The Bruise_Black Sky (20 page)

Before he could think this latest worry through, Nikolas returned to the sofa. He sat with his head lowered, staring at the phone for a while.

“Is she okay?”

“Huh?”

“Philipa. Is she…okay?”

Nikolas frowned. “I suppose so. I didn’t ask her.”

“Huh?” Sometimes their conversations were astonishingly bizarre.

“I didn’t ask her.”

“So what did you call for?”

Nikolas looked bemused, as if this ought to be entirely obvious. “I wanted to know why Radulf was there like that on his own! She promised she’d keep him with her, Ben. He can’t see! Why are you laughing?”

Ben shook his head, trying to deny that he was. Nikolas hated being laughed at. He always had.

He patted Nikolas’s hand. “Did I mention recently that I love you?”

“No, you have been too busy being clever and disagreeable.”

“Because I want you to live a long life? Because I love you enough to die if you die coughing your lungs up? That kind of disagreeable?”

Nikolas quirked his lip. “Yes. Exactly that kind.” He sighed and leant back in the sofa. “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t smoke. I’m old enough without adding years unnecessarily.”

Ben reared back a little. “Where the fuck did that come from?”

“Don’t swear at me. It’s obvious that I’m very much older than you. You are…” He waved his hand dismissively at Ben. “You are getting more beautiful every day, whereas I…at least if you leave me for some young movie star, I’ll be free to smoke. There is that, I suppose…”

Ben sank back next to him, pondering the TV screen, but not really listening. “Do you know, of all the dumb things you’ve ever said over all the years I’ve known you, and trust me, you have said more than your fair share, that is the most dumbest thing I’ve ever heard you utter.”

“Most dumbest is ungrammatical. Miles Toogood would be turning in his grave if he were dead.”

“I rest my case.” He turned to face Nikolas. “Look at me.”

“No.”

Ben swung over to straddle Nikolas’s lap, eliciting a very fake sigh of annoyance. “Look at me.” Nikolas could hardly refuse without closing his eyes childishly, for Ben’s vast, naked chest was right in front of him. He sighed again and dutifully raised his gaze to Ben’s face. He blinked, clearly surprised. Ben was biting his own lip.

When he could taste blood, he bent down and kissed Nikolas, murmuring, “Take my blood and
own
me.” He felt Nikolas’s tongue licking along the little wound then pulled his mouth down to his nipple. Nikolas bit him, as Ben knew he would. It was painful and exquisite and was just between them, marking them, joining them. They didn’t do this very often, but it was entirely understood between them—they were each other’s sustenance and life. Nikolas lapped at the bleeding bite mark he’d inflicted. They were both so aroused it was painful to remain in clothes. Nikolas lowered Ben to the carpet and while the world unknowingly discussed the future of his ex-wife, Nikolas appeared to forget his anger at having to give up smoking, and the subsequence meltdown in confidence this had caused, in the remembrance that Ben Rider-Mikkelsen was his—body and soul.

They were sore from the afternoon’s marathon sex session. Ben winced as Nikolas entered him. Nikolas gritted his teeth, then they both laughed into each other’s mouths, remembering why Ben’s arse hurt to be penetrated, why Nikolas’s cock was tender. They paused for a moment, kissing with no further urgency, and then Nikolas slid his lips further down and returned to Ben’s nipple. Ben held Nikolas’s head, counting the slow thrusts, the lap of the tongue on his bleeding flesh. He began to run his nails down Nikolas’s back, marking him, but not caring. Nikolas arched with a grunt and sped up, parting Ben’s thighs, kneeling to him, lifting and pulling him on. Ben flung his hands out to the side, crucified on pleasure and cried out as he spilled, his cum pulsing, glistening onto his belly as Nikolas coated him inside.

It was as good as blood. Nikolas lowered his head and fed from Ben’s belly, a sleek golden predator, entirely welcomed by its prey. Ben tugged him up and kissed him, not because he particularly liked the taste, but because even that was shared between them. That’s just the way they were.

They spent most of the night, which was daytime back in their world, lying entwined on the sofa, following the unfolding story. Philipa was never mentioned, of course. The Prince, the commentators stressed, was grieving and in seclusion, so their sources confirmed—being comforted by his family. Nikolas snorted at that.

