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Since the diner, their workplace, and Mr. Sheppard– may he suffer in death– it’d just been him and Randy on the road together.
Well. Mostly Randy.
Benson doubted anyone would be breathing down the kid’s neck if they ever got caught. Hell, he could probably walk into a police station tomorrow with that nervous tremble of his, and tell them Benson dragged him along against his will. Maybe that was true.
Randy just spent so long letting everyone walk all over him, anybody with a loud enough voice to push him around. Benson was just trying to fix that, at least that was the idea.
The first several days, Randy had been a shaky, crying little mess. Like a fawn who hadn’t found its legs yet. He apologized for everything, a single conversation was like pulling teeth. Now though? He talked more, even complained sometimes. Not often of course, but enough. He even disagreed with Benson, about tiny and stupid things but it was something.
Benson frowns thinking about it. The truth was, Randy watched him too carefully for his liking. Not as in, looking for escape routes or anything, he’d be a fucking idiot in that case. His boy was smarter than that. As in, he was always checking his expression. Listening to the tones of his voice. Paying a little extra attention to see if he was ever annoyed.
Growth just took time though, and Randy was still a fawn.
Benson still liked making him cry here and then too.
But at least the kid had some footing under him. Which didn’t stop him from walking into walls. Benson had lost count of how many times he’d seen him clip a doorway or dresser he somehow had missed.
More often than not, they’d either sleep in the car, camp outside, or in whatever rundown motel would take cash and mind their business. Benson always picked where they stayed. Randy didn’t weigh in unless asked, and even then…it didn’t feel like input so much as confirmation.
Sleeping in the same bed started out as a necessity. Then it just became something easier not to argue about. Then it was routine, yet Randy still treaded carefully as if he was going to be pushed from the bed at any moment when they slept. The motel air conditioner rattled, a dying wheeze that broke Benson from his thoughts.
When Randy finally emerges from the bathroom in boxers and a t-shirt shortly after, Benson is already sprawled out on the stained mattress.
“You gettin’ in bed or what?” Benson says, words lacking any of its usual edge, but still a command to be followed. He pats the empty side of the sheets. Randy gave a small, minute nod before he climbed into his side of the bed. Careful not to disturb the bedding too much, keeping himself rigid and narrow. Small.
Benson watched for a moment before reaching out and pulling him over into his own arms. Randy didn’t resist. He barely did anymore.
He’d learned what happened when he wasn’t easy to manage.
“You smell like lavender.” Benson states. He feels Randy stiffen slightly in his hold.
“You-... we got the lavender scented shampoo…at the store yesterday?..Sorry.” Randy stumbles out his response. It irritates something in Benson.
“Wasn’ complainin’ about it, I like it.” Benson’s voice dropped, firm and heavy.
“Quit it with that apologizing bullshit, you didn’t do nothin’ wrong.” He says firmly, patting the back of Randy’s head. Randy nods quietly again.
Usually that was where the conversation ended.
Benson shifted an arm around him, settling back into the mattress like nothing about this required any attention. Randy stayed exactly where he was placed.
“Get some sleep, we got stuff to do tomorrow.” The only response is another small nod against his chest.
-
Benson woke bleary-eyed, 2:36am as noted he glanced at the clock. The room was dark and quiet, until choked whimpers cut through the silence. He looked down. Randy’s hands were gripped tight around his waist, his hips rock steadily along his thigh.
Something dark and satisfied curled in Benson’s chest. Nothing was quite as appealing as this. Randy, undone in his sleep, seeking relief from the same man he claimed to be so scared of. It was the peak of vulnerability. All for me, Benson thought. Can’t even touch himself without me.
Benson slid a hand up to gently entangle itself in Randy’s hair. A stark, tender contrast to the other hand clamping around his hip bone, guiding his movements and rocking him down harder. Randy’s mouth hung slightly agape, wet with saliva. Lashes fluttering as a low whine escapes him to join the others.
“That's it,” Benson cooed softly, praise slipping before he could stop it. “Good boy.”
Benson always knew he’d be sensitive, having him unconsciously getting himself off against Benson’s leg while he cried? A whole other level. He felt this shift in Randy’s hips, the sudden tension and dampness spreading across his own leg. Randy was close.
Benson chuckled, a low, rumbling sound in his chest. Dealing with the sheets in the morning would be a hassle, but it didn’t matter much anyway. Motels like this probably had a storage room just to keep extra sheets for people like them.
Then, Randy’s eyes fluttered open. Glassy, unfocused, filled with the haze of dream-sex.
