The Bridge of Silver Wings

by John Wiltshire

  Ben stood as well and tried again. “I don’t have any relatives, John. No one, so I was just as pleased to find out about you and your mother and, I suppose, Natasha, as I was about the house. I want to make this a family home. It always was and I guess should be again.”

  “You’re starting a family?”

  Ben faltered. “No, I meant you and your—our—family.”

  “But you will have children, get married?”

  “I…I’ve never thought about it.” He glanced toward the door and frowned. “They’re taking a long time.”

  John waved dismissively. “Natasha will have him rutting her in some corner by now. There isn’t a man alive who can resist Ash. Don’t expect to see them for the rest of the afternoon.”

  Suddenly, the door flew open, and Natasha came in with a brittle smile. “John, we’re going. Do you have the keys, darling?”

  “What’s the hurry? I thought you wanted to…” She turned and went out. He sighed, clearly used to this. “Don’t you want the basket…?” But she was already at the car and didn’t hear. He picked it up and followed her out. They left with a crunch of tyres on gravel.

  “Nik?”

  Ben heard movement from the hall and went out to find Nikolas studying a large portrait.

  “Your present. A portrait of your father.”

  Ben came up and slid his hands around Nikolas. Nikolas held his arms tight to his belly. “Why did she leave in such a hurry? What happened?”

  “She was annoying me.”

  “Annoying you?”

  “Hmm. So I annoyed her back, and I was better at it. What do you think?”

  “I look like him.”

  “Your cousin John looks more like him.” He tipped his head to one side, studying it. “Perhaps you’ll look like this when you’re old.”

  Ben kissed the back of his neck, nuzzling into the warm skin, wishing Natasha hadn’t touched him. He didn’t like other people handling his property. “Will you still love me when I’m old?”

  Nikolas huffed. “When you’re this old I’d probably have to be reanimated to have any opinion at all.”

  Ben suddenly shivered and tightened his hold. “Don’t say things like that. I wish I could just fix us here as we are now. I don’t want things to change.”

  § § §

  It wasn’t something he could control though. Change just happened, gradually but noticeably, over the next few weeks. John appeared to come around to the idea Ben now owned the house, possibly because this meant he could come and go as often as he liked, treating the house very much like his own place. Natasha did the same, and she was constantly organising parties, using the house as her very own country party base for her London friends. Inevitably, Ben got dragged into these activities, and he seemed to spend the day either in bed recovering from a hangover or driving around the countryside with a group of wild, fun-loving rich kids who didn’t appear to work and never seemed to run out of money to spend on alcohol, drugs and having a good time. Surfing was the in thing, apparently. They drove to all the great surfing beaches in Cornwall, and the young men would don wetsuits and brave the December waves, while the girls would party around a fire, waiting for them to return as conquering heroes of the ocean.

  Ben had moved into the house. He’d had a very temporary job done on the bathroom, just so it had working water and a toilet and had bought a new mattress for the antique Victorian brass bed he’d retrieved from storage, but despite these improvements Nikolas declined to live in the house with him. He’d stayed on for a couple more days in the hotel but had then gone back to London to catch up on the work of the foundation. After a few days, it appeared Natasha and John were living in the house with Ben; mattresses appeared around the place with various bodies occupying them.

  Ben was the centre of everyone’s orbit. If he didn’t come to a party then it was no fun and no one wanted to go. If he didn’t surf then the other men stayed out of the water, too. He was their icon being wealthy, landed, and most of all, beautiful. He’d finally found the perfect forum for his perfection: a group of vacuous people for whom beauty was the Holy Grail, the thing against which all else paled. They were all individually thin, beautiful, and wealthy, but Ben eclipsed them all. And it was all totally artless on his side. He moved around in a bemused fog of missing Nikolas and wishing he could just admit he didn’t want any of this and return to his quieter life in London. But how could he? He had what most people would kill for.

  At the end of the second week, Nikolas made a flying visit for the weekend, without Radulf, staying once more at the hotel, as he claimed tripping over naked children tripping was disconcerting for someone of his age. Ben tended to ignore Nikolas’s frequent jibes about being old. They would pass like his alcohol addiction. But at the moment, Nik was in the amusing-himself phase, and it was always best to ignore Nikolas when he was amusing himself. If Ben hadn’t been keen to keep Nikolas away from finding out about the drugs his new friends used like sweets, he’d have insisted he stay at the house, too, but as it was, he had to visit Nikolas at the hotel.

