Death's Ink Black Shadow (21 page)

He knew Nikolas would get the loving intent behind the pain.

§ § §

Ben was never sure, looking back on those few days on Aeroe, whether they had marked a watershed for Nikolas. Whether back in his native land once more, his childhood home, facing ghosts, deceptions, and memories, Nikolas had decided to accept Steven at last. It seemed to Ben at the time that he had.

When they returned to London, Nikolas appeared to be willing to believe that he had a second chance with Steven—that Steven was, in so many ways, the brother Nikolas mourned. For Ben knew that Nika had not gone out of Nikolas’s life when he’d fallen from a balcony in Moscow, but that he’d been effectively lost many years before that—selfish, spoilt, privileged, and endlessly envious of his older, better twin. Steven wasn’t Nika’s son. He was Aleksey’s. And as far as Ben was concerned that meant Steven had inherited the very best of the Mikkelsen blood. He was a blank canvas for Nikolas to work upon, to lavish on Steven all the care and affection he’d once poured onto an undeserving, weak brother.

Steven became an almost permanent feature of their lives.

Ben put up with it for Nikolas’s sake.

He liked Steven, he genuinely did.

He liked Nikolas better though and was jealous of the attention Nikolas gave his son.

This was something of a revelation for Ben.

He began to realise just how much he took Nikolas’s devotion to him for granted. Being with Nikolas was sometimes like being tumbled in the wave of a tsunami—it was all churn and movement and smash of debris. The tumult hid the central core of love, which, Ben knew, was just how Nikolas liked it. He didn’t do romance. He did constant, rock-solid care and unremitting attention.

Now that his focus was fixed elsewhere, Ben missed it like flavour in food. He still got to eat, he just wasn’t enjoying the taste very much.

Seeing Nikolas so often with Steven now also gave Ben another odd revelation. Physically, Steven’s presence enhanced the extreme beauty of Nikolas’s features. Perhaps not beauty. Someone so scarred and fierce, someone with such high cheekbones and mischievous, predatory eyes could never truly be called beautiful, but the watered-down version of these in Steven set off Nikolas’s…unique attractions. Ben enjoyed comparing them, relished the twitch of interest in his cock at being reminded every time just how much he did desire Nikolas.

The only thing that marred life for Ben during these halcyon weeks was a small inner voice, a nagging suspicion, that there was something he was missing in all this happiness and perfection.

He couldn’t put it into words because he didn’t understand what this tiny voice, more a whisper in a language he didn’t know, was saying. Then one evening, over at Tim and Squeezy’s apartment with Radulf, he watched a movie where the protagonist, living a heavenly, dreamlike life, discovered he was actually the star of a reality TV show.

Ben suddenly got what it was he was feeling. It wasn’t
real
.

It was…a dreamtime. All the sex, the sunshine, the perfect car, the sex, the passage of time marked by stars and enchantment, the sex…

It wasn’t real.
He
wasn’t real—no,
Nikolas and Steven
weren’t real…It didn’t help his dilemma actually telling someone how he felt because it didn’t make a lick of sense to him. He eyed Tim for a while, pondering, and when Squeezy went to answer the door to the takeaway delivery guy, he took his opportunity to ask, “What do you think about Steven?”

Tim pursed his lips. “In what way?”

Damn it
. Ben had been hoping Tim would turn to him and say, “Yeah, you’re right, something is off. I think…” and then proceed to explain to him why he was feeling so…out of kilter.

“In any way?” Open questions elicited fulsome replies, didn’t they?

“He’s okay.”

Bloody hell!

“Do you think there’s anything
odd
about the situation?”

Tim smirked. “It’s every straight guy’s nightmare, isn’t it? Child he fathers in a careless one-night stand, coming to find him one day? They’re talking about releasing details of sperm donors. Totally unethical, if you ask me.”

Ben hadn’t and wanted to get him back on topic.

“But Nikolas. He seems…okay about it to you?”

Tim narrowed his eyes and gave Ben a quick sideward glance.

Ben frowned. “What?”

“You do realise that the only time you’ve ever talked to us about him was when he cheated on you with Jack—”

“
Didn’t
cheat.”

“We
never
talk about him with you. He’s very hard to…analyse, understand?”

“But you talk about him amongst yourselves, surely? You work for him!”

