The Bruise-Black Sky E-Book

John Wiltshire

• Herausgeber: Decent Fellows Press
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

It's either a brave or a stupid person who threatens anything Nikolas Mikkelsen loves. Ben usually overlooks Nikolas's occasionally jarring dissonance. Not this time. A deep rift, a terrible lie, separates them. Eleven thousand miles from Nikolas, in New Zealand, it's bitter winter as Ben films the tragic story of a post-apocalyptic gladiator, a victim of his own personal darkness. But on receiving a death threat, Ben suspects the truth of actor Oliver Whitestone's suicide. Someone doesn't want this movie made. It's fortunate for Ben, therefore, that dissonance is a state of unrest, a longing for completion. As if Nikolas would stay at home in disgrace while Ben Rider-Mikkelsen becomes the target of a crazed stalker...

Leseprobe

Inhaltsverzeichnis

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-seven

Chapter Twenty-eight

Chapter Twenty-nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-one

Chapter Thirty-two

Chapter Thirty-three

Chapter Thirty-four

Chapter Thirty-five

Chapter Thirty-seven

Chapter Thirty-eight

THE

BRUISE-BLACK

SKY

MORE HEAT THAN THE SUN #5

JOHN WILTSHIRE

WWW.DECENTFELLOWSPRESS..COM

Copyright © 2021-2023 Decent Fellows Press

ISBN: 9783757950088

Second Edition

All rights reserved worldwide. This book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the Author, except for the purposes of reviews. The reviewer may quote brief passages for the review to be printed in a newspaper, magazine or journal.

The characters and events described in this book are fictional. Any resemblance between characters and any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

The Bruise-Black Sky, Copyright © 2021-2023 Decent Fellows Press

Cover Art Design by Isobel Starling

Chapter One

“Why do you think your mother married your father? Given what he was—and don’t say women always think with their wombs. It’s annoying.”

“In my mother’s case, sadly, it’s probably true. She was pregnant. With us. Me.”

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t think of that. Why did she—?”

“Ben, I’ve told you the story of Sergei and my mother many, many times. I can’t tell it to you all again!”

Ben looked chastened and laid aside the photograph he was studying. Nikolas smirked quietly as he took a drag on his cigarette. It was one of the most convenient advantages of having a boyfriend who had only recovered his memory six months ago, that he could, when he wanted to, avoid questions he didn’t want to answer, pretend he’d told Ben something before. As Nikolas very rarely wanted to be interrogated about anything, he used this tactic quite often. Ben was under the impression he remembered a lot less than he actually did. It was doubly convenient, Nikolas reflected, as it kept Ben off balance about the accuracy of the things he did recall, and thus truths could now be distorted…

Six months on and he was smoking openly.

One day, it might occur to Ben that hating Nikolas smoking didn’t really fit well with apparently also giving him full permission to do just that.

Things were working very well indeed for Nikolas.

Most satisfactory…

Ben had moved onto another photo. Nikolas could see it out of the corner of his eye. He knew Ben would only be seeing two identical blond boys on a windswept beach, matching jerseys and shorts, one centre frame, smiling for the camera, one a little off to the side, staring angrily at the crashing waves. Nikolas recollected it slightly differently—a little boy being clucked at by doting grandparents, “Look, Nina, Nika’s so adorable, take a picture of him with his bucket and spade,” and the other, standing to the side, thinking, I have a bucket and spade, too. Why don’t you want a picture of me?

He’d got in the photo though. That was all that counted.

He plucked the picture from Ben’s fingers and swapped it with one of him in his uniform. Not a general—yet—but it was impressive, nevertheless. Ben snorted and took up another from Denmark and the childhood he’d been excluded from but appeared to want now for his own.

Nikolas took another drag on his cigarette and blew a cloud of smoke over the bed, his other hand idly stroking Ben’s firm, naked backside, warm from the bright sunlight pouring in through the glass roof.

He didn’t have time for this lazing around and reliving old times. He was pondering the most worrying dilemma he’d ever had in his life, a life that had not stinted itself when throwing up problems for him. He had just begun yet another list of pros and cons in his head for this latest one, thought of a good title—pros and cons—mentally underlined it and had the first entry, when he heard an irritating tapping noise.

“What are you doing?”

“Sending a text.”

“Ah, that’s what that thing is—a phone. I meant who are you texting?”

“Emilia.”

“Tell her Bronislav is well.”

“I’ll tell her Mr Darcy is, yeah.”

Emilia and Nikolas disagreed on her horse’s name. No one gave him any sympathy (or respect). They refused to acknowledge he was still recovering from a recent existential crisis where he’d had to admit to a group of men that he was gay. Nuzzling a horse whilst calling it Mr Darcy was too much to expect on top of this.