  § § §

  Nikolas opened the door of the suite to Ben, and before Ben could even kiss him, exclaimed, “Good God, what have you done to your hair?”

  Ben self-consciously ran his hand through it. “Do you like it?”

  Nikolas twisted his face up a moment, considering the very short back and sides and disconcertingly floppy top. It looked like the hair of an archetypal Englishman who always played an archetypal Englishman in movies. He was landed gentry Benjamin Redvers. Ben Rider was no more. Sensing it would be wiser not to actually say any of this, Nikolas just ruffled it and pulled Ben into the room. They had two weeks apart to catch up on before insults could be traded.

  Ben had been surfing that morning and had come straight from the beach, still dressed in his ripped jeans and fleece, his skin salty and cold. They moulded together, muscle to muscle, hard sinewy line to hard sinewy line, bones pressing to bones. And of course, more obvious and important, urgent erections crushed together. And they were urgent. Two weeks was too long. Two hours often seemed too long. And the kissing was driving them wild. Nikolas’s hand roamed under Ben’s fleece, over his nipples and then around to his back to crush them harder together. Their hips were duelling, grinding and finding the friction they desperately needed. Before they knew it, they were on the ground, not sure who was doing what to whom, but just needing more. Uncontrolled and unrestrained, kissing passionately, Ben came in his jeans. Nikolas glanced down, swore loudly and unzipped his jeans just in time to wet Ben down from the outside as well. He arched, milking himself onto the soft, ripped denim.

  They took a few seconds to realise what’d happened, then Ben groaned deeply and slid down, taking Nikolas’s wet cock into his mouth as though he’d never tasted anything so good, needed anything more. He licked and sucked and used his teeth, and Nikolas hardened again, falling back onto the floor, any pretence he’d been planning to make that he hadn’t missed Ben completely forgotten in the urgency of having missed him. He held the new haircut, running his fingers through the floppy English locks, tugging them as Ben tugged with his lips and teeth on him. He was going to come again but wanted to save it for his favourite place to unload, but Ben wasn’t having that. He’d obviously missed tasting Nikolas too much and wanted it, and wouldn’t let Nikolas go until his mouth was filled, until he was swallowing the delicious saltiness, and then he was ready again. He ripped at Nikolas’s clothes, pulling his jeans just far enough down for access, rolling him over roughly and then pushing in.

  § § §

  Ben hadn’t come in his jeans like that since he was a teenager. He was soaked, and the lack of control entirely freed him so the entry into Nikolas was desperate and clumsy.

  It was ecstasy. It was as if he and his cock had wanted independently to come home, and now his cock was exactly where it wanted to be. Nikolas’s ass responded just as deliberately, tightening, squeezing him, rising up to t
hump into the thumping, grinding back to the grinding, and they ripped out another orgasm, Nikolas apparently swearing at the aching sensation, Ben at the overwhelming pleasure. Their hearts were beating so fast that when Ben lay down on Nikolas’s back, he could feel shared vibrations. Ben chuckled.

  “Hello, Nikolas.”

  Nikolas put a hand around to Ben’s backside and held him in. “Hello, Benjamin.”

  They had the whole rest of the afternoon to enjoy, so indulged themselves for just a while longer, lying in their own spills on the floor, hearts coming down to a normal level, urgency waning until they could think clearly. Ben breathed softly into the warm neck, just easing Nikolas’s shirt collar away. “Did you miss me?”

  Nikolas gave a boneless stretch, Ben fitting to him even more comfortably. “No.”

  “Good. Tim? Squeezy? Radulf?”

  “No one misses you, Ben. We can all do without our pretty boy for a while as he indulges himself in his new hedonistic lifestyle.”

  “Good. Do I have to play this game or can I admit to missing you?” He bit gently into Nikolas’s shoulder, loving the taste of his skin. It always turned to biting sooner or later; he just couldn’t resist.

  “I expect you miss my wise counsel.”

  Ben gave a small moan of appreciation, unbuttoning Nikolas’s shirt from underneath so he could pull it off the smooth, warm back. “My daddy figure.”

