The Bridge of Silver Wings

by John Wiltshire

  Ben said he was only too happy to have him along for the ride. As he’d argued to Nikolas once when drunk, surely it was one of the chief benefits of sleeping with a man that you got to have sex with your best mate. Now Ben got sex from his running partner as well. Nikolas reckoned life was just getting better and better for Ben Rider.

  Nikolas, however, wasn’t a natural runner like Ben. He didn’t really like it, which was a disadvantage. He liked the results, was quite pleased a few hours after a long run when he felt the natural high kick in, but the actual effort of getting out of his warm bed and putting on running clothes and emerging onto the London streets, breath steaming, freezing cold air on the lungs—all of that, he utterly detested. He also didn’t like Ben being better than him at anything, and Ben was a superb runner. He could find a natural rhythm and keep it for hours. Nikolas had twelve years and a thirty-three-year smoking habit over Ben, and he felt it sometimes when they were on the last few miles back to the house.

  So that morning, Nikolas was in his element. He curled around Ben’s hot back and pressed his face into the tangled hair and let nature take its course. He wasn’t adverse to his exercise in the mornings; he just preferred it horizontal.

  Nikolas was worried about Ben’s coming meeting with the lawyers. Ben was wholly unprepared for everything he was going to experience with this house. Sometimes Nikolas wished he’d never told Benjamin about his family history, never revealed the contents of John Redvers’s will. Benjamin had never had relatives; now he did. He’d had a borrowed name. Now he had an ancient one that could be traced back to the Norman Conquest and William’s preferment of land to his favoured knights. He’d never had money of his own; now he’d be independently wealthy, albeit on a far more modest scale than Nikolas’s own wealth. Nevertheless, it would change things, change the balance—Nikolas almost added of power—between them.

  He wondered if he’d met Benjamin Redvers at some local social function, when he was accompanying Philipa at the landowners’ hunt ball, for example, whether there’d have been that instant spark of attraction on both sides which had set them off on this strange path of theirs. What would Benjamin Redvers, son of a local landowner, have thought about Sir Nikolas Mikkelsen then? And what would Aleksey Primakov have thought about Benjamin Redvers? It was an interesting and slightly worrying question that Nikolas had been pondering since he’d known the probate was settled.

  He liked Ben Rider just as he was. Aleksey Primakov had been captivated by the wild, completely unformed young man he’d taken from the hills of Wales. Ben had been almost feral: no culture, no experience of the world beyond the army, no money, no real prospects, and no connections. Now he had all those things, or access to them, through him. Ben was his, his creation. He knew it was unhealthy to want to possess him, but Ben didn’t complain.

  Now things were going to change. He only had himself to blame, of course. He wasn’t entirely sure why he’d told Ben he didn’t want to be here openly as his partner. He suspected it was his old defensive mechanisms creeping in. If he took a step back, got some distance, he was be better prepared for being pushed away. Sometimes he actually saw this as a visual thing, remembering the push he’d given his brother, the one that had sent him spiralling over a balustrade to his death. If he’d been pushed so, he’d have been able to withstand it, for he’d have been better prepared—tense, stepping back, vicious, and aware. He wanted that distance now.

  Ben had never met anything or anyone he wanted more than him because he’d been very careful to make sure Ben never would. Now that was going to change. House, name, family. What else might Benjamin Redvers want from this new life?

  Nikolas would fade back into the shadows for a while and watch developments.

  The shadows were the best place to be when you needed a safe place to prepare.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  They turned up at the lawyer’s offices in Exeter in their immaculate suits, and Nikolas immediately introduced himself as the founder of ANGEL and Ben’s employer. The lawyer, Neville Cooper, had been working with Sir Nikolas Mikkelsen’s lawyers, so he was pleased, at last, to meet the man on the throne, so to speak. He was even more pleased to meet Ben. He rose to greet them then stopped, mid-step, hand outstretched and stammered, “Good God.” It was an impressive opener.

