Rating: Hard R or NC-17
Summary: He is not their kinsman, though he might as well be one.
Disclaimer: I do not own Romeo and Juliet, nor do I own the characters. I merely like to play around with them.
His friend, his kinsman, is unaware of what goes on behind closed doors, what goes on when the candle light has all but waned and the room thrown into utter darkness. He is unaware of what they do when he has gone off, cavorting with yet another lady, gone to see another, one after the other. They tease him, they laugh at him, they sympathize with him, and yet they never partake of what he is always after.
For they have each other in the end, do they not? Benvolio, is the most benevolent of them, for his name explains his personality well, though he has never thought about it too much. He has always been the thinker in the group, while Romeo is the dreamer.
So what of him? What of him, the one with laughter in his voice, a teasing note in his words, the one to make innuendos that he seems to always, always follow through with? Benvolio had never thought once the first time Mercutio propositioned him, thinking it another joke, another trick that was to be played on an unsuspecting victim.
Mercutio. Like his namesake, the god of Mercury, he was always this way and that, up and down, never in one place at once. And Benvolio would not have it any other way, if he cared to think about it, which he never did. No, he never wanted to dwell his thoughts on what went on when they were alone together, never wanted to think about what Mercutio was to him. He was a friend, not a kinsman, though he might as well be. No, he was a kinsman of the Prince, and that was enough to make him just a bit fearful.
For as he traced the patterns of where his buckles of his shirt had been with his tongue, he did not know what to think. He did not want to think, just feel, as he always did with Mercutio, with his strong hands, calloused from handling a sword touching his shoulder blades gently. It was odd; this feeling of gentleness, from a man with a fiery temper and a quicksilver tongue, but Benvolio should not have been surprised. Back and forth, up and down, side to side, ever changing his mind; that was Mercutio. If he was to be shoved roughly onto the rough sheets, he would not have been surprised then either.
He was so unlike Benvolio that it was a wonder they were together, here, now, as the candle flickered and showed the two bodies in the darkness of the night, with Romeo gone out to seek yet another lady to proclaim his love to, while his friends proclaimed their love to each other. There was rarely any talking, as each time Benvolio opened his mouth to say something, as was custom for him to do, Mercutio was quick as a sword to cover it with his own.
Mouths clashed in the night, hands un-strapped scabbards and swords to let them fall, clashing to the ground. Warm hands, heated from passion in the cool night, would slide under tunics, touching even warmer skin, letting them go over scars, raised bumps under their fingers. Scars from swords, from knives, bruises from clubs, from bats, from whatever could be used to hurt another. And each and every hurt kissed away as the tunics were tossed to the side, Benvolio's hands sliding up Mercutio's back so that their chests pressed together in the darkness, as their mouths sought out and found each other once more.
While this seemed to be like all of their couplings, nothing different about it, Benvolio could sense something about it that was off, was different. He could sense that perhaps this was not the same as before; perhaps this was the last one they would have. He could not explain this feeling, but a chill went up his spine as he thought about it, and Mercutio, with eyes blazing as if with coals in the deep pits, touched his shoulder gently in question.
"Is thy mind troubled tonight, dear friend?" he asked, leaning in close.
"Just with thoughts as of late," Benvolio responded, a shake of his head enough to bring a sardonic smirk to Mercutio's face.
"Tell me, do thou need a simple reminder of-" he was cut off by the kiss Benvolio gave him, if just to silence him. He did not need another speech, though Mercutio would be glad to give one. The one kiss soon turned into two, then three, then too many to count as one simply melted into another and finally, all clothing was off, boots left by the bed.
Benvolio pulled his head away to gasp for air, as he was pushed to the bed with a smile from his friend, a long lean body pressed against his own. It made him gasp, and a hand smothered his mouth for a moment as the candle finally went out, the only light in the room coming from the moon that shone through the slightly cracked window in the room.
He closed his eyes as Mercutio began the ever slow grind against their bodies, his arm by the side of his head, the other reaching down between their bodies, doing things enough to make Benvolio moan low in his throat and wrap his hands around his neck. He pulled him in close for another kiss, their mouths pressed tight together as tongues and teeth began a battle for dominance, even if it was clear who was in charge at the moment.
Benvolio came first, Mercutio's name on his lips as he moaned and held on tightly, feeling the scrape of stubble on his cheek as the other man turned his head and breathed into his neck, panting hard before he too finally came with a cry. Benvolio could only lay there in silence, panting softly from exertion as he felt himself, sticky and covered with fluids and sweat, and the thought that it was Mercutio's was enough to make him moan again, softly, but enough for the one he was lying under to look at him in question, and give a little smirk.
"Is thou mind at ease, Benvolio?" he asked, dipping down so their forehead's touched and he could see the darkness of his eyes, while Mercutio could see the brightness of his.
"Yes, thy mind is at ease," Benvolio responded with a soft smile, any thoughts of the last time banished from his mind, in the wake of just being there with him, smelling his scent, feeling him in his arms.
All seemed right at the moment, even if it was all wrong.
Help me into some house, Benvolio,
Or I shall faint. A plague o' both your houses!
They have made worms' meat of me: I have it,
And soundly too: your houses!