CHAPTER TEN
Ben reckoned he shouldn’t be anxious on a first date with someone he knew literally as well from the inside as he knew from the outside. But, somehow, knowing Nikolas as well as he did only made it seemed odder now to be deliberately going out with him, as opposed to all the going out they’d done without thinking too much about it. It made his head ache. And then there was the dilemma of what to wear; which was such a girly thing to think about that he tried to pretend he wasn’t thinking about it, but with Radulf watching him pulling things out of bags and throwing them on the bed, it was hard to keep up any pretence of being macho; which was peculiar, considering Radulf was usually present for the times when Ben was more obviously taking a feminine role in life and not at all worried about how that activity affected his masculine credentials. But Radulf had always proved very discreet in his observations about Ben’s sex life, so he trusted the dog not to comment to anyone on his sartorial dilemmas either.
A suit was way too formal, jeans too casual. But what lay in between? He remembered some of the clothes Nikolas had bought for him in London, just before their fateful meeting with Gregory, and he rummaged in his bags for them. Everything was still in its packaging. He pulled some out and found black wool trousers and a grey, button-down shirt, neither of which appeared too creased. He tried them on. He’d lost weight since London, living on a diet of mainly fish, and everything fit with a delightful looseness that left room for lots of eating. He eyed his jackets and decided on his new leather one. He held it up for Radulf to see, just to remind him why he’d had to buy a new one.
After all these decisions, he now had to think about his hair and a shave—or not. Nikolas, he knew, had become slightly obsessed with his long hair. He claimed to hate it, but in bed, and at other times, he frequently ran his fingers through it, played with it, twisted it around absentmindedly. The stubble he also purported to dislike but didn’t seem adverse to when they were kissing—when kissing, Nikolas clearly couldn’t get enough of it. Ben smirked at his reflection; he was good to go.
Nikolas appeared to think so as well. Ben suspected it hadn’t taken Nikolas hours to decide what he was wearing. He’d opted to dress all in black; black suit and black shirt with no tie, and his long overcoat. Nikolas moved in circles very different to Ben’s and always seemed effortlessly elegant. Tonight, though, with his still sun-bleached blond hair and deep tan, he appeared very different to the Sir Nikolas Mikkelsen Ben had first met. He gave Ben a quick glance, quirked his lip but didn’t comment. Ben checked the guard was in front of the fire, filled Radulf’s water bowl and put the television on for him. Nikolas was standing impatiently, tossing the keys from one hand to the other, glancing at his watch. “Don’t get too fond of that dog, Ben. He goes back soon.”
Ben and Radulf both gave him identical looks, and he was still chuckling at this as he climbed into the driver’s seat. Ben followed him out and frowned. “Hey, I’m driving.”
“It’s snowing, I’m driving.”
“Yeah, exactly, it’s snowing. I want to drive.”
“Get in, Benjamin and stop arguing.”
“It’s my car!”
“Paid for with my money.”
“Aha! No! I paid for it with my money. I’m driving.”
Nikolas climbed out, dropped the keys into Ben’s hand and got into the passenger seat. Ben slid in behind the wheel. “Did I just win an argument with you?”
Nikolas glanced over and frowned. “You have a very warped view of our relationship. For five years I’ve been harassed, bullied, and manipulated into doing exactly what you want, whenever you want. Since when have I ever won a single argument with you?”
“You’re just being―”
“Go on. Name one instance. This’ll be fun. Turn into the skid!”
“Don’t tell me how to drive on ice!”
“I learnt to drive in Russia. It’s all ice! You’re from some place where drizzle makes the trains stop. Slow down, we’re coming to the road. Come on, I’m waiting.”
“Well, I can’t think of one just like that.”
Nikolas chuckled. “I say I don’t want a relationship with you, what did you do?”
Ben winced. “Well, okay, that’s true. I kinda forced you into that―”
“I told you to leave me when Gregory found me, what did you do?”
“I stayed, but that’s―”
“Shall I go on?”
“Seriously? You’re going to keep this up all night? Shall I just stop and let you drive?”
“Yes.”
