Chapter Eighteen

"I should probably explain some of the quirks of my family to you." Benedict groaned as Dixon's strong fingers worked out the kinks in his back. "You're going to have to meet them, and I don't advise that for anyone without adequate preparation, especially someone I care about. I can't even guarantee they'll be wearing clothes when we get there."

They were back at the London hotel. Instructions had been sent off to Mrs. Porter to send clothes on the plane, which was also on its way from York to London. In the morning they would fly to Cornwall where Benedict would confront the second biggest nemesis of his life – his family. Aunty Silvia had wanted them at dinner. Benedict wanted answers, so he was going to the damn dinner. He didn't hold out much hope of getting anything useful before the summons on Thursday, but beggars couldn't be choosy.

Langley was staying in London, but he'd left the hotel and was staying with a friend. He would be working with Terrence to ensure the negotiations for the summons went smoothly. He was beyond furious that he'd been a pawn in the Council's game for months, and after Benedict explained his, or rather Dixon's theory, the man nodded, his eyes flashing. "That sounds exactly like your father," he said brusquely. "I won't let you down."

Which left Benedict and Dixon in what should've been Benedict's happy space – naked, alone together and on a huge bed – but Benedict could not relax.

"If you think that now's the time to have a conversation about your family, then go ahead. I can't guarantee how much I'll hear, because I'm having an enjoyable moment here, but you carry on." Dixon's fingers started working down either side of Benedict's spine.

"Oh, D, I'm sorry." Benedict groaned again, burying his head in his arms. "You must be sick to death of dealing with all my shit. Don't stop those wonderful fingers please."

"I wasn't planning on stopping, and before you go beating yourself up over the past few days, can I just remind you I had to be rescued from a pack of wolves, in the middle of nowhere, when I was drop-down drunk. And we hadn't even claimed each other then." Dixon adjusted his position slightly and then the fingers went back to weaving their magic. "You haven't got to that point yet, my mate."

"I'd rather deal with a dozen wolf packs than try untangling the mess of the council and my memories. It's the only reason we're going to Aunt Silvia's dinner. The only reason. If I could spare you from the misery and sheer weirdness that is my family, I would, so you can see how desperate I am."

"We only have to go through it once." Dixon was running the broad base of his thumbs up and down Benedict's back, splaying out at the neck, and again at his butt. Benedict's body was responding – he'd have to be dead for it not to, but he could not turn his mind off.

"Can't you see how messed up this all is?" In his frustration, Benedict raised himself up, peering back to look at Dixon over his shoulder.

"Lay back down," Dixon coaxed gently. "You've to remember, I don't have the same perspective as you about all this."

"I don't see what perspective has to do with any of this," Benedict grumbled but he turned back around and rested his chest on the bed again.

"I'm not sure it does either." Dixon's hands got busy again and Benedict wished he could turn his brain off for five minutes so he could sink into the sensations.

"However, if you think about it," Dixon continued, "from even when we were still back in San Francisco, you were always understandably biased against the Magical Council because of the zombie army issue. I'm not saying your thoughts aren't valid, but when we came here, you have viewed everything that's happened since, through that same lens."

" And they wouldn't investigate my family's deaths." Benedict had a feeling Dixon was right again. "You saw the communications from the Magical Council, the ones that were sent to Langley. I mean, what was up with all those supposed communications my father sent – the anonymous ones that didn't say anything at all?"

"I did see, and I don't know. Stretch your arms out." Dixon waited until Benedict unfolded his arms, resting his cheek on the sheet. "There're clearly two issues at play here. The council, by their own admission, was pushing you to do something they knew you didn't want to do, thereby diverting any possible chance someone would accuse them of killing your family. For what it's worth, I do believe your reason for being out that night was as contrived as you've always believed it was. You were meant to live, and that's probably because of the zombie army issue."

"That doesn't explain why the others had to die, though." Benedict understood what Dixon was doing. He was viewing everything from an outsider's perspective, the type of support Benedict had never had in his life.

"Clearly something else your father was involved in is the second puzzle we still need to solve. Something someone living knows about, which is why they tried to discredit your father to you with all that anonymous papers nonsense. Try and relax for just one moment."

Benedict's whole body sighed as Dixon spread his arms, his hands moving down both of Benedict's outstretched ones at the same time, the action causing his broad chest to kiss Benedict's back. Benedict could feel his mate's hard length against his butt and wiggled it, appreciating his mate's subtle suggestion. Being blanketed with his bear's heat, his strength was the calm Benedict didn't realize he needed.

"I couldn't do this without you," he murmured. "I wouldn't even want to try."

