The Bridge of Silver Wings

by John Wiltshire

  He laid the piece of official paper on the piano where the music would go. Nikolas nodded unhappily and played a chord. He glanced at the paper. He frowned and peered a little closer. Ben smiled. Nikolas refused to wear his glasses unless he was utterly forced to. Nikolas picked up the paper and walked with it to the door. He stood in the weak winter sunshine, reading it. “Benjamin Rider-Mikkelsen.”

  Ben came over to join him. Nikolas turned and repeated this, as if the first time had confused him. “Benjamin Rider-Mikkelsen?”

  The slight question at the end prompted Ben to nod. “I decided for us, Nikolas, because I knew you never would. That’s how I see myself now, and that’s never going to change. All of this has made me realise what I want in life and what I don’t. So that’s it. I’m half you now. I always have been; I just hadn’t told you, I guess. Now I have.”

  Nikolas turned sharply away, his head tilted back. Ben wrapped his arms around him. “Cool entrance yesterday, by the way. When you go to war, you go all guns blazing, don’t you?”

  Nikolas chuckled very quietly. “Busted.”

  “So, what do you think?”

  “Hmm, what do I think about Ben Rider-Mikkelsen?” He turned in Ben’s arms. “I think it’s a mouthful.”

  Ben bit his lip on his laughter and raised one eyebrow. “A mouthful. Do you really? Shall we test to see if Ben Rider-Mikkelsen is a mouthful?” Their mouths came together for the first time with their joined names between them. It definitely added something to the mix. Nikolas seemed almost lit up from the inside, as if finally he’d come right out of the shadows for this one moment with Ben. He wasn’t talking much about what this meant to him, but he was showing it with every touch. He gradually worked Ben backward to the main room, still kissing, and eased him over the arm of the couch, lying down heavy on top of him.

  The place was incredibly quiet and still, almost as if the house were holding its breath to listen to the sound of them kissing. All Ben could hear was the sound of their lips brushing against warm skin and stubble, the low sounds of appreciation and encouragement they were making. There was no urgency. They knew where they were going and the route they were going to take to get there. It was superb to anticipate, incredible to slowly work toward, little steps—hands on skin, tongues tracing and exploring, clothes slowly removed. Finally they were both naked. Nikolas sat on the couch, watching Ben as he stepped out of his boxers. Ben smiled and carefully straddled Nikolas’s lap, their cocks standing proud together between them. Ben took them both in his hand, stroking idly, swirling his palm over their tips, smearing their juices together. Nikolas let his head drop back, watching Ben through lowered lids, total contentment obvious in his languid gaze. He suddenly chucked and shook his head. “Ben Rider-Mikkelsen.”

  “Yes, Nikolas Mikkelsen?”

  Nikolas shook his head lightly again as if to rid himself of a thought but admitted, “Not many people in my life have surprised me, Benjamin Rider-Mikkelsen, but you have.”

  “You like saying that, don’t you?”

  Nikolas didn’t have to admit that he did. Ben could see his intense delight in the tiny smirk that quirked Nik’s lip. He leant forward, and they kissed again, and as Ben rose to the kiss it was so easy to just sink down and take Nikolas into his body. They both stilled at the shared sensation of pleasure, then Ben settled comfortably, not moving, just holding Nikolas inside as they kissed. Nikolas kissed into Ben’s neck, down his chest and further, just catching the shining cockhead in a quick suck before moving back up the hard belly and broad, smooth chest.

  They heard a car crunch on the gravel. They stared at each other. Ben narrowed his eyes. “This is the fastest I’m ever going to see you move, isn’t it?”

  It was. Ben was dislodged, and they were both dressed, if not entirely respectable, by the time Natasha and Camilla came into the house, calling for Ben. Nikolas was finding it too funny to greet them, so he moved over to the window with his back to the door as Ben went over to call to them. They came in together. Camilla had a large bunch of flowers in her arms and Natasha a picnic basket. Camilla strode toward Ben, “Hello, darling. How are you? These were left from the chapel so I brought them over. Shame to waste them.” She suddenly saw Nikolas. “Oh, hello, Sir Nikolas. I thought you’d gone back to London with your colleagues.”

