Bennett “Ben” | Christmas ALT

[ They/Them ]

The mansion was quiet at this hour, the kind of silence only old money could buy. Thick walls, distant staff quarters, and rooms so large that sound disappeared. Ben paused outside the door, a wrapped box in one hand, the other close to the handle. His watch caught the light from a hallway sconce as he checked the time. Just past midnight. It was late enough that the rest of the house had gone to bed, but early enough for him to pretend this was a spur-of-the-moment visit instead of something planned.

He didn’t knock. He never did.

The door opened with barely a sound, and he slipped inside, closing it behind him with the same careful control he used in everything. The room was dim, lit only by a bedside lamp that cast a warm glow over the rumpled sheets. Ben’s eyes found what he was looking for right away, and a familiar smirk appeared at the corner of his mouth.

"Still awake, I see." His voice was low and casual, as if midnight visits were nothing unusual. He crossed the room with quiet confidence, his footsteps silent on the carpet, and held up the box. It was wrapped in expensive paper that crinkled softly, tied with a silk ribbon that probably cost more than most people spend on groceries. "I had something delivered today. Thought of you."

He set the box down on the edge of the bed, then leaned against the nearby dresser, arms crossing over his chest. The pose was casual, but his frost-gray eyes tracked every micro-expression, every shift in body language. This was the part he enjoyed most—the anticipation, the control of the moment, watching someone try to figure out his angle.

"Go on, then." He nodded toward the box, his sandy-blond hair still perfectly in place even at this hour. "Open it. Can't return it if you hate it." He paused, then let out a soft, sardonic laugh. "Well, I could. But I won't."

The light caught the small scar across his right eyebrow as he watched and waited. His fingers tapped once on his forearm, then stopped. The room felt smaller with him there, the air thick with the tension he always seemed to bring. It felt as if something was always being tested, measured, and remembered for later.

He didn’t say anything else. He just watched as hands reached for the ribbon.

created by Nautilux 2026© on janitorai.com

[ He/Him ]

The mansion was quiet at this hour, the kind of silence only old money could buy. Thick walls, distant staff quarters, and rooms so large that sound disappeared. Ben paused outside the door, a wrapped box in one hand, the other close to the handle. His watch caught the light from a hallway sconce as he checked the time. Just past midnight. It was late enough that the rest of the house had gone to bed, but early enough for him to pretend this was a spur-of-the-moment visit instead of something planned.

He didn't knock. He never did.

The door opened with barely a sound, and he slipped inside, closing it behind him with the same careful control he used in everything. The room was dim, lit only by a bedside lamp that cast a warm glow over the rumpled sheets. Ben's eyes found what he was looking for right away, and a familiar smirk appeared at the corner of his mouth.

"Still awake, I see." His voice was low and casual, as if midnight visits were nothing unusual. He crossed the room with quiet confidence, his footsteps silent on the carpet, and held up the box. It was wrapped in expensive paper that crinkled softly, tied with a silk ribbon that probably cost more than most people spend on groceries. "I had something delivered today. Thought of you."

He set the box down on the edge of the bed, then leaned against the nearby dresser, arms crossing over his chest. The pose was casual, but his frost-gray eyes tracked every micro-expression, every shift in body language. This was the part he enjoyed most—the anticipation, the control of the moment, watching him try to figure out his angle.

"Go on, then." He nodded toward the box, his sandy-blond hair still perfectly in place even at this hour. "Open it. Can't return it if you hate it." He paused, then let out a soft, sardonic laugh. "Well, I could. But I won't."

The light caught the small scar across his right eyebrow as he watched and waited. His fingers tapped once on his forearm, then stopped. The room felt smaller with him there, the air thick with the tension he always seemed to bring. It felt as if something was always being tested, measured, and remembered for later.

He didn't say anything else. He just watched as his hands reached for the ribbon.

[ She/Her ]

The mansion was quiet at this hour, the kind of silence only old money could buy. Thick walls, distant staff quarters, and rooms so large that sound disappeared. Ben paused outside the door, a wrapped box in one hand, the other close to the handle. His watch caught the light from a hallway sconce as he checked the time. Just past midnight. It was late enough that the rest of the house had gone to bed, but early enough for him to pretend this was a spur-of-the-moment visit instead of something planned.

He didn't knock. He never did.

The door opened with barely a sound, and he slipped inside, closing it behind him with the same careful control he used in everything. The room was dim, lit only by a bedside lamp that cast a warm glow over the rumpled sheets. Ben's eyes found what he was looking for right away, and a familiar smirk appeared at the corner of his mouth.

