Ben always turned heads wherever he went. Nikolas was never sure if Ben noticed this or not. Nikolas always did. Now, however, as well as Ben’s beauty and incredible body, he had long, rumpled hair, designer stubble, and slightly swollen, pouting lips which either said “fuck me now” or “I’ve just been fucked”—Nikolas wasn’t sure which. He liked Benjamin to move through life being worshiped and admired, but he didn’t at the same time. It was very frustrating. Many times he’d thought about getting Ben marked with a tattoo clearly labelling him ashispossession, but he didn’t think Ben would go for it. As usual, therefore, he had to suffer in silence as pretty much everyone in the restaurant watched Ben crossing to their table, some far more openly than others. Of course, there was always the option of showing in public that Benwashis by actually occasionally touching him, but open displays of affection weren’t his inclination.
The restaurant was clearly very popular, but they found a table in a quiet corner where Nikolas could put his back to the wall as he preferred. While they drank some wine, Ben asked, “Why is it so busy?”
Nikolas looked up from the menu. “Probably because it’s December. There’s not much to do here when it’s dark so early.”
“It’ll be Christmas soon.”
“Unfortunately.”
“Ah, and that from the man who forced me to spend last Christmas in a hotel all on my own with a broken nose and missing half a finger.”
“A small squeeze to a small finger. Don’t exaggerate.”
“All Christmas…on my own…not even a phone call. Where were you? Hmm, let me think. Oh, I remember, in your lovely big house, living the better-than-life version of A Christmas Carol. Did you actually think about me at all?”
“Once or twice.” He smirked. “Particularly when I was playing billiards. And if you remember, I did call.”
“Ah, yes, and that got me shot.”
“Ack, you make such a big deal about these trivial things. I’ve been thinking maybe we should go back to London for Christmas.”
“Why?”
“Why not? The house is finished. I have things I need to do.”
“You mean leave here for good?”
“Not necessarily. We could just go for a week. There’s much to do in London at Christmas, no?”
“You’re bored, aren’t you?”
Nikolas sighed. “Shall we talk about the weather? Everything else I seem to say ends up in an argument. And I’m not bored.” After a few minutes of silence, though, he added, “But you can only sit in a hot tub for so long. I’m not used to the…purposeless existence I’m living.”
“Purposeless?”
Nikolas looked up. Very slowly, he slid his hand over to Ben’s side of the table, just brushing one finger against his knuckles, letting his finger rest there. It was quite a concession. “We’re different, Ben. You must let me say what I think or feel without worrying I’m saying this about you. I’m not. This is separate to what I think or feel about you. I need to be engaged, forced to be busy. If I stay still too long, things—thoughts—catch up with me.”
Ben was watching their hands. “Maybe you should let them.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s like shrapnel left in a wound. You can’t just stitch up the wound and hope it’ll get better, can you? You need to dig the source of the problem out first.”
Nikolas pursed lips. “That’s an interesting analogy. I was only talking about going to London for a week. See some exhibitions, maybe. I think we’re talking at cross-purposes.”
“I don’t. I think I know exactly what you’re saying.”
“Ben, look at me.” He waited until Ben obeyed. Old habits died hard, and Nikolas occasionally still used his power over Ben when it suited him. When he finally had Ben’s attention, he then seemed to find it hard to say what he wanted. He swore softly. “I was afraid you’d feel confined. With me. Here, like this. I know I’m not sometimes easy company.”
Ben shook his head despairingly. “Sometimes?”
Nikolas tapped Ben’s hand then withdrew his own. “Admit it, you didn’t miss me as much as I missed you.” Ben’s eyes widened, but before he could refute this, Nikolas continued, “I’d hoped to come back and find you sick with pining for me, but I come back to find you more annoying than when I left. My absence clearly suited you.” He wanted to run his fingers through Ben’s hair, there in the restaurant, but only gave it a longing glance and returned his gaze to the menu.
Ben laughed. “You enjoy this, don’t you? You argue for the sake of it. What about you?” He put his hand to one shorn side of Nikolas’s hair—far less inhibited in public about admitting their relationship than Nikolas ever was—and rubbed it vigorously. “What the fuck do you call this? Because it surely isn’t a haircut.”
Nikolas pursed his lips again. “Don’t play drinking games with Russians. I lost a bet.” He ran his fingers through the long, blond hair at the top. “I had to kill him before he shaved it all off.”
Ben lowered his hand and let it drop over Nikolas’s, not exactly holding it, but close enough. “Even if you were dead, Nik, I wouldn’t be bored of you.”