“What does ‘has he said yes yet’ mean?”

Nikolas grunted. “I have no idea.”

“Said yes to what?”

“I don’t know, Ben! Tell her no he hasn’t.”

“Nik…”

Nikolas swiped Ben’s phone from his hand and tossed it across the room into the armchair. Ben would have probably protested, but he was being entered, and that always took his whole focus.

It was why Nikolas sometimes seized him unexpectedly and took him so abruptly—it stopped the annoying nagging for a while.

In this case, it also allowed him to return to his terrible dilemma.

Ben could have had no idea when he’d offered to get a tattoo that it would turn into such a huge thing in Nikolas’s mind. Six months on, it was still temporary, still being drawn on and embellished every so often. At the moment, it had the addition of an arrow. The simple M turned into an N and then an A, the middle V was now shaped as an arrow pointing down into Ben’s smooth cleft. This was only a joke Nikolas had added a few days ago, but it was indicative of the problem obsessing him: he wanted Ben branded as his, but, at the same time, he didn’t want him marked or altered in any way. Ben had done that once to go undercover—blond hair, blue eyes, tattoo—and Nikolas hadn’t liked it one bit. So thus, the painful predicament…Label Ben as his…but consequently mark him. It was too awful to decide, but the pondering of it, which always involved the temporary drawing being studied and stroked, inevitably led to studying and stroking a little lower, and hence they were in bed in the middle of the day in the middle of the week and not, as Ben remarked, out saving the world.

Ben joked about a lot of things these days. Being without his memory had apparently been a holiday for Benjamin Rider-Mikkelsen from which he’d returned…impudent. Nikolas had been forced to tread a very fine line in his own home. Or Ben’s house, anyway. To be fair to Ben, Nikolas had been given permission to do what he liked in his London property. Snort snuff porn or watch coke, Ben claimed he didn’t care. Nikolas knew, however, Ben was lying about both these assertions, and that he’d be in very serious trouble if he did either—right way around or not.

It wasn’t fair.

Also (and yes, he was whining in his head; who else did he have to complain to?), he now had to tiptoe around Babushka. When he and Ben had tentatively suggested she come and live with them in England, although they fully understood if she said no, given she had a lifetime of friends in her home town in Siberia, Ulyana Ivanovna had chortled that they were all old fogeys and sent designs for her new cottage. So they were building her a cabin in the grounds while she temporarily resided in one of the guest suites.

Babushka adored Nikolas, but unfortunately for him, that adoration had taken the form of…mothering…deciding what was best for him…attempts to improve him…

He was—

“Hey!” Ben rolled over, dislodging Nikolas. “Am I in this bed on my own?”

And if that didn’t exactly prove his point! Since when did Benjamin Rider-Mikkelsen comment on his technique?

Ben mocked-punched Nikolas and then pulled him down to lie on top of him, kissing around his stubble and biting gently into his neck. “Do you need a rest, old man?”

Nikolas rose, sleek and genuinely furious, over the chuckling figure beneath. Ben shook his head fondly, glancing at Nikolas’s cock, which was heavy and risen with thwarted desire. “No, I didn’t think so. Stop thinking and more fucking, maybe?”

Things were going to have to change again.

This was just intolerable.

****

As soon as they were done, Ben padded to the kitchen ostensibly to make them both some tea. He actually headed straight for Nikolas’s phone, which had been left on the counter when the need for sex had overwhelmed them just before lunch. He picked it up and snorted faintly at the Harry Black tape holding it together. He’d bought Nikolas a new phone for his birthday a couple of months ago, but Nikolas preferred this one. It needed tapping occasionally to get going, but it worked. It was the only thing in Nikolas’s life that was not…perfect…just so…and it said a lot about Nikolas that Ben would never attempt to explain to someone who only saw the surface man and judged him on how he behaved or what he said.

He tapped the screen gently now, scrolled to the inbox and found a communication trail of twenty recent texts between Nikolas and Emilia.

Of course, Ben wasn’t allowed to read Nikolas’s communications—phone, email, or letter. Of course, he wasn’t. That was just understood between them.

Ben quickly discovered what “has he said yes” meant. Emilia was about to complete her first year at the wildly expensive boarding school Nikolas paid for her to attend in Scotland. She’d invited them both, with her grandmother, to the end of year events—speech day, fete, dinner, and a ball…

She’d invited them.

Them both. As a couple.

Nikolas Mikkelsen and Ben Rider-Mikkelsen.

The formal invitation was in the post, she’d emphasised.

Uh-huh.