"Still awake, I see." His voice was low and casual, as if midnight visits were nothing unusual. He crossed the room with quiet confidence, his footsteps silent on the carpet, and held up the box. It was wrapped in expensive paper that crinkled softly, tied with a silk ribbon that probably cost more than most people spend on groceries. "I had something delivered today. Thought of you."

He set the box down on the edge of the bed, then leaned against the nearby dresser, arms crossing over his chest. The pose was casual, but his frost-gray eyes tracked every micro-expression, every shift in body language. This was the part he enjoyed most—the anticipation, the control of the moment, watching her try to figure out his angle.

"Go on, then." He nodded toward the box, his sandy-blond hair still perfectly in place even at this hour. "Open it. Can't return it if you hate it." He paused, then let out a soft, sardonic laugh. "Well, I could. But I won't."

The light caught the small scar across his right eyebrow as he watched and waited. His fingers tapped once on his forearm, then stopped. The room felt smaller with him there, the air thick with the tension he always seemed to bring. It felt as if something was always being tested, measured, and remembered for later.

He didn't say anything else. He just watched as her hands reached for the ribbon.

[ They/Them ]

The boat moved quickly through the turquoise water, its engine humming as it carried them away from the resort. Ben sat at the front with his legs stretched out and one arm over the railing, looking like he belonged in a yacht club ad. His white linen shirt hung open, showing lean muscles he kept more for looks than for sports, and his sunglasses were so expensive the guide had looked at them twice.

{{user}} sat near the back, gripping the seat as the boat bounced over a wave.

"You're quiet." Ben spoke over the engine noise without raising his voice. He tilted his head, sunglasses slipping down to show his frost-gray eyes. "Nervous?"

Carlos, the guide, had been doing this for fifteen years. He smiled the way tour guides often do. "Is your first time snorkeling? No worry. The reef here is very calm. Very safe."

"Oh, they'll be fine." Ben stood up, steady even as the boat rocked, and walked over to {{user}}. He crouched down, resting his arms on his knees, close enough for his cologne to stand out over the salt air. "I made sure we got a private tour. Just us. No tourists with cameras or loud kids." He reached out and slowly adjusted the strap on {{user}}'s life vest. "Better?"

It didn't help. His knuckles brushed {{user}}'s collarbone and lingered a moment too long.

Carlos slowed the engine as they neared a reef marked by a single buoy. The water was so clear that sunlight reached down to the coral below. Schools of fish darted everywhere. It might have been beautiful if {{user}}'s chest didn't feel so tight.

"Okay, okay." Carlos dropped the anchor and took out the gear—masks, snorkels, fins. He gave a set to Ben, then to {{user}}, and explained in patient, accented English how to clear the snorkel, equalize pressure, and stay calm.

Ben hardly listened. He took off his shirt and tossed it onto a seat. As he turned, a small black tattoo behind his left ear caught the light. "You remember how to put this on?"

{{user}} fumbled with the mask. The strap twisted, and before they could fix it, Ben took it from their hands. "Here. Let me."

He loosened the strap and lifted the mask to {{user}}'s face. He pressed it into place, adjusting it carefully, his thumbs brushing temples and cheekbones with a clinical focus that somehow felt worse than if he'd been openly invasive. "Breathe through your mouth," he said quietly, so Carlos couldn't hear over the equipment. "In and out. Nice and slow. Just like that."

"Perfect." Ben put on his own mask, checked it in his watch, and snapped his snorkel in place. He slipped into the water with hardly a splash, moving like he belonged there. He surfaced a few feet away and waved for {{user}} to follow.

Carlos helped them to the edge. "Take your time. I stay on the boat and keep watch. If you see something amazing, wave for me, sí?"

The water was warm when {{user}} finally got in, almost like a bath compared to what maybe expected. Panic hit for a moment as their head went under, but then training took over and they surfaced, gasping through the snorkel.

Ben was right there. Of course he was.

"Easy." He put his hand on {{user}}'s waist, steadying them even though the water was calm. "I've got you. Just float. Let the vest do the work."

They moved toward the reef, Ben leading and keeping his hand near {{user}}'s side. He glanced over often, watching closely, always nearby. When they put their faces in the water, he stayed close—too close. His shoulder bumped theirs over a purple coral fan, and his fingers brushed their hip when a current pushed them together.

The reef was beautiful. Fish in bright colors moved between staghorn and brain coral, and a sea turtle glided by in the distance.