  Ben came forward, a puzzled look on his face, and Cooper shook himself slightly. “Sorry. It was a bit of a shock, that’s all.” He turned to Nikolas. “Did your people supply a photograph of Benjamin to the family’s legal team?”

  Nikolas nodded. “I didn’t follow the day-to-day details, but I believe they did, yes.” This was news to Ben.

  “Well, I can see why they dropped their demand to have a DNA test done. You are, if I may say so, the spitting image of John Redvers.”

  “You knew my father?”

  The lawyer coloured slightly. “Ah, sorry, I meant John Redvers, the younger. Camilla’s son, your cousin. I never knew your father, I’m afraid. So, to business.”

  Ben had suspected it was going to be a bewildering day, which was the main reason he’d wanted Nikolas there, but he’d had no idea just how much the day was going to rattle him. The lawyer handed over keys and details of the storage units where all of the elder John Redvers’s possessions had been put when he’d finally gone into a home. Ben hadn’t even considered there might be furniture.

  Finally, the lawyer smiled at Ben. “So, Mr Redvers, will you be staying in the county, do you think? It’s not the most convenient house to commute to London from.”

  Ben was reeling. Mr Redvers. It wasn’t him. He bit his lip and stared out of the window across the Cathedral close. He didn’t want any of this: lawyers, probate, heritage. Benjamin Redvers. Who the fuck was that? Nikolas stood up, buttoning his jacket. “We’re considering turning the house into a base for one of ANGEL’s subsidiary enterprises.”

  “Oh, excellent. That’ll bring a bit of a boost to the place then. Well, let me know if there’s anything else I can do. When will you be meeting your family, Mr Redvers?”

  Ben took the offered hand and made a noncommittal reply. They stepped out into a crisp November day. Nikolas pulled his overcoat collar higher. “Lunch?”

  Ben nodded. Nikolas glanced at him. “Give yourself time, Ben.”

  They went into a restaurant opposite the cathedral. Ben wasn’t unaware of the interested glances as they took their seats. At six foot four and dressed to kill, they usually made an impression wherever they went. Ben knew he, particularly, drew envious, desirous glances everywhere—Nikolas sometimes debriefed him in a sulky tone about who had stared, how hard and at what. Nikolas, with harder, more scarred beauty, made people stare then look away, uncertain. Ben secretly relished their awed interest. Nik was his, scars and all.

  They ordered some food, and Ben pulled out the details of the storage units to browse over them while they were waiting. “There’s tons of stuff here. Furniture, household effects, personal effects.”

  “It’ll probably all be old man’s taste. You’ll want to buy all new stuff, no?”

  Ben frowned. “I don’t know.” He pushed the papers away and sat back in his seat. “Maybe I’ll just sell the whole place. What do you think?”

  “You don’t really want to know what I think. You want me to argue you out of that rash decision and say something comforting.”

  “Well. Go on then.”

  Nikolas smiled. “One step at a time, Ben. We’ll go and look at the things. If you want some of it, keep it. If you don’t want to change your name, don’t.”

  Ben huffed. “I’m the one who can read your mind, remember?”

  Nikolas tipped his head to one side. “Read what I’m thinking now.”

  Ben did and shook his head. “You’re incorrigible and insatiable. But irresistible.” He pushed his foot against Nikolas’s. “I’m not Benjamin Redvers, am I, Nik?”

  “You’re perhaps not asking that question to the right person, Ben, as my name isn’t Nikola
s.”

  Ben pouted. Nikolas briefly touched his hand. “You can have this exactly how you want it. Stay Ben Rider, keep the house empty, camp in it like some SAS refugee, refuse to see any so-called relatives…”

  “I’m pathetic, aren’t I?”

  “That maudlin, self-pitying question was a little, yes.”