Ben went back across the swim lane, through the bedroom, dodged Nikolas’s hopeful attempt to drag him back to bed, ignored the complaint about the absence of tea, and went into Nikolas’s study. He rummaged through the pile of correspondence on the desk. Who had handwritten letters these days? Why was it all in Russian?

He found the gold-embossed invitation under a hopeful begging letter from the Mare and Foal Sanctuary, which was only a couple miles away from them. Faces of sad, abused ponies with bedraggled coats and tiny, shaky foals made him wince.

Emilia had signed the card herself in purple ink and added a smiley face.

The event was next week, and she was still asking for their reply!

He went back into the bedroom, snatched up his own phone and began to reply to her text.

“What are you doing? Where’s my tea?”

He finished the acceptance. Yes didn’t take long to type, after all.

He tossed the phone back onto the chair and returned to the kitchen to find a snack for himself. If Nikolas wanted tea, he’d have to shift his lazy butt to find some.

Ben had to concentrate these days to be the boss in this relationship, as it didn’t come naturally to him. Acquiescence was his default setting. But if he acted before thinking, snatched every opportunity to control and corral Nikolas, and tried not to worry about the consequences, he managed to stay ahead of his natural desire to lie back and let Nikolas decide everything. Hard work, but worth it.

He had the advantage that Nikolas was totally confused and off-balance about what he remembered and what he didn’t.

When it suited him, when the timing was just right, Ben planned to recall that he hadn’t given Nikolas permission to smoke at all. He wanted to let Nikolas enjoy his nicotine fix for a bit longer so the giving up again was additionally difficult. It was good for Nikolas to be challenged. Character building.

He smirked as he poured himself a nice, strong cup of tea and cut a large slice of cake just for himself, and sat at the kitchen table with Radulf at his feet.

Life was good.

Most satisfactory…

Nikolas Mikkelsen was free to walk any time he wanted. Clearly, he didn’t want to.

He wished he’d thought of this strategy for dealing with Nikolas nine years ago. Or not. It was only fun because Nikolas kicked so hard against the pricks, so to speak.

He saw a stack of outgoing correspondence, much of it also in Russian. One envelope was in English, however, addressed to the Mare and Foal Sanctuary. Not yet sealed. He opened it. Do, then think. It was challenging, but if he didn’t practise, he’d lose the momentum.

He pulled out a cheque for a million pounds in Nikolas’s beautiful, cursive writing.

Ben swallowed deeply, his hand shaking a little.

He put the donation reverently back into the envelope.

He poured another cup of tea, cut a new slice of cake, and took them carefully over the bridge into their bedroom.

Sometimes his decision to entirely corral and control Nikolas was subverted by the fathomless depths of the love he held for him.

****

Nikolas discovered they had accepted Emilia’s invitation that evening when he returned to the house from the under-construction cottage in the grounds. He liked visiting the builders, and not for the reason Ben accused him of. Had he been gifted with another life—one that had not seen him incarcerated in a Russian prison when he was seventeen—he would have become an architect or civil engineer. A history that would not have seen him inheriting his grandfather’s billions, either, he supposed. Hedonistic indulgence and studying hard at university didn’t sit too well together, but he did like building things, designing them. Had anyone bothered to notice him when he was on the beach with his bucket and spade, they’d have witnessed the great constructions he made out of sand and water, damming, channelling and controlling nature. Changing it to suit how he wanted things to be. Nika had collected shells in his bucket and made pretty patterns out of them. Wuss. His castles and fortifications had been superb. Now he had a glass house to his name and soon this cottage built of oak to match the stables and the pavilion alongside the tennis court.

He’d sited it in a clearing in the woods. He understood Babushka instinctively and knew she would want to be surrounded by trees. He’d also countermanded her claim that she only needed two bedrooms—one for herself and one for Emilia during the school holidays—and was having it built with four. He fully expected Ulyana Ivanovna to realise that her lack of English isolated her in her new life and that she would thus want to invite some of her “old fogeys” over to visit. Likewise, Emilia could bring friends from school if she wanted.

Wandering into the kitchen from his successful site visit, he was greeted by the very pleasant sight and smell of Ben cooking.

Six months on, and they were enjoying the fruits of Ben’s determination to master the complexities of their state-of-the-art kitchen. He’d sensibly put the Cordon Blue book Kate had bought him to one side and started with simple things he could understand. Nikolas didn’t care too much what Ben cooked because he rarely ate more than a mouthful of anything if he could get away with it, but he did like the whole ambience of the thing—just sitting in the kitchen while Ben was working, watching him, sharing a bottle or two of wine, giving Ben the benefit of his wisdom and experience.

There was nothing he knew about food that Ben wanted to hear, especially anything related to the culinary habits of gulag prisoners, but Ben did like him here and used him as a reference, translator, and taster.

