It was pitch black when Benny woke up. He lay absolutely still for a couple of seconds, fighting a losing battle against nausea as he tried to figure out where the hell he was. The only thing he was really sure of at the moment was that throwing up in a strange bed would not a good thing. He dizzily shoved at the weight lying across his stomach, wondering how sheets and blankets could be that heavy, and how he'd get out from under them quickly enough to locate a bathroom. Or any handy receptacle.
The weight moved on its own, freeing him, and a sudden glare of light made him moan and squeeze his eyes shut. Oh, Jesus, he was never going to make it. Then he was being turned onto his side, and a large hand cupped his head and firmly guided it over the side of the bed.
"It's okay, Ben," he heard someone whisper, and he opened his eyes a slit to find an empty bucket standing on the floor right underneath him.
Once it became obvious that nothing more was going to come up, he started to weakly roll back into bed, and the same someone helped him, until he was lying flat on his back. "Let everything settle down for a bit, then we'll get you some painkillers and water."
Benny tried opening his eyes again, with more success this time. Matt was propped on one elbow, looking down at him. Benny spent a moment stupidly admiring the dusting of freckles on Matt's bare shoulders and pecs, then the synapses in his brain slowly started to fire again.
"What happened?" He surreptitiously felt under the covers and the discovery that he wasn't wearing underwear did not exactly set his mind at ease.
"You tied one on last night. Around midnight, Roger and I helped you upstairs and into bed, and we set up the bucket for you."
"Oh." Benny remembered that part, at least up to being led upstairs, but that didn't answer any of the more worrisome questions, like why Matt was in the same bed with him and why Benny wasn't wearing any underwear and whether Matt was in the same state of undress. "We didn't..." he started, but then found he didn't really want to know.
Matt snorted. "Well, it wasn't for lack of you trying," he said. "Luckily or unluckily, you couldn't quite get it up in your state, and I don't top. I have to admit you're pretty inspired with your fingers and mouth, though. You certainly won't hear me complaining about last night."
Benny listened in mounting horror. "I... I'm not quite sure what to say," he muttered weakly.
Matt looked down at him for a couple of more seconds, then burst out laughing, the loud sound making Benny whimper in pain. "Relax, you idiot. Nothing happened. You were out like a light the moment we got you into bed."
"Then why aren't I wearing any underwear? And what are you doing in the same bed?"
"Well, as to the first, I have no idea. Roger and I certainly had nothing to do with that. You must like hanging free."
"And the second?"
Benny watched in fascination as a rush of color stained Matt's cheeks and throat.
"When I came up you were mumbling and thrashing and nothing I did seemed to get you to calm down, so I climbed in with you." Matt shrugged. "It worked."
As far as Benny was concerned, that was worse than trying to fuck Matt and not being able to get it up in order to do so. "Oh, shit. What was I saying?" he whispered brokenly.
"I couldn't tell," Matt said, then he rolled out of bed and stood up facing Benny. Benny noted with relief that he was wearing boxer briefs, then grew distracted by the way they outlined Matt's junk, which appeared to be in proportion with the rest of him. "I'll go get you that painkiller and water."
To Benny's embarrassment, he took the bucket with him when he left, casually waving away Benny's objections, as well as his thanks when he returned with a bottle of water and a blister pack of painkillers.
"Don't worry about it. I'm used to it."
"Taking care of drunk men?"
Matt grinned. "Some, but mainly sick people. I'm a doctor. Didn't Roger mention it?"
"No."
"Jeez, I'd have thought that would have been the obvious way to a Jewish boy's heart."
"That would be the Jewish boy's parents, not the boy himself. Besides, I'm not Jewish."
"You're not? I thought your last name—"
"No, in my case Siegel comes from German. Something to do with making or using wax seals. But my mom's Catholic Italian, so you can still make your case, if you want to." Benny ordered himself to shut the fuck up and stop trying to flirt. He must still be drunk.
Matt crossed over to his own bed and sat down, propping himself against the headboard, stretching out his long legs and crossing them at the ankles. "Carrie didn't mean any harm, you know," he said quietly. "She also mentioned that you're a lawyer, that you love the Yankees, and that you can quote almost all of Spinal Tap, even down to the accents."
"A real Renaissance man," Benny joked feebly, as he wondered why Matt had then opted to mention the two issues that Benny least wanted to talk about. Though to be fair, there were far too many people out there that couldn't wait to start talking about their personal tragedies, real or perceived; that was another reason Benny didn't date. He'd heard way too many sob stories.
Matt didn't smile, but his eyes were warmer than they'd been since Roger had introduced Benny to him at the station. He stretched with a closed-mouth yawn, and Benny watched the play of muscles under the white skin. It was September, and Matt should have had at least the remains of a tan, but it didn't look as if he'd been out in the sun all summer.
Matt scooted down under the covers and thumped his pillow a couple of times, before lying flat. "We should probably aim to get some sleep. G'night, Ben."
Sleep was a good idea. Benny got up and went to the bathroom to rinse his mouth, then returned to bed and turned off the light. He lay staring into the dark for a long time; the silence felt tense and thick with things left unsaid, and he was almost sure that Matt was also still awake.
"Matt?" he checked softly.
"Yeah?"
"I just wanted to thank you." For taking care of him so matter-of-factly. For being kind enough to pretend that he'd understood nothing of Benny's mumblings, even though Benny almost always had the same nightmare, and Jordie had told him on two separate occasions exactly what he'd said, most of it a long litany of begging Phil not to leave him and then cursing him because he had.
"You're welcome."
Benny heard the rustling of covers, then, after a while, soft snoring. He remained awake, thinking of how Jordie had never managed to calm him down through one of his nightmares by simply holding him. It had probably only worked for Matt because he was big, more like Phil in size, and because Benny had been drunk enough to be confused. He felt tears prickle at his eyelids. What the hell was wrong with him? He never cried. Fucking ulcer, leaving him weak.
He finally fell asleep as dawn started to lighten the shadows in the room. When he woke to the sound of Roger thumping on the door and bawling "Get Me to the Church on Time," he remembered a confused dream, in which a younger, college-aged version of himself had been running through the woods behind the Dartmouth golf course with Jordie, like they'd done hundreds of times, only whenever he looked around, it wasn't Jordie next to him, but Phil, and right at the end, Matt.