He did, and they swapped again. Ben couldn’t quite believe it. He sensed Nikolas glancing across at him but refused to acknowledge it. He turned, staring stonily out of the side window. He heard Nikolas chuckle. “So, basically, everything I have now, everything I am, I owe to you and your very misplaced belief in me. So, that’s why I’m taking you out tonight, to thank you for harassing, bullying, and manipulating me so beautifully all these years. That’s why I wanted to drive. I’m taking you out. Now, are you going to sulk all night or talk to me some more in Danish and make me laugh?”
“Sut min pik. How’s that?”
“Oh, that’ll do very nicely. But I’m driving so maybe later?” Ben couldn’t keep up his sulk, especially when Nikolas added thoughtfully, “But you’re a passenger. You could sut min pik very nicely.”
“You have to be kidding.”
“I was. But now maybe not so much…” Nikolas took one hand off the wheel and pressed it into his lap.
§ § §
Ben flicked a quick look around at the dark, snow-covered land, feeling as if all eyes were suddenly on them.
“You’d crash…”
“I assure you I wouldn’t. Have you suddenly gone shy, Benjamin?”
“Well, Jesus, it’s a bit…tacky, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never done it before? Have you?”
“Bloody hell. No. But…” He pushed Nikolas’s hand aside and groaned softly at the hardness beneath the tailored suit. Very carefully, as if just taking a look but not committing himself to anything indecent, he eased down the zip.
Nikolas breathed out and slid lower in the seat. Ben freed him. Then, unable to resist, unable to do anything else even if they did crash, he took him into his mouth. He heard something inarticulate from above and raised his eyes—Nikolas had his closed. “Fuck! Nik!”
Nikolas shook his head, “No, it’s okay, I’m good,” and he pushed Ben back on, making use of Ben’s long hair to hold him down. Ben took it more slowly. The hold on his hair turned to stroking. He dragged his lips up to the tip of the rigid cock and swirled his tongue around, tonguing into the little hole then mouthed down again with tight lips to the base. He knew it wouldn’t be much longer; Nikolas was so hard it was like sucking on the handle of an axe, something had to give. It did. Ben stayed on, low and deep, swallowing. When he was sure Nikolas was done, he eased off and zipped him up. It wasn’t until he sat up that he realised they were stopped at some traffic lights. People were crossing in front of them, hurrying in the snow. Nikolas slowly turned his head to Ben. His pupils were so wide his eyes were almost black. He coughed lightly and nodded. “Good date so far.”
§ § §
Ben always turned heads wherever he went. Nikolas was never sure if Ben noticed this or not. Nikolas always did. Now, however, as well as Ben’s beauty and incredible body, he had long, rumpled hair, designer stubble, and slightly swollen, pouting lips which either said “fuck me now” or “I’ve just been fucked”—Nikolas wasn’t sure which. He liked Benjamin to move through life being worshiped and admired, but he didn’t at the same time. It was very frustrating. Many times he’d thought about getting Ben marked with a tattoo clearly labelling him as his possession, but he didn’t think Ben would go for it. As usual, therefore, he had to suffer in silence as pretty much everyone in the restaurant watched Ben crossing to their table, some far more openly than others. Of course, there was always the option of showing in public that Ben was his by actually occasionally touching him, but open displays of affection weren’t his inclination.
The restaurant was clearly very popular, but they found a table in a quiet corner where Nikolas could put his back to the wall as he preferred. While they drank some wine, Ben asked, “Why is it so busy?”
Nikolas looked up from the menu. “Probably because it’s December. There’s not much to do here when it’s dark so early.”
“It’ll be Christmas soon.”
“Unfortunately.”
“Ah, and that from the man who forced me to spend last Christmas in a hotel all on my own with a broken nose and missing half a finger.”
“A small squeeze to a small finger. Don’t exaggerate.”
“All Christmas…on my own…not even a phone call. Where were you? Hmm, let me think. Oh, I remember, in your lovely big house, living the better-than-life version of A Christmas Carol. Did you actually think about me at all?”
“Once or twice.” He smirked. “Particularly when I was playing billiards. And if you remember, I did call.”
“Ah, yes, and that got me shot.”
“Ack, you make such a big deal about these trivial things. I’ve been thinking maybe we should go back to London for Christmas.”
“Why?”
“Why not? The house is finished. I have things I need to do.”
“You mean leave here for good?”
“Not necessarily. We could just go for a week. There’s much to do in London at Christmas, no?”
“You’re bored, aren’t you?”