About to tell Ben that the thatching on the cottage roof was starting the next day, Nikolas was blindsided, therefore, when Ben announced, as he was grinding some spices, “I’ve booked us flights from Exeter to Inverness next week. Tim and Squeezy’ll be here to look after Radulf. Or he could go to Philipa’s, I suppose.”

“What do—?”

“Babushka’ll need a new dress for the ball, so Philipa’s taking her shopping to Exeter tomorrow—unless you want to take her? Might be easier with the language thing…Can you call her for dinner? We’re ready.”

“But—”

“Oh, course, I suppose we could drive. Then we could take Radulf, and Babushka could see some of the countryside. That might be cool. What do you think?”

“I—”

“Go call her then. She’s watching Strictly—”

“Ben.” Nikolas put his hand over Ben’s to stop the terrible grinding noise. “What are you talking about?”

“Emilia’s end of year next week. We’re going.”

“I—”

“I know.”

“Then why—?”

“Because—”

“Will you fucking let me finish one sentence! Please!”

“Don’t swear at me, Nikolas.”

Nikolas actually felt his jaw drop a little and had to resist the temptation to tap it shut theatrically. He blinked.

Ben grinned and kissed him. “Go fetch Babushka. Please.”

Temporarily flummoxed, but thinking of a suitable reply, Nikolas turned to do as Ben asked and heard a murmured, “We’ll practise our dancing later.”

****

Chapter Two

Ben actually had no intention of dancing at the ball. That, as far as he was concerned, was for pussies, a judgement he also gave to art, classical music, black and white films, and any books without serial killers, or explosions, or zombies. The only times he’d done so had been at mess functions when he’d been so drunk that all he remembered was an eerie sort of tribalism that stirred the blood, until the rhythmic movements had resembled a battle fought not with weapons, but with bodies and the beat of overloud sound systems. And, of course, men didn’t cavortpublicly with other men—however gay they were now willing to concede they might be. Which wasn’t all that much, as, although they’d both admitted it, both come out to a room full of men (well, seven, not including Squeezy, who probably hadn’t been listening anyway), that didn’t mean they talked about it or actually wanted to consider it as affecting their day-to-day interactions at all. They were both quite happy to live together and have sex and still not give voice to the G word. So dancing was out of the question.

They hadn’t even held hands in public yet.

However, he had no intention of telling Nikolas that they weren’t going to enjoy the ball.

There was, consequently, a little edge to the atmosphere during the meal. Ben could tell. Nikolas was being overly polite. He was speaking exclusively to Ulyana Ivanovna in Russian, excluding him, whilst at the same time being exceedingly civil to him. It was a neat trick. Nikolas had depths, Ben had to give him that.

Ulyana Ivanovna, of course, was delighted to discover that she didn’t have to travel to her granddaughter’s end of year on her own. She particularly liked the idea of driving, as she told Ben. Ben’s Russian was now quite decent enough for that simple conversation, but once she told him that and he replied, “Good,” she turned back to Nikolas, and the rest of the conversation passed him by. He concentrated on the farfalle with creamy wild mushroom sauce, tapping Nikolas’s plate a little when he realised, as usual, that Nikolas wasn’t eating.

Nikolas picked up his fork and moved the little bows around for a while. Eventually, he muttered in Danish, “It might be awkward, Ben. That’s why I was hesitating about attending.” He took a large swallow of wine, laying down his utensil, unused, once more.

“Awkward? How?”

Nikolas looked a little pained. “For Emilia. If we come to her school. Who will she say we are?”

“Her friends?”

“Don’t be naive, Ben, please. You know what I’m saying.”

Ben regarded him for a moment then nudged him under the table with his foot. Nikolas quirked his lip a fraction at the private communication. “Maybe you should trust Emilia. Let go, have a little faith that you don’t have to decide everything all the time.” There was far more being admitted here than a comment on a thirteen-year-old girl’s ability to understand the nuances of human relations. It was why Ben had softened his remark with the foot touch. Nikolas leant back in his chair, his dark gaze holding Ben for an unusually long time.

His only reply, as he resumed playing with his pasta was, “But we will fly. It is too far to drive.”

****

When they arrived, Ben was very glad they’d flown. The school was remote, to say the least—two hundred acres of wooded grounds on the very northwest tip of Scotland, hugging a rugged coastline and private, sandy beaches. They left Ulyana Ivanovna at the hotel to rest and rented a car to drive to the school and pick up Emilia. She had an exeat for the evening so she could have dinner in the hotel with them.