  Ben suddenly stepped forward and took the flowers, laying them down on the couch they’d so recently been occupying. “Nik and I are going back to London together later today. Look, I’m sorry, but I’m not staying in Devon, Camilla. I’m going to sell the house.” He heard a slight sound of surprise from Nikolas and went closer. “I live wherever Nikolas lives and go wherever he wants, so this isn’t the place for us. I’m so, so sorry, but that’s the way it’s going to be.”

  Camilla put a hand to her throat. “You can’t do that. This…”

  “I can do it, and I’m going to.”

  Nikolas put a hand on his arm, and Ben calmed. “I won’t do anything just yet, but I wanted to tell you.”

  “But there’s been a Redvers at Horse Tor since the Conquest, Benjamin. It’s all your father and I ever wanted.”

  “Well there can’t be a Redvers here now, anyway; because my name is Benjamin Rider-Mikkelsen.” Camilla blinked a few times then began to speak, but Natasha interrupted her.

  “You fucking bastard.” She was glaring at Nikolas.

  Ben stepped between them. “You’d better go.”

  Nikolas put his hand on Ben’s arm again. “No, I have to go back to the hotel anyway. I’ll swing by and pick you up in a couple of hours, okay?” Ben nodded. Nikolas started to go toward the door. He caught Natasha’s eye, looked at Camilla, then turned back and seized Ben. He propelled him roughly against the wall and kissed him, hard, decisive. He hadn’t changed his name, but Ben reckoned this was as dramatic a statement as Nikolas had ever made in his life about anything. He pulled off, patted Ben’s backside and left.

  It was an uncomfortable atmosphere in the room after that.

  § § §

  Nikolas drove slowly through the lanes he was beginning to know very well. He’d come to the house thinking that, to all intents and purposes, he’d lost Ben. He’d watched him at the funeral, so withdrawn and pale, so racked with guilt. He’d felt the isolation, the distance between them. Ben on the family side, he with the others. He’d wanted to cross then, take Ben into his arms and announce that Ben was his. His family, his life. But he couldn’t—wouldn’t. And now this: Benjamin Rider-Mikkelsen. Ben had been the one to see what was needed and take the initiative. Nikolas laughed out loud and banged the steering wheel—a gesture he only allowed himself because he was alone. He’d fucking gone and changed his name. Rider-Mikkelsen. It didn’t matter how many times he repeated it to himself, he’d never get over the pleasure of what it meant. He knew he should be thinking about a reciprocal gesture, but, hell, he’d kissed him in front of two women. He knew Ben had got the import of that.

  It was dark when he finished packing and paying the bill for everyone. Jackson had driven Andrea and Kate back to London after the funeral, but Squeezy and Tim had stayed on. Nikolas had treated them to the suite he and Ben had stayed in before, and when he went to extricate them and tell them it was time to leave, he was impressed by the amount of mess they’d managed to make between the sunken bath, sauna and steam room. It looked as if they’d hosted a rugby team in there all day. He frowned. Knowing Tim and Squeezy, it was entirely possible they had. He turfed them out and told them Ben was coming back with them. Neither seemed surprised at this. Apparently, he was the only one who’d been in meltdown.

  Squeezy wanted to drive, so Nikolas sat in the passenger seat, for once not thinking about anything very much. It had been a very odd few weeks. He’d felt threats from all sides, but it hadn’t been anything he could visibly fight. He smiled privately when he thought about the moment when he’d swept his team into the chapel. It was rude to hijack a funeral, he supposed, but desperate times had called fo
r desperate measures. Tim tapped him on the shoulder. “What’s that girl called? Ben’s step-cousin? The one with the superb assets?”

  Squeezy answered quickly, “Natasha.”

  Tim seemed annoyed for a moment but then added, “Looks like she’s having another aren’t-we-cool-it’s-not-Bonfire-Night party.” Nikolas followed his gaze. The moors rose over to the west, in the direction they were heading. He pondered the glow for a moment, knowing what it was, but not able to bring that conscious thought into his mind. But it came of its own accord. He cried in a strangled voice, “No. That’s the house. It’s burning.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Nikolas discovered one reason the SAS are renowned. He didn’t think there was anyone else who could have driven those lanes at the speed that Squeezy went. They were off the ground as they crested the ridge above the valley.