Benson stilled his hand, lightly gripping Randy’s hair to pull his head back further. He watched the confusion cloud Randy’s face, before reality seemed to seep into his lagging headspace.
“It’s the middle of the night,” Benson whispers, voice rough with sleep. His hand goes back to gently petting Randy’s hair. “Go back to sleep.”
Randy stared up at him paralyzed. He didn’t move. He didn’t breathe. He just waited, trembling lightly again.
Benson smiled, slow and predatory. Moving his hands, before pressing his leg back up. A deliberate, grinding motion up against Randy.
Randy gasped, eyes flown wide before shutting again. His hands gripped Benson’s waist again with the tension they’d lost since he’d woken up. “What–?”
He keeps his eyes clenched shut, as if blinding himself could undo everything. His breath began to come out in short, jagged hitches.
“Sorry,” Randy choked out. “I’m– I didn’t mean to…I’ll move. I’ll sleep on the floor. I’m sorry, Benson– so sorry.”
He tried to scramble back, limbs tangling in the sheets as he tried to put distance between his shameful state and the man witnessing it. Benson didn’t let go, didn’t hold him more tightly either. His voice dropped to a register so soft you’d think he was talking to a scared animal. Maybe he was.
“Hey. Hey, no.” Benson murmured, brushing the hair back from Randy’s damp forehead. His hand caressed Randy’s jaw, gentle and nearly reverent. “Don’t be stupid, kid. You ain’t goin’ nowhere. Sure as shit ain’t gonna make you sleep on the floor.”
Randy stops attempting to scramble out of the bed. Chest heaving against Benson’s side. He opened his eyes warily, anticipating a blow that never came.
“You didn’t do anything wrong. We only apologize when we actually did something, remember?” Benson said. He wasn’t even quite sure what he was saying, that probably was something they talked about. It was getting Randy to calm down though, which was the main goal here.
God he looked pretty. So eager to please. So terrified of messing up. It was hard not to feel a little affectionate and proud. Benson was the one privy to all of this, who got to see this special version of Randy.
“You were dreaming. It’s natural. Bodies do what they do.” Benson adds.
Randy’s tension didn’t leave, but it shifted. The fear of punishment resided, but now was replaced by confusing, dizzying relief. Benson was being…nice? Benson was comforting him.
“I… I made a mess,” Randy’s voice trembled, quiet.
“So what?” Benson chuckled, soft and warm. He shifted his leg to deliberately press against the wet heat of Randy’s boxers. “It’s sweat, biology. Just means you’re healthy, Randy. That’s good, I like knowing you’re healthy.”
Benson held his gaze as he saw the conflict in those eyes. The shame warring with the desperate need to believe he didn’t deserve punishment. Benson leans in and presses a kiss to his temple. Tender. Devotional.
“Relax,” Benson whispered against his skin. “Let me help you.”
Randy let out a shuddering breath. His hands slowly curl into the fabric of Benson’s shirt. No more fighting, or shrinking into himself. Just a light melting into Benson’s hold and the mattress.
“That’s it,” Benson praised, hand sliding back down to rest right back on Randy’s hip. Fingers splaying wide and possessive. “See? Easy. Just let go. You’re doing so good, Randy. So fucking good for me.”
The praise hit Randy just as hard as any of the punches he’d received. His hips gave an unintentional jerk against Benson’s leg, seeking the friction that had been there before the panic engulfed him.
Benson felt the movement, that final little inch of surrender. He felt that dark desire creep back up, something reserved for Randy alone it seemed.
The tenderness didn’t vanish, but it curdled. The warmth in his words stayed, but the edge to them returned. Slick and condescending.
“Look at you,” Benson murmured, his thumb digging into the soft meat of Randy’s hip. “So easy. One minute you’re crying about makin’ a mess, and the next you’re grinding on my leg like a desperate mutt. You just can’t help yourself, can you?”
Randy winced, but didn’t pull away. He wasn’t allowed to. The insult landed just fine, it burned his face with humiliation– wrapped in the same hand that was holding him. And worse, what was being said was true.
Randy goes to speak before he’s cut off.
“Don’t talk. Just feel. You’re so sensitive, Randy. It’s pathetic really. How much you need this. How much you need me to tell you it’s okay to feel good. This isn’t the first time I’ve caught you humping my leg like a puppy.”
He increased the pressure of his leg, grinding slow and deliberate against Randy’s erection. He looked up just in time to see Randy’s head fall back into the pillow, eyes rolling shut. A high pitched whimper escaping him, high and broken.