Ben hadn’t been sure what to expect, but was awed into silence by the graceful buildings and the sweeping lawns, bright and welcoming in the June sunshine. It was very far removed from his comprehensive in Yorkshire, which he remembered as barely more than a holding pen for delinquents. He was beginning to regret his hasty decision to accept the invitation, and understood Nikolas’s reticence a little more. Suddenly, a tall, elegant young woman came towards them from the throng of pupils greeting parents.

Emilia stopped in front of them. She was very tall and lean for thirteen. Her hair, which they were used to seeing tumbling and curling and wayward, was done in an elaborate braid and twist. She had freckles across her nose from outdoor summer activities. Ben felt awkward until she turned to him, and, with the tiniest smile, they were back in a hangar in Siberia, making a friendship based on nothing more than a mutual confusion at the hand life had dealt them. She then regarded Nikolas. He was pretending to watch the other parents. Ben knew, though—Nikolas would never leave himself open to rejection, so he shifted emotionally away from any situation that threatened such exposure. Emilia snorted faintly and then flung her arms around him. Despite what Nikolas had once told her, Emilia had worked out for herself that some people need a more potent display of love than they let on.

As they drove to the hotel, she leant through the gap in the front seats, badgering them with questions about Mr Darcy and Radulf and the cottage and all the other concerns in Devon. Her American accent was almost entirely gone, except for a kind of valley-laziness and rise at the end of each sentence, which matched the upper-crust drawl of her schoolfellows. Her Russian, however, was greatly improved, as her best friend at school came from that country, along with almost twenty percent of her house. She’d been working hard at it for Babushka’s sake.

Emilia had recently made it into the school tennis team, never having played before, and was keen to practise with Nikolas over the coming holiday. Ben saw Nikolas repress a small smirk at the thought of having someone else to beat—Ben had yet to take a set off him.

Ben pulled the programme for the next couple of days out of his pocket and handed it back to her, keeping his eyes on the road. “What time do you want us to be at the fair?”

For the first time, looking at the schedule, she sounded hesitant. “Eleven, maybe? I’ll meet you at the front of the dorm?”

Nikolas plucked the sheet from her. “It says silent auction at ten. What’s a silent auction?”

“I…err…I’m not sure. I think it’s…people bid for things?”

“Oh, I had no idea that’s what an auction was. I meant the silent part. Is it all done by mime?”

“It’s secret bids. On paper, not out loud. I think.”

“Why?”

“Because! Anyway, if you come at—”

“What are the prizes—that this has to be done in secret?”

“They’re…you know, the usual things. We’ve donated them.”

“We?”

“Yes! At school. We’ve all donated things.”

“And…?” Nik turned in his seat. She sat back, folding her arms.

“I donated you both.” She flung herself forward. “I’m sorry, but I had to do something! I don’t have spare cars or holidays in chalets in Switzerland to offer!”

Ben was watching her in the mirror. She twitched her nose and pouted. Nikolas did his staying silent trick, and being only thirteen she fell for it. “I had to donate something and lots of girls were donating services and things—half an hour cleaning cars, babysitting, you know!”

Nikolas licked his lips. Ben could have sworn it was a nervous gesture. “You have volunteered us for baby—?”

“Hardly.” She had the upper hand again now and seized the initiative, giving him a derisory glare.

Ben intervened. “Emmy, just tell us, yeah? What have you donated us to do? I don’t mind cleaning a car for half an hour. And Nik can learn how, if he puts his mind to it…”

She straightened her blazer a little, brushing some imaginary fluff off her kilt. “I donated you for a date. Everyone knows who you are…I mean, you’re almost a celebrity…” Nikolas snorted at the almost, but then seemed to realise this confession hadn’t included him. She twitched her nose again at his interrogatory eyebrow. “I explained you were a fixer. I’ve donated you to…fix things.”

Nikolas frowned. Ben did too, trying to think of the last time he’d seen Nikolas with a tool in his hand, other than the obvious one. Nikolas appeared to be having the same problem. “I…I…I’m actually at a loss. Fixer? What did you tell them?”

“I didn’t come out and say it like that…No one would believe me for a start…But I promised you fixed…problems.” At his continued bafflement, she concluded with a resigned eye roll, “You’re Russian. They knew what I meant.”

“You told them that I was—?”

“Nik…” Ben hardly needed to point out that Emilia might think she knew everything, and being thirteen it was highly probable she did assume this, but she didn’t actually know anything about Nikolas’s past or his peculiar talents.

Nikolas turned back to face front once more and only commented in Danish to Ben that they would attend the auction early and make any necessary bids themselves.

A little voice from the back seat muttered, “I understood that.”

Nikolas huffed. “Good. And little girls shouldn’t listen to adults’ conversations.”

“Well, adults shouldn’t have conversations in front of them then, and when I find two adults I’ll be sure to let them know.”

