Page 92 of Operation Sunshine
Holy fuck.Ben had just taken him to heaven with seven words.
With a shudder, Franco pulled his knees up, exposing his pucker, holding his breath to await the gentle pressure that always felt so fucking good. Ben’s lips locked on his as he stroked his fingers deep into Franco’s body, and Franco let go with one hand to cup Ben’s nape, deepening the kiss, feeding him moans of spiralling pleasure.
The first slow press of Ben’s cock inside him stilled his breath and made his pulse race, the way it did every single time. His ankles rested on Ben’s shoulders, and Ben locked his arms, gliding into him in a steady rhythm that didn’t stay that way for long. Thesmackof flesh against flesh, punctuated by their mingled cries, filled the air, breaking now and then when they kissed.
Franco couldn’t get enough of him.
And when Ben came inside him, Franco didn’t hold back, unable to stifle the sounds, hide the trembling, or mask the sheer rapture of being undone in Ben’s arms. He let Ben see him completely, messy, vulnerable, radiant. And Ben, with his own ragged cries and shuddering release, met him there, equal and unguarded.
“Now come for me,” Ben demanded, his slick hand on Franco’s shaft.
Franco groaned as he pulsed warmth, coating Ben’s fingers, his heart soaring when Ben’s mouth claimed his, connecting them.
“Mine,” Ben murmured breathlessly against Franco’s lips, and Franco let out a low moan.
Seven words had taken him to new levels of rapture.
One word broke him.
They lay together, Franco’s limbs heavy, his skin damp, his heart pounding. Franco rested his cheek against Ben’s chest, listening to the steady beat beneath. He closed his eyes, letting the sound anchor him.
“I meant it,” Franco whispered into the darkness. “Tonight, I gave you everything. No walls. No pretending. One hundred percent me.”
Ben kissed the top of his head, holding him tighter. “And I’ll treasure it. Always.”
They stayed like that until sleep claimed him, wrapped around each other as though neither could bear to let go.
The morning light was merciless. It streamed through the blinds in thin, golden spikes, painting Ben’s skin in soft relief. Franco blinked awake to find himself still curled into him, his head on Ben’s chest, Ben’s heart beating under his cheek. For a moment, he let himself drift, his eyes closed, pretending the world outside didn’t exist.
If I stay here long enough, maybe it will all stop—time, decisions, departures. Just me and Ben, forever in this cocoon.
Ben stirred, his arm tightening around Franco’s waist, as if his body didn’t want to let go even as his mind woke. When he opened his eyes, they found Franco’s immediately, sleepy but steady.
“Morning,” Ben murmured.
Franco tried to swallow past the lump in his throat. “Morning.”
The quiet was broken only by the faint hum of traffic outside and the cry of gulls drifting in from the river. Franco was used to their comfortable silences.
This one had edges, sharp and unspoken.
Ben brushed a thumb across Franco’s temple. “What time’s your flight again?”
“Late evening. Just before ten. Gives me most of the day.”
Ben’s fingers lingered in Franco’s hair, combing through it gently, absently, as if memorising its texture. “Do you want me to come with you to the airport?”
Franco’s chest tightened. He’d been rehearsing this in his head for days, telling himself it was kinder, easier, to make a clean break at the flat. Airports were brutal, all sterile light and forced goodbyes. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—watch Ben fade behind securityglass.
“No,” Franco said, too quickly. He caught Ben’s flinch, subtle but there, and his heart ached. “I mean… I don’t want to remember you there. Standing behind the barrier, waving. That’s…” He trailed off, searching for the words. “I’d rather say goodbye here. Where it’s just us.”
Ben’s eyes softened, although his jaw worked as if he were biting back a dozen replies. Finally, he nodded. “All right. Here, then.”
Franco exhaled shakily, relief and regret twined together. He pressed a kiss to Ben’s chest, over the steady thrum of his heart. “Thank you.”
They lay there longer than they should have, Franco clinging to the illusion of an ordinary morning. Ben eventually got up and went into the kitchen, and soon the scent of brewing coffee filled the flat. Franco joined him, barefoot, wearing one of Ben’s T-shirts, pretending for a little while longer that this was simply another ordinary day.
But reality crept in with every glance at the clock, every thought of what waited for him at his own flat. His suitcase wasn’t zipped. His passport still lay on the counter. Florence loomed, as thrilling as it was devastating.
