Love is a Stranger

by John Wiltshire

  Kate was keen to work on the assignment she had been given and left after another pointed glare toward Ben. Nikolas pulled his mobile out of his pocket and began to tap it irritatingly with his thumbnail. “We’ll give her until tomorrow, and then we’ll contact Gregory.”

  Ben nodded, staring out of the window at bikes in the showroom, deep in thought.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Ben turned to look at him and shrugged.

  “It embarrasses you that Kate was probably speculating on what we do in bed.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” He hated it when Nikolas seemed to be able to read his mind.

  “Don’t be ridiculous…sir.”

  Ben’s head snapped up. “What?”

  Nikolas had the grace to appear slightly embarrassed, but he said slowly and clearly, “I don’t want Gregory to be made aware of our…arrangemen—”

  “Arrangement? Arrangement!”

  “Don’t interrupt, and keep your voice down. Yes, our arrangement. We need to return to our… more formal association. You’re my employee and as such you should call me sir—as Kate does. I’m sure he’ll also speculate exactly what we—”

  “Oh, I think the fact we share a bloody house might be a fucking clue!”

  “I don’t appreciate being sworn—”

  “You have got to be kidding. This is a joke, yeah?”

  “As I was saying. He’ll undoubtedly speculate, but he’ll have no—”

  “Not just a house! A fucking bed! Do you not think the double bed might be a—?”

  “If you remember, we weren’t sharing a bed, Benjamin. I remember, even if you don’t.” This was said in a far less reasonable tone.

  Ben leant forward, too, their foreheads almost touching. “I wasn’t sharing your fucking bed, Nikolas, because you didn’t actually exist. You’d been dead for ten fucking years, and some impostor had stolen your life. And now that bloody impostor thinks to tell me this?”

  Nikolas pursed his lips and made his incredibly annoying gesture of dismissal. “Semantics. And stop swearing at me. You’re entirely missing the point, as usual. I don’t want Gregory to know about us. Is that not clear enough?”

  “Oh, trust me, I get that loud and clear. And do you know what? Maybe there won’t be anything for him to suspect in future. No house sharing. No fucking double bed. How does that suit you…sir?”

  Nikolas toyed with his phone some more then said sulkily, “Not all that much.”

  Ben began to smile. He couldn’t help it. Nikolas glanced up. “Are you laughing at me?”

  Ben gave him a pointed look but didn’t bother to explain what he found funny.

  Nikolas sighed. “You have to trust me on this, Benjamin. These things aren’t accepted in the world I come from.”

  “Being gay you mean.”

  Nikolas flinched away from him. “You’re being incredibly obtuse, and I’m not gay.”

  Ben leant even further forward and made his point more forcibly by poking Nikolas on his immaculate new shirt. “I don’t fucking know what obtuse means, but as I’ve had your cock up my arse for the last four years, I reckon it must mean accurate.”

  Nikolas got up and walked out, which annoyed Ben intensely as he had no money on him and was stuck with the bill.

  When he caught up, Nikolas was standing looking at the bikes in the showroom. They walked together toward the high street, Radulf’s claws clicking on the pavement the only sound between them.

  Ben suddenly halted and glanced across at Nikolas. Nikolas stopped, too, his face a mask of stony resolve. “You’re scared—of Gregory. This is personal, isn’t it? You’re scared what he’s going to think about you. You want him to respect you. Oh, my God, you want him to like you!”

  “Good grief. It’s like being psychoanalysed by the dog.”

  “You want him to still see you as the fearsome, powerful Aleksey Primakov, despite the fact you killed him off ten years ago. You want to have your bloody cake and eat it.”

  “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. I don’t eat cake. Do something useful and more suited to your intelligence and find a cab.”

  “You’re ashamed. Of us. Of me.”

  “Right at this minute I am, yes, because you’re making a scene. A cab?”

  Ben flagged down the next passing taxi, and they climbed in, sitting in angry silence, except for Nikolas directing the driver to The Connaught. When they reached their room, Nikolas tipped the porter and they were alone again. Ben was trying to work out the best way to get to his lock-up and retrieve some of his cash so he could just—what?

  He felt a hand on his arm and jerked away. Nikolas caught him again, more forcibly. “I’m sorry.” An apology from Nikolas was a very rare thing. Nikolas put a hand against Ben’s cheek, rubbing his thumb thoughtfully over his cheekbone. Suddenly, he exclaimed, “Fuck,” and pulled Ben into a tight hug. He turned his face into Ben’s neck. “When did you get so clever, Benjamin Rider?”

  Ben knew that if he didn’t pull away, he would be truly lost. But as he was entirely happy to be entirely lost in Nikolas, he made no attempt to leave the strong arms at all. Sometimes, he wondered if he was so far gone on Nikolas that he’d let him kill him one day. He put his hand into the newly shorn hair and rubbed it up the wrong way, loving the feel of it under his palm. Nikolas held him off a little way, studying him.

