Death's Ink Black Shadow (19 page)

He had a phone full of photographs of Molly, Radulf, Babushka, and, of course, Nikolas. Nikolas was, Ben had to concede, very photogenic. He had that enviable ability to be caught by a lens not appearing to be aware that he was being photographed—always just glancing up or studying something to one side, and each image was artlessly perfect.

He heard Ingrid chuckling and shook himself. He’d been staring at the same picture for ages—Nikolas holding Molly over his head, the sun behind them, which should have ruined the picture, but actually framed them in a halo of light, joining them in a circle of brilliance. Ben felt himself colouring again, but Ingrid held his hand for a moment. “You had faith when it was needed, Ben. You found him and you saved him. Aleksey was very lost.”

Ben knew that she was not referring to Nikolas’s captivity in a hunting shed.

“Now, we must work some more on your Danish. You must bring Molly Rose to Aeroe, and she must learn the language of her fathers, too. Your Danish is shocking.”

Ben laughingly replied that it was—he could shock Nikolas very well with all the things he knew how to say in that convoluted language—when he realised what she’d said, untangled the grammar. “Fathers?”

“Yes, of course.” She tapped his phone as she led him down the long hallway to his old room. “He is her father, too. You can see it in his eyes.”

Ben went to the French doors when she’d bustled off to find towels. It was a thought that had not occurred to him before—that Nikolas had that role in Molly’s life. But then that would make
him
…Steven’s…it was too complex. Ben’s head hurt with it all. The last time he’d stood here at this window all he’d been worried about was Nikolas going to Russia with his old mentor, Gregory. That he’d drink too much, smoke too much, do other things that weren’t good for him too much.

Life was simpler then.

They were simpler.

He missed it.

Life had been so uncomplicated—he’d pack a bag and be ready to go. No possessions, no responsibilities. Now all these things clung to him, as if he’d rolled down a hill wearing sticky tape and had accumulated tiny, uncomfortable attachments, burs beneath his clothes.

Nikolas didn’t ever seem to feel constrained. He hadn’t been lonely when he had no one except the façade of a marriage. He wasn’t overwhelmed now by all these new people in his life—he acquired them and placed them just so, as he arranged his art or his clothes, his wine.

Ben wrapped his arms around himself, leaning his head on the glass. Perhaps he was just jealous. For so long it had been just him and Nikolas. Now here they were, separated again, Nikolas with another man—one who had more claim on him in a way than a new lover would. More possibly than
he
did. He often thought about the conscious decisions of their hearts—the dramatic stating of their preferences in life, choosing each other. But what about the
duties
of their hearts? These were different but equally important things. Ben was army. He didn’t think in terms of rights, but responsibilities. Not owed but owing.
The final sacrifice.
Weren’t children a commitment that should come before personal choice? His mother had made the ultimate sacrifice for him in some ways, leaving a very comfortable house and home to keep him safe. Or this is how he now liked to think about her, having spent his life since he was eight wrongly believing she’d abandoned him with an alcoholic father. Nikolas’s mother, he was still not too sure about. He still thought it an unlikely and very fortunate coincidence for Sergei Primakov that the wife who had been contesting the return of his sons to Russia had gone swimming on a frozen December beach and killed herself. He didn’t push his beliefs about Nina’s murder on Nikolas though; Nikolas had enough issues with Sergei to work through as it was.

So, Ben couldn’t fault Nikolas for any time he spent with Steven. He owed Steven his time, care, love, support…

But he could blame him for the original existence of Steven!

And…the inevitable self-accusation followed—he should never have been so weak as to have slept with Kate—or so careless while he’d been in that bed with her. He knew where babies came from, after all.

They adopted waifs and strays and were now surrounded with baggage.

But would he and Nikolas still be together if neither of them had changed? What bound a man like Nikolas Mikkelsen? Kept him coming back, wanting more…

His phone rang. Nikolas.

Ben answered it, still leaning on the glass. “Hi. What’ya doing?”

“I am lying on my old bed, thinking about you.”

Ben wrinkled his nose. “That’s creepy. You were ten the last time you lay there.”

“I’m taking Stefan to Copenhagen this afternoon for a few days. We will visit the conservatoire where Nina studied. Do you want to come?”

