𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘳 1983 — 𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘖𝘯𝘦

┆ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ °

As handsome as this asshole of a man was, it was a little known fact that Ben, more widely known as Soldier Boy, Hero of Heroes, The Eagles Nest, Omaha Beach boy was utterly and irrefutably so, disgusting.

And he snored.

Amongst many other things.

The morning looked glorious, a corker of a day made for frolicking and such, gold blazes of the SoCal summer bleeding through even the blackouts as the clock read 6:00am.

And the house smelt like French toast and fresh brewed coffee.

There was probably a thousand women waking up all around the world that peeled back their sticky lids and imagined the lump on the other side of their bed was him.

Momma would' a killed me for bringing home a man like this, y'know, if she hadn't been dead for fifty years already, I was supposed to marry a medium ranking Bolshevik, or some jacked baldhead dude that liked getting stepped on and didn't mind not being the main breadwinner.

"Ben." I smothered the pillow harder over my head, cracking open both eyes to glare at the entirely naked beast that inhabited the Californian King sized, tutting in sleepless disappointment. "I fuckin' say, this is untenable it can't carry on."

Ass out, face down, letting rip like a buffalo with a sore throat, he waved his hand like shooing an invisible fly. "Shhllll, go shleep, thoo f'kn eerli."

"I'm tryin'." A firm spank to the rippling derriere only made it clench, the sound like a forcefully shut microwave door. "The entire bed's shakin' like we've been hit by a small magnitude earthquake, suck a Altoid, damn, all night long."

"Cooze stole my Reece's pieces." Ben stirred, the snore becoming an obnoxious mi mi mi as he played an old fuck in low power mode perfectly.

Yeah, most broads thought he was a creature of pantie twisting majesty that didn't smell like the late night diner tucked into the Hollywood hills and who definitely didn't bite his toenails. "Benjamin!"

The snore turned into a blatant honk as he rubbed his nose and turned over, the enormous dick slapping on a horrendously muscular thigh making me feel as if I wanted to pass the fuck away. "Where's the sock I bought you? I've explained this, Martina is religious, we don't wanna get slapped with a lawsuit."

He didn't give a shit, grumbling mindlessly, when chico slept he really went hard. "Shllupp."

"No. You shut up." And yes, some dormant part of me itched as I was reminded I was stuffed into tight confines with the most handsome man most people had ever seen, soft cock just...begging to be manhandled, stroked and licked and generally toyed with, and I liked that split second of sleepful confusion when he was woken to a supernaturally warm hand teasing down cut, swelling length, but I was making him suffer sexlessness for an entire month because of something he did...which I'd forgot what it was. "Always showin' off. I get it, buns so tight they could sustain mini nuclear reactions."

Look who was so fancy, with mussed, dark hair feathering flickering lids. You wouldn't think he was a douche when he was like this.

And I really wanted to reach out and gently stroke that trimmed line of snail trail, but no, in this household, we fucked like men.

This was just out of hand.

"BEN!" Goose feather thumped against his nose.

"Wha...oh, fucks sake, was that necessary?" Like it was me who was unreasonable he kicked down the duvet barely covering his feet. "Did you spank me before? You know how I feel about ass play, it's a hard fuckin' no."

Immaculately toned and tight muscles shuddering in his morning stretch, he threw his arms behind his head. "I might snore, but you punched me, three times."

"That's how long you've been snoring." I threw myself onto a non numb side, facing away from the cow long lashes that looked infuriatingly endearing.

"You're gonna have to wear gloves," and a sly, conniving finger tickled the squirmy spot on my neck before, oh, no, a long frame bodily shimmied across the space to grab. "I gotta wear protection with my own wife, God fucking damn, it's a tragedy."

See, this is how big your ego gets when you have seventeen stalkers in any given week.

"Come here, woman." Arms inescapable locked around me, lifting me like my weight was feather to faceplant on his rigidly defined chest, tits spilling from my gown, nip launching into his chest hair.

Aw, sis, sometimes I felt a mole rat in comparison.

"Oh, your peens squashed against my leg," yeah, it was an accusing tone, my expression dry.

Still half asleep he trapped me down, thumb absently stroking circles on my general lumbar region as he rubbed his face into my shoulder. "Peen? I thought you liked it when my peen was out."

His cunning little smile stretched against my skin. "Peen, you try a balanced diet and suddenly you're a nun. You used to be a sexual tyrannosaurus what happened?"

"No, I only like your peen out in very special circumstances." Dumb Adonis motherfucker, all cute and seductive with his full, masculine features. He made me feel embarrassed to order ice cream. "Wrap that up, you always get weird, you're not winnin' any hygiene ratiahh—."

"Quit naggin' me you grouchy old hag." The spank was returned with a force that would break a classic flavour human, springs protesting as we bobbed on the mattress. "Ah, chhht, one word and it's gonna be peen in your mouth, throat bulge peen, peen for breakfast, lunch and dinner, you'll gobble that shit Turkey style."

Oh, whatever.

