The Bruise_Black Sky

by John Wiltshire

  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 thing 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. Emmy was telling me some m
ore about how her family died. I decided on a new project for ANGEL. We are going to provide survival stations at remote places such as where Emmy’s parents got trapped—stocked with all the things she had in her tin that enabled us to survive. Kate has gone there to see the project through for me. Emilia’s mother was called Grace. She wants to call the new charity Amazing Grace after her.”

  “That’s…she must be really proud.”

  “Emilia is going to be a patron—her first such role. I have many similar plans for her. When the stations are complete, we are going to fly over, and she will open the one where her family perished—in their memory. Of course, you are invited to come with us. Of course. I should have added that first.”

  “Sincerity isn’t one of your best fictions, is it?”

  “I have not had a great deal of practise. Give me time. So, you see, Kate left four months ago. She was keen to go. She claims she likes it in America, and she can work for me there as well as she can in London. It seemed like the best plan all round. What’s that?”

  “What?”

  “I’m vibrating. You’re vibrating.” With a huge effort, Nikolas rolled Ben off him, both of them groaning at the skin stick and rip, and the ache of abused muscles. Ben retrieved his phone from his pocket. “Text from Tim.”

  “Is Radulf okay?”

  “Young man arrived…said he’d come to muck out Mr Darcy…Squeezy misunderstood…fuck…we need a new groom.” He cursed and turned onto his back, staring morosely at the screen held above his head.

  They turned their heads to look at each other at exactly the same time. Ben quirked a smile. He kissed Nikolas, licking gently around his lips and rubbing their stubble together. “I’m starving. Let’s go discover the cream situation.”

  Nikolas turned swiftly and threw his leg over Ben’s supine body. “Let’s discover it here.”

  He pushed Ben’s thigh roughly to one side and began to explore with a hard, intrusive finger. Ben hissed and arched, his body bent unnaturally, shoulders to the carpet and superb abs thrust up in pain. Nikolas groaned at the sight and shifted to kneel at Ben’s entrance. He swapped finger for cock and made Ben cry out as his arms flung back to grab the nearest thing he could find to take the thrusting. The side table crashed down onto them as Nikolas heaved Ben higher, pressing down, stretching Ben wide, a wrestling of hard limbs and sweat and coarse hair, grating and grinding, their muted voices strained with the need to stay under the radar. Secret, illicit fucking in hotel rooms. It didn’t get any better than this. It was their default setting.

  There was only one thing missing. After a crashing orgasm, giving one to Ben, falling almost insensible to the carpet, Nikolas stretched out and took Ben’s wrist. “What time is it?”

  Ben laughed and hugged him, wrapping his legs around Nikolas’s torso.

  He held out his beautiful watch, sitting just so on his tanned, strong arm, and Nikolas smirked in pleasure at past memories, the present just as it was, and the future they had yet before them.

  Despite the terrible afflictions and restrictions he was being subjected to, life was pretty good.

  Most satisfactory.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Ulyana Ivanovna had spent the three hours between returning to the hotel and leaving for the dinner and dance taking a nap and completing a sleeve on the sweater she was knitting for Nikolas, she informed them in the car.

  She was clearly now very excited and refreshed. Not only had she donned her glamorous dress, she’d treated herself to a session in the hotel’s spa and hair salon.

  Ben and Nikolas sat more quietly in the taxi, both a little…jaded…sore. Besides, there was only so much admiration a man could give himself. Ben knew he looked fabulous in pretty much anything he wore—he was constantly being told he did. He’d never been bothered about any of it, except for the power it gave him to hold Nikolas Mikkelsen in thrall. He’d rather be in old jeans and a T-shirt and watching a movie than heading out to a formal dinner and ball. But he was very intrigued to see Nikolas in such circumstances.

  A general in the Russian army…Ben still hadn’t quite come to terms with this startling fact. Nikolas was every inch a general in his black tie—every inch a Russian, come to that. His blond hair shone, styled just as he liked it, except for his fringe, which he never seemed to get under control and which flopped down over his forehead at inconvenient moments, causing him to sweep it off imperiously. He filled his tailor-made dinner jacket to perfection, of course—he had the build for clothes, being so tall and slim and ideally proportioned. But it was more than this. He had an easy grace that couldn’t be faked.

  Ben was all fingers and thumbs and a nervous tightness in his belly, not wanting to disgrace Emilia, not wanting to embarrass himself amongst such wealthy people. Sure, he was Benjamin Redvers of the de Redvers line that had come across with William in 1066 and been unbroken since, but in his heart he was Ben from the Monkweir estate. Ben who’d left school with two grade D GCSEs because life was too short to waste time with schoolwork. But here he was, going to dinner at the most exclusive school in the world. With this man.