"That's okay because you don't have to. I'm not going anywhere."

Tilting his face around, Benedict could see the heat in Dixon's eyes. "I can't find my center. I'm caught in a maelstrom and am struggling, really struggling to hold it together. Fuck me, babe. Remind me of what's real. Drive this insanity out of my head."

"You've always got me to hang onto," Dixon growled as he rolled off Benedict's back, and Benedict found himself maneuvered over on his side, so they were chest to chest. He was so tightly clasped in Dixon's arms he finally felt he could let go.

/~/~/~/~/

Did Dixon hate how manipulative the Magical Council was being? Yes. Did he hate how badly Benedict had been manipulated? That went without saying. And Dixon knew, if he was in a bar chatting over beers and chicken wings with Gordon, he'd be ranting about how devious and unfair the whole situation was probably for hours on end. Dixon hated manipulators, liars, and people who hid behind their social class status as if it meant something, and those were viewpoints he shared with his best friend.

But he wasn't drinking beer, although he'd dearly love some chicken wings. But he wasn't in a bar either. Dixon had his mate in his arms, in a private room where no one would disturb them, and Benedict was his only focus. His mate was hurting. Both Dixon and his bear side wanted to cherish him, wanted to show Benedict that he was valued, he was seen, he was loved.

Words weren't necessary. Lips were better used to kiss his mate, sharing breath, teasing Benedict while keeping him in the moment. Hands could remind his mate of Dixon's strength, roaming up and down Benedict's back, cupping his ass, keeping their bodies plastered together so Benedict couldn't ignore who he was with and why.

They were already naked. Dixon had previously offered to test out his massage skills when he saw how stressed Benedict was and Benedict just stripped off, dropping his clothes on the floor, and climbed on the bed. No hot-blooded bear shifter was going to ignore an invitation like that.

Fuck, though? No. Dixon wanted more than that and more importantly he knew Benedict deserved more. His mate was meeting him halfway, their legs entwined, lips dueling, Benedict's talented fingers hitting Dixon's hot spots – behind the ear, up the neck, scratching lightly through his hair as they rutted together.

Cupping around Benedict's butt, Dixon's fingers tapped at Benedict's entrance. He felt a slight zing of magic as his clever mate prepped himself, using that undervalued magic of his. He groaned into Benedict's mouth as his finger sunk into the warm, tight heat, logic falling away as his more instinctive drives took over.

One finger became two, three, and then four, and as he worked on making sure Benedict wouldn't feel an ounce of discomfort, Dixon could tell when the last of his mate's distractive thoughts fell away and his mate was thinking of nothing but joining with him. The moment Dixon thought about moving Benedict around, because by everything necessary Dixon's cock wanted in that hole, Benedict was rolling away from him, arranging himself on his hands and knees, head down and butt up and knees apart.

"Love," Dixon growled, rolling up, knee-walking around Benedict's foot, his cock bobbing in anticipation as he quickly got into position. Holding the base of his cock, he gently pressed the head of his dick against the hole, his eyes closing as he felt the skin give way to his pressure.

Benedict moaned as Dixon sunk into his mate's body, dropping over Benedict's back the moment his cock was fully seated. He wanted Benedict to feel surrounded, to realize how much Dixon was coming to adore his mate. Their beginning had been so rocky, and so, in a lot of ways they barely had the time to get to know each other. But in the bedroom, in private, when it was just the two of them, they knew each other at a soul level.

"Just breathe, babe," Dixon crooned in Benedict's ear. "Breathe and move with me."

And Benedict did. No thinking, no worrying, no anxiety, no messy politics. Just two men joined together, pushing together and each other to find that momentary rush of pleasure that would dull the noise. Sweat dripped off Dixon's brow, his chest feeling as if it were on fire, they were generating so much heat together. But he wanted that closeness, he wanted Benedict to feel it.

Slapping skin, the scent of Benedict's arousal filling the air, Dixon let his own brain go. Their rhythm was perfect, the movements sped up, and Dixon knew he couldn't last much longer. Bracing his weight on one hand, he reached under Benedict's belly, feeling the dampness as he caught his mate's cock in his hand. Dixon was grunting with every thrust, and Benedict's groans were pushing him to the finish line.

"Yes!" Benedict yelled, loud enough to be heard down the hall, but Dixon didn't care because as spunk covered his fingers, his cock was unloading deep into Benedict's body, sending a rush of endorphins through him. He froze, holding still, murmuring nonsense in Benedict's hair, as their bodies cooled, hoping that for a short while at least, his mate might get a decent sleep.