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Randy can barely see between the glaze over his eyes and the smoke sitting in the air of Benson's room. He's practically useless, reclined against Benson's headboard as he watches the older man stub out the joint in an ashtray on the nightstand. All too familiar.
They've done this together before, often ending up in Benson's room after a shift when Randy can't stand to go home and face his mother. Her constant nagging and worrying. She's gotten worse lately, ever since she found out about Benson. He's too old. He only wants one thing. He'll hurt you.
She just didn't understand.
Randy smiles easily when Benson sits back down next to him, shifting so he's against the headboard and Randy is resting on his chest. A large hand slings over his shoulders to press tightly against Randy's throat, gently tilting his jaw up to look up at Benson.
"What's up, pretty boy?" Benson rumbles, making Randy giggle softly. "You bring your shit?"
For a moment Randy just stares up at him, slowly processing the words. Finally he nods slightly, still smiling giddily. He always got like this when they smoked. Gesturing over to his backpack, Randy moves to sit up.
"I got it, baby." Benson protests, hand tightening slightly on Randy's neck.
Randy gasps softy, moving willingly where Benson directs, allowing Benson to slide out from behind him before leaning back to relax against the headboard again. He lets his eyes slip shut, allowing the heady feeling of blood rushing back to his head to slip him further under the haze blanketing his mind. Distantly Randy can hear Benson rummaging around, taking Randy's kit out of his bag and setting it on the bed. It feels as if he's disconnected from his body, every sensation like it's coming at him as slow as possible. Randy can barely think but it feels so good.
Benson's hand slides up his thigh and he groans softly, cracking his eyes open to watch Benson kneel on the bed in front of him. There's a sharp grin on Benson's face, like a predator cornering something it caught, trying to figure out how exactly to kill it. He kind of is exactly that, Randy guesses. Strong and dirty and intimidating. All brute force and meanness compared to Randy's timid doe-like demeanor. There was no denying how intoxicating it was, especially with Benson all up in his space like this. Pinning Randy to the bed with just his gaze.
"Damn. You even here, kid?" Benson drawls, reaching forward to pat Randy's cheek firmly.
All Randy can do is hum in reply, his tongue a dead weight in his mouth. He couldn't form a single word if he tried. Benson grins wider, sitting back on his haunches and looking Randy up and down. It's almost unfair, how coherent Benson is. They had smoked the same amount and yet Benson can function just as well as he always does while Randy can barely even think for himself, laid back and spread out. Helpless.
"That's good, baby. That's what we want." Benson purrs, hands slipping to rest on Randy's hips, slowly caressing the skin before moving to the waist of Randy's jeans and slowly beginning to unbutton them. "You just lay back and relax. I'll take care of everything."
Randy moans softly, eyes flickering down to watch Benson undo his pants as slow as possible, teasing Randy with every movement. Benson pulls the fabric down slowly, easing the jeans down Randy's legs until they're bunched up at his ankles, the older man not bothering to take them off all the way. Instead he directs his attention to Randy's boxers, licking his lips as his eyes lock onto the material. Randy shudders at the sight of Benson's predatory gaze, letting his head fall back and smack against the wall as his eyes flutter shut tiredly.
Suddenly Benson is tugging his down by the hips, pulling a yelp from Randy as he's forced to lay flat on the bed. Benson flips Randy over easily, pressing him down face first into the sheets and just holding him there. His hands sit on Randy's waist unmoving, pressing into soft and unmarred skin. It feels like he's caught in a trap. Leg caught in a snare as he awaits the hunter that caught him and the violent death that'll be brought upon him.
Benson hums contentedly, gripping the waistband of Randy's boxers and pulling them down as well, shimmying them down thin legs until they rest around Randy's ankles along with his pants. Hands brush up Randy's legs and he squeaks when Benson grips his ass, callouses pressing into the skin. Randy presses his face into the sheets shamefully, mouth dropping open in shock as his face flushes red. God, he's probably drooling all over Benson's pillow.
Benson seems content to just grope Randy, massaging the flesh roughly and relishing in each sound Randy lets slip despite how hard he tries to muffle them.
Finally, Benson pulls away. Randy relaxes when he does, melting into the bed. It's perfect, he's surrounded completely by Benson. His scent, his touch. Everything. It's enough for Randy to forget why he even came here, why Benson even got him high in the first place. He yelps when, in quick succession, Benson grips the skin of the top of his glute and sinks the needle in, injecting the testosterone Randy had been too afraid to do himself.
Randy doesn't know how he'll be able to walk past Benson's Ma and out the door with all the noises Benson forces out of him. There's no doubt she's heard everything with how thin the walls are.
He lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding, burrowing into the bed as Benson pulls the needle out. Randy whines when Benson gets off of the bed to dispose of the needle, not wanting the man to leave him alone. He doesn't even realize he's shaking until Benson is back on the bed, on top of Randy and crushing him with his weight, a hand squeezing the scruff of his neck like a bratty animal. He knows Benson's talking to him but he can't make anything out, his own pitiful little mewls drowning out everything else.
"Calm the fuck down, Randy." Are the words that finally sink in, growled into his ear as Benson grips his too long hair and tugs at it sharply.
Randy gasps deeply, resetting his breathing and finally snapping out of it. His eyes flutter open and he turns so he's not face first in the pillow, looking up at Benson reverently and finding the man looking at him the same way.
"Thank you." Randy murmurs meekly, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes as that predatory grin appears on Benson's face again.
"Don't sweat it, kid." Benson murmurs back, pressing his lips to Randy's temple possessively. "Real handsome, ain't ya?"
Randy smiles softly, laughing wetly. He feels stupid for crying, knows Benson thinks he's stupid for crying. But it feels good, like a release. He curls up under Benson's weight, pressing his head back into Benson's hand to get him to keep petting Randy. Benson stays still for a moment, hand steadily tightening in Randy's hair before carding through the too long locks, pushing the strands out of his face.
"This 's what we're doing next."