  The house was blazing, the roof already collapsed on one side. They tore down the hill and skidded to a halt, all three falling out before the inferno, holding arms to faces to shield them from the heat.

  “Ben!” Nikolas’s voice hardly registered above the roar of the blaze.

  Squeezy found a window in the lower passageway, away from the worst of the fire, and kicked it in. Nikolas pushed Tim away and shouted for him to call the fire brigade. He followed Squeezy into the house. There was a terrible sound of another section of the roof falling in and the subsequent rush of air increased the power and might of the flames. They ripped their shirts off and tied them around their faces, making their way toward the front hall. A beam had fallen on the piano. The stairs were still intact, but Squeezy caught Nikolas’s arm when he went toward them, shaking his head. Nikolas tore his arm away.

  The smoke was incredibly thick, and although the fire was providing its own hellish illumination, they could barely see. They heard a sound. Squeezy looked up. He moaned, “Oh, fuck,” and shouted, “Ben!” Nikolas’s heart ran cold, and his eyes followed where the other man was pointing. “He’s up there on the landing.”

  Nikolas swore and went toward the stairs. Regardless of his previous concerns, Squeezy followed him. They began to mount, but suddenly the whole structure pulled away from the wall and toppled them down to the floor. Nikolas felt something snap in his wrist as he fell but he dragged Squeezy away along the floor. He stared up through the smoke as he did and saw a pair of arms, just for a moment. As Squeezy had confirmed, Ben was on the landing. He was trapped behind a portion of the fallen roof. Nikolas shouted, but his hoarse voice didn’t reach that far. The heat was so intense he felt the skin on his arms blistering, and then hands were on him, two sets, pulling him back. He screamed and fought, but someone had a very professional hold on him and, inch-by-inch, they backed him off. Suddenly, in an intense rush of heat and blaze of light, the landing collapsed. It crashed onto the piano, and the instrument sent up a chord of demonic resonance, which seemed to go on and on accompanying the conflagration that destroyed the house at Horse Tor and the Redvers name forever.

  § § §

  Nikolas knew that neither Tim nor Michael had ever been afraid of him. They’d been wary of him, awed by him, so Ben claimed, and other more complex emotions, but never feared him. Until now. They tried to contain a monster that night beside the collapsing house, but he wouldn’t be contained. Once or twice, as he writhed and fought them alongside the flames, Tim looked like a man who’d died himself and been taken down to hell and this terrifying figure was the devil, in his element, writhing in ecstasy at their downfall. But it wasn’t ecstasy by any means. Nikolas was in agony, and there nothing anyone could do or say to alleviate his suffering.

  When the fire brigade turned up, hardly able to get their vehicles down the narrow lanes, there was nothing left to save. It was a vast bonfire of glowing embers against the darkness of the tor. Paramedics had arrived with the fire engines and two police cars. By this time, Nikolas was on his knees, silent only because even his great power had now deserted him. A paramedic approached them warily, but Nikolas barely registered Tim quietly pointing out the worst of their injuries. He heard him mutter that his boyfriend’s arm was broken, possibly some ribs, and that he’d lost a tooth and possibly had a fractured jaw.

  Nikolas knew very well his wrist was broken. It was probably the only thing that’d saved Tim and Squeezy from further injury. He was glad the paramedic took Tim’s whispered advice and didn’t approach him though.

  Squeezy’s face was a mask of grief. He’d known Ben for a long time, longer than either of the other two, and they’d shared a lot. Tim’s chin wobbled, and Squeezy took him in his arms. Perhaps they wanted to hug him. Whatever. The devil wasn’t in the mood to be comforted.

  He rose to his feet and went to supervise the putting out of the embers.

  § § §

  It was still burning hotly the next morning.

  Everyone on the site was awed by just how much heat a large house fire could produce. Tim and Squeezy didn’t leave Nikolas’s side all night, although they could offer him nothing except their intent.

