He dressed in the last suit Nikolas had bought him, therefore, and one of the shirts he’d picked out for him. He shined his shoes just enough, but not too much, and then studied his face and hair. Usually, Nikolas made him shave and insisted on neat hair. But Ben had always suspected this was more because Nikolas wanted him admired—only not too much. He smiled, remembering Nikolas’s jealousy, which he’d tried so hard to hide for so many years. Ben had dragged Nikolas kicking and screaming out of the shadows. But then look where this’d got them. Separated. He pushed this thought to one side and tried not to dwell on it. He ruffled his hair as he liked it and decided not to shave. He grinned at himself. Perfect.
When the taxi arrived, he left Radulf guarding his new bike in the kitchen, something Radulf took to immediately and with great conscientiousness. Clearly, he was military urban chic, as well. Ben gave the driver the address of the Mercedes Benz showroom in Chelsea. When he arrived, he took a deep breath and proceeded in—on his own. It was more terrifying than facing psychotic Chechens with automatic weapons.
He knew which car he wanted. It was the one Nikolas had intended to buy to replace the Range Roverhe’d…lost. As it was a very touchy subject between them, and had tended to make Nikolas start his odd mixed-language swearing whenever it had been mentioned, Ben hadn’t been able to question him too closely on why he’d decided on this vehicle and not another British one. But a Mercedes it had been, so Ben wandered up to the GL-class off-roader displayed in the showroom and stood there as if he belonged. Predictably, it wasn’t long before a salesman joined him. Ben absolutely loathed this kind of interaction. It was worse than buying a house. He felt such an overwhelming need for Nikolas he almost walked out, but something held him back. He took another deep breath and proceeded to spend money.
The salesman didn’t appear surprised Ben wanted the petrol version of the car, despite it doubling the cost to just under a hundred thousand pounds. As he told Ben, all his younger, A-list clients did. He was clearly a lot more taken aback when Ben declared he wanted two vehicles, and that one had to have rear side-airbags and sunblinds for a dog.
As Ben had chosen obsidian black for the paintwork and black leather interiors for both vehicles, which came as standard, they could be delivered the next day. The one with Radulf’s accessories he left in the garage, which used to house Nikolas’s new Range Rover (untilhelost it), and the other he loaded up with a weekend bag and the dog, and set off for Devon. He wasn’t too sure of his welcome, or that he’d done the right thing, but he wanted to do it, and that had to count for something.
When he arrived at Tim Watson’s cottage, Tim was out, but his partner, John, was home and let him in. Ben liked John, but he was never too sure of his welcome or quite where he stood with the older man. That John and Tim had an open relationship was fairly clear, because Tim seemed to have no qualms inviting Ben to his bed at regular intervals; something Ben had consistently resisted since he’d been caught in the maelstrom that was Nikolas Mikkelsen. He didn’t even want to think about open relationships. It made him feel faintly sick to think of Nikolas with Gregory. He trusted Nikolas. He kept telling himself that and tried to stamp down the evil voices in his head that told him he’d many reasons not to.
John made him some tea, and they sat in the kitchen, making slightly stilted small talk. John told him about a lecture he was preparing for a conference. Ben realised there was very little of his life normal enough to share, so he told him something of the house-hunting weekend, which now seemed a great deal more than a month ago. Finally, Tim arrived home. He was incredibly pleased to see Ben and actually kissed him in front of John, but made it a less personal thing by punching him, too. Ben took it in good part and apologised for taking so long to be in touch. He asked sheepishly how Tim had been managing without his car and saw the annoyed glance John gave his partner when Tim waved off the inconvenience as nothing. Ben then gave John a sly glance and added innocently, “I’m really sorry, but there was an accident…The Lada was… it was beyond repair—apparently.”
John stood up, clearly very angry on Tim’s behalf; or more, Ben suspected, because the relationship wasn’t quite as open on his side as it was on Tim’s, and he rather resented this GQ-model look-alike bursting into his (much younger) lover’s life every so often with outrageous demands but being forgiven at every turn. Ben reckoned John got nagged if he left the toilet seat up.
Very contritely, he pulled a set of keys out of his pocket. “I replaced it with this. I hope that’s okay.”
They went out, and Ben led them around to the side lane where he’d parked the Merc. Tim looked past it at first, perhaps expecting another Lada. Ben suddenly wondered if he’d miscalculated badly. He knew nothing about professors other than this one who, he remembered, kissed divinely and had a cute belly. Their taste in cars, however, was a mystery to him. Perhaps this monster black machine, all sharp lines and obsidian sex, he and Nikolas liked?Tim’s eyes fixed on the Merc. He pointed the keys in his hand toward the menacing vehicle and pressed the remote opener. The lights flashed, and that lovely clunk of ownership sounded in the quiet lane. Tim swallowed and went closer. He laid his hand on the wicked, matte black paintwork and closed his eyes. Ben grinned. Yeah, Tim was having a small orgasm, too. Success.
Tim then had to drive Ben back to London. It was a fun trip. They stopped for a meal, and, for once, it was Ben who led the way into the restaurant, ordered, and paid. He wondered if this was why Nikolas got such a kick out of always being the one in control. It was fun being grown up. On the way, Ben told Tim far more about the situation than he’d told John. Tim took it all in, in his quiet, intelligent way and made suitable comments. Best of all, Ben could see Nikolas had risen in Tim’s estimation for what he was doing. From a professor of ethics, that was good to know. Ben gave himself a mental slap when he realised not only did he love Nikolas himself, he now appeared to be trying to get everyone else to love him, too.
Just before they got to London, Tim asked, “So, what’re you going to do while he’s away? It could be long time. These things can…drag on. Sorry, that’s not what you want to hear.”
“It’s only supposed to be a few months…” Ben glanced over. Tim gave him a sympathetic look. It only strengthened Ben’s resolve to carry through his plan. With a nod for courage, he committed himself. “I’m going to Denmark. I’m going to learn Danish.”
Tim seemed surprised then puzzled then quite impressed.
Ben was watching these expressions covertly out of the corner of his eye, gauging the response. “Total immersion. It’s the only way to learn. It’s how I learnt my other languages—in country, forced to speak them all the time.”
“Is it a hard language?”
Ben laughed. “It would be easier learning Klingon.”
“Except for the total immersion thing maybe…? When are you going?”
“I don’t know. Tomorrow? Nothing here for me now.”
They arrived back at the house, and just as Ben was watching Tim circle around his new bike admiringly, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out with a frown and saw he’d received a text. His heart gave a small jolt, and he jogged up to the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. It read:hello Ben.
He grinned and texted back:hello.
Nikolas’s texting was almost worse than Ben’s, which was saying something, but as Nikolas had apparently promised Gregory he wouldn’t be in touch at all, Ben didn’t care if he used Morse code. He was very amused to see Nikolas had managed almost twelve hours before he broke the rules.
A few moments later, he received:what r u doing?
And sent back:Tim here & staying nite……..
The next text took a little longer to come in:yr sense of humour never changes.
He replied:neither does anything else. Promises, yes?
Yes
Where r u?
No idea; have aisle seat
Yr on plane?
