Love is a Stranger

by John Wiltshire

  “Poke the what with the…? I have no idea what you just said.”

  Nikolas sighed. “It makes more sense in Rus— Danish. I wanted to test you. There, is that clear enough? Now stop asking me questions. I do not answer questions, as you well know.”

  “You didn’t answer questions because I never asked any—not any that mattered anyway. Things have changed. You’ve changed them. Maybe you should stop poking tigers.”

  Nikolas chuckled softly. “I’m thinking about poking something else soon, if for no other reason than to shut you up.”

  The third question, he had a feeling, was going to put a distinct dampener on Nikolas’s mood, but he was going to ask it anyway. “Who else have you told you love, and why did you lose them?”

  “That is enough, Ben. I am not prepared to be questioned like this.”

  “Have you ever heard an English expression ‘be careful what you wish for’?”

  “Of course. We have that expression in Danish, too.”

  “Well, there you are, you know what it means. You wanted this. You wanted me to be more…I don’t know…in tune with you? Well, here I am. You can’t have it both ways. I want to know why you are so afraid to love.”

  “I am afraid of nothing. It is you who has to shed emotional—”

  “Are you trying that trick of turning this conversation back to me?”

  “Is it working?”

  Ben leant back. “Why don’t you like birthdays?”

  “Enough! Stop this, Ben. Good God, the irony of this does not escape me. I have created a monster. Come to bed.” He stood up and held out his hand. “Please.”

  The please was so unexpected Ben almost fell for the distraction. He rose and climbed onto the well-used sheets, but before he let Nikolas press him down, he twisted away, smiling at the grunt of annoyance. “One thing. I want to know one thing about your past that is true.”

  Nikolas lay back, regarding the ceiling as if seeking divine help. His swollen cock lay leaking on his belly. “A monster child.”

  “Stop being melodramatic. One thing—for now.”

  “All right. What do you want to know?”

  Ben remembered his last free question and how he had wasted it. He wanted to make this worthwhile. “Is Nikolas Mikkelsen your real name?” This seemed very important somehow in this game of identities. Nikolas hesitated. Ben clenched his jaw. “You’re going to lie to me.”

  Nikolas pursed his lips. “If I say no you will only want to know my real name, and then you are no further forward, for I would not tell you. If I say yes you will not believe me. Ask something else.”

  “Damn it! Will you tell me the truth if I do?”

  “…Yes.”

  “Promise me.”

  “Yes! Jesus, Ben, this is not a tail I am wagging here. I need for you to turn over and shut up.”

  “I will. Okay, then if you promise to…okay, okay…What question should I ask you? That’s my question. You tell me what the real question about you is.”

  Nikolas held his gaze for a moment, calculation behind his dark eyes. Then he blinked and sat up, swinging his legs off the bed, back to Ben. “That is not fair.”

  “No. It’s not. You’re not being fair to me. But most importantly, you’re not being fair to yourself. You wanted me to be here for you, but the thought of turning around and actually seeing me here in your real life terrifies you. So, answer my bloody question.”

  Nikolas turned his head to look at him. “Then I think the question you should ask me is not if Nikolas Mikkelsen is my real name but who Nikolas Mikkelsen really was. There, you have had your one question, and now you cannot actually ask it.”

  Ben left the bed and went to stand by the window, leaning on the wall, gazing out at the beautiful grounds. He felt Nik come up behind him and embrace him lightly, his straining need very evident in the hard press against Ben’s backside. “There is a fairytale in my country, Ben, a story about a young man who falls in love with a mysterious stranger who comes to his cottage one day. He is so entranced and dazzled by this stranger that he wants to tell everyone. When he does, they laugh at him, and that laughter reveals what really came to his door that day in the guise of the beautiful stranger—something grotesque and so damaged by its past that it had died inside a long time ago. What did he gain, Ben, in seeing the truth?”

  Ben began to stroke his thumb over Nikolas’s hands, which were spread on his chest. “But that’s not where the story ends. He couldn’t get over loving the stranger. Although he could now see the monster, he remembered loving the man, and his love was so strong and so constant that the monster felt it as a real force, and one day he looked in a mirror, and he too saw the beautiful stranger—alive and vibrant. The end.”

  Nikolas chuckled. “You totally made that up.”

  Ben lifted up one of Nikolas’s hands and kissed it. “And you only know that because you made the first dumb part up.”

  “That does not lessen its essential truth.”

  “No, I guess not. So, this is it for us? This is as far as we go and as much as we can ever have?”

  He felt Nikolas’s arms tighten around him and heard him swallow. Unexpectedly, Nikolas leant to Ben’s ear and said in a choked voice, “No. Don’t give up on me, Benjamin. I said I was afraid of nothing; well I lied as usual. You are right. I am terrified of losing you. You did not speak to me for three days, and I thought—I needed you to know—I need you to know how important you are to me. All of you and not just the parts I was planning to enjoy before you forced this unpleasant heart to heart upon me. Things may change for me very soon. I cannot—I am not—I’m sorry, Ben.”