  § § §

  The storage company was on the Marsh Barton industrial estate on the outskirts of Exeter. John Redvers’s estate occupied three forty-foot containers. Ben unlocked the first with some trepidation. He needn’t have worried. Even Nikolas seemed impressed, and he’d been married to royalty for some years. The furniture, what they could see under the coverings, was antique and in keeping with the age of the house. Some of the pieces were Tudor, possibly Elizabethan, but most of it was early Georgian. The second container held more miscellaneous household effects, but the third was the one that astounded Ben. It was full of personal things: journals, books, clothes—a lifetime of accumulation. For someone who had a motorcycle and joint ownership of a blind dog it was incomprehensible to Ben he now had all this stuff. Nikolas was flipping through a book. Ben came over and slipped his arms around him. “Do I have to do the sir thing when we’re alone, too?”

  “Absolutely. Look at this.” He showed Ben the photograph album. “That’s you.”

  Ben stared. A girl and a small boy clutching her hand were sitting on a rug. He frowned and peered closer. “That’s my mother! She looks so…young!”

  “She must have been nineteen? Twenty? Look, you’re wearing a dress.”

  Ben seized the album. “It’s a baby thing. Oh, my God.” He turned page after page of photographs, almost all of them of him and his mother. His father appeared to have been a very keen photographer. Nikolas nudged him, and Ben glanced up. There were shelves and shelves of albums.

  Nikolas chuckled. “You in the bath.”

  “It’s not like you haven’t seen it all before.”

  “Let’s all be thankful it’s easier to see now.”

  Ben moved the album out of Nikolas’s line of sight. Nikolas took down another and started to search through. “This appears to be you and your cousin John.” He tilted the page so Ben could see. Two boys of what appeared to be identical age were digging in the sand together. They both had shorts and old jerseys on, tussled black hair, and other than the fact one was smiling and the other was not they could’ve been twins. “Two of you. A spare you. How intriguing.”

  Ben gave him a sideward, suspicious look. “Why is it intriguing?”

  Nikolas did a good imitation of an innocent person. “I was just being polite. What! Goodness, Benjamin, you do malign me, sometimes.”

  Ben went back to his album. The pictures of the interior of the house were fascinating. They gave a really good impression of how it would be furnished and lived in once more. He felt better after his blip at the lawyer’s office. Perhaps this wouldn’t be so bad after all. Nikolas chuckled again. “What?” He showed him. Little Ben, aged about two, was dressed up as a soldier with a miniature gun pointed coyly at the camera. Ben removed the book from him. He stroked his finger over the picture. “If I had a son, I guess he’d look just like that.”

  § § §

  Nikolas Mikkelsen had shed a great deal of his armour plating over the years he’d known Ben. He hadn’t needed it, shored up as he was by Ben’s unfailing devotion to him. But just occasionally a particularly sharp wounding still occurred.

  Ben was too engrossed in the picture to see Nikolas’s reaction to his harmless comment, and by the time he looked up, Nikolas had his face lowered, checking his phone for texts. The moment passed.

  Ben wanted to take some of the albums with him to go through back at the hotel. Nikolas knew even Ben wasn’t masochistic enough to turn down the chance to stay in a suite with a sauna and steam room in preference to an empty, uninhabitable house. And, as he’d predicted, Ben was beginning to get used to the idea the place was his and it wasn’t about disappear if he let up on his surveillance for a moment. Consequently, they returned to the hotel.

  Ben was hungry again so they went down into one of the lounges for tea. Nikolas didn’t eat carbohydrates, but he watched with amusement as Ben polished off £30 worth of scones, jam and clotted cream. Nikolas couldn’t rid himself of the thought he’d better enjoy Ben while he had him. He berated himself for thinking like this, but nevertheless couldn’t stop it.

  When they went back up to the room, Ben claimed he was too full to do anything more interesting than lie on the bed and look through the photographs. Nikolas took himself off to the sauna. He’d never found a temperature too hot for him yet. He stretched out on his stomach and let his mind drift idly for once. That way it wouldn’t, hopefully, focus on the quiet but nevertheless revolutionary change which was happening next door: Ben was starting to see himself as being a person distinct and separate from him. Ben now had a real past, a real present of family and ties and a community, and with those came a future. A future that suddenly didn’t seem to have room for him. He was the old toy, discarded for newer, shinier presents. If I had a son…

  He heard the sauna door open and shut then heard Ben’s soft muted exclamation about the heat. Ben’s naked, cool body straddled his hips, and Ben murmured, “How come we’ve never fucked in a sauna before?”

