“Not the cottage! For fuck’s sake, Nik! You! Not having you! Oh—” Ben looked wildly around as if for divine help, which, Nikolas was very pleased to see, didn’t come, and then he stormed out.
Nikolas sat down and made a space for Radulf in front of the now roaring stove. Ben’s mat and sleeping bag weren’t the dog’s usual quality bedding, but it would do for him for now. Radulf settled down with a sigh of contentment, and Nikolas felt like making the same noise.
He’d had a moment of pure desolation. But it was okay. Ben was suffering. And for the right reason—missing him.
Ben returned and they made their apologies, both subdued and clearly very well aware that everything in their relationship had to be redefined, even saying sorry, when sex couldn’t be used to reaffirm. But when Ben murmured, “Friends?” Nikolas replied softly, “Of course,” and they were able to sit together at the table with tea in some kind of equanimity.
“So, have you heard from Tim or the moron?”
Ben shook his head. “I don’t have a phone—ran out of—and no one can really stay here—it’s…I didn’t consider that when I agreed to take it.”
Nikolas had. “Neither did I. Sorry. But it only took me a couple of hours to ride here. They could visit from ho—from the other house.”
Ben glanced up from poking his teabag up and down in his mug. “Convenient that—being so close. Quite a coincidence when you think about it.”
Nikolas pondered this. English wasn’t his first language, but he was fairly sure coincidence and careful planning didn’t mean the same thing. He smiled. “Yes. Wasn’t it?” He knew Ben knew, but what could that hurt? It would have been suspicious if he’d given Ben up too easily. “I meant what I said, Ben. I’ll lend you some money to get a better place. You can pay me back when you’re on your feet.”
Ben made a small annoyed gesture and Nikolas didn’t offer again.
“So, are you coming with me—on Sunday?”
Nikolas nodded slowly. “All right. If you want me to. Won’t it be embarrassing for you? We won’t be friends to them; we’ll be men who used to fuck each other up the arse.”
Ben took a sharp intake of breath, whether at the totally uncharacteristic crudity or the essential truth of this Nikolas couldn’t tell, then he stood and went to the range, moving the kettle, which had been quite happy where it was.
Nikolas continued, “People can cope with these things conceptually, but when faced with the reality—well, that’s more challenging. They’ll be picturing it. Who tops—if they even know that term. I doubt they—”
“Stop it. Shut up.”
“Why? You can leave the past, but you can’t escape it. My life rather proves that adage, no? You can’t escape the things you’ve done with your body. Or mine, come to that.”
“I ask you to church, to meet my friends, and you turn it into sex!”
This thought amused Nikolas, and he had to concentrate a little harder to stay focused. He asked sadly, “Was it really so wrong, Ben? Is it really the worst crime between two men?”
Ben came back to his chair, his face a mask of intense certainty. “Yes. It is. It’s expressly what God doesn’t want for us. Just look at us, all that we’ve got to offer, and what have we done with any of it? We—”
“I give hundreds of millions of pounds away to people who need it around the world. Sorry, were you about to say something else?”
Ben hung his head. “We loved too much. Each other. And it was wrong.”
Past tense. It was something of a showstopper. Nikolas had to give God some brownie points for that one.
But he wasn’t completely defeated just yet.
He nodded. “Okay, Ben, okay.” Very slowly and carefully, he pulled off his ring and laid it on the table between them. It was the only bright thing in the whole gloomy, squalid little room.
Ben stared at it.
It was the first time Nikolas had taken it off since Ben had given it to him. Given it with a commitment that went beyond words or gestures. A promise made from a place of ferocious passion.
Ben swallowed.
Uncoupling? Link by link, Nikolas would show Ben what this would exact.
“I need some space now, Ben. To work through this in my own way. Give me a few months…Don’t contact me. It was a mistake to come here today.”
“Months?”
They stared at the ring together for a moment until Nikolas rose. He thought that if Ben said, “I’m sorry,” again he would kill him.
Better to have Ben Rider gone from this world than know he was in it but not loving him.
