CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Nikolas woke to the smell of frying bacon and to the muted sound of Ben talking to someone on the phone in the kitchen. He rolled onto his back, winced, and returned to lying on his belly. He could sprawl out now. For some reason, he’d been cramped all night. Ben came in carrying a tray with a phone jammed under one ear. He muttered, “Gotta go. I’ll let you know,” and let the phone drop onto the bed. He climbed in and sat cross-legged with the tray on his lap.
“Who was that?”
“Squeezy. We’ve been invited to a New Year’s Eve party.”
Nikolas closed his eyes, thinking deeply. Ben grinned, waiting.
“Is it not January already? Have I—?”
“Don’t worry. He said they’d done that one, but no one can remember what happened, so they’re doing it again…and we’re invited.”
“You mean you’ve been invited.”
Ben leant over and placed Nikolas’s tea on the nightstand, staring at his bruised back as he did. He placed his hand on the bandage. “Are you ever going to tell me the things she did to you?”
“No. But I suspect if I have to return for an inquest you’ll find out anyway.”
“Do you think you will?”
“LaCour’s handling things very well, so far. We’ll see. Are you going to the party?”
“Only if you come, too.”
“We’re not joined at the hip, Ben.”
“What would you do here on your own?”
“I’d probably go out.”
“Without me?”
“Well, you went to a party without me, so I had little choice.” He laughed as Ben punched his arm. “Why does the house smell of bacon?”
“Oh, yeah, sorry. I cooked some.”
“And…?”
“Well, there was only really enough for one. So I ate it.”
Nikolas turned slowly onto his back, easing into the pain. “You really are better. Even this,” he stretched up and rubbed Ben’s head, “is looking less fearful. No scabs.”
Ben snorted. “Yours isn’t. It’s not growing over the scar.”
“I’d noticed. In the gulag we shaved stripes into our hair to indicate how many men we’d—So, what do you want to do today?” Ben looked stonily at him. “Why not test your new bike on a ride to the delectable Professor Watson and show off your Danish?” That suggestion got a much better reception. Nikolas hid his smile at the sudden animation in Ben’s features.
If Ben knew the sacrifice Nikolas made allowing him to ride a motorbike in the rain in January (or visit Tim, come to that), he’d have realised just how much Nikolas was trying to make life normal for him again. He rummaged for his bike gear and dragged on leather pants and a tight, base layer top.
Nikolas watched him as he drank his tea. He’d loved Ben’s long hair and had he been asked, he would’ve forbidden him to cut it off. He had to admit, though, Ben suited the shorn look even more. Some men grew their hair long because they had to, it gave them the extra edge they needed to get noticed. Ben didn’t need any edge at all. Without the distraction of the hair, he was displayed in all his raw beauty, like the template of the first perfect man from which all men were copied. He looked particularly good in leather, too. “You don’t have to go just yet, of course…”
Ben glanced up from pulling on his boots. He grinned and crawled up the bed to straddle Nikolas, the leather tight across his groin, hiding nothing, the material of his top stretched over his superb tanned biceps and showcasing his impressive pecs. He leant down and kissed him. “Gotta go, or I’ll either have to stay the night or ride back in the dark.”
Nikolas winced. Obviously, he didn’t want either of these options. He nodded reluctantly. They kissed once more, and then Ben left. Nikolas stared at nothing for a while; there was nothing better to stare at. He’d recreated a monster of leather and strut. He stretched out in the bed and contemplated things for a while, then realised two things. Firstly, he had a whole day stretching ahead of him without Ben; secondly, he had a whole day stretching ahead of him…without Ben. He rummaged in the very back of his nightstand and found his cigarettes, lighting the first one of the day with an almost orgasmic delight that would be entirely lost on anyone dumb enough to not smoke. As he smoked, he pulled on some ratty jeans and a sweater, and went into the office to fire up his computer.
While this was booting up, he jogged down to the kitchen, stepped around the bags and the pile of laundry, frowning slightly at Ben’s laziness, dug some vodka out of the freezer, clicked to Radulf to invite him to the party, and went back upstairs to continue the online poker game he’d been winning until he’d been Ben Rider’d the night before. By mid-morning he’d switched from casinos to porn, which he had to admit had somewhat lost its allure since he’d met Ben. But he left on an interesting movie, lit his second cigarette of the day and topped up his glass. He swung his bare feet up onto the desk and leant back in his chair. The vodka wasn’t yet doing his almost constant headache any good, but give it time. No pain, no gain.
At lunchtime, he and Radulf skirted the laundry and the bags once more and headed out for something to eat. He’d eyed the food in the refrigerator, but it all needed doing something to before he could eat it. They went to the canal, which was the closest dog-suitable place he could think of and from there to a pub.