Tim nodded, and Ben got the distinct impression that had Tim not been so innately polite, he’d have told Ben exactly what they said about Nikolas behind his back.

“He’s very private. You don’t see his good side.”

Squeezy came in, kicking the door open, as his arms were full of bags and bottles. “Whose good side?”

Tim replied quietly, “Nikolas’s,” with a very noticeable, quick negative head flick. Squeezy grinned as if the admonition to
not
say something gave him full permission to say exactly what was on his mind.

“Fucking wassock,” was his first offering, as he piled the cartons onto the table. “Not here, is he?”

This odd remark confused Ben and apparently Tim in equal measure, but Squeezy only huffed and plonked himself down on the floor with Radulf, flicking channels with the remote as Tim made a neater arrangement of the food. Squeezy nodded knowingly. “Yeah, exactly.”

Ben, exasperated, around a mouthful of something spicy, snapped, “What? If you’ve got something to say, mate, just say it.”

Squeezy leant back and sniffed. “As I said,
mate
, not here, is he?”

“No!”

“Never here, is he?”

“What do you mean? In your apartment? He knows where you live, he came here…”

“This is
life
, Diesel. We only get one fucking go at it. You live yours entirely alone because you’ve saddled yourself to that big wassock. There’s three of us here. Should be four. ’S all I’m saying.” Then Squeezy wrestled Radulf and smooched him, declaring there were actually four and who’d want a useless blond pillock when they could have him?

“I—” Ben was entirely unable to refute Squeezy’s comment and looked to Tim for support, but Tim seemed overcome by the unexpected and wholly uncharacteristic pronouncement from his partner, or possibly the dog kissing, and didn’t seem as if he could lend any spare coherence to Ben.

Finally, Ben intoned stonily, “I was asking about Nik and Steven.”

Squeezy shrugged. “There ya go. Proves my point.”

“What? Do you ever make any sense at all?”

“I make a lot of sense all the time only no one fucking listens to me.”

Tim, ever the peacemaker, murmured, “He’s busy with Steven. It’s only natural.”

Not daunted at all, Squeezy, concentrating on tickling a spot just behind Radulf’s ear that made his back leg come up frantically scratching air, replied, “Funny old thing.”

Ben glanced at Tim then snapped, infuriated, “Just fucking tell me straight what you think.”

Squeezy took pity on Radulf, fed him a prawn cracker, and then regarded Ben for a while, as if weighing up whether to speak or not. “You seem happy, Diesel, so I’ve not said anything. Not to you, anyway. I’ve told the wassock. Got a fucking reaming for my trouble—and not the good kind of those, more’s the pity. Never denied I’d like to fuck him, just don’t wanna have to put up with him. This is not him, is it? When’s the last time he took you out anywhere? Gallery? Concert? Movie? Shit, fucking gay club? Bar?” He wrinkled his nose helplessly at Tim. “What else do we do? Help me out here.”

Tim added quite easily, “Book reading? The Lecture on climate change? Oh, the English National Ballet
Lest We Forget
, remember? That was…incredible. The murder-mystery weekend. That was fun.”

Squeezy chuckled. “Glastonbury. You old rocker, you.”

“Glyndebourne.” Tim laughed at Squeezy’s theatrical shudder.

Ben stood up and went to the window, his back to them, then he turned and flung himself into his seat again, glaring at Squeezy. “Galleries? Ballet? Seriously? You’re trying to tell me you go—?”

“With my little ethical fuck-buddy, yeah, I do. He wants to go, I go. It’s what people do, Ben! He’s done his fair share of watching boxing and cage fighting—”

Tim kicked him in outrage. “I have not. Stop teasing him.”

Squeezy smirked. “So how come
Nikolas
is doing all this with Steven and not with you? Huh? You ever thought about that?”

“You think he’s…
what
? With…?”

Tim put his head in his hands, shaking it despairingly. “No, he’s not sleeping with his son, Ben. He’s just being entirely uncharacteristic with him. That’s what we’re trying to say. He’s…it’s like he’s acting a part.”

“Yes!”
At last!
They agreed with him! Ben swallowed his mouthful quickly. “See, like the damn film we’ve just watched. Or I was thinking it’s like maybe he’s read a book
How to Be a Good Father
kind of thing? Because he isn’t sure and is trying too hard?” He leant back quite pleased his friends saw it his way. He frowned at Squeezy’s eye roll. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Do you know that expression ‘Not just a pretty face’?”