It would be so easy to doze like this, fitted together like puzzle pieces, covered in a sheen of sweat with neither of us admitting it was just a touch too warm.

But as usual, he had other plans.

Manhandling me just enough to slip his hand past my ass, lifting, he pinched the silk of my nightgown, fingering through the meat of my thighs to swatch a digit through folds. "Bald as the dome of a Tibetan Monk, you know I like a little bush."

Plump lips revealed sparkling teeth as he laughed, not at all put off by the bird I flipped in his face.

"I swear," squirming did nothing to help, "I will burn your fingers, then you can explain to your general practitioner that super heated pussy burnt your prints off."

A hand cupped the back of my head, scratchy beard prickling as he pecked at my pulse point. "Don't, baby, it'll just ruin the flavour, it'd taste like that burrito you made last night, no spice, no flavour."

"Speakin' of bush, you need to shave that brillo pad on your face, I'm gonna get rosacea." Fuck, now he was sucking my earlobe. "Eczema."

"Eczema my ass." Muscular thighs trapped mine, hands freely plundering. "Even your lemon chicken isn't very lemony these days, you're slippin', honey."

I thought he really ought to know I wasn't impressed.

Ben threw his head back on the pillow, pinching my nose with knuckles. "The fuck was that stink eye, you look like you're about to give me the flu. Come on, you're supposed to be removin' that sexy blue slip and dancing slowly for me."

And like she did everyday when we was home, the godsend Martina began her walk up the corridor, announcing herself with a compulsive cough, which I couldn't blame her for considering the last position she found us in.

We hadn't hired Martina, I cooked and cleaned, hell, I enjoyed the routine, but help had been insisted, ah, y'know keep an eye on the Russian, Vought's little spy in the fold, my Daddy was Cheka, Soviet Secret Police, it'd take more than that.

Inconvenienced, Ben didn't complain too much when I pried away, covering up his shameless nudity.

"Morning, Miss Ghost." The middle aged woman with hair dark as ravens feathers and eyes blue as robins eggs politely tiptoed in, not making eye contact with the male resident, carrying a well fixed plate of all the finest American breakfast food you could think of, laying it on the night stand.

"Mister Edgar rang," she informed us at a safe distance, fifteen feet away on the Persian rug.

Half a mug of coffee already drained, waffle in hand, Ben's hungry gaze narrowed, pleasant mood turning already. "Edgar? What he say?"

I stuffed in some bacon, just in case I screamed. One week uninterrupted, one week, that's all we'd asked for after six months of hard core capitalism.

Martina shuffled her weight, shrugging slightly. "He wouldn't say."

Swallowing, I pinched the back of his hand under the sheet. "It's okay, sweetheart, thank you."

Martina, dismissed, rushed out.

Okay, if he didn't mention it within five seconds it was cherry.

He wanted to rage, I could feel it, chowing a full waffle, tension crackling, tasteable, was he gonna gnaw a wall? But I'd begged him to cool that shitty, terrible temper.

He'd been disgusting lately, a cruel bully.

And five seconds elapsed with me holding my breath before he popped a gentle fist under my chin, "ah, ignore the stupid bastard," pulled back the sheets and strut bareback towards the bathroom.

That fucking ass, the only reason I stuck around. I was gonna have it one day.

Smirking, so full of himself he could be a fucking cannibal, he whipped around to catch me peeping. "That's okay, baby, you can look, but touchin', ahhhh," he winked, "now that's gonna cost ya."

"Oh, yeah." I smushed the comforter over half my face so he couldn't see I found him remotely funny. "What's your price?"

He scratched fingers through his beard, swiping at the corners of his mouth.

Oh, the mouth swipe, it infuriated me, cocky, brash, braze, fucking diabolical, the ultimate insult, because it was exactly what he'd do to me, while I was there on my hands and knees, or on my belly between his thighs, or upside down with my legs draped over his shoulders—and once in The Legends office while The Legend was being nailed by Brando in what was now a woman called Paulina's office—anyway, jeez,

yeah, it's what he'd do to me when he'd painted the inside of my mouth cream white and the hottest ropes of what he could give me dribbled down from the sides, just after I'd swallow, he'd do it, calling me a good girl.

I grit my teeth, hand reaching forth to spitefully grab the last sausage.

"That's easy." Benjamin watched the perfectly and purposefully burnt meat slip end first into my mouth, swishing his hair back to show off a bicep. "Early mornin' blow job with a little sac attack and I might just let you kiss it."

"Fuck off Soldier Boy." I chewed, OJ following.

"Your loss." And he was unphased, jiggling into the bathroom, peeing like a stallion, so comfortable he hadn't shut the door since 47', doing some weird man shit and aiming the flow at an innocent bug already in a bad situation.

Good, Benji was distracted.

I was an agent of subterfuge, hey, I might' a still been working for my Motherland for all anyone knew, but fishing for the little pills I had to take at the same every day was an entire task. Pretty sure once or twice he'd hidden them.

Holding juice in my mouth, popping one little tablet free, dropping it inside and swallowing it down was an act he loathed. And it went beyond his misogynistic ass attitude.