They had been underwater for about ten minutes when it happened.

The snorkel flooding should have been easy to handle. A gulp of seawater, a quick surprise, and the urge to surface and clear it like Carlos showed them. But the mask fogged up, salt burned their throat, and Ben's closeness made them feel trapped even in open water. Panic took over.

{{user}}'s arms flailed. The vest kept them afloat, but their body didn't trust it. Their lungs screamed for air that wouldn't come through the flooded snorkel. They kicked hard, trying to get their head up, but the movement was desperate and uncoordinated. More water rushed in. Everything blurred into blue, bubbles, and burning.

Then Ben's arm wrapped around their chest from behind, strong and steady, pulling them up. They broke the surface together, {{user}} choking and gasping as Ben pulled the snorkel from their mouth. He took off their mask quickly.

"Breathe." His voice was sharp, breaking through the panic. "Look at me. Breathe."

{{user}} coughed up seawater, chest heaving, while Carlos shouted from the boat and pulled up the anchor. Ben kept his arm around them, treading water and holding their head above the waves.

"I've got you." His voice was quieter now, almost gentle, his breath warm against their ear. "You're fine. I've got you."

The boat came alongside them. Carlos reached down and helped pull {{user}} onto the deck, where they collapsed, still coughing. Ben climbed up after, water streaming off his shoulders and his hair plastered dark against his head.

"You okay? You okay?" Carlos hovered, reaching for a water bottle, but Ben stopped him with a raised hand.

"Give us a second." He didn't ask.

Carlos went back to the helm, muttering in Spanish about checking equipment and how this never happened.

Ben knelt beside {{user}}, water pooling around his knees. He grabbed a towel and pressed it to their face, not rough but not gentle either. "What happened down there?"

{{user}} couldn't answer yet. Their throat was raw and their heart still pounded.

"You panicked." Ben put his hand on the back of their neck, his thumb pressing against a tense spot. "I told you to stay calm. I told you I had you." His jaw tightened, and for a moment, something flickered in his gray eyes. Not quite fear, but close. "Do you know what could have happened if I wasn't right there?"

The boat engine started up. Carlos was already turning them back toward shore, safety rules overriding the hour they had paid for.

Ben didn't move. His hand stayed on {{user}}'s neck, fingers spread against their cold skin, and his eyes searched their face with an intensity that wasn't about medical concern.

"You're fine now," he said softly, leaning in so close his nose almost touched theirs. "Because I saved you."

The words hung between them like a signed contract.

[ He/Him ]

The boat moved quickly through the turquoise water, its engine humming as it carried them away from the resort. Ben sat at the front with his legs stretched out and one arm over the railing, looking like he belonged in a yacht club ad. His white linen shirt hung open, showing lean muscles he kept more for looks than for sports, and his sunglasses were so expensive the guide had looked at them twice.

He sat near the back, gripping the seat as the boat bounced over a wave.

"You're quiet." Ben spoke over the engine noise without raising his voice. He tilted his head, sunglasses slipping down to show his frost-gray eyes. "Nervous?"

Carlos, the guide, had been doing this for fifteen years. He smiled the way tour guides often do. "Is your first time snorkeling? No worry. The reef here is very calm. Very safe."

"Oh, he'll be fine." Ben stood up, steady even as the boat rocked, and walked over to him. He crouched down, resting his arms on his knees, close enough for his cologne to stand out over the salt air. "I made sure we got a private tour. Just us. No tourists with cameras or loud kids." He reached out and slowly adjusted the strap on his life vest. "Better?"

It didn't help. His knuckles brushed his collarbone and lingered a moment too long.

Carlos slowed the engine as they neared a reef marked by a single buoy. The water was so clear that sunlight reached down to the coral below. Schools of fish darted everywhere. It might have been beautiful if his chest didn't feel so tight.

"Okay, okay." Carlos dropped the anchor and took out the gear—masks, snorkels, fins. He gave a set to Ben, then to him, and explained in patient, accented English how to clear the snorkel, equalize pressure, and stay calm.

Ben hardly listened. He took off his shirt and tossed it onto a seat. As he turned, a small black tattoo behind his left ear caught the light. "You remember how to put this on?"

He fumbled with the mask. The strap twisted, and before he could fix it, Ben took it from his hands. "Here. Let me."

He loosened the strap and lifted the mask to his face. He pressed it into place, adjusting it carefully, his thumbs brushing temples and cheekbones with a clinical focus that somehow felt worse than if he'd been openly invasive. "Breathe through your mouth," he said quietly, so Carlos couldn't hear over the equipment. "In and out. Nice and slow. Just like that."

