Ben had had a tumultuous relationship with the press for a while now. While Jez fought for them to be taken seriously as artists, Ben had fought to not be labelled the “bad boy” of the band. That had started way back in the beginning, when he was still with Stan, even before anything else kicked off.
They weren’t the fucking Spice Girls, and Ben hated being categorised based on his timidity in the face of prying interviewers. Unfortunately, his introversion and anxiety came off as arrogance. Those interviewers had quickly learned to direct questions to Summer and Jez if they wanted content they could actually use.
Since things went downhill with his addiction, Ben had found himself the subject of tabloid speculation more often than he liked. And of course they didn’t know the first fucking thing about his life, but that never stopped them making up stories to fit the pictures some arsehole paparazzi had taken. He’d been romantically linked to supermodels and sports stars, actors, artists, and a bank manager. No one seemed to care that most of these people he’d never even met.
So walking into a room of bloody music journalists wasn’t something that filled him with joyous anticipation. Though knowing he could do it with his fiancé on his arm made up for that.
Melissa had invited less than a hundred people to the event, wanting to keep it small and exclusive. People knew the album was coming out, and the first single would be released to radio stations in the morning, so it wasn’t exactly a secret. Ben thought it could maybe even be fun.
He spotted Tone near the bar, holding a glass of whiskey and talking to a guy who was probably someone Ben should know. He squeezed Stan’s hand and worked his way through the dim room until they were hovering where Tone could see them.
“Excuse me,” Tone said, and came over to them. “What’s got you two looking like the cat that got the cream?”
“Got something I need to ask you,” Ben said. He wrapped his arm around Stan’s waist and tugged him closer.
“Alright.”
“Will you be the best man at my wedding?”
Next to him, Stan chuckled. Tone looked between them comically.
“Are you shitting me?”
“We shit you not, Tone,” Stan said seriously.
“Well, fuck me. Of course I will.”
Ben let himself be pulled into one of Tone’s most bone-crushing hugs, then looped Stan in for good measure.
“Could have bought him a nicer ring, mate.”
Ben rolled his eyes. “That’s Stan’s fucking ring. The one he always used to wear.”
“So it’s like a sentimental thing?” Tone turned to Stan. “I don’t know if you heard, love, but he’s loaded now. Make him take you to Cartier or Tiffany’s or something.”
Stan leaned in so he could kiss Tone on the cheek. “I will,” he said, and winked at Ben.
Chapter Twenty Seven
When they stumbled through the door to the flat—their forever home—Stan still liked calling it that—he immediately kicked off his shoes and groaned.
“I really need to start acclimatising my feet back to wearing heels again.”
Ben caught him around the waist and gently pulled his hair to one side to kiss Stan’s neck.
“I like you whatever you’re wearing. But you looked incredible tonight.”
“So did you. Who knew hot pink was your colour?”
“Fuck off,” Ben muttered, making Stan laugh. He turned in Ben’s arms and lifted his hands so he could gather them into Ben’s hair.
“I love you.”
“I love you too, Mr Novikov.”
“Not for much longer.”
Ben pulled him in closer still and started to sway from side to side, dancing to a song only he could hear.
“You’re going to change your name?”
“I figured I would.” Stan kissed the corner of Ben’s mouth. “Unless you want to change yours?”
“I’ll take your name. I don’t have any fucking hang-ups.”
“We can figure it out later.”
Ben’s lips were on Stan’s before he’d even finished getting his words out. They needed this, needed to connect with deep, searching kisses. Stan plastered himself to Ben’s front, holding them close together while Ben’s hands found Stan’s ass. It was really only a matter of time.
“How the fuck do I get you out of this dress?” Ben mumbled.
Stan laughed and kissed up the side of his neck, making Ben shiver. “Give me five minutes, then come upstairs.”
“I can get you out of your clothes, Stan. Or I can bend you over and fuck you in the dress too. That’s definitely an option.”
“Five minutes,” Stan repeated, then carefully extracted himself from Ben’s embrace.
There was no way he was letting Ben get come on a Gorges Hobeika gown. Though Stan was very definitely turned on by the idea, if his cock poking at the inside of the dress was anything to go by.
He went straight to the bathroom and carefully got out of the dress, then hung it up on the back of the bathroom door so it could be sent for dry cleaning in the morning. The dress was possibly the most beautiful thing he’d ever worn in his whole life and he’d be sad to see it go.
He was excited, though, to slip into something far more suggestive than a sparkly white dress.
Some of the underwear he’d bought in Harrods had already made an appearance, and Ben was, as always, extremely appreciative of Stan’s efforts. The outrageously see-through dressing gown hadn’t yet, though.
Stan pulled on a pair of very tiny, black lace panties and shrugged the sheer gown over his shoulders. He’d taken extra care earlier to pin his hair up in a way that meant it could easily fall down over his shoulders again in big, bouncy curls.
When Stan had bought the nipple rings he wasn’t sure if he’d ever summon up the courage to wear them. They were simple rose gold hoops that pinched together—no piercing required. Stan’s nipples were very pink anyway, compared to his pale skin, and the jewellery looked good.
He chanced a look at himself in the mirror.
He looked like someone who was about to get fucked within an inch of his life.
“A girl can always hope,” he murmured to himself, then turned the bathroom light off and stepped into the bedroom.
“Sorry, love. Game over. I think I just came in my pants.”
Stan tipped his head back and laughed.
Ben had taken his suit off and hung it up in its suit bag, bless him, and had apparently decided to take off everything else while he was at it. The tattoo on his side was healed now. Stan liked it a lot. It felt like a positive symbol of how Ben had moved on.
“You’re so handsome,” Stan said.
“Gotta make an effort. Especially when I have a fiancé as stunning as you.”
Stan walked over and crawled onto their bed. He’d picked it—a big, wooden frame thing with upright posts in the headboard that he was definitely going to tie Ben to one of these days. Stan had plans for sex. Lots of plans. For lots of sex.
He threw them all out the window when Ben caught him around the waist and pinned him to the bed, his cock very hard against Stan’s thigh. He rocked his hips forward as if to prove a point.