A full announcement from the Palace was expected. Parliament had been recalled from its summer recess. It was a constitutional crisis. They saw Radulf a couple of times more and they cheered him, finding it incredibly funny that he kept popping up in the least expected places. Once, they saw him being lifted out of the back of a Daimler just before a small, stocky, very familiar figure in a headscarf got out. Ben’s only comment was that The Queen might be missing her corgis and had possibly taken a shine to a blind wolfhound who was helping her through her eldest son’s marriage crisis.

Nikolas replied that she’d better give him back.

Ben could tell Nikolas wanted a cigarette. By now he’d have been halfway through a pack. He let him drink more wine than usual, to reward him for the supreme effort he was making. Life was a series of roundabouts with Nikolas, Ben decided. He preferred things linear. He wondered what else Nikolas might rediscover from his past to get him over this latest setback. He brushed the blond fringe away, combing it with his fingers. For once, Nikolas was lying in his arms, as it really didn’t matter if he fell asleep and missed some of the drama. It was all speculation based on nothing more than that first announcement, with some old video footage being repeated and embellished every few minutes. “Tell me about Kristina. I can hear about her now. She doesn’t matter. Like you said.”

“I didn’t say she didn’t matter. I said she didn’t matter to us.”

“That’s what I meant. Why do you say it like that?”

“I don’t trust her reappearance. That’s all. It won’t affect us in the way you are concerned about, but it might have some effect in other ways—I am suspicious of her timing, that’s all.”

“The likelihood of her just turning up like that?”

“Yes. She doesn’t have a child in the school. That I have ascertained. Kate is working on it for me.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Yes, are we not amusing? Your ex investigating mine.”

“Hilarious.”

“She’ll update me when we get to the States next week.”

“We’re meeting Kate?”

“I had planned on it being me meeting her, but I suppose you can come if you wish. It would have to be daylight and with other people…” He trailed off on the threat of pain. “I found America decidedly odd on my brief visit last month.”

“What did you see of it?”

“The airport, a taxi, and a security firm’s office.”

“Enough to judge then.”

“Exactly. Odd.”

“I like Americans.”

“You would.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing.”

“No, go on…”

“Well, they are…not
European
, are they?”

Ben decided not to get into this with Nikolas. He was too tired and too happy, but more importantly, he realised he’d been totally deflected from Kristina. That Nikolas could still do this when it suited him annoyed Ben—he thought he’d got wise to this tactic. He prodded a rib. “So, Kristina? Did you love her?”

Nikolas snorted.

“Tell me!”

“God. She was a princess, Ben.” He quickly waved his hand at the screen. “Not like these, not real, but a daddy’s girl? Even when she was told what her father was, what he had done to me, she refused to believe it.”

“Christ. You told her?”

Nikolas hesitated for a moment then conceded, “No, Gregory told her.”

“He was…angry for you?”

Nikolas snorted again. “I think he was annoyed he’d missed the fun. Look, Ben, please, it’s late. I don’t want to think about this now. See if there is a movie on, maybe?”

There was. A Peter Cameron blockbuster filmed in New Zealand.

The irony was too much.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

When Nikolas woke, bright sun was streaking in through Ben’s stubble, making individual hairs almost translucent. At some time after their TV marathon, he had apparently turned in Ben’s arms and they were now belly-to-belly, his face on Ben’s shoulder. Ben was still asleep.

Nikolas turned his head to look out and discovered it was snowing heavily. Ben smelt nice and he pressed his nose into the strong, muscular shoulder. With a deep breath, Ben woke, blinking for a moment as he assessed his surroundings. He too glanced out of the window, and he suddenly sat up, tipping Nikolas off onto the floor. “It’s snowing!”

Nikolas could never understand Ben’s endless fascination with snow. He guessed it was an English thing. It certainly wasn’t Russian. He’d seen more snow in one lifetime than anyone could possibly want.

“Let’s go skiing!”

Nikolas suddenly grinned. He’d forgotten. Snow was
superb
.

§§§

Nikolas didn’t want to hire old equipment like Ben had done with Hayden, so they went into Wanaka to a sports shop to buy something good. They hadn’t anticipated Ben being recognised, but he was, so they had to stay in their roles, and Ben had to pay for everything, much to Nikolas’s amusement. Fully kitted out, they headed back out and loaded everything into the car.