  He was a man without feeling, without conscious awareness of their presence. He moved among them, appearing human, but trapped in a subhuman world of hurt that he couldn’t escape. He knew he’d have to think about Ben eventually, but not now. Now Ben was alive and waiting somewhere for him while he sorted this latest disaster, and then they’d meet to exchange their stories and laugh, and Nikolas would be alive and happy, purely through the existence of Ben Rider. Ben Rider-Mikkelsen. That, too, would have to be thought about later. He swallowed the pain of the errant thought and turned to find his shadows. They were being questioned by the police, retelling the events of the night. What they’d seen, why they were there, where the man, Benjamin Rider, had fallen. Squeezy proved the most useful witness, because he’d seen Ben on the landing, trying to free himself from the roof debris. He’d seen him fall. He was the one, therefore, who told them where, approximately, to look. Because, of course, there was nothing as yet of Benjamin to find. A house fire of this magnitude didn’t leave neat remains behind to be extricated and mourned. They could smell Ben, and had been smelling his roasting flesh all night, but that was something they couldn’t, wouldn’t talk about. There was nothing more the police or the scene of crimes officers could do until the heat dissipated.

  Squeezy clearly wanted to get Nikolas away from the scene for a while. Nikolas appeared to be making him demented with his calm demeanour. Nikolas was in so much pain it was if he was exuding it subconsciously into the minds of those around him. No one dared suggest this to him though. And where would he go anyway? Where was left for him?

  They found the remains a few hours later.

  Nikolas discovered later that one of the fire fighters had the presence of mind, when he first saw the charred remains in the hallway, to warn Tim what they were about to bring out. Tim had spoken quietly to a paramedic, and before Nikolas had known what hit him, as he was standing calmly talking to a policeman, he’d been stuck in the arm by a large needle. Squeezy did it with his good hand. He’d apparently not wanted anyone else getting injured. By the time they brought the blackened lump out, therefore, Nikolas was swaying on his feet. His pupils were blown wide. All the sound around him imploded until there was just a tiny buzzing at the end of a long tunnel through which he appeared to be now viewing the world. He didn’t notice Tim at his side holding his arm, but just watched as the body was covered and zipped into a bag. Then it was carried to an ambulance. He wondered whether a doctor was required to confirm death. They always did that in the movies, and this must be a movie, because there was one thing Nikolas was sure of—this wasn’t real. The sense of unreality increased as the people around him began to fade in and out of existence. He chuckled. It was better than being drunk. But he didn’t drink for some reason these days. He couldn’t remember why. It would come back to him.

  § § §

  He’d slept all the way back to London, apparently, sedated, filthy, and wrapped in a blanket S
queezy had begged off a paramedic. He was told later that Tim had driven, as Squeezy had finally admitted to the fact he had a broken arm, it hurt to breathe, and he couldn’t change gear. They hadn’t even been able to imagine getting Nikolas to a hospital to treat his wrist, so had put this off onto the very long list of other things about him they’d put off thinking about.

  Andrea Gillian had been waiting for them at the London house, although all Nikolas could remember of their arrival home was being dragged between Ben’s two friends, his feet occasionally able to coordinate walking.

  If he’d been consulted, Nikolas would have said he didn’t need a doctor. He’d have definitely told them he didn’t need more sedation. But Andrea Gillian never stood any crap from Nikolas, not one tiny thing, and she hadn’t then. She’d given him another shot and told the other two to take him up to bed. They’d pulled off his shoes, but that was all they could cope with.

  Again, many weeks later, they’d informed Nikolas, rather coolly, that Andrea set Squeezy’s arm and examined his ribs, declaring them only badly bruised. There’d been nothing she could do about Tim’s tooth and swollen jaw. There was also nothing she could do about Ben but listen to them tell their stories again and again, going over what might have happened, why, when, how. But most of all…why. Why Ben? Why not any one of them far more deserving of this awful fate than he?

  They hadn’t had to tell Nikolas, for he already knew it, that Ben was a person as beautiful on the inside as he was on the outside. He was kind and thoughtful, loving and generous, wild and fun, and they’d all adored him. He was their glue; Nikolas knew this. It was never him—the centre of their universe. It was Ben, being the centre of Nikolas’s, who’d kept them all in orbit, all worshiping his beauty. For of course, that was the most incredible thing Ben had ever done. He’d tamed Nikolas Mikkelsen. He’d taken him, shaped him, given him purpose and a new life in him.