§§§
He left immediately after his gesture with the ring.
He hadn’t meant to do it and regretted it bitterly.
His finger felt naked.
But there had been something in Ben’s eyes as he’d regarded the terrible offering that had given Nikolas new hope. Not enough to make the return ride in the cold and gathering dark exactly joyous, but enough to dwell on pleasantly.
He had not seen the past tense of love in Ben’s eyes. Quite the opposite in fact. Ben had looked at him like a desperate man being buried alive and knowing only too well what that fate would entail.
Quite satisfactory, therefore.
CHAPTER TWENTY
There was a hire car pulled up outside the house when Nikolas walked slowly up from the stable. He didn’t recognise it, but Radulf apparently heard or smelt something he liked, for his tail began an almost painful thump against Nikolas’s leg, and his whole body went into a wriggle of joyous expectation.
Squeezy was making himself some tea when they came in. He ignored Nikolas in favour of greeting the dog. Nikolas waited patiently and then commented caustically, “Do make yourself at home.”
Squeezy straightened. “I am. I live here.”
Nikolas wrinkled his nose. It was true. In a way. Tim and Squeezy used the Devon house as their own, coming and going when it pleased them, for this pleased Ben. But Ben wasn’t here anymore.
That seemed like a relevant change, so Nikolas pointed it out.
“I’m not here for Ben.”
Nikolas frowned, not sure he liked the tone of that. But it had to be asked; it just had to. “So…who are you here for?”
He was propelled back against the wall of the kitchen so fast it took his breath away. The sheer physicality of such an attack overwhelmed him. He’d been on a knife’s-edge of missing this, not expressing this insistent need since he’d left the hospital.
“I’m here for you, you fucking great big wassock.”
§§§
Horizontal, sweating, almost naked, Nikolas pondered the man also sweating and near naked above him. He did it stealthily, whilst appearing to concentrate on what he was supposed to be doing. He’d been punished for inattention once already and didn’t want to repeat that experience.
It was a feature of his relationship—ex-relationship—with Ben that they didn’t discuss Ben’s friends. He knew they didn’t talk about him—much—so it was only fair. Sure, Ben chatted with him about inconsequential things, but not the fundamental, important stuff.
Nikolas had never mentioned, for example—because Ben would have been beyond furious had it been broached—that, after Ben, he thought Squeezy was the most attractive man he had ever met. If you could ignore the personality, Squeezy was…superb. In a way Nikolas particularly liked—hard, fast, and dangerous. But Nikolas couldn’t ignore the character defects, despite occasionally wondering if he was the butt of some private joke of Michael Heathcote’s—that in fact the moron was playing him expertly. It didn’t seem credible to Nikolas that a man so…utterly idiotic…could, when the occasion called for it, be the exact opposite—capable, quick, clever, inventive, and deadly. How could you balance all these opposing characteristics? And then there was Radulf. Radulf didn’t gift his favours lightly. He was still reserved around Tim Watson, despite the man’s genuine fondness and care for the dog. But the moron? Radulf almost went
weak at the bony knees when he knew he was around. Why? It made no sense unless the dog knew something Nikolas was missing.
All these thoughts went through Nikolas’s mind as the man worked above him. Still no further forward with solving the odd mystery that was Michael Heathcote, therefore, he was forced to ask, “So, I’m doing this because…?”
“Shut up and give me one more.”
Nikolas dutifully lifted the weights bar one more time, ignoring the screaming pain in his shoulder and the unpleasant rush of sick blood in his heart. This man, this fuckwit, had come up the same route as Ben—no pain no gain; pain our pleasure, agony our dream—and other half-baked expressions and beliefs of the British army. One day, Nikolas would show them how Spetsnaz trained their officers. See if agony was such a desired state then.
Squeezy took the bar from him and placed it carefully on the rests. “Inclined sit ups. Go.”
Nikolas shuffled over to the indicated sloping bench. “Seriously, explain it to me again.”