  Ben saw his options in front of him as clear as if they were laid out like skeins in a complex tapestry. He could insist on unravelling Nikolas, picking at him until there was nothing left, until there were no secrets between them; or he could accept the stranger, welcome him in and live the beautiful illusion.

  He turned in Nikolas’s arms, broad chest to broad chest. “Well then I guess the moral of your dumb story is that if you find the perfect stranger at your door, don’t bloody well tell anyone.” He kissed Nikolas’s face, tasting salt, and felt that in those silent tears, Nikolas had revealed far more than questioning ever would. He placed his hands to Nikolas’s face and cupped the impossibly delineated cheekbones. “Come to bed, stranger. You’ve got the other half of your birthday present to open and enjoy.”

  PART III

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “Are you busy?”

  Ben looked up from his Ducati, which he had wheeled, much to Nik’s disgust, through the kitchen to the small courtyard at the back of the mews house. Then he stared pointedly at the engine, which he had in bits all around him.

  Nik huffed. “Then what are you doing this weekend?”

  Ben raised an eyebrow. “You?”

  Nik laughed. “Hopefully. I want to know if you want to go…house hunting.”

  Ben came into the kitchen, wiping his oily hands on a rag. “We’re definitely leaving here then?”

  Nik raised an eyebrow at the bike in the tiny courtyard and said no more.

  Ben put the kettle on. “Have you got some brochures?”

  “I have bookmarked likely ones for you to look at.”

  “Bookmarked…?”

  “There is a thing that looks like a television in the office; oh, and the office is the room—”

  “Funny. Okay. When are we leaving?”

  “Friday, early?”

  “The dog?”

  “Kate said she would look after him.”

  Ben suddenly grinned. “What are you doing ‘til early Friday?”

  Nik responded to the grin. “You.”

  §§§

  The first house Nikolas had booked to see was on the eastern borders of Devon. The original farmhouse had been knocked down and a new one built in its place. When they arrived, the agent was sitting in a convertible outside the gates. Nikolas eyed him with a disdainful expres
sion. “I hope he has finished his homework.”

  “You’re such an old man.”

  “Benjamin, you are an old man to him. Which reminds me.” Nikolas twisted in the seat to look at Ben. “You are to be my younger brother. Are you comfortable with that, or have I offended these new metrosexual relationship rules I am suffering under? If you are going to sulk or be mad then we will turn around now.”

  “Wow. I asked you one question about your past. One bloody question—which I didn’t get answered. I’m so glad you’re not my older brother.”

  “Hopefully for more reasons than that I would boss you around. So, are you happy with this?”

  “We don’t look anything like brothers, and you’re Danish and weird. How about we say I’m your…financial advisor?”

  Nikolas almost laughed. “Whatever you feel comfortable carrying off, but we are not—”

  “Oh, go on, say the word. I’m going to enjoy this.”

  Nik clenched his jaw, but he was trying not to smile at the same time. “Follow that hairdresser’s car, and do not touch anything.”

  §§§

  Ben wasn’t sure what he was supposed to think about the house. They followed the agent up the drive, a smooth red, newly laid driveway lined with immaculate green lawns. The house was all glass and chrome with touches of oak and stone, so it could call itself an eco house. The entrance lobby was marble, the living room furnished in cream leather. The kitchen was vast and kitted out like something from a food programme—chrome machines, a central island sink and even a butler’s pantry. There was a laundry and a cinema room, and an indoor pool under a glass atrium with a sauna, steam room, and attached gym. Upstairs, the master bedroom had a wetroom bigger than their current kitchen. Nikolas kept his expression neutral throughout. Ben did, until he heard the agent say, “Of course, there is room for manoeuvre on the four point two. My clients have already bought in South Africa and would consider something beginning with a three, if that was followed by a nine.”

  Ben’s eyes widened; he frowned and mouthed questioningly at Nikolas, “Four point two what?”

  Nikolas ignored him and said, “I would like to see the stables.”

  The stables were bigger than Ben’s cottage had been. He watched Nikolas’s face as he examined each of the six stalls. It retained its neutral expression. Finally, he nodded to Ben and said to the agent, “We will be in touch,” and walked back to the car.

  As Ben climbed in beside him and watched the agent tear off in his slightly worrying car, he glanced anxiously at the house then over at Nikolas. Nikolas chuckled and patted his leg. “You think very loudly, but for once we are in total accord. It is not right.”

  Ben let out a sigh of relief. “Next one then?”

  Nik pursed his lips. “It is more promising.”

  “So…about the four point two thing…”

  “Or possibly a three if followed by a nine. What a grotesque little oik.”

  Ben gave a shocked laugh. “My God, the bloody blueblood is never far under the surface, is it?”

  “I am Rus— Danish, Benjamin. I cannot have blueblood, however rich I am.”

  “So…how rich are you?”

  Nikolas narrowed his eyes. “That is a very worrying question from my new financial advisor. I have…sufficient…”

  “You have four point two million pounds? Christ.”

  “I have a little more than that, but please do not mention that to one of these agent-type people.”

  “So you could afford that house we just saw with a pool and the gym…and that shower?”

  Nikolas gave him a long look. “We could, yes. Perhaps, I must begin to think that what is mine is yours also.”