Ben felt rather than saw Nikolas’s expression and tried not to smile.

They arrived at the hotel and the greeting between grandmother and granddaughter put paid to any further comment from Nikolas on the auction.

Ben could tell Nik was sanguine about the whole thing, and that by a judicious application of excessive wealth, all would be solved.

It was unfortunate, therefore, that they’d decided to fly to Scotland, for that had forced them to hire a car. Their vehicle broke down the next day between the hotel and the school, and they had to call for a tow from a local garage. By the time they reached the school, the fair was in full swing, but, more importantly, the auction was over. Someone had paid over a thousand pounds for a date with ex-Special-Forces-expert Ben Rider—Emilia had advertised him as such and put a copy of the cute selfie he’d sent her at Christmas on the poster. A little over a thousand pounds. Ben couldn’t tell if Nikolas was impressed or amused by the amount.

Nikolas’s auction had raised ten pounds.

Apparently no one had been sure what a fixer was.

But someone had been willing to risk a tenner to find out.

****

They wandered around the fair in the warm June sunshine amongst the glorious buildings, feeling unexpectedly at home. Well dressed, affluent, they blended in with the parents and other guests who were likewise enjoying the ambience. The pupils flittered here and there, dragging elegant mothers to view yet another gem of the school or meet yet another friend. Ben noticed Emilia giving the happy families glances once or twice, and felt a surge of gratitude and love for Nikolas when, unprompted, he challenged her to a game of archery. She quickly forgot to watch the girls with their mothers in the excitement of choosing a bow and making a suitable bet. They decided if he won she would have to name her horse Bronislav, as Nikolas wanted—after all, as he had pointed out to anyone who would listen to him, what better name for any animal than Glorious Protector? She agreed to his terms, then thinking theatrically, and with a small quirk of her lips at Ben, she declared that if she won, Nikolas would have to take the floor with her for the opening number that evening.

Ben felt an immediate twinge of anxiety at this for some reason. He told himself it was fear of Nikolas’s inevitable reaction and Emilia’s predictable hurt at this refusal, but if it was, then he was worrying needlessly. Nikolas agreed gracefully with a small bow that yes, if she won, he’d dance with her that evening.

That sent Ben into a minor tailspin. As she walked over to pin a new target sheet up to the board, he stood a little closer to Nikolas than he’d been doing all morning. Nikolas smelt incredibly good, which was instantly distracting. “You have to let her win, Nik.”

Nikolas frowned. “No I don’t.” He took off his jacket and carefully handed it to Ben, loosening his tie and rolling up his sleeves. He smelt even better now, the sun soaking into the expensive cotton of his shirt, its light gracing the blond hair on his tanned forearms…

Ben licked his lips and tried to pull his thoughts back to the present. “You can’t beat kids at things. You’re an adult.”

“Then why make a bet with them? I don’t understand what you mean.”

“Jesus, Nik. Didn’t anyone ever let you win when you were little?”

“They didn’t have to. No one could beat me at anything. Isn’t that the point?”

“No! Let her win! Please!”

“But she’d hate that! This is Emilia, Ben.” He pushed Ben to one side and strode confidently to the line.

They had four arrows each.

Nikolas shot first.

He missed the target completely with his first two arrows so he scored nothing. Ben watched with fascinated glee as a trickle of sweat glistened on Nikolas’s forehead, but he gave him the benefit of the doubt—it was very hot. He hit the outer rim with his third arrow and scored one point. With his final one, he got a solid inner ring—five points. Six. Nik clearly wasn’t sure if this was good or not. He’d hit the target, which was something.

Emilia sank three bull’s-eyes, but was laughing so triumphantly she missed the target entirely with her fourth and last arrow. It really didn’t matter. She’d been taking archery for a year and could add up three bull’s-eyes without Ben’s help. But Ben liked to be helpful and told them both a number of times that she’d scored thirty-five.

And that Nikolas had six.

He nudged Nikolas as they were moving onto the next stand, handing over the jacket and saying quietly in Danish, “You’re a bugger, Nik. I believed you for a minute. Thanks for letting her win.”

Nikolas pursed his lips as he adjusted his tie. “Really, Benjamin. I’m not that sad that I need to beat little girls at anything. Of course, I let her win. So, you are okay with this dancing thing?”

Ben gave him a quick glance. “You think I’d be…jealous?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. No, I was just wondering whether it was…appropriate?”

“Her father would dance with her, I guess? If he was still alive…?”

“But I’m not her…Is that how you see me? As her father?”

“Nik, no, but I think that’s how she’s starting to see you.”

Nikolas stopped and caught at Ben’s arm, allowing Emilia and her grandmother to get further ahead. “What do you mean?”