  “There are many places in this world we’ve never fucked before.”

  Ben slid further down, sitting across Nikolas’s calves. “Nice view.”

  Nikolas laughed ruefully. “Enjoy it while you can.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Nothing. I may turn over, that’s all.”

  “Well, if I recall rightly, that view is even better.” He parted Nikolas cheeks and began to explore.

  “Your fingers are cold. Ah! That’ll warm them up then.” Ben chuckled and continued his very thorough exploration of Nikolas from inside. Finally, hands weren’t enough. He buried his face between the hard cheeks. Nikolas arched, gasping. “What are you doing?”

  Ben’s expression was derisory. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

  Nikolas chuckled. “You probably don’t want to know.”

  “Bet it feels good though.”

  Nikolas had to agree. It felt very, very good. He relaxed into the sensation. Fingers then tongue, fingers then tongue. Nikolas was actually close to begging, something he very rarely did and then only when tied up and forced to, when a phone rang in the next room. Ben climbed off. Nikolas turned his head, outraged. “You’re kidding. Leave it!”

  “It might be important.” Nikolas was too distracted by the sight of Ben walking naked across the sauna hard enough to push open the door without hands had he wanted, to stop him from actually leaving. He heard a muted conversation. Eventually, he rolled over and took himself in hand; something he never did if Ben was present. He stopped as soon as he heard Ben opening the door, but it was pretty obvious what he’d been enjoying.

  § § §

  Ben was about to tell Nikolas about the call but instead gave a low growl of appreciation at the sight that greeted him and the knowledge of what Nikolas had been doing. He’d never seen Nikolas jerk himself off—never been allowed to—but it was something he occasionally fantasised about watching. He wrapped his strong hand around the stiff erection, working it. He added a finger inside, just to make things interesting. Finally, when they were back to the begging stage once more, Ben made Nikolas stand and bent him over the bench, then he took him. The entry was incredibly easy, hard cock, more than ready hole.

  The heat and the sweat carried Ben deep inside.

  He flexed his knees, lifting and riding into the incredibly powerful body thrusting back against him. The lean muscles showed, stark, prominent with the effort. Sweat glistened, began to soak them, making flesh slippery, and slapping with sound as they connected, skin to skin. Ben slid his hand around Nikolas’s hips and took him in hand again, holding tight, feeling the pulse and twitch, and when he knew Nikolas was
ready, he let himself release into the tightness, watching as the arcing shots of cum from Nikolas splattered down and sizzled on the over-heated pine.

  As soon as he was done, he pulled out and forced Nikolas around to sit on the bench, straddled him, seized his face and kissed him, their cocks now rubbing together, both still not soft, interest quickening again.

  § § §

  Nikolas grabbed Ben’s face just as hard, kissing back just as forcibly, then kissing down the strong neck, making Ben arch back. Nikolas clasped him around the hips, supporting him as he kissed and bit each nipple, Ben bending further and further, a perfect bow of flesh and muscle as Nikolas made it to his belly and then his cock. He sucked the damp cockhead, still grasping Ben’s slippery hips.

  Desperately wanting to take more, he slid onto the floor and took Ben deep into his mouth, waiting for the hands to come to his hair as they always did, as he wanted now. He was being forced, something he’d always dreaded and fought against, but now it was Ben, and all Ben wanted was more sensation, more of his mouth and throat, and Nikolas was willing to give it to him. Finally, Ben jerked his hips and cried out and came again. Nikolas’s mouth filled. He slid up, held Ben’s eye contact for a moment and then shared the spill with him, mouth wide, tongue meeting tongue, lips and teeth and always the stubble that rasped deliciously as they played.