Once he was atop Murphy, being touched and groped, feeling the warmth of the body beneath him, the split within him deepened. This kiss was meaningful to Ben. He'd missed the last opportunity to kiss the man he'd loved, after all. Now, he was channelling all of his regret and passion into Murphy - not that he was conscious of this. His heart both mourned and accepted. There was guilt and regret and sorrow and grief for Kerr, and love and appreciation and warmth and happiness for Murphy. Here was a man who'd accepted him as Kerr had accepted him; without question, without hesitation.
As Murphy warred with himself, Ben didn't. Everything was telling him to go ahead, to commit himself to Murphy, to prove his love to him. Friend or not, of course he loved Murphy, he simply wasn't in love with him, for Kerr had taken that role and Ben couldn't imagine him ever being replaced. Murphy was platonic yet not - the flirting had been harmless, the closeness a sign of their connection, not because he wanted to bed him. He understood Kerr's dislike for him because he understood jealousy, he'd never worried about it because he'd never worried about himself. He'd got to a stage where he could trust himself around Murphy, but couldn't blame Kerr for being unsure. Ben had made some very peculiar decisions in his past, after all.
But now, as he kissed Murphy, he felt like he was saying goodbye to Kerr. A kiss his sire had never received, intimacy he'd wanted but been denied. He was gone, and Ben wasn't celebrating his death with Murphy like Ichabod might think, but he was seeing Kerr off, in a bizarre kind of way. Perhaps this was another of his peculiar decisions, but whatever it was...
He stopped kissing and grinding and touching, pulling away from Murphy and looking down at him. His friend was attractive, and devoted, and wonderful, and he wanted to do everything that pleased him, except something was wrong. His mind hadn't worked it out, but his body had. There was no physical response from himself, no hardening, not even twitching. He was flaccid and cool - not even warmed up by what they were doing. It was humiliating. Of course there were countless other things they could do, but that would be cheap, he thought. He'd wanted to share and love and connect, and now he saw that just because this was what he wanted for himself, his body had known better.
"Sorry, I..."
am not going to tell you that
we could've fucked we could've done the
dirty mind dirty soul dirty boy
he loves you he loves you he loved you
He didn't finish his sentence, he just shook his head and shifted himself off Murphy. He laid beside his friend, but didn't pull away - simply pressed against his side and thoughtful. He expected his friend would speak, and so he waited for whatever repurcussions of his actions to come.