Ben toed the ground for a moment. “I’m not sure. It’s just…she’s moving in with us…You’re sending her to school. But nothing is…settled.”

“Nothing is settled between us, either, but I find nothing to worry at in that.”

Ben thought about this for a moment. “We’re…different. And we’re adults. Or at least, one of us is.”

“And she can be the same, I think—different.”

“She’s only thirteen, Nikolas. She may be thinking—or wanting—something else. I think she sees you as family, now. Safety, security. That’s all.”

Nikolas glanced up at the sky, squinting at the sun, apparently deep in thought for a moment. He slipped on his dark sunglasses. Ben could no longer see his eyes. “Perhaps that is how it should be. We can make our own destinies in life and we can make our own families—conscious decisions.” He began to stroll towards the marquee then murmured, “I am very happy with my current choices.”

****

Chapter Three

Still smarting slightly from being beaten at archery, Nikolas spent the rest of the day at the fair annoying Ben to cheer himself up. Ben was less able to retaliate away from home, more his old deferential, easy-going self, so he was an undemanding target for all of Nikolas’s helpful observations. Irritated still more with the auction results, he had plans for thousand-pound Benjamin Rider-Mikkelsen when they returned to the hotel room that would remind him of his place in the scheme of things. He was startled, therefore, as they left Ulyana Ivanovna at her room and entered theirs to find himself flattened against the closed door, key still dangling from his hand, before he even had time to speak.

Ben seized Nikolas’s face and opened Nikolas’s mouth up with his tongue, seeking, demanding. Nikolas responded, jolted from a lazy, amused mood, thinking about taking Ben down a peg or two, to an immediate, overwhelming need for him. Ben ground himself all along Nikolas’s sharp angles and hard planes, eliciting a groan of delight, letting out a held breath and looking down to where their hips met. He pressed on, harder, grabbed Nikolas’s neck and brought their mouths back together. “I was picturing you naked when you were shooting the arrows.”

Nikolas smiled into the kiss, biting Ben’s lip gently at this confession. He hadn’t sensed any such thoughts from Ben at all, but then he had been a little distracted.

Ben murmured, “God, you smell so good.”

“I need a shower.”

Ben shook his head, kissing around Nikolas’s neck and ear, grinding them together to keep their need urgent, despite slowing to sensual, slow exploration of scent and taste. Ben had washed in something earthy, musky, that morning, and that smell was now infused with Nikolas’s own—sweat and the warmth of the sun. Ben began to unbutton Nikolas’s shirt, loosen his tie, each movement punctuated by kisses, mouths wide, tongues playing.

It was too prolonged for Nikolas. He always needed it fast and furious to start with, only really enjoying drawn out, languid sensuality when he’d released the pressure, eased the tension in the remarkably taut physicality of his body. Everything was coiled now, risen, tense. He could feel his blood draining south, all his thoughts focused on penetrating and thrusting, and the drive towards orgasm, but Ben was having none of it. He was kissing slowly down Nikolas’s neck to his collarbone, thumbs grazing the exposed nipples. He nuzzled into Nikolas’s armpit, moaning his pleasure at the intensity of the erotic scents.

Nikolas attempted to push off the door, force Ben back towards the bed, but Ben resisted, shoving back, crushing their hips together once more, his own tension very evident as their cocks clashed and fought through their suits. Ben had the shirt fully open now and pulled it off Nikolas’s broad shoulders, at the last minute twisting it and binding his hands behind his back. It wasn’t a restraint by any means, but he clearly liked the way it stretched Nikolas’s defined arms, showcasing his superb musculature and ribbed abdomen. Ben groaned and fell to his knees, one hand holding the twist of cotton behind Nikolas’s back, the other attempting to release him.

Helpless, Nikolas could only watch Ben’s lowered head in an agony of expectation as Ben fumbled the zip, pressed and sought and then found. Nikolas’s knees went a little weak with relief as he pushed into the warm wetness welcoming him. He groaned and struggled, freeing his hands so he could hold Ben’s head, moaning again with pleasure as his fingers snagged into the silky black strands. Ben looked up through lowered lashes as his lips slid along Nikolas’s glistening length. He choked out something nonsensical at the overwhelming sight, and he could not, even if put to torture, have admitted which language he cried the delighted words in. He came, a sudden, shockingly powerful wave of intensity which made him rise onto his toes, cry out once again, a harsh, guttural bark of completion, and then stagger, falling with Ben to the floor, lost to the aftermath of his explosive orgasm.

He only took a moment to recover before he had Ben in his hand.

Ben wanted to be inside him.