Nikolas sighed. “Shall we talk about the weather? Everything else I seem to say ends up in an argument. And I’m not bored.” After a few minutes of silence, though, he added, “But you can only sit in a hot tub for so long. I’m not used to the…purposeless existence I’m living.”
“Purposeless?”
Nikolas looked up. Very slowly, he slid his hand over to Ben’s side of the table, just brushing one finger against his knuckles, letting his finger rest there. It was quite a concession. “We’re different, Ben. You must let me say what I think or feel without worrying I’m saying this about you. I’m not. This is separate to what I think or feel about you. I need to be engaged, forced to be busy. If I stay still too long, things—thoughts—catch up with me.”
Ben was watching their hands. “Maybe you should let them.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s like shrapnel left in a wound. You can’t just stitch up the wound and hope it’ll get better, can you? You need to dig the source of the problem out first.”
Nikolas pursed lips. “That’s an interesting analogy. I was only talking about going to London for a week. See some exhibitions, maybe. I think we’re talking at cross-purposes.”
“I don’t. I think I know exactly what you’re saying.”
“Ben, look at me.” He waited until Ben obeyed. Old habits died hard, and Nikolas occasionally still used his power over Ben when it suited him. When he finally had Ben’s attention, he then seemed to find it hard to say what he wanted. He swore softly. “I was afraid you’d feel confined. With me. Here, like this. I know I’m not sometimes easy company.”
Ben shook his head despairingly. “Sometimes?”
Nikolas tapped Ben’s hand then withdrew his own. “Admit it, you didn’t miss me as much as I missed you.” Ben’s eyes widened, but before he could refute this, Nikolas continued, “I’d hoped to come back and find you sick with pining for me, but I come back to find you more annoying than when I left. My absence clearly suited you.” He wanted to run his fingers through Ben’s hair, there in the restaurant, but only gave it a longing glance and returned his gaze to the menu.
Ben laughed. “You enjoy this, don’t you? You argue for the sake of it. What about you?” He put his hand to one shorn side of Nikolas’s hair—far less inhibited in public about admitting their relationship than Nikolas ever was—and rubbed it vigorously. “What the fuck do you call this? Because it surely isn’t a haircut.”
Nikolas pursed his lips again. “Don’t play drinking games with Russians. I lost a bet.” He ran his fingers through the long, blond hair at the top. “I had to kill him before he shaved it all off.”
Ben lowered his hand and let it drop over Nikolas’s, not exactly holding it, but close enough. “Even if you were dead, Nik, I wouldn’t be bored of you.”
Nikolas looked up sharply, both amused and revolted. Ben frowned. “That didn’t come out quite as it sounded in my head.”
“No, I should hope not. My corpse rotting and you still going down on―”
“Shut up! Fuck.”
“Bits falling off in your …”
The waiter came to take their order. Nikolas knew Ben had intended to order steak, his favourite, because he was starving, but he ordered fish instead. Nikolas was therefore finding it hard to order for laughing, and he’d been trying to remain mature and serious. He’d been enjoying his argument, winding Ben up, outmanoeuvring him, keeping him off balance. Sometimes, he went too far, he knew, but Ben always bounced back—usually on him. That was what made it fun.
It wasn’t long before they’d drunk a couple of bottles of wine and several beers between them. Nikolas still didn’t eat much, but he usually managed to outdrink Ben. But then, as he’d once pointed out, he was half-Danish, half-Russian; it was inevitable.
When the waiter left after bringing them another couple of beers, Nikolas said with a resigned sigh, “So, Christmas in a log cabin in the woods surrounded by snow, just you and a hot tub. How ever am I going to cope?” Ben leant back and thoughtlessly ran his fingers through his hair, lifting it and letting it drop. Nikolas watched with fascination. “Don’t worry. I’ve just thought of what we can do to keep busy.”
“You’re drunk.”
“I’ve told you many times that I’m never drunk. Well, all right, I admit once you’ve seen me drunk, but that was an extreme case, and I believe the vodka was…how do you say―?”
“Flowing too freely?”
“No. Hmm. Spiked.”
The food arrived, and Ben tackled it like it was going to reanimate and escape. Nikolas ate more slowly, but it was still challenging for him to eat anything in public. He was very glad Ben didn’t comment on this, though. Commenting on anything to him, he acknowledged, tended to make him perverse and do the opposite.