  Ben added quickly, “And then mine would be yours.”

  Nikolas turned away for a moment, bit his lip to control his laughter and said seriously, “Your motorbike is in pieces on my kitchen floor and your leather jacket was eaten by your dog. Ah…perhaps you mean for me to share Radulf? How delightful, part ownership of a gay dog. I do not recall anything else of yours I particularly covet.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I can think of one thing…”

  Nikolas laughed. “Well, yes, I would have to admit to coveting that. As it happens, we have an hour before our next appointment and it is only five miles from here. I feel like breaking the tenth commandment. And the seventh, while I still have the opportunity.”

  “Here? In the car?”

  Nikolas glanced around. “Oh, look…a house. I wonder if…” He produced a key from his pocket. “Spotty teen may miss this soon. I suggest we make haste.” Nikolas wasn’t quite so pleased with himself when he discovered that the key he’d taken was for the stable block and not the house, but the stables had their own attraction. Ben couldn’t say that Sir Nikolas Mikkelsen, bespoke suit discarded on the floor, shirt ripped open and slipping off his shoulders, was not a very attractive sight.

  Ben pushed him face first into one of the walls and stood behind, his cock long and jutting out of his own suit. He licked a finger and teased Nik for a while, admiring the still healing bite mark he’d given him a few days before on the Saddleworth moors. He pressed his mouth to Nikolas’s shoulder, and before Nikolas could say urgently, “Don’t!” he’d bitten him again. Hard. Nikolas winced and flinched away, swearing in a weird mixture of languages, and he swung a fist back to punish Ben, but Ben caught the hand, seized the other wrist and pinned him hard to the wall. Then he bit him again, just because he could, and nothing was as good as the taste of Nikolas’s warm skin.

  When Nik tried to ram his head back to stop him, Ben sank something other than teeth into him, but he didn’t let go of the shoulder. Only when he tasted blood did he begin to lick and suck gently at the wound as he brought them both, with long, hard thrusts, to knee-staggering orgasms.

  As soon as he could stand unaided, Nikolas pulled away and twisted theatrically to see the wounds on his shoulder. “You have to stop doing that, Benjamin! It actually hurts. Fuck. Is that blood on my shirt?”

  “Stop being such a baby.”

  “This shirt cost—”

  “Yeah, yeah, you said it was half mine now, so that keeps the cost down.”

  “Jesus. I did not mean for you to have the shirt off my back. Seriously, Benjamin, am I bleeding?”

  “Of course not.” He pulled Nikolas closer and began to dress him, buttoning his shirt to distract them both from the trickle of blood he could see running down Nikolas’s back.

  “I will probably get rabies.”

  Ben cupped his cheeks and kissed him. “Does it really hurt?”

  “What the fuck do you think?”

  Ben turned the gentle cupping into a rough shake. “Good. Next house we see? When you’re talking your fours and points and fucking nines, feel that pain and remember who owns who in this relationship.”

  Nikolas was very quiet on the way to the next house; a gem of eighteenth-century architecture set in manicured grounds alongside the River Exe. Its classic Georgian proportions awed Ben as they drove along the winding drive to meet another agent, a woman in her thirties. She looked hungry—pretty much for everything. She gave them both a piercing and calculating appraisal, appeared very satisfied with what she saw, and approached them with her hand extended as they exited the car.

  Ben murmured, “Little brother struck dumb at birth, yeah?”

  Nikolas tried to hide a private smile. She proceeded to show them the house—drawing room done in the French style, huge kitchen, upper rooms…Ben tuned it all out and felt as if he were being given a tour of a stately home, which he guessed he was. He had no idea what Nikolas was thinking until they got to the stables, where he gave a thoughtful glance at one wall. Ben snorted but sobered at a frown from the agent. They went out to the grounds once more, and she started to talk about fishing rights. Nikolas finally stopped her with a small gesture of his hand. “We don’t fish. Price?” Age clearly had its disadvantages because this house started with a six. Nik nodded a
nd said he wanted to walk around it again on his own. Ben quickly retreated to the safety of the car. Six! He took the opportunity to text Kate: Is he being good? And got back: Define good.

  All seemed well, so he tossed the phone in the glove box and began to think about lunch. Nikolas came out twenty minutes later and stood under the central portico, nonchalantly considering the front elevations of the house. Ben couldn’t deny that to any casual observer, Nikolas appeared like he belonged here. In the back of Ben’s mind, he knew he looked like a model on a GQ photo shoot, dressed to play the part of the English gentleman. But English gentlemen, by and large, weren’t six foot four with green-eyed, exotic beauty. He would always be incongruous here. Nikolas, though, had the kind of beauty that only generations of breeding could produce—the rich marrying the beautiful, cheekbones rising and defining, and jaws strengthening with each generation. But Ben was not a casual observer of Sir Nikolas Mikkelsen. He knew another Nikolas, and this one was not so elegant or remote. The things Nikolas knew, the things he occasionally wanted, had not come from a life lived in the luxury of wealth. There was a very dark side to Nikolas, which in many ways made him just as much an impostor in this Palladian house as Ben.