Nikolas obliged. He turned onto his belly, allowing Ben to lower his trousers just enough. He could feel Ben’s heavy cock bouncing off the backs of his thighs as Ben licked and kissed his way up to his target. Nikolas arched his back as a finger slid inside him in preparation. It touched him just right, and he hissed as his cock filled once more, pressed into the soft carpet and trapped as it was.

Ben straddled Nikolas, parted his cheeks and came home, sinking, inch by slow inch, deep into the welcoming warmth. They both had to still for a moment and let their bodies adjust, Ben to the keenness of the pleasure, clearly not wanting it to be over too quickly, and Nikolas to the profound stretch and fill. When they were ready, Ben used Nikolas, and Nikolas took the exploitation, not needing platitudes or sweet loving words as he was taken, just this physical absolute, and the knowledge that he was giving Ben what he craved.

Ben wanted them to come together, panting his desire with closed eyes. His entire focus seemed fixed on the bliss of fucking Nikolas. Nikolas was being left behind. He could see Ben’s toes curling and clenching as he worked, could feel him tensing, ready to come, knew every twitch and signal of the familiar cock inside him. Ben knew him, too. At just the right moment, just before he reached his goal, Ben bent down and bit him hard on the back of his neck. It wasn’t the bite that brought Nikolas his second orgasm, but the sound of unrestrained delight from Ben as he tasted Nikolas’s heated skin.

They shuddered their releases together, Ben deep and heavy, hot and demanding on Nikolas’s back, and Nikolas silently, with exquisite relief into the plush carpet of the expensive hotel room.

****

It was still daylight. June, the sun was still up until late in the evening this far north. They lay in a direct beam of light from the large windows, soaked in sweat and semen, sticky and sated, watching dust motes dance in the lazy summer sun.

Nikolas was stretched Christ-like, prone on the carpet, Ben lying upon him, mirroring his position, arms outstretched, fingers entwined. He was still embedded, still stretching Nikolas, the occasional twitch sharing pleasure between them.

It was in moments like these in the past that Ben would usually get a few words out of Nikolas that he always regretted saying. He didn’t need to say such things now, as this new, annoying Ben demanded he say them at other times—random insistence on being given proof of his love, his commitment. When they were driving along on a perfectly unrelated trip—“Tell me you love me.” Watching a movie—“How much do you love me?” It was unnerving and intensely challenging. Even so, even though Ben didn’t ask for anything now, Nikolas murmured, “Ya tebya lyublyu. Ty nuzhen mne.”

Ben’s Russian was very basic, but Nikolas knew he’d understand this.

Ben chuckled with indolent delight into the back of Nikolas’s neck and squeezed his fingers for a moment. “What time should we leave for the ball?”

They were due to have dinner in Emilia’s refectory then attend the ball in the huge marquee that had been erected on the lawn. The pupils were attending the dance under supervision until eleven and then being escorted back to their respective dorms.

“I’ve booked a taxi for seven.”

“Do they have English afternoon tea—scones and cream—in Scotland?”

“I don’t know.” Nikolas wondered briefly if that question had ever been asked and answered before by two men joined by a large twitching cock. Probably not.

“Nikolas?”

Uh-huh. That never boded well.

“We need to talk about something.”

Was there a man on earth who ever heard those words with equanimity, even one with nothing on his conscience? Nikolas didn’t think so. He got prodded suddenly in the ribs.

“And what is the response you make to such questions these days?”

Nikolas responded quickly (almost by rote), “Of course. Anything you want to talk about.”

Ben grinned. Nikolas couldn’t see this because he was still face first in the carpet, which was beginning to seem like an old friend, but he knew. Ben was grinning.

“We need to talk about Kate—don’t you dare move.”

“Ben, this isn’t fair. I’m willing to go along with this new game of yours, just—ow!”

“Rethink that. Now.”

“Yes, I apologise, I was translating in my head, and very mature relationship rules in Russian is game in English. Sorry. Ow.”

“Kate. Look…” Ben sighed and wriggled a little on Nikolas’s back, which made Nikolas grunt (not in a good way; he was wondering if he’d be able to stand at the ball, let alone dance—Benjamin Rider-Mikkelsen was six feet four of solid muscle and a quite a few pounds of that weight were currently inside him). “Are you actually listening to me?”

“Of course. What else would I be doing?”

“I wasn’t the one that got hurt by what she did, Nik. All I got were a few orgasms—”

“Plural now?”

“But she betrayed you, hurt you, and that hurts me, so—”

“Ben, you don’t have to worry about Kate. She’s history—ow! Jesus! That hurt! I haven’t killed her! She’s gone to the States! Fucking hell!”

“Do not swear at me. Why is she in the States?”

“It was Emilia’s idea.”

“What! Emmy knows—?”

“Of course not.

---ENDE DER LESEPROBE---