When they were finished, Nikolas began to fiddle with his cutlery, a habit that’d only developed since he’d stopped smoking. He started drumming his fingers.
“Stop it.”
He narrowed his eyes at Ben. “You’ve never given up. You don’t know what it’s like.”
Ben glanced at his watch. “Order some coffee. I’m going…” He waved vaguely toward the bathroom and got up. Nikolas then had the dubious pleasure of watching everyone ogling Ben again as he crossed the room. Focused on just how good Ben looked in the clothes he’d bought him, thinking about the removal of them later, he was jolted back to the present when a woman slid into the chair Ben had just vacated. She smiled and held out her hand. “I hope you don’t mind, but I wanted to say hello. I’m Anna.”
Nikolas held out his hand then hesitated as he tried to remember which identity he’d travelled to Denmark under. “Christian Beck.”
“Christian! Oh, sorry, I thought you must be Nikolas. You look just as he says Nik does. How strange.”
Nikolas hesitated for a moment then conceded, “Nikolas is my middle name.”
She nodded, pleased. “I knew it. He can’t have too many friends that match your description, can he? He mentioned you’d come from Russia unexpectedly.”
Nikolas drew his eyes away from her bosom, which was difficult because it appeared to be trying to climb out and join him at the table. He focused on her face. She was heavily made up and appeared to think given enough application of artifice she could still be as attractive as she must have been twenty years ago. He’d place her in her late forties but reckoned she could be younger. He conceded privately he was probably not the best person to be judging these things.
She was studying him as well. When he appeared disinclined to elucidate why he was not still in Russia, she continued, “I was surprised, you see, to see him here tonight because he cancelled our date at the last minute.” She simpered a little and waved at her bosom. “I don’t always dress like this, you know. But he moaned about something coming up unexpectedly—something awkward. That he had to go out. But I suppose he’ll tell me later.” She blushed. “He’s quite chatty after…well…”
Nikolas sat back, assessing, thinking. Finally, at rather a loss for words, he asked, “Sorry, but who are you?”
“Oh, has he not told you about me?” She frowned then nodded and gave him a sympathetic look. “Yes, perhaps because of the divorce. He said it’d hit you rather hard. He wouldn’t want to upset you while you’re still recovering. You know Ben.”
“I thought I did. Told me what?”
“Oh, we’re going to be married!” She patted her stomach and glanced around shyly. “We were hoping in the next few months—before I start to show. We weren’t expecting you to come to Aeroe, of course. He was so sure you were going to be away until December and then go straight to London. So perhaps he wasn’t going to tell you until after the ceremony?” Nikolas was now studying her even more closely. He took a swallow of wine.
“You’re talking about Benjamin Rider? The Englishman who’s staying―”
“With Ingrid. Yes, of course. He was here a moment ago, wasn’t he?”
“How did you meet, did you say?”
“Oh, we met here in Aeroeskoebing when he first arrived. He came to the market, and we just sort of clicked. I know what you’re thinking―”
“I doubt that very much.”
She smiled again. “Well, look, don’t worry. Ben won’t drop you as a friend—I’ll see to that, even if he did say he was getting fed up—anyway…London isn’t that far away. I must go now, but I’ll ask Ben to send you an invite to the wedding. Do say you’ll come. Are you staying on Aeroe long?”
“I’m not sure now. I’m uncharacteristically confused.”
“Oh. Well. Nice to meet you at last. Ben has told me so much about you.”
“I wish I could say the same.”
She slid out of her seat and returned to a table in the corner. After a word or two with some women there, she left.
After another few minutes, Ben returned. He sat back in the seat Anna had recently occupied. “Where’s the coffee?”
Nikolas gave him a winning smile. “So, you haven’t told me how you’ve reached such perfection in your Danish. You didn’t learn it all from Ingrid, surely?”
Ben poured them both some wine and seemed surprised when Nikolas drank his straight down and poured another glass.
“Well, I made some friends, and they’ve all helped. We ate at Alan Lund’s restaurant a lot, and he always chatted to me. But no one else particularly, why?”
Nikolas suddenly stood. “We’re going—now.”
He ignored Ben’s despairing glance at the dessert trolley and strode away.