.
.
The punishment for disobedience means getting ordered around.
He has to do Mom's chores. Ben scrubs and dusts off the trophy cases on the first floor, groaning while he hunches over, mopping the kitchen floor.
Screw this.
(Even if physical labor does help calm him, and by default, the trans-dimensional creatures roiling underneath Ben's flesh. He's less freaked out by them. Pogo may have let it slip that Ben showed signs of his abilities when he was only an infant. One of the nannies tripped on his bassinet, and to her screaming horror, lost her grip on the vulnerable baby. The teeny-tiny tentacles caught Ben before he landed facedown, wrapping around him protectively and swinging him up back inside the lace-covered bassinet.)
(He had no idea. Ben struggled with the beasts to cooperate with him until he turned eleven. They spoke to him, reverberating in Ben's mind, and he asked if they would please do the training exercise. Direct communication usually resulted in less of a burning, painful sensation when the tentacles emerged.)
Learn to control yourself.
That's what Sir Reginald throw in this face, again, stomping out. Just because Ben hasn't restrained himself or the beasts, and he's visibly exhausted from not getting sleep. It's too many nightmares.
A cyborg terrorist attack in Lithuania. Ben shuts his eyes, forcing himself to not relive how the tentacles whipped high into the air, extending and ripping apart the helicopters and most of the terrorists down the street. Their artificial, orange blood painting the concrete. One of the tentacles took hold of a female officer, beginning to wring the life from her neck, and Ben screamed out through their connection as loud as he could "she's not an enemy!" only be chilled by the gurgling, low response of DOES IT MATTER?…
It… it has to matter. It always matters.
Between the morning lessons, Diego and Klaus hung out with him in the courtyard, getting some sun on their faces. They were all talking shit and shoving each other around playfully, nothing big, and Klaus proceeded to tease Ben about being a cute virgin, flicking the end of his rosy-lit cigarette. One of the tentacles slipped out from under Ben's vest, whacking Klaus against the jawbone. A little too hard.
Klaus didn't seem upset, despite having a major facial bruise and difficulty chewing on the right side of his mouth. He even got a hoarse, piercingly loud laugh out of being 'bitchslapped by Bentacles' and hugged Ben as soon as the other boy frantically apologized, Ben's nose and mouth dragging over Klaus's shoulder.
Sir Reginald heard about it somehow and called Ben a foolish and irresponsible boy.
Dumping out the muddied water, Ben hears Pogo by the kitchen's entrance-way. Something about Luther having gone missing for his training hours and if Ben could locate him, Pogo would finish up the chores.
"I'm afraid we have not time for dawdling," Pogo says, trying to seem amiable.
Ben's lips curl up.
He sighs, taking his dear sweet time and climbing upstairs. Not in their bedrooms. Vanya wanders past him, keeping her eyes to her feet and jerking away fretfully when Ben raises a hand to wave hello. Sheesh. The nearer he gets to the attic and his own bedroom, the more Ben wants desperately to avoid it.
Pogo will send up Mom with a glass of milk and lunch, and it'll have sleeping pills crushed and dissolved in. Ben hates the feeling of waking up after getting drugged — his limbs heavy, woozy and dry-mouthed.
There's still the billiard room on the third floor. Nobody really goes up there. Allison thought she saw a mouse in there when all of the kids secretly shared a bottle of champagne together and she has refused to go back ever since. Or so she says — Ben pushes open the wooden, sliding door and gapes soundlessly.
Allison and Luther, kneeling on the antique Persian floral rug, their lips and chins grazing. Luther's fingers crawl up Allison's gray, pleated skirt, his thumb and forefinger disappearing beneath her underwear.
She giggles, breathless, Allison's dark eyes glittering. Luther presses his hips against her, thrusting into slim, brown fingers cradling him, jerking him in quick-slow rhythm. His dick pulses, spurting translucently white cum onto their uniforms. Allison murmurs something and then grins, using the fluid on Luther's tip to rub against her opening, rocking on Luther's fingers pushing deeper into her.
Ben realizes that he's not aroused, but… the creatures inside him thrash to be freed, taking an interest in how his fellow teammates writhe and gasp into each other's mouths, elated, satisfied.
WANT.
It rumbles through him, tidaling and quivering through Ben's core. Ben shakes his head, crossing his arms stubbornly over himself, teeth clenching. As if that's enough to keep them at bay.
WANT.
He hurries out, racing for the attic's staircase and into his bedroom. Waiting for him is apple juice and a tuna sandwich. Not even caring about being drugged this time, Ben gulps down the juice, choking slightly, finishing off every drop before ripping off bites of his mayonnaise-slathered sandwich. It's absolutely disgusting but hopefully worth his stomachache if the high-intensity sleeping pills kick in.
Pushing his face down to his mattress, Ben breathes hard, arms tightening around himself. No nightmares… just the warm, constant presence of the tentacles shifting, fluttering, gently lulling him to the darkness.
BEN.
.
.
TUA isn't mine. Really having fun filling these prompts! This one is "Any/Any, walking in on masturbating" and I decided to get interesting with it! Ben rarely gets to have any love so here we go! A little bit more of Ben! Thanks for reading and any comments/thoughts are totally appreciated! :)