleep with it. You’re on your bed with the globe in your hand.”

  Jason blinked, putting it all together. “You were projecting?”

  Ben nodded again, still clutching his chest, although his breathing appeared to have returned to normal, and Jason remembered lying on the bed, staring into the snow globe, wishing more than anything he could make Ben appear.

  “I wanted to see you. I hoped you’d come—”

  “I wanted to. I tried, but I couldn’t. I didn’t have the strength. Not after all that walking. And then . . .” He bit his lip, smiling at Jason in a way that was somehow devilish and innocent all at once. It was flirtatious, and yet so sweet and unassuming, it made Jason’s heart swell. “Not after what happened on the patio.”

  Jason’s blood stirred as he remembered. It had been amazing, and yet so heartbreaking, being unable to touch Ben. But now . . .

  It seemed he wasn’t dreaming. Or he was, but dreaming had allowed him to enter Ben’s world. Would he be able to touch Ben here?

  Jason swallowed hard, his heart suddenly racing.

  Ben seemed to have the same thought, because his eyes widened in exhilaration. He stood and took one tentative step toward Jason. “Then you’re really here?” he asked. But he didn’t sound scared like before. He sounded hopeful. “This isn’t a dream?” He reached out to Jason, his hand shaking.

  “One way to find out,” Jason said.

  Ben laughed nervously, taking one more step forward. His pale fingers lit upon Jason’s chest. The lightest touch on Jason’s shirt, so faint Jason barely felt it, and Ben gasped as if scalded, jerking his hand back and cradling it against his chest.

  “Oh my God.” His chin trembled. Tears welled up in his eyes, and Jason couldn’t stand waiting another second. He closed the distance between them, wrapping one arm around Ben’s waist to pull him close, noting as he did how small Ben seemed. It wasn’t only that he was a few inches shorter than Jason. He was thin and frighteningly fragile in Jason’s arms.

  Ben clung to him, his whole body trembling, tears streaming down his face. Jason leaned closer, wanting to kiss him, but Ben’s unexpected reaction brought him up short. He put his other hand against Ben’s cheek. Jason tilted his head down, toward Ben’s lips. Another thing Ben’s projection hadn’t reflected accurately was his smell—a faint muskiness that reminded Jason folks hadn’t showered every day in the 1860s. It wasn’t unpleasant, though. Ben didn’t smell unclean. It was more that he carried the scent of his life with him—hay and horses and apples. Grass and sunlight and fresh-baked bread. And underneath it all, the sweet, pure odor of sheer masculinity, and Jason breathed it in, reeling at how unbelievably sexy it was.

  “It feels real to me,” Jason said, his voice hoarse with desire.

  Ben shuddered, his eyes shining, tears still flowing unchecked down his cheeks.

  “What is it?” Jason asked.

  “Nobody’s touched me,” Ben whispered, his chin quivering. “Not for one hundred and fifty years.”

  Jason felt like a fool, rushing forward without a thought for how overwhelming it must be for Ben. And yet, he couldn’t let him go. He couldn’t stop touching him. Not now, when they were finally able to feel each other.

  “Tell me if I need to stop.”

  “No,” Ben gasped. “Not ever.”

  And then, before Ben could say another word, Jason kissed him.

  It was only a kiss, and yet it was momentous. The way Ben hung on to him like he was afraid of drowning. The way his lips, wet and salty with tears, parted beneath Jason’s. The soft whimpering sound he made when Jason’s tongue nudged gently inside. It was like heaven, and Jason went slow, doing his best to rein in his desire and his impatience, focusing instead on this one simple pleasure—kissing a man who hadn’t been kissed in more than a century. He kissed Ben until he feared he’d lose his self-control—until the desire to push Ben down onto the couch and rip off his clothes became almost too much to resist—and then Jason finally pulled away, breathing hard.

  Ben’s lips, so gorgeously pink before, were now red and swollen, and Jason moaned with desire at the sight.

  Ben clutched Jason’s shirt. “Why are you stopping?”

  “Because I’m trying not to rush.”

  “I don’t care if you do.”

  “You deserve better than that.”

  Ben laughed through his tears, shaking his head. “I don’t care what you think I deserve. I know what I want.”

