Page 1 of Benji

ONE

NOLAN O’BRIEN

“Okay, O’Brien, pen down,”Dominic said from my door.

I looked up in surprise, having lost track of the time. A quick glance at the city from my office window showed it was now dark. The office behind Dominic was quiet and empty.

“Shit,” I mumbled, slinging my glasses across my desk and pressing my finger and thumb into my eyeballs. “Didn’t realise the time.”

“You also didn’t realise it was Friday night and that you’ve had your head in that case file and completely missed lunch.”

The twinge in my empty stomach agreed.

Dominic gestured to me and my desk. “So close your laptop. Put the files away. It’s Friday night. Whisky and wings at 180, my friend.” Then he clapped his hands. “Now, now, now.”

I rolled my eyes at him as I stood up, plucked my suitjacket from the back of my chair, threw everything into my messenger bag, and followed him out. I had to admit, it sounded good.

Dominic Lowing was forty-six years old. Exactly ten years older than me, and he was my senior at work. But from the minute we met, the day I’d started at the Office of Director of Public Prosecution’s office, we just clicked. Maybe it was because we were the only two openly gay men at the firm. Maybe it was because we both worked long hours and understood how the game of law needed to be played.

Though I’m sure it was because we were both also members of the 180 club above Wylde Street, just around the corner from Oxford Street. An exclusive—meaning expensive—club for gay men. It was similar to a jazz bar—dark interior, mood lighting. It wasn’t a place for cruising. There were no backrooms or bathroom blowjobs. There was plenty of that down on Oxford Street, if that was what you wanted. The 180 club was purely a professional men’s club, where we could sit and talk business with a whisky in our hand.

Usually, after a few said whiskies and having solved the problems of the world,thenwe sought out the cruising options on street level.

Or found a backroom or a shady bathroom blowjob.

It was all I ever really had time for, and it suited me just fine.

Dominic and I stepped into the elevator. It was empty, so I thumped the button to the basement. “If I hear or see the name Barbieri one more time today,” Imurmured. Then I let my head fall back and I groaned. “Whisky sounds really good right about now.”

Dominic chuckled. “It’s almost over,” he said. “And when Barbieri is behind bars for a really long time, there’ll be another case just like his. And another, and another.”

I barely resisted sighing. “Remind me why I do this?”

“Because you love it, and you’re good at it.”

Being on the prosecutor’s team for the state government, getting to watch the Supreme Court in action, had always been my dream. It was now my reality, and while, yes, I did love it, my career meant zero time for anything else.

“You know what you need tonight?” Dominic asked as we walked to my car.

I threw my briefcase in behind the driver’s seat and grinned at him over the roof of my Audi A5 Coupe. “I know exactly what I need.”

He laughed because it was something else we had in common. The need for a few drinks on a Friday night at 180 and a tight arse to fuck my stress away.

Dominic was exactly the same.

Traffic wasn’t too bad, and I found a park all too easily near Wylde Street, just off Oxford, as if the gods of terribly long weeks were finally on my side.

And as we walked to the door of 180, three young guys a few metres down the street caught my eye. One in particular, with curly black hair, tight black jeans, and a loose green T-shirt. He was a rent boy for sure, and hestopped and looked me up and down, licking his lips and making my dick stir.

Oh, I bet his mouth was good.

“Maybe a quick fix first,” I said, and Dominic laughed as he grabbed my shoulders and led me to the entry.

“Wings and whisky first,” he said. “A pretty boy to fuck later.”

I protested weakly as we showed our IDs and Dominic shoved me into the elevator, and two minutes later, I had my first whisky in hand.

And then a second, and then a third.