Ben stared out at the grey sea, desperate to say yes and tell Nikolas that he feared they were moving ever steadily apart, but he thought about responsibilities rather than choices, so he held back. “I promised I’d take Ingrid out. Do you need the car?”

“No. I am using Hans’s.”

“Okay. See you when you get back.”

“What are you going to do now?”

“I don’t know. I might go for a run up into the forest. Old times’ sake.”

Nikolas grunted something Ben didn’t catch, said a swift goodbye and clicked off.

It wasn’t one of their most interesting telephone exchanges.

Ben sighed. Now that he’d thought about running, he realised how much he needed the exercise, the release, the freedom.

He donned his shorts and T-shirt, and let himself out of the glass doors, going through the little gate to the beach. Within half an hour, he was warmed up and turned into the dark forest. It was much cooler under the pine trees, the ground soft under his feet as the needles sprung back as he pounded them. The air was redolent with summer sap, and small clusters of flies trailed behind him, visible out of the corner of his eye. He was hot now, working up a sweat. He felt light, strong, as fit as he’d ever been.

After forty minutes, he was nearing the furthest point he’d ever run to from Ingrid’s. Only seven miles, which wasn’t far in that time, but the terrain became more difficult beyond the margins of the forest, toward the lake: roots, deadfall to be negotiated. Seven miles, fourteen by the time he got back, was okay though. He wasn’t getting old. He
wasn’t
.

Ben was suddenly ripped from his self-indulgent reverie by a movement in the trees ahead of him. It was too furtive to be innocent. He ducked behind the trunk of a large pine, hands on his knees, panting but trying to be silent. He heard a rustle of pine needles and got the overwhelming sense that whatever he’d seen was now on the other side, listening to him.

Fuck!

Did they have bears in Denmark? They had psychotic librarians.

He lunged around, took a smirking figure down and knew it was Nikolas before they’d even hit the ground.

Every so often, Ben knew, he gave Nikolas cause to doubt just how much he did love him and miss him when they weren’t together. This was not one of those times. He was childishly delighted that he’d been so easily misled, found, and then tricked. Nikolas claimed it had been easy—he’d smelt him coming a mile away. In response, Ben stripped off his sweaty T-shirt and rubbed it in Nikolas’s face, which earned him a severe spanking that he was more than able to deflect and turn into a wrestling match upon the dry forest floor. Finally, too winded from laughing, Nikolas surrendered and lay in a beam of sunshine, which filtered down from the dense canopy above them. He stretched out his arms, scrabbling in the needles, letting them trickle through his fingers. “Am I not very clever?”

Ben eased himself down to lie upon Nikolas, chest bare, running shorts hiding nothing. “You are devious and sneaky. How did you find me? How did you get here?”

“Ack. I used my super powers.”

Ben propped himself up on one elbow, grinding them pleasantly together. Nikolas hadn’t come here to picnic that was for sure. Nikolas lifted his legs, and Ben sank even more perfectly against him, pressed on with the weight of legs on his back. The anticipation made Ben taut with repressed desire. He could actually picture what Nikolas would look like stretched around his cock. Nikolas snorted as if he was reading Ben’s mind again, but then suddenly flipped them so he was on top, pinning Ben down.

Ben immediately saw his problem—he was fatigued, his muscles quivering from the run. And Nikolas was now the strongest.

Nikolas swooped down for a kiss. It was hard and urgent, mouth wide to Ben’s, seeking and tasting, but then his tongue flicked against Ben’s, and the subtlety and gentleness made Ben groan. He wanted to be taken. He wanted Nikolas working inside him, lying on him. Nikolas grinned, pulled his mouth away and rolled them once more, the detritus of the forest floor covering them, sticking to them just as Ben had pictured all their encumbrances attaching themselves as they spun through life.

Ben was on top once more. He kissed into Nikolas’s neck, his favourite place. “Stay still!”

“No!” Nikolas rolled them again, but he miscalculated. The slope increased suddenly, and they were tumbling without control. They thumped down upon the sandy, pebbly shore of the lake, Ben underneath and even more winded, which only made Nikolas laugh at him more.

Suddenly, Ben launched up, throwing Nikolas off. He grabbed an ankle and before Nikolas could object, Ben dragged him into the lake.