  “I think I’m going to do something very uncharacteristic and tell you something before you force it out of me with your annoying and incessant questioning.” It was hard for Ben to keep up the pretence of being angry with a hand tucked into his waistband to hold him prisoner and a thumb idly stroking his belly. “Aleksey Primakov never existed, Ben. I made him up and acted him out just as I made up all the other people I’ve been in my life. I’ve played so many roles now that I’m not entirely sure who I am any more. Do you understand? When we meet Gregory, he’ll expect to see the Aleksey Primakov he knew only too well. So, where do I find him? You tell me, because I actually have no idea. Aleksey Primakov was birthed and fed and nurtured on pain and betrayal—his and other’s. How do I find him if I don’t start with pain and betrayal again?”

  Ben pulled him back in, burying his face in Nikolas’s neck, breathing him in deeply, the smell of his warm, clean skin and the fresh cotton of his shirt. He didn’t have any answers at all. Nikolas pulled his face around and kissed him, eyes slightly wary, as if he knew he didn’t deserve his kiss to be reciprocated or welcome. Ben gave him a rueful look with narrowed eyes, grabbed his shoulders and pushed him back onto the bed. In total silence, he divested Nikolas of all the expensive trappings of his latest persona and took him naked from the inside. Inside, Nikolas never changed and was exactly the same man Ben had first taken—still aching and shocked from his own violent penetration on the floor of a billiard room in another life.

  When they were done and Nikolas could barely manage to turn over without groaning in pain, Ben curled around him, his face pressed deep into the short hair at the back of Nikolas’s neck. “If you resurrect Aleksey Primakov now for Gregory then that’s who you will have to stay, and I’ll lose you. I’m not going to let that happen. He knows you lied, he knows you escaped that life. Ten years have gone by, Nik. Why not show him what escape means? Why not meet him as the real you?”

  Nikolas huffed. “When you find him, do let me know.”

  “I have found him. He’s in that sailboat, remember? He’s riding on those windswept beaches in those photographs. He’s here now, with me, covered in my semen and my bite marks. My possession. That’s the real you.”

  Nikolas turned stiffly in his arms, wincing, to lie facing him. Ben ran his fingers through the still longish fringe at the front. “He’s way too wealthy and can do pretty much what he likes—which is usually wearing poncy clothes and looking like a bloody GQ model because he knows it impresses everyone. He exaggerates his accent when it suits him to be misunderstood, and he switches between languages without even knowing he does it.
He talks in his sleep in Danish. He pretends to read really boring books, but I notice the bookmarks don’t actually progress much. He says he’s given up smoking, but he’s still smoking pretty heavily in his mind.” Nikolas began to smirk at that, caught out. “He doesn’t like talking about sex, hasn’t ever said the word cock in my hearing yet, but that really doesn’t matter, because there isn’t anything he doesn’t know about it and wants to do if he’s in the mood. He can out fuck me, out fight me, and out manoeuvre me at every turn. He never gives compliments. Getting him to say anything about how he’s feeling is like getting the proverbial out of a sodding stone, but then he doesn’t complain about pain or discomfort either. He’s not afraid of anything except…” Nikolas’s amused smile faded, and he looked suddenly uncertain, vulnerable. “Me. He’s afraid of losing me.”

  Ben pushed his fingers more forcibly into Nikolas’s hair, lifting his head and kissing him. “So he has nothing to fear, ever, because nothing he ever does or says will drive me away. He could fucking kill me, and I’d still want him. My bloody ghost would come back and say kill me again, Nik.” He deepened the kiss, biting down on Nikolas’s lower lip then releasing it, watching the blood return. “So, how’s that for a start on the real you? We can work out some of the kinks and the details later, when you’re fucking me senseless—always remembering, of course, that you’re not gay. That work for you?”

  Nikolas only nodded, his eyes never leaving Ben’s.

  Ben kissed him one more time, this time on the forehead like a father bestowing a blessing on his child. “Now, for fuck’s sake, go to sleep. We’ve got a very busy day tomorrow, and if you don’t get to sleep, you won’t be able to enjoy any of it.”

  To Be Continued in Conscious Decisions of the Heart…

  About the Author

  John spent twenty-two years in the military, perfecting the art of looking busy whilst secretly writing. He left as a senior officer when his tunnel was ready for use. He is now living in New Zealand until he can raise enough money to leave. Although he has no plans to return to the army, he can occasionally be caught polishing his medals.

  Trademarks Acknowledgment

  The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  British Airways: British Airway Plc.

  Ducati: Ducati Motor Holding S.p.A.

  Britain’s Got Talent: ITV Plc.

  Range Rover: Jaguar Land Rover, Limited.

  Lada: AvtoVAZ

  Mercedes: Daimler AG

  GQ: Condé Nast Ltd.

  SPAM: Hormel Foods Corporation

  Twilight Zone: CBS Broadcasting, Inc.

  Claridge’s: Maybourne Hotel Group

  Alexander McQueen: Alexander McQueen Trading Limited

  Ralph Lauren: Ralph Lauren Corporation

  Louis Vuitton: Louis Vuitton Malletier S.A.

  Michaeljohn: Michaeljohn

  The Connaught: Maybourne Hotel Group

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