Squeezy waited until he’d done one crunch then said, “My little fuck-buddy doesn’t think it’s ethical to get involved with Ben’s inner, personal journey.” His air quotes were bordering on the obscene. “He was surprised Diesel kicked you when you were down, though, seems more fucking upset by that than anything. Me? I say best time to fuck someone up is when they’re hurting already—take advantage of it, yeah? Shit, I ever want to take you down? I’ll wait till you’re already on the way out.” Nikolas thought there was a compliment somewhere in this, but as it hadn’t answered his question as to why Squeezy was here in the first place, or doing this come to that, he didn’t point it out. “But as you’re not on your way out just yet, more’s the pity, I thought, huh, Ben doesn’t want him? I’ll have him. But I’m not shagging some git who looks like he’s gonna blow away if I blow him…get my meaning?”
It had been something of a feature of their relationship for many years that Nikolas never untangled the tortuous paths of this man’s reasoning. But this time, surprisingly, he did. Squeezy was missing Ben desperately. Squeezy didn’t like what Ben was doing one bit. Ben had only just begun on this painful road of decoupling, and this man could clearly read the writing on the wall—lovers, family…friends.
A hundred times as much and eternal life…
They were more alike than he’d ever realised.
Masks and deceptions to guard the heart.
Squeezy indicated for him to keep going, as he’d tailed off to his preferred inactivity whilst listening. “But shagging you looking like this would be necrophilia, so fucking put some effort in.”
Nikolas narrowed his eyes. “You do work for me, you know.”
Squeezy grinned. “Nah, I allow you to employ me. There’s a world of difference. You should thank me.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Squeezy didn’t even try to make it sound sincere. He stood back a little. “Look at you. A streak of aging piss, that’s all you are. Well, I’m here to set you right. Get you back.” He poked him again. “Make you more attractive than God.”
Nikolas pursed his lips. “You don’t fool me, you know.”
Squeezy laughed genuinely. “Keep telling yourself that, mate. Keep telling yourself.”
§§§
Nikolas had planned to get fitter anyway. It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought all this for himself. In a month, he’d be forty-eight. He’d nearly died. He was thin, weak, tired most of the time and had an irregular heartbeat. He had every intention of getting stronger, but he’d not really worked out how, other than swimming more and perhaps eating rather than playing with his food.
Squeezy, however, had it all mapped out—had him all mapped out. A campaign, an attrition that was savage and relentless.
But Nikolas could have told him he was wasting his breath. After all, he’d lived with a gym bunny for over ten years. Although Ben’s fitness obsession hadn’t been shared as easily as other things between them, occasionally Nikolas had gone on a bit of a health kick. He had demeaned himself to appear in the gym, lift a few weights, go for a run. On his return from the taiga, he’d been so fit naturally from months of fighting to stay alive, he’d wanted to keep that level of physical health up and had accompanied Ben on many early morning runs in London. But in reality, most of these attempts had been on par with his efforts to give up smoking and drinking: just not going to happen.
But he gave the moron the benefit of the doubt and dutifully went along with his training programme for the first few days. He lifted some weights. He was less conspicuous playing with his food and more subtle sneaking it to Radulf. Ben had never noticed how little he actually ate. Why should this annoying man?
So, it was with some genuine concern that Nikolas turned up for his gym session on the fourth day of the new regime to be faced with a clear space. No dumbbells. This didn’t bode well in Nikolas’s experience.
Squeezy quirked his lips, as if he could read Nikolas’s mind. Which was almost as worrying as the cleared space.
Squeezy began to circle him. Nikolas followed the movement with his head.
“Think you could take me?”
Nikolas wrinkled his nose. It was a difficult question. He had no doubt he could kill the man—killing took savagery and determination, and he’d been taught both to an exceptional level before he’d even joined Special Forces. Scraps of food were very good motivational aids to a starving teenager with no conscience, he’d discovered. But take the man down to the ground and beat him—as Nikolas assumed the question meant—he wasn’t so sure. The moron had proved himself to be exceptionally fit over the last few days.