It was crystal clear, deep—and icy cold, even in summer. Nikolas didn’t protest his treatment for long though. He let Ben help him strip, and then he plunged under the surface and disappeared.

Ben lay on his back, floating, amused by his erection tenting his shorts, like the mast on a human raft. He began picturing Nikolas once more, impaled upon the mast, when he was pulled headfirst under the water.

It was translucent, the sun streaking in and making Nikolas’s lean, pale body appear more mythic lake creature than man. His hair drifted up, streams of gold that rivalled the beauty of the light.

He’d had enough. He wanted that beauty. Ben wanted the light that streamed from Nikolas in
him
. He surfaced, caught Nikolas’s arm and half-swam, half-forced him back to the beach.

They had the whole world to themselves. There was only them once more, as it should be. Ben started with Nikolas’s feet, because he could, and because they were beautiful like his hands and fingers, and elegantly shaped. He took each toe into his mouth, biting and sucking, working up to the instep of a foot and licking up the leg. The lake water clung in tiny droplets, warmed now by the heat of Nikolas’s body, but they weren’t as hot as Ben’s tongue as it trailed up toward Nik’s inner thighs, and then between them, seeking. Ben pressed his whole face into the base of Nikolas’s cock, rubbing his stubble on the wiry hair, delighting in the rasp, increasing the friction until he could feel a stream of pre-cum against his cheek.

He turned his face and tasted it, following it back to its source and pushing his tongue into Nikolas’s wet slit.

A sense of deep contentment came over Ben. The great tangle and spread of his life had now condensed to this few millimetres’ gape of pink flesh. His thoughts drifted to the other pink opening, and he pressed there with his finger.

Nikolas arched with a hiss, but then stilled Ben’s hand and sat up, embracing him quickly. “Come, I am not that far gone to do this in a public place. Families come here, Ben. Children. It’s not right.”

Ben groaned, and Nikolas cupped his face, smiling. “You are ever thus—led by your physical nature.”

Ben frowned, watching Nikolas dress. “What do you mean?”

Nikolas shook his head fondly. “You are…how can I explain it? To me, you sometimes seem like the embodiment of nature itself. Does that make sense?”

“No. Not one little bit.” Ben was looking around for his T-shirt, unable to find it, disgruntled that they obviously had the whole place to themselves and could very easily have finished what they’d started.

Nikolas caught his arm, idly tracing the fingers of his other hand on Ben’s belly. “Eat, sleep, fuck, run, fight. You even drive your car like you live your life—unrestrained. Raw. Like nature intended all men to be.”

“Nature intended me to be inside you a minute ago.”

Nikolas raised his brow. “Some would say that was
unnatural
.”

“Only the ones who haven’t tried it.” He found his shirt and pulled it on.

Nikolas was leaning against a tree, studying him. “What are you going to do now?”

Ben gave him a sideward, annoyed glance. “What do you think?” He gestured back down the track.

“Oh. That’s a pity. But run back if you want…” He rummaged in his pocket. “I was hoping you’d come to the idiot’s cabin with me and be a little raw and unrestrained, but if you’d rather…” He held the key out of Ben’s reach as Ben tried to snatch it, but it was hopeless. Ben wasn’t so tired now, and he was very motivated. They tumbled once more to the ground, fighting for possession, more dust, and more needles now coating their still wet clothes.

§ § §

Ben had been delightedly caught off-balance by Nikolas’s ambush in the forest. He was speechless when they arrived at the cabin. Nikolas had been there already and prepared it—food, alcohol, the tub turned on.

“How did you have time to—?”

Obviously, Nikolas had
not
been lying on his bed when he’d called, and he didn’t appear to be taking Steven to Copenhagen either. Ben felt foolish for being so gullible, but then he saw Nikolas’s glee at his trick and was glad Nikolas still had the ability to surprise him.

He shook his head and drew Nikolas into his arms. “We’re too gay for our own good these days.”

Nikolas nodded. “We are. I had not realised how much amusement there was to be had in having such a sweet, pretty boyfriend to play with. I should have tried it years ago.”

“I seem to remember you did.”

“Ack. Soldiers are not very sweet when they’re being—I think I had better shut up.” Nikolas stopped Ben’s incipient outrage with a kiss and then a sandwich, and once he’d started feeding him, they both decided it was fun.