  Nikolas gave a choked laugh. “Your what?”

  “That’s what Ash called you. Reckoned I’d gone to work for someone who could be my substitute daddy.”

  “Okay, she’s officially more annoying than I am now.”

  “Wow, I never thought we’d find anyone to fill that role.”

  Nikolas rolled, tipping Ben off, turning so they were on their sides facing each other. “Have you been good?”

  Ben grinned. “Define good.”

  Nikolas smiled. He put a finger to Ben’s lips, easing it in, apparently watching in fascination as Ben began to suck it gently. He leant in, kissing the glistening lips. “Good is not doing anything you wouldn’t do if I were standing right there with you.”

  “I’ve done some very bad things with you standing very close.”

  “Yes. You have.” He flicked his glance up. “I have missed you, by the way.”

  Ben sighed and nodded. He ran his fingers through Nikolas’s hair, smoothing it back off his forehead. “Nearly seven years it’s taken you to admit that.” He climbed to his feet and offered Nikolas his hand. Nikolas lifted his hips, shucking himself back into his jeans and took the offered hand.

  “You’re a mess, Benjamin Rider.”

  Ben looked down at his soaked jeans. “I’m a mess from you, Nikolas Mikkelsen.”

  Nikolas pulled him into a hug, smelling deeply into his skin. “Take them off. I want to see you.”

  Ben stripped slowly, pulling his fleece and T-shirt over his head, stretching his long, lean torso and ripped abs, loving being watched and admired. The jeans fell of their own accord when unbuttoned, his narrow hips not holding them. He stepped out of the soft denim and stood naked in front of Nikolas. They kissed again, Nikolas’s hands roaming freely around the warm, silky-smooth skin. Incredulously, Ben felt Nikolas’s interest stirring again. “Can we eat first?”

  Nikolas laughed and slapped his backside.

  “Order what you like; I’m hungry, too.”

  § § §

  They ate in the sunken tub, feet companionably in each other’s laps, just keeping the interest simmering, catching up on news. Ben told Nikolas the highlights of his hedonistic lifestyle. Nikolas told Ben about the saintly, charitable work he was doing around the world, and both knew the other was lying and exaggerating just because they could and because they knew each other so well.

  Eventually, Ben, using his feet in a very interesting way now, grateful for their prehensile nature, asked coyly, “So, what’re you doing tonight?”

  Nikolas was draped boneless across his end of the tub, clearly enjoying the sensation of Ben’s feet. “My usual answer? You?”

  “Then come to a party with me?”

  “God. Will there be pass the parcel?”

  “Stop being such an old man. Ash has a load of friends down, and she’s throwing this Bonfire Night thing.”

  Nikolas frowned deeply. He appeared to be calculating. “It’s December the fifth.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I said. She said I was missing the point and that I was lame.”

  Nikolas made an unconvinced sound.

  “Please. I’ll beg.”

  “I don’t want to go, Ben. I haven’t come all this way to share you with anyone else. We only have one night.”

  Ben pulled his feet away and sat up higher. “I kinda have to go, Nik. It’s my house. I don’t want them trashing the place. And anyway, they’re fun—when you get in the mood.”

  “By the look of you, I’d say you’ve been in the mood a little too much recently.”

  Ben frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

  “You’re tired and strung out.”

  Ben climbed out of the tub. “For fuck’s sake, Nik, stop always criticising me, yeah? I’m sick of it.”

  Nikolas jerked his head back. “Criticising you? Since when do I criticise you?”

  “Always! You’re always—I don’t know—judging me. I always feel like I have to come up to some unwritten, Nikolas Mikkelsen measure. And I always bloody fail.”

  Nikolas climbed out of the tub and wrapped a towel around his waist. “You’re being ridiculous, Ben.”

  “There you go! It’s me being fucking ridiculous. You know nothing about my life down here, because you didn’t want to, and now you say I’m tired and strung out, like I’m some kind of junkie! I’m a fucking god to these people, but that really pisses you off, doesn’t it?”

  “Stop swear—” Suddenly, Ben was in his face, his finger poking Nikolas’s chest.

  “I will fucking swear whenever I fucking like. I’m not your child. I’m not your toy boy. I’m not your—”

  “Boyfriend?”