“Of course.”

“Doesn’t apply to you.”

Before Ben could object to this, Squeezy added, “He’s behaving totally uncharacteristically and you’re not worried. He’s shut you out and you have no idea whatsoever what he’s thinking, but you’re not worried. He has a slight tendency to lie, but you’re not worried. Fuck, Diesel, wake up and smell the coffee.”

It rather put paid to the rest of the evening.

Ben and Radulf left—Radulf out of support for Ben, although it was fairly clear to everyone that
he
would have been more magnanimous and let Squeezy’s comment go. There had been a lot of leftover Chinese food, and someone might have been needed to help out with it.

§ § §

Ben mulled over this strange evening for many days after that.

He watched Nikolas more carefully than he usually did—in a more critical way. Instead of just admiring how his jeans sat low on his hips, how muscular his arms were when seen in a T-shirt, how his (suspiciously) blond hair shone in the sun, Ben now observed him to see if what Squeezy said was true—that he was shutting Ben out of his thoughts.

And even if he were, was this something he should be concerned about? Nikolas was busy enjoying himself with his son.

Ben didn’t have it in his nature to be rude, especially not to his friends, but he had been tempted to point out that he and Nikolas had been living together openly for six years, and another four before that in secret. Ten years said more than fucking ballet in his mind. Or Glastonbury, come to that. Tim had failed a long-term relationship because he’d fucked around. Squeezy…well…

He and Nikolas had been entirely faithful and committed to each other all these (long) years.

Whose relationship was better?

Fuck them.

Ben studied Nikolas with Steven, he saw what he wanted to see and decided that, for once, he’d listen to his heart and mind and
not
some fucking inner voice which was probably only telling him he was jealous.

Ben chuckled. He had the sudden and very worrying image of Nikolas on a murder-mystery weekend.

§ § §

Nikolas went to a lecture at Gresham College—Ethics in War, something he maintained Ben ought to be interested in attending. Ben had
I Spit On Your Grave
, the remake, lined up for the evening, so they’d agreed to disagree. Bugger Squeezy and his views on relationships. Ben would rather ask Radulf for advice. He’d rather
be
in a relationship with Radulf.

The film had just gotten really entertaining when Ben heard the front door open. He poured another glass of wine for Nikolas and swung his legs off the couch. Nikolas didn’t like the kind of movies Ben watched—which was odd, Ben often thought, as much of Nikolas’s life played out in the torture, war, exploitation, and violence of fiction he enjoyed—but he liked twisting up on the couch with Ben and drinking wine. He usually managed to find something that needed commenting on—some technical error, usually in the torture scenes, that he was willing to correct.

This time, however, he didn’t appear.

Ben pressed pause, chuckling to himself at the buttock left naked and poised indefinitely on the screen, and went into the kitchen.

Nikolas was pale. He was sitting at the table, staring into the gloom beyond the patio doors. Ben instantly recalled him in a similar position the night he’d crouched in the courtyard, hidden from the illumination inside. Then, despite the fact he thought Nikolas might have cheated on him with Jackson Keane, all he’d wanted to do was go to him and squeeze the sadness out.

He could now.

He went up to the silent figure and hugged the blond head to his chest. “Good lecture?”

Nikolas nodded. “Good movie?”

“Yup.”

“Lots of rape and torture?”

“Loads. What’s wrong?”

“Anatoly was there.”

Ben let Nikolas go and sat down alongside him. Nikolas was still contemplating something in the darkness outside. Or possibly that which he held inside, Ben realised.

“How did—?”

“Stefan brought him along. Wanted me to meet him. He’s in London for some business meetings.”

“Wanted you to meet him?” It seemed safer to do a repeat thing than try anything original.
Anatoly
.

Nikolas nodded and glanced meaningfully at the kettle. Ben got up dutifully and switched it on. Against the reassuring hiss, he murmured to the back of Nikolas’s head, reasoning it through, “Steven doesn’t know you’ve already met.”

He heard a bitter laugh, and Nikolas replied, turning to face him, “Neither does Anatoly.”

Ben thought about this for a moment.

Anatoly had known Aleksey
.

Known him far too well as far as Ben was concerned. “Fuck.”