Passion in the Drum Room

Chapter 2 - Bitter Relief

The door slam trembled the arm hairs on Mary. Ben walked through the empty corridor, deflecting from Mary's gaze and setting down his equipment. The dim, cold lighting kept the mood stern.

The snappy chops ensued and Mary took a moment to ask, "how was work, babe?"

Ben kept his head down, pulling out one of the chairs. "It was good." He smiled, pulling out his laptop.

"Hey, dinner is almost done." She smiled up at him. "Mind moving your stuff?" Ben sighed, obliging. She questioned him and Ben noticed the stare he received from the view behind the counter.

"Just some music tasks," he replied to the silent question.

She set down bowls full of colours and extreme flavour. Ben shoved his fork down through the layers of lettuce. He let in a breath as he engulfed the content entirely.

"Hungry?" Mary asked.

Ben gulped, answering back, "that's what hard work does to you." He paused for a quick moment. "You know, my song you didn't want to hear." Mary seemed unrepliant. Ben's passion was fiery, music was a reliever. Mary was also a reliever, but what differentiated her and it was one was physical and the other was spiritual. She wasn't enough, nor was the guitar.

Mary slammed down her spoon. "Are you really going to bring that up again?" She sighed. "Just leave it, Ben."

He swung his bag over his shoulders as he pushed the chair up to the table.

"Ben!"

Approaching the front door he whispered, "I knew I shouldn't have come back." She listened to his words as his body escaped from her grasp.

. . .

With the flicker of street lights, a wooden bench surrounded by a dark lonely park illuminated. His sore body laid flat on the bench. Dozing off into the cycle of sleep he was. Hard to, but he managed. The occasional fly buzz and mozzie bite attempted to shoo him away, but he managed. The hard surface his bare head used for support scratched and scratched but he managed. He managed. Another buzz came, but it wasn't a fly, or the flickers, it was the best of both worlds—"Mr. Green?" a figure looming over Ben whispered.

A half-eye opened Ben twitched. "Is that you, sir?" it asked again. Ben let out a groan, further turning to the opposite side. The figure shook him.

"G-Get off me," he groaned. The figure continued.

"It's just me, come on."

The voice conflicted Ben as he widened his eyes to concentrate his focus. "Huh—Morrison?" The figure in all darkness nodded. Ben sat up from his position. "What are you..." He grunted. "What are you doing here? It's not safe here."

"Is that why you're sleeping out here?" Morrison chuckled, taking a seat on the bench. Morrison took a second to gaze out at the stars while Ben took that second to gaze at him.

"Why are you here?" Morrison shifted his head. He smiled at Ben.

Leaning over the dazed man, Morrison said softly, "you got something on your head."

Picking out the leaf, Ben's knee collided with his and caused Morrison to fall right on Ben's body. Morrison whined, "ah..." He lifted Morrison's arm to reveal a scratch from the wooden bench. Ben turned his focus from the wound to the stare of the one in front of him. "That was harsh..." he said as he winced his eyes.

"My apologies," Ben whispered. Feeling the pressure of Morrison on his body, Ben felt something thicken, and it wasn't the air. Morrison let the leaf fall flat to the floor. "It's not safe here, Morrison."

"I'm not scared of strangers," he whispered back to Ben.

"I'm no stranger." Ben took his jacket and slipped Morrison's arms inside in, taking a swift scent of Morrison. He let out a breath and he retracted from Morrison's side. With all the strength he could, he left the craved Morrison.

. . .

With a sharp flick of the wrist, the door to Ben's apartment flew open. He threw his bag to the floor and navigated towards the bedroom.

"Take it off."

Mary turned on the lamp, revealing Ben Green. "Ben...?"

"I said take it off," he demanded, throwing his own shirt to the floor and pouncing onto her. Mary's heartbeat raised with every second, pounding out her own shirt.

Ben looked into her baby blues before diving into her neck. She rejected at first, but with the sound of relief she submitted. Letting Ben travel his hand down her body, she shivered. The feeling she once had early in their relationship blossomed again.

"What's the meaning of this?" she giggled. "Don't think I'll let you forget what happened earlier, silly." He slammed his free hand on the bed sheet.

"Stop talking," he demanded again. He embraced her, but she wasn't his relief, merely just the vessel to do it through. Memories fueled him, passion enlightened him—his thrust pushed through her pulsing entrance. She explored his body with her, but he denied her. Taking off her shorts and underwear, he began getting to work. All he could think about was his passion. In his mind he replaced her with him. He finished inside with the rain outside pounding down on the glass. "M..." he moaned, stopping himself from moaning the whole name. Mary felt delighted, giggling at his work.

"Ben, this is amazing," she said. Ben paused. He realized reality. Getting dressed, he fled. "Babe! Where are you going?" Mary shouted, looking for an answer in him. He ran through the droplets—the rain soaked him whole. Searching for him, he shouted. Checking the places near and the places near those. He searched for a few minutes. In those minutes he found desperation, a need for lust. His heart was not with Mary, but he who gave his passion love and devotion. He felt utter endearment for this boy. Not a boy, a grown mind on the inside—grown enough to understand the complexities and values of music. Ben's passion. He knew the way to find this was to follow the melody. Running where no one is found in a town alone. He ran, and ran. He searched, and searched. The one place he forgot.

"Morrison? Morrison!" The silence made itself clear. "Morrison!" he yelled out again. Walking past the bench, he saw him. Sleeping. He shook him awake. Morrison, still sleeping, Ben dived in. His lips collided in a rhythm with the Morrison. Morrison started to wake. He didn't refuse at the sight of Ben, instead he joined. Ben kept his surprisement on the low, riding on top. Their bodies flowed in sync with each other. Morrison moaned. Ben heard and couldn't help but take the chance to slip his tongue in. Feeling around, their tongues danced to the sweetest melody. Saliva kept their lips attached as Ben retracted his face a couple inches away, panting heavily.

Ben roared. "You're mine. Let my music in," he said, going in for a less soft approach.