  He turned his head towards the backseat, to find Nikolas regarding him with the twitch of a smile. Ben narrowed his eyes questioningly. Nikolas grinned more broadly, then stared out of his window at the stunning scenery basking in the warm evening sun.

  When they exited the taxi, Nikolas held the door for Ulyana Ivanovna and then took her arm, escorting her like aristocracy into the huge dining hall. It had been decorated with swaths of greenery, and ribbons in house colours. With the pewter on the tables and the royalty who had graced this room before them peering down from dusty portraits, the three of them made their way through the throng to find Emilia and their table.

  Nikolas had bought Emilia’s dress for her—well, he’d paid for it. He’d asked Philipa to trawl the family for suggestions, and one of the more fashion conscious of the cousins had come up with a young designer in Bristol who’d done her dress for the wedding. The wedding.

  Emilia’s first long dress was green, offsetting her startling red hair, which was now tumbling like hot lava down her back. The dress was modest, as befitted her age, but striking. Nikolas declared she looked like a warrior, a comment that made Ben wince with panic, but which, to his amazement, clearly delighted Emilia. Just as she was about to start taking some photos of them all, Nikolas rummaged in his pocket and produced a necklace. It wasn’t wrapped. He didn’t present it with a flourish, but just let it trickle through his fingers onto the cloth next to Emilia’s plate. She picked it up reverently. “Grandma, look, the glass is exactly the same shade as my dress.”

  Ulyana Ivanovna took it to admire it and then placed it around Emilia’s neck.

  It was perfect.

  Nikolas didn’t correct Emilia’s assumption that the necklace was glass, but only told her to give it back to him later that evening before she left, and that he would take care of it for her until she needed it again—that school wasn’t the place for jewellery, even glass beads.

  Ben shook his head in sympathy. He’d been given gifts in a similar way for many years now, only discovering their true worth by accident when spotting a receipt or the same item in a magazine. He pressed his foot to Nikolas’s under the table, and when Nik glanced up in pleasure, snapped a picture of him with Emilia’s phone. Then he took one of Emilia wearing her emeralds and warrior dress, and decided he’d have it printed on canvas as a surprise present for Babushka’s new cottage.

  Ben leant back in his chair, waiting to eat, casting his gaze slowly around the room at the baronial arms on the walls, the ancient portraits, the wealth and privilege displayed in the people, but mostly at the joyous, excited faces; the sense that in this place things were just as they should be. He felt the same. It had taken a while, but he saw himself like Radulf settling into his basket—a great deal of twisting and turning had needed doing to get life just right.

  There were many things he didn’t dwell on these days.
They’d not been important when he couldn’t remember them, so why should they resume importance now that he could? He’d never consciously set out to hurt anyone. He didn’t deserve the life he was living now, he didn’t deserve Nikolas, but, even so, he had a right to be happy. A foot pressed on his. He fell for the same trick and had his expression caught just as he was looking up through lowered lashes. Nikolas laughed at his own brilliance and sent the picture to his own phone, which was sitting proudly, Harry Black peeling on one side, on the table next to him. The camera on his didn’t work since the incident that had necessitated the sticking together.

  When dinner was finished, Emilia led them to the marquee.

  The opening dance was for fathers and daughters.

  Ben graciously allowed himself to be lent to one of Emilia’s friends who didn’t have her father there, as she was Australian, and it had been too far for her family to travel for the event. Both he and Nikolas agreed that personal preferences in life got put aside for good manners.

  Nikolas led Emilia onto the dance floor.

  They made a striking couple—father and daughter or not. Both, Ben noticed with envy, could dance exceptionally well. Emilia had been learning ballet since she was three. She asserted it was because she valued discipline, strength, and courage (warrior skills)—but she still preferred her archery and shooting and didn’t see how ballet was going to help her save the whales, which was her latest ambition. Nikolas had the grace of a dancer in everything he did, and although he didn’t seem to do much but hold Emilia and let her show off her new dress and her inappropriately expensive necklace, he did exactly what was needed.

  Ben then felt a burn of bitterness that not only went against all his previous assertions that real men didn’t dance together, it made him furious with himself—for the greediness the jealousy betrayed. He had everything Nikolas Mikkelsen had to offer. He shouldn’t need that as well—he shouldn’t need to be his acknowledged partner in public. Shouldn’t need to be the one in Nikolas’s arms now, feeling that perfect body through the touch of his hands. Shouldn’t need to have the attention Nikolas was giving to Emilia given to him…