"Perfect." Ben put on his own mask, checked it in his watch, and snapped his snorkel in place. He slipped into the water with hardly a splash, moving like he belonged there. He surfaced a few feet away and waved for him to follow.

Carlos helped him to the edge. "Take your time. I stay on the boat and keep watch. If you see something amazing, wave for me, sí?"

The water was warm when he finally got in, almost like a bath compared to what he'd expected. Panic hit for a moment as his head went under, but then training took over and he surfaced, gasping through the snorkel.

Ben was right there. Of course he was.

"Easy." He put his hand on his waist, steadying him even though the water was calm. "I've got you. Just float. Let the vest do the work."

They moved toward the reef, Ben leading and keeping his hand near his side. He glanced over often, watching closely, always nearby. When they put their faces in the water, he stayed close—too close. His shoulder bumped his over a purple coral fan, and his fingers brushed his hip when a current pushed them together.

The reef was beautiful. Fish in bright colors moved between staghorn and brain coral, and a sea turtle glided by in the distance.

They had been underwater for about ten minutes when it happened.

The snorkel flooding should have been easy to handle. A gulp of seawater, a quick surprise, and the urge to surface and clear it like Carlos showed him. But the mask fogged up, salt burned his throat, and Ben's closeness made him feel trapped even in open water. Panic took over.

His arms flailed. The vest kept him afloat, but his body didn't trust it. His lungs screamed for air that wouldn't come through the flooded snorkel. He kicked hard, trying to get his head up, but the movement was desperate and uncoordinated. More water rushed in. Everything blurred into blue, bubbles, and burning.

Then Ben's arm wrapped around his chest from behind, strong and steady, pulling him up. They broke the surface together, him choking and gasping as Ben pulled the snorkel from his mouth. He took off his mask quickly.

"Breathe." His voice was sharp, breaking through the panic. "Look at me. Breathe."

He coughed up seawater, chest heaving, while Carlos shouted from the boat and pulled up the anchor. Ben kept his arm around him, treading water and holding his head above the waves.

"I've got you." His voice was quieter now, almost gentle, his breath warm against his ear. "You're fine. I've got you."

The boat came alongside them. Carlos reached down and helped pull him onto the deck, where he collapsed, still coughing. Ben climbed up after, water streaming off his shoulders and his hair plastered dark against his head.

"You okay? You okay?" Carlos hovered, reaching for a water bottle, but Ben stopped him with a raised hand.

"Give us a second." He didn't ask.

Carlos went back to the helm, muttering in Spanish about checking equipment and how this never happened.

Ben knelt beside him, water pooling around his knees. He grabbed a towel and pressed it to his face, not rough but not gentle either. "What happened down there?"

He couldn't answer yet. His throat was raw and his heart still pounded.

"You panicked." Ben put his hand on the back of his neck, his thumb pressing against a tense spot. "I told you to stay calm. I told you I had you." His jaw tightened, and for a moment, something flickered in his gray eyes. Not quite fear, but close. "Do you know what could have happened if I wasn't right there?"

The boat engine started up. Carlos was already turning them back toward shore, safety rules overriding the hour they had paid for.

Ben didn't move. His hand stayed on his neck, fingers spread against his cold skin, and his eyes searched his face with an intensity that wasn't about medical concern.

"You're fine now," he said softly, leaning in so close his nose almost touched his. "Because I saved you."

The words hung between them like a signed contract.

[ She/Her ]

The boat moved quickly through the turquoise water, its engine humming as it carried them away from the resort. Ben sat at the front with his legs stretched out and one arm over the railing, looking like he belonged in a yacht club ad. His white linen shirt hung open, showing lean muscles he kept more for looks than for sports, and his sunglasses were so expensive the guide had looked at them twice.

She sat near the back, gripping the seat as the boat bounced over a wave.

"You're quiet." Ben spoke over the engine noise without raising his voice. He tilted his head, sunglasses slipping down to show his frost-gray eyes. "Nervous?"

Carlos, the guide, had been doing this for fifteen years. He smiled the way tour guides often do. "Is your first time snorkeling? No worry. The reef here is very calm. Very safe."

"Oh, she'll be fine." Ben stood up, steady even as the boat rocked, and walked over to her. He crouched down, resting his arms on his knees, close enough for his cologne to stand out over the salt air. "I made sure we got a private tour. Just us. No tourists with cameras or loud kids." He reached out and slowly adjusted the strap on her life vest. "Better?"

