Alone in his bed-room, Alexander finally allows himself to fantasise about Benjamin. He closes his eyes and imagines them kissing. Benjamin tolerating his touch, even enjoying it. Holding Benjamin in his arms, caressing him, kissing him; Benjamin clinging to him, responding to his kiss.
One drink later there’s a flash of an image that Alexander pushes away in shock—Benjamin on his knees, looking up at him—no. No!
Two more drinks and Alexander surrenders. His hand wanders between his thighs and his head falls back. So good. Benjamin’s lips wrap around his cock, his clever tongue teases him. Fuck. The little shit. Alexander speeds up his pace. He’s so close. The moment he comes there’s an image in his head of Benjamin letting go, willing, shameless, and gloriously dishevelled.
A few breaths later Alexander feels sick. He bites his lip, fighting tears. What the hell is wrong with him? Using the kid like this… he doesn’t know, it doesn’t hurt him, he tries to tell himself, it’s just a fantasy—but he knows that’s not true. It changes the way Alexander sees him, and it makes him a bad therapist for Benjamin. This has to stop. He’s going to get the kid out of his head.