  The confession thrilled Jason. It was clear they both yearned for the exact same thing, but that didn’t mean he had to be clumsy about it.

  He wanted to use his hands, but Ben seemed so weak. Jason was afraid to let him go. He wasn’t sure Ben would even be able to stay standing. He carefully loosened his grip, testing Ben’s stability. Ben swayed a bit on his feet but didn’t fall, and Jason began to unbutton Ben’s rough-woven shirt, revealing his pale, thin chest. Ben’s father had described him as “runty.” Jason would never have used that word, but Ben’s narrow waist and protruding ribs only emphasized how terribly young he was.

  “I shouldn’t be doing this,” Jason said, his hands and his voice both shaking.

  “I’ll never forgive you if you stop now.” It was said lightly, but Jason had a feeling it was true, whether Ben knew it or not.

  “But you’re so young. You’re not even twenty-one yet. You’re practically a kid.”

  “Says the man who’s too young to remember Hill Street Blues.”

  “Point taken.” He still wasn’t sure it was right, but then he thought about Ben’s words.

  Nobody’s touched me. Not for one hundred and fifty years. I know what I want.

  He wasn’t going to deny Ben something so simple as being touched. Especially not when he was so desperate to kiss Ben again. To actually hold him in his arms as Ben moaned in pleasure. He finally slid Ben’s shirt back, off of his shoulders. Ben shivered as it fell to the floor, leaving him bare from the waist up.

  Jason started slow. He traced his fingertips gently down Ben’s arm, and Ben sighed with delight, goose bumps rising on his flesh. Jason kept going, past Ben’s wrist to the back of his hand, letting his caress take him to the tip of Ben’s longest finger, and all the while Ben stood stock-still, his eyes closed, his breathing shallow, seemingly entranced at the feel of it.

  Jason moved to stand behind Ben. He let his fingers stray up Ben’s arm to his shoulder, across the nape of Ben’s neck, which made him shiver again, down his spine to the V at the back of his high-waisted trousers. He trailed his fingers up and down Ben’s body, trying to touch each part of his back and shoulders and arms. When he could stand it no longer, Jason put a hand on each of Ben’s slim biceps
, stepping close, fighting the urge to push his erection against Ben’s backside. He partially succeeded. He kissed the back of Ben’s neck, heard the sharp intake of Ben’s breath as he leaned into Jason, tilting his head to allow easier access to the tender space below his ear.

  “Here,” he whispered. “You promised to kiss me here.”

  Jason made good on that promise, sucking and nipping softly at Ben’s neck, reminding himself again to go slow. He ventured one hand toward Ben’s stomach. His abdomen jumped at Jason’s touch, his breath jerking violently.

  “Shh,” Jason soothed, worrying that he should stop, but Ben’s breathless whimpers told him no, this was fine. Better than fine. It was good. It was wonderful. New and scary and probably a bit overwhelming, but absolutely welcome. Jason kept one hand on Ben’s stomach, and with the other, he brushed his fingers over one of Ben’s erect nipples.

  “Oh,” Ben breathed, his voice full of surprise. “Oh . . .”

  He leaned back heavily against Jason, pushing his chest forward against Jason’s exploring hand until he followed suit on the other side, using both hands to roll Ben’s nipples between his fingers until Ben was moaning desperately, his erection tenting his heavy wool pants.

  Jason turned Ben around so they were face-to-face, Ben’s sweet, red lips open in a breathless pout, his eyes half-lidded with desire. Jason kissed him, his arousal surging at the feel of Ben’s slim body against his. This time, Ben didn’t jump when Jason’s fingertips touched his stomach. This time, he moaned and rose onto his toes, pushing against Jason eagerly, wrapping his arms around Jason’s neck.

  “Yes,” he whispered into Jason’s frantic kisses, as Jason’s fingers moved downward. “Yes, yes, yes . . .”

  Jason fumbled the buttons of Ben’s trousers open one-handed. He was surprised to find a second pair of pants underneath them, seemingly identical except they were of thin cotton rather than course wool. He tore those buttons open too. And finally, he slid his hand inside.

  Ben shuddered, gasping, as Jason’s fingers brushed his erection. “Oh God,” Ben whispered, burying his face in Jason’s neck, seemingly unable to even hold himself up any longer. “Oh God!”