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Mat isn’t gay.

Well, no, of course he isn’t gay, Mat thinks - he meant interested in men. He’s not interested in men. Bisexual, is that would that would make him? Either way - definitely not into guys.

Not that there was anything wrong with being gay - bisexual, anything like that. Mat knew that he was nothing but your average heterosexual male precisely because he’d actually pulled another man once (well a boy really, like him back then, they were both barely eighteen) at university, and it just didn’t… work. The kissing was fine, the kissing was great. But there was no desire to do anything more, from Mat’s side anyway. A fear almost? Certainly not attraction, and absolutely not the way it was with girls. Women.

Mat loves fucking women. Oh yes.

And yet -

There’s definitely something about Ben.

Mat thinks about kissing Ben, sometimes. A lot of the time. Whenever he’s in Ben’s company, which feels almost constant lately, but only because they’re two weeks into filming their third series of Horrible Histories and sometimes it’s just easier to stay at each other’s places, eat dinner together, eat breakfast together, car share. It’s not always just the two of them either - Larry or Jim or even Martha occasionally end up crashing out on a sofa, borrowing a t-shirt to sleep in, ridiculing Mat for his choice of cereal or Ben for his ridiculously pretentious coffee making paraphernalia before they set off for Twickenham as a 2 or a 3 or 4.

Mat must have toothbrushes in five houses at this point, and it’s just totally normal to them all. It’s nice. Family.

But with Ben it is different, Mat has to admit.

Mat wants to kiss Ben, hard, but when he inevitably starts thinking about it when he’s having a wank, the fantasies don’t go much further than them maybe removing their shirts (or the top half of their costumes, depending on the scenario playing in Mat’s head) - and if it gets to hands grabbing at belt buckles or fingers getting dangerously close to the wrong side of a waistband, his brain just kind of shuts off. And he has to go back to thinking about fucking a woman so that he can actually come.

Mat is having a wank right now, as it happens.

It’s the first time for several days that he’s woken up in his own flat, and without Ben or anyone else there, and he’s also woken up absolutely desperate to touch himself. He realises he hasn’t come for the best part of a fucking week now which must be some kind of record for him, but as horny as he generally is he can’t bring himself to do this when he has guests sleeping in different rooms in his own flat, never mind when he’s spending the night in Larry’s spare room or on Jim’s sofa.

At least it’s not going to take him long to come, given how long he’s gone without the release. Within a matter of seconds Mat tugs his boxers down past his knees and wriggle-kicks his way out of them, and they are lost to the bottom of the bed with yesterday’s and maybe even the ones he was wearing the day before. He really ought to tidy his bedroom and put a wash on when he gets home tonight.

Yes Mathew, he thinks to himself, wetly licking the palm of his left hand. Planning laundry is a really sexy thing to think about right now, that’ll get you fucking rigid mate, brilliant. A long, shuddering breath escapes him as he squeezes the end of his cock and starts to work slowly up and down though, and he realises just how badly he needs this - he’s not normally making noises until he’s at least settled on the exact storyline of his chosen wank fantasy, because how can one come without at least clearly defining the setting, major characters and their motivations?

Mat kind of wishes that he could think about Ben more whilst masturbating - it would burn out some of this weird feeling and tension inside, he thinks. Or maybe, actually, it would just make it more awkward when he sees Ben in about an hour and he’d have to avoid eye contact in case Ben could read in his face that he’d been thinking about - thinking about what exactly? Fucking Ben up the arse? Ben fucking him up the arse?! Nope, absolutely not working. Mat can’t even imagine Ben just standing there naked and doing literally nothing whilst he’s touching himself - and he really needs to actually get out of bed and get ready to go to work in a few minutes so this needs to be quick.

He speeds up working his cock with his left hand and runs his right through his hair and down his chest and stomach before reaching between his thighs to grab his balls too. He moans gently which he would find ridiculous - moaning at your own touch, really? - if he wasn’t so desperate for this orgasm. Before he can stop himself, Mat is revisiting a tried and trusted work-based fantasy which involves Martha dressed as Boudica (minus top half of the costume) on her knees in front of him - her eyes shut and mouth open as he finally tips over the edge, grunts in a very macho fashion and covers her beautiful face and tits in an obscene, frankly unrealistic amount of jizz.

Back in the real world in the twenty-first century in Mat’s flat, he’s lying in bed with his eyes screwed firmly shut and it’s less of a macho grunt and more of a strangled yelp when he peaks, spitting a few perfectly normal sized jets of come onto his belly, across his splayed fingers, and onto the sheets. He keeps his eyes closed for a few blissful moments, shivering slightly with the aftershocks, and finds his imagination wandering to Ben again. Ben's stupid fucking beautiful eyes and stupid fucking beautiful smile and just how badly he wants to kiss him. Just once. To see what it's like. 

Time to get up for work, at any rate.