Nikolas wrinkled his nose at the small sedan. Ben occasionally accused him of liking cars that were big enough to fit his ego, but in this case a large off-roader would definitely be more suitable. The day was getting away from them, however, and Ben didn’t want to waste any more of it, vociferously arguing against his suggestion to rent something bigger. With snow tyres.

They loaded the vehicle as best they could and headed up Cardrona Valley towards the slopes. Nikolas had to sit sideward in his seat, skis pressed right up against the windscreen. He didn’t mind. He got to watch Ben.

§§§

They’d never skied together before. Ben could ski very well, as he’d done a lot in the army recreationally. Nikolas, of course, had been born on skis (as he told Ben), raised on skis (also mentioned) and trained in Russian Special Forces on skis (added as an afterthought). And was half Scandinavian. That didn’t need any addition.

They were naturally competitive most of the time, but this was something else. Nik had once accused Ben of skiing like a pussy, and this comment had not been forgotten. He was out to prove something.

They wound up the fearsome track to the lodge at the top of the mountain. No guardrail, no safety features at all, they were in whiteout with what appeared to be a thousand foot drop one side of the icy trail. Ben negotiated the track slowly, taking the precipitous turns cautiously, both of them peering over the edge. At one point, where there was room to turn around and retreat, he paused and murmured, “You should have let me get a proper jeep. We can’t make it in this.”

Nikolas chuckled. “Do you want me to drive?”

The challenge was too much. Ben gritted his teeth and put the car back into gear. No snow-chains, two-wheel drive, it was almost impossible to stay on the track. Only the freshly fallen snow gave them enough grip to continue.

Halfway up, they emerged out of the clouds and snow to a day of brilliant sun and blue skies, and views that seemed to stretch to heaven. The going was just as difficult, but now sunshine gave it the illusion of being easy.

§§§

Nikolas felt a surge of adrenaline when they reached the lodge and pulled into a parking space. Then he saw Ben wriggling into his ski suit and knew he’d just redefined the meaning of pleasure. Ben looked like a model on a photo shoot. And the real beauty of this? Ben didn’t even know it. He was totally unaware that he’d been recognised, that a few people were surreptitiously taking photos of him, that he was so incredibly beautiful. No doubt he’d be appearing on the internet within seconds, copied and resent around the world. He’d probably be hashtagged. It was frustrating for Nikolas, but at the same time…exhilarating.

“You’re staring at me.”

Nikolas shook himself. “No, I’m not. I was wondering if you needed some help with your skis…fixing them properly?”

Ben narrowed his eyes. “No, thank you. Are you ready?”

Nikolas nodded and they slid smoothly to the lift.

When they reached the very top of the mountain and skied off the lift, it was eerily silent, as if sound couldn’t compete with such awesome beauty and had retreated to lower places to sulk. They could see along Lake Wakatipu almost as far as Paradise. Nikolas glanced over at Ben. The green of his eyes should have been illegal in a place of such whiteness. Ben was too tempting for mortal man. He huffed at his own gayness. “Off piste?”

Ben flicked his gaze over from the scenery. “Absolutely not. When’s the last time you skied?”

“Ack. Pussy.” Nikolas took off, gliding effortlessly towards the edge, and then he just…dropped off.

§§§

Later, after the accident, Nikolas reflected that it was his insistence on skiing off piste all day that had been partially to blame. Although Ben was driving,
he
had been too shattered by the extreme physicality of the day to react in time either. He’d been showing off to Ben.
Off piste.
He admitted it, in Danish, as they sat bloodied and shocked in the stranger’s car back to Wanaka.
My fault.

Ben reminded him through gritted teeth, also in Danish, that they’d been fucking
pushed
off the mountain.

Which was true as well.

Ben was good like that. Not apportioning blame even though Nikolas felt guilty. He should never have suggested the black runs. Not for the first time on skis in over fifteen years.

When they’d got in the car to return down the mountain, he’d been only playing at still being alive. Everything was battered and exhausted from the snow.
Showing off.
Proving to himself, to Ben, that twelve years between them made no difference. But they did. Smoking heavily didn’t help either.