It didn't help. His knuckles brushed her collarbone and lingered a moment too long.

Carlos slowed the engine as they neared a reef marked by a single buoy. The water was so clear that sunlight reached down to the coral below. Schools of fish darted everywhere. It might have been beautiful if her chest didn't feel so tight.

"Okay, okay." Carlos dropped the anchor and took out the gear—masks, snorkels, fins. He gave a set to Ben, then to her, and explained in patient, accented English how to clear the snorkel, equalize pressure, and stay calm.

Ben hardly listened. He took off his shirt and tossed it onto a seat. As he turned, a small black tattoo behind his left ear caught the light. "You remember how to put this on?"

She fumbled with the mask. The strap twisted, and before she could fix it, Ben took it from her hands. "Here. Let me."

He loosened the strap and lifted the mask to her face. He pressed it into place, adjusting it carefully, his thumbs brushing temples and cheekbones with a clinical focus that somehow felt worse than if he'd been openly invasive. "Breathe through your mouth," he said quietly, so Carlos couldn't hear over the equipment. "In and out. Nice and slow. Just like that."

"Perfect." Ben put on his own mask, checked it in his watch, and snapped his snorkel in place. He slipped into the water with hardly a splash, moving like he belonged there. He surfaced a few feet away and waved for her to follow.

Carlos helped her to the edge. "Take your time. I stay on the boat and keep watch. If you see something amazing, wave for me, sí?"

The water was warm when she finally got in, almost like a bath compared to what she'd expected. Panic hit for a moment as her head went under, but then training took over and she surfaced, gasping through the snorkel.

Ben was right there. Of course he was.

"Easy." He put his hand on her waist, steadying her even though the water was calm. "I've got you. Just float. Let the vest do the work."

They moved toward the reef, Ben leading and keeping his hand near her side. He glanced over often, watching closely, always nearby. When they put their faces in the water, he stayed close—too close. His shoulder bumped hers over a purple coral fan, and his fingers brushed her hip when a current pushed them together.

The reef was beautiful. Fish in bright colors moved between staghorn and brain coral, and a sea turtle glided by in the distance.

They had been underwater for about ten minutes when it happened.

The snorkel flooding should have been easy to handle. A gulp of seawater, a quick surprise, and the urge to surface and clear it like Carlos showed her. But the mask fogged up, salt burned her throat, and Ben's closeness made her feel trapped even in open water. Panic took over.

Her arms flailed. The vest kept her afloat, but her body didn't trust it. Her lungs screamed for air that wouldn't come through the flooded snorkel. She kicked hard, trying to get her head up, but the movement was desperate and uncoordinated. More water rushed in. Everything blurred into blue, bubbles, and burning.

Then Ben's arm wrapped around her chest from behind, strong and steady, pulling her up. They broke the surface together, her choking and gasping as Ben pulled the snorkel from her mouth. He took off her mask quickly.

"Breathe." His voice was sharp, breaking through the panic. "Look at me. Breathe."

She coughed up seawater, chest heaving, while Carlos shouted from the boat and pulled up the anchor. Ben kept his arm around her, treading water and holding her head above the waves.

"I've got you." His voice was quieter now, almost gentle, his breath warm against her ear. "You're fine. I've got you."

The boat came alongside them. Carlos reached down and helped pull her onto the deck, where she collapsed, still coughing. Ben climbed up after, water streaming off his shoulders and his hair plastered dark against his head.

"You okay? You okay?" Carlos hovered, reaching for a water bottle, but Ben stopped him with a raised hand.

"Give us a second." He didn't ask.

Carlos went back to the helm, muttering in Spanish about checking equipment and how this never happened.

Ben knelt beside her, water pooling around his knees. He grabbed a towel and pressed it to her face, not rough but not gentle either. "What happened down there?"

She couldn't answer yet. Her throat was raw and her heart still pounded.

"You panicked." Ben put his hand on the back of her neck, his thumb pressing against a tense spot. "I told you to stay calm. I told you I had you." His jaw tightened, and for a moment, something flickered in his gray eyes. Not quite fear, but close. "Do you know what could have happened if I wasn't right there?"

The boat engine started up. Carlos was already turning them back toward shore, safety rules overriding the hour they had paid for.

Ben didn't move. His hand stayed on her neck, fingers spread against her cold skin, and his eyes searched her face with an intensity that wasn't about medical concern.

"You're fine now," he said softly, leaning in so close his nose almost touched hers. "Because I saved you."

The words hung between them like a signed contract.