Nikolas pursed his lips, shrugged and ventured, “Possibly.”
Squeezy nodded as if he accepted this answer for its essential truth, then he did something very odd in Nikolas’s view. He lifted one leg off the ground and held it out in front of his body parallel to the ground, the muscles in his thigh under the loose shorts now very tight and prominent. Then with his arms out for balance in front he lowered into a squat, right down to the ground—on his other leg. Nikolas stepped back a little, his heart rate accelerating. Squeezy kept his eyes on him with an almost arrogant challenge, and then he rose gracefully to standing once more.
Nikolas swallowed.
He had only seen that done once or twice by one of his instructors—a man whose strength and fitness had been legendary in Russian Special Forces. Sure, he expected there were men all around the world who could pull such a move now, but he’d never seen them. Squeezy then squatted with both legs, right down to the ground, and then he extended one leg again, and from this dead-weight position once more rose to standing.
“Think you can take me?”
Nikolas realised he was chewing his lip. He wasn’t aware he’d ever expressed such uncertainty visually before and made a conscious effort to stop, and was about to make a reply when the other man dropped prone to the mat.
Nikolas had a terrible feeling what was coming.
He was right.
One arm went behind Squeezy’s broad back, his fist clenched tight, and then on the remaining arm the fuckwit pumped out five press-ups. And not the contorted, twisted, compensatory one-arm raises favoured of body builders trying to impress. Even Ben could do one-arm push-ups with enough of a twist. Nikolas had watched him do them. These were perfect, chest horizontal, and with a pause for pure power at the top and bottom of each explosive rise.
Nikolas had rarely witnessed an exhibition of power like it, and it awed him, stirring something in him that hadn’t been woken for a very long time.
Squeezy rose to standing once more, the veins on his biceps prominent, stark.
“Think you can take me?”
Nikolas considered his response and then admitted, “Not yet.”
And that was the start. It was a capitulation on his part, a plea, which was recognised and accepted by the other man without any triumph. A contract had been offered and accepted. Squeezy only light
ly slapped Nikolas on the shoulder and replied dryly, “Then let’s begin, Comrade.”
§§§
Large tubs of powder appeared first, which Nikolas discovered he was expected to drink mixed with equal parts of low fat milk and water. Every meal. Protein shakes. And then the good carbs materialised, strange things he’d never considered consuming before which were all vaguely brown and tasted like sawdust. Then meat, red and finely cut so not an ounce of fat was left, and then other, better fats…apparently—nuts, avocados and olive oil—Squeezy actually poured the oil into the milkshakes and made him drink them.
Unlike Ben, Squeezy didn’t give a toss about food. He didn’t cook. He didn’t seem to particularly like eating himself. He treated his body like a high-performance engine and fuelled it appropriately when it needed to go.
It was like a light going on inside Nikolas’s head. All his neuroses about food—avoiding meals, the hatred of chewing, the thought of the swollen mass in his stomach, and the memories that came back—flicked like a switch to a compulsion with this new fuelling. There didn’t need to be any pleasure to eating, for it wasn’t—eating—it was powering up, and that was liberating.
And between all his fuel breaks, Nikolas worked out.
But there were no weights now.
He built his body back up from the foundations, which were solid and superb with a vast amount of potential, and he did it step by agonising step using nothing more than the resistance of his own muscles. Squeezy showed him how to do it. Endless repetition of the same physical move to enable the pistol-squats, then the push-ups, until his muscles quivered and collapsed, and then he did it again and again. It was like a round peg finally finding the perfect circular hole, and all his control mechanisms realigned and found their true expression in this new obsession.
There was no swimming allowed, even though that was the one exercise he had always done. No wonder, Nikolas now reflected, he had picked that monotonous activity—he’d even had a swim lane built, a controlling, no deviation, straight line, so it had allowed him nothing but an intense workout with no variation or fun. He’d possibly been searching for this focus all his life.
John Wiltshire - [More Heat Than the Sun 07] Page 19