“There you go…” Benson cooed once more. More demand than comfort in his voice now. “Such a slut for it. Can’t even keep your hands to yourself. Just have to rub yourself against me til you’re dripping, don’t you?” he asks, despite knowing he wouldn’t get a response to that question.
Randy’s face burned, tears pricking at his eyes, but his hips moved in time with Benson’s leg. He hated the words. He hated the shame. But the shame was all the same as the pleasure now, inextricably linked.
“Please,” Randy whimpered, though he wasn’t sure what he was asking for.
“Please what?” Benson asked, voice dripping with mock sweetness. “Please stop? Or please keep going? Make up your mind puppy.”
He leaned down, nipping at the shell of Randy’s ear, hard enough to spark some pain.
“I think you want me to keep going. I think you love being reminded of what you are. My little mess, my problem.” Benson snickers cruelly. “You’re a lucky boy, I’m the only one who knows how to fix you, hm?”
He speaks softly before sliding his hand down Randy’s stomach. Fingers inching past his boxer band. Slow enough to give him time to retort. Not that he ever would.
They slipped beneath the elastic band of Randy’s boxers quickly after, cool against the fever-hot skin of Randy’s lower stomach. Randy flinched, an involuntary jerk of his hips once more. He didn’t pull away. He couldn’t.
“Shh,” Benson hushed him, the sound vibrating against Randy’s ear. “Don’t tense up. You’ll ruin it for yourself.”
Randy forced his muscles to go limp. A difficult, agonizing task when every nerve ending was screaming with anticipation and shame. He tried to stare off, at the back wall with the painting, or at the water damaged ceiling above. Benson wouldn’t let him detach though.
“That’s better,” Benson murmured. His hand wrapping around Randy’s erection. The movement was wet, making slick noises on each slide of his hand. Benson’s grip was firm and possessive, stroking with a slow, deliberate, entirely controlling rhythm.
Randy gasped, his head turning into the pillow. “Benson–...”
Benson gripped his jaw and made him watch.
He leaned in and kissed Randy’s cheek of the salty tears flowing down them. “I’m the only one who sees you. I know what you need. Everyone else just wants to break you– not me though. Never me, Randy.”
It was a lie. A beautiful, terrifying lie. Randy wanted to believe it so badly it ached. He nodded instead, a jerky, desperate motion, his hips bucking into that tight grip despite himself.
“Good,” Benson whispered with a smile. “Take it. Take what you need.”
He increased the pace, just slightly. Enough to push Randy over the edge, but not enough to let him lose control completely. Benson wanted to watch the exact moment Randy’s mind went blank, leaving only the raw, animalistic need behind it.
Randy’s breathing quickly turned into ragged sobs. His hands clawed at Benson’s arms and shirt, not to push but to anchor himself. “I’m– Benson–...” he whined.
“Do it,” Benson grinned wider. “Cum for me. Show me how good I am to you.”
The command is what throws Randy over the edge. He cried out, a broken, muffled sound against Benson’s shoulder. His body convulsed before he spilled over Benson’s hand, shaking with the force of it.
Benson never let go. His hand kept there, letting Randy buck and ride out the aftershocks. He watched Randy’s face soften, the tension draining out of his jaw, eyes fluttering shut. He looked… peaceful.
“There you go, all better now hm?” Benson hummed. He turned and pulled the box of tissues off the nightstand. He cleaned Randy up with careful strokes, methodical. Pulling his boxers off and tossing them somewhere to be dealt with eventually.
Randy watched him, dazed, his breathing still hitching. “Benson…–”
“Don’t talk,” Benson said quickly, but his voice remained gentle. He tossed the tissues somewhere too. Likely missing the trashcan. Then, he pulled the duvet up over them. Tucking it around Randy’s shoulders and smoothing out the wrinkles.
“You did good,” Benson said, gently caressing Randy’s hair once more. “You let me take care of you. That’s all I want. Just let me take care of you okay?”
Randy’s eyes fill with tears again before he gives a small nod in return. Being cared for by someone who scared him so much sometimes was… confusing. He didn’t know how to process it.
“I–... thank you,” Randy whispered.
Benson smiled, a genuine, soft smile that reached his eyes. He pulled Randy closer, wrapping his arms around him, holding him tight to his chest. Randy rested his head on Benson’s shoulder a little hesitantly before relaxing.
“Sleep,” Benson whispered into the darkness. “We got a long drive tomorrow.”