  Ben faltered. “No, I am that.” His face creased up, and he seized Nikolas into a hug. “Am I?”

  Nikolas pushed his fingers into Ben’s hair. “Hey, don’t. Of course you are. I’m just being me, yes? Nothing is wrong here, Ben. I’ll come to your party. The mood I’m currently in, I’ll volunteer to be the Guy, how’s that? Immolate me on the bonfire of my own vanity in thinking I can tell you what to do anymore. Hey, calm down. I’m sorry.”

  Ben allowed himself to be kissed back to a calmer frame of mind. He felt like he was being ripped in half. Half of him was back with Natasha and John and the endless fun he’d been having, and half was here with Nikolas, who was his reason for breathing. They ended up on the bed, which was inevitable. Ben needed Nikolas inside him, to anchor him, reassure him he was still loved.

  § § §

  Nikolas had been hoping to have Ben inside him again that night. But he wanted whatever Ben wanted and was willing to trade roles if that’s what Ben needed.

  He’d not seen such a quick and unprovoked meltdown since the bad time in Denmark. He constantly forgot, seeing Ben so beautiful, so strong and calm, how unexpectedly fragile he could be as well. He was worried. But he wasn’t stupid. He’d had unique experiences that had shaped him and honed his ability to judge situations and people, and he knew Ben was at a crisis in his life, a turning point and anything might tip him one way or the other.

  It was so tempting to exert the influence he knew he had and shape Ben’s destiny to suit himself. He could do it now. The right words, the right gestures, and he could take Ben home with him tonight to London, and their lives would go on uninterrupted—until Ben realised what Nikolas had done and what he’d given up. It had to be Ben’s decision. It was why he’d gone back to London. They were entangled in bonds of love, but those restraints had to be voluntary or they wouldn’t hold over time. Nikolas didn’t want Ben in his bed now, didn’t want
him this day or this weekend. He wanted him until death parted them, and that, he knew, had to be a mutual, conscious choice. So, he’d go to the damn party; he’d continue to let Ben have his freedom, and hope it was the freedom that brought him home.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The party was as hideous as Nikolas had anticipated. Perhaps he was getting old. He suspected it was more to do with his self-enforced no-drinking, no-smoking, no-anything-else-that-was-any-fun-at-all rules. What else was there to do at a party? Ben certainly seemed to find something else to do. He was here, then he was there, and everywhere he was, the most beautiful were gathered, hanging on his every word. Nikolas had never noticed Ben’s words were all that fascinating, but in this inane crowd of wanna-be z-list celebrities, Ben was god—as he’d so amusingly pointed out. He’d been on Jonathan Ross, for fuck’s sake. How much more of a deity could anyone be?

  Nikolas was also not impressed to discover John Redvers now appeared to be Ben’s best friend. Wherever Ben was, John was too, and they were playing on their resemblance, amused at how superior and beautiful they were. Nikolas had never seen Ben like this, and he wasn’t sure he liked it all that much. It bored him. He drifted away and let himself out into the grounds. There wasn’t much escape here either for the bonfire was being lit near the pond. Lake Aleksey. How times had changed. The place was no longer a haven of peace and tranquillity but a venue for excess and debauchery. Music blared from somewhere in the house where a music system had been rigged. Partygoers were running with sparklers in their hands in the dark, as excited as five-year-olds at their first November the fifth. That it was December seemed to have escaped everyone’s notice but his. The alcohol was flowing freely, supplied, he suspected, by Ben’s deep pockets. He hoped the drugs weren’t courtesy of Ben as well, and suspected Natasha had had more of a hand in that.

  Natasha had not, apparently, given up her plan to bag a billionaire, and stuck to Nikolas as closely as John was sticking to Ben. She clung to his arm with the tenacity of an old woman crossing a busy road, chatting continuously in a stream of what he supposed, to someone impressionable, would be amusing flattery. He’d had Ben Rider for six-and-a-half years, so this vacuous nothing hardly registered on his radar. Nevertheless, for form’s sake, and because he didn’t want to precipitate an argument with Ben, he allowed her to caress him, flatter him, and think she was amusing him. He even gave her his jacket when they were watching the Guy burn with a sad inevitability. After removing his wallet, that is. She hugged it around her shoulders, a prized trophy, and started to sway to the music.