Flushing, thankfully, I knew he was watching me, mumbling to himself, lumbering back over like big foot.

It was time to get out of bed, and as he threw himself back down I used the momentum to stand, uh, pretending to explore the multitude of beauty products to shower with.

"An." He growled in the voice, serious enough he tried to make aggressive eye contact. "Anya."

"Hm?" Tee Tree, Lavender and Chamomile cleanser, huh, didn't know I had that. Wow it was fascinating all of a sudden.

"Stop taking those." It didn't sound like a request. "It's not healthy, they fuck up your hormones, send broads loco, you're suppose to...ovulate or whatever it's called," he cleared his throat, squeamish, "I've read about it."

"Read about it, in what? A penthouse?" He wasn't exactly into The American Journal. "I use 'em 'cause you refuse to wear a condom, or pull out."

"You're my wife!" He slammed the empty cup down harder than he meant to, the handle coming clean off. "The fuck would I wear a condom for? Do you hear yourself, that's fuckin' insane, since when did you turn into a whining modern bitch that moaned about AgEnCy and BODILY aUtOnOMy, it's Unamerican, Christ, this new generation are gonna be fat, soppy pussies with all that shit in the water supply."

Ben stropped, picking at a fingernail while I watched with quiet impatience. "You're wombs gonna look like meatball marinade with all that impure shit you're pumpin' into your blood stream. Fuck, you're gonna have dames growin' chest hair and pissin' up lampposts, next thing you know it's the men who're nurses."

"Impure? Poison?" Ah, should I mention a little thing called HIS DRUG COLLECTION? Yes, his coke was 99.9% uncut Colombian, but still, pot, kettle, hello? I could not enlighten this fiend.

And he took it out on a pillow, fluffing it up before flopping down to spark a smoke, oh the irony. "That's what I said, doll, and you know I'm right, it's not natural, give it five years and it'll be proved to've caused more cancers than..."

If he said me I was gonna wait until he fell asleep and shave his hair off..."well, it'll be the new Thalidomide. When're you gonna start settlin' down?"

Motherfucker was coasting close to the cliffs. And the only thing unnatural would be the radioactive bomb woman, who also happened to be in her sixties, to have a fucking baby.

Ew, no, no, no. He'd expect me to sit at home, bows in my hair, keeping house and suckling little Timmy or whatever, only leaving the walls for him to show off, a cake baking broad cum broodmare.

I'd decided, since it was a special day, on cinnamon and peach pit scrub, along with a lustrous, equally appetizing sounding shampoo, not that it would matter since I had to wear a wig outside, lest we get mobbed. Bright yellow hair that glowed in the dark was hardly inconspicuous.

Arms full, dusting curls from my shoulders, I did the dramatic lady walk towards the shower. "Settling down? I am settled. You've never seen me as settled. Please."

Mid strut I stopped, tits shivering, hyper aware of my ass that had just started to droop, accidentally kicking last nights cereal bowl which I had no idea how it got there. "If you wanted settled you should' a stuck with Rita Hayworth."

"Everything I've ever done has been for you, Anya."

Fuck, I dropped my shit, flustered. He'd never once called me Ghost.

And another thing no one knew, was even though he could string the gnarliest of profanity ridden sentences together that could make every twat within a thousand miles loose all moisture and shrink up to bellybuttons, when he was hurt, his green eyes would turn huge as ripe apples hanging from a tree, wet as a frosty morning.

It made me feel like a cold ass emotionally barren bitch while I peeked over my shoulder.

"Do you always have to be such a bitch?" He sat on the edge of the bed, fluffy comforter we'd had for thirty years protecting his modesty, "I know I've fucked up." And eyes kissed with golden sunlight cast down to the floor, lip quivering, "I know I've...I'm...that sometimes I can be a dick."

Get behind me, Satan, wrapping it around his waist, the trails of it dragging on the floor, he came for me, palm cupping my cheek, thumb stroking the peach, "fuck, the older I get the less I'm sure of everythin', and I see this world changin', and not for the better."

You wouldn't think his hands were rough, but they were while one skated down my arm, squeezing it gently, a 'come back to bed and let me love you hold' that made me regret being so immune to delicate acts of affection, "but the one thing I'm certain of, is I love you. Always have. Always will, I knew it soon as I saw you in that lunch line with a frown and irrational hatred of everyone."

Dirty tactic, a dirty tactic straight from the department of dirty tricks, he smiled warm, tilting his head, chewing something invisible, entirely dreamy, "eeeeeven when you're a hell cunt on literal fire, you know you'll always be safe, have whatever you want, just tell me and I'd do it for you."

Yheap, he'd planned this, the forehead kiss was actually hot, and I felt like a jack—in—the—box with how wobbly I'd gone. Even after all this time, he still ruined my knees.

"So, please, An." Damn fucking putty as he stroked fingers over my own, voice so luring and sweet. "Let's just try. Give me a chance to do better than the old man."

Tsk, fuck.

      "Oh, honey, before you get in the shower, would you mind gettin' me a cold one from the fridge?"