This Other Country

by This Other Country [MLR MM] (epub)

  Nikolas nodded. “Very much so.” He took a long drag and resumed the kiss, the smoke now shared between them. Ben laughed and plunged his cold hands into the back of Nikolas’s trousers, and that was so familiar Nikolas had to stop for a moment and just hold him to regain his equilibrium.

  Ben embraced him tightly until they heard Radulf returning and they began to accompany him back to the house. “I’m not staying in that other room.”

  Nikolas ruffled his hair. “No. You’re not.”

  “But this is going to be difficult for you, isn’t it? I mean, this is all new to me, so everything is confusing…but it’s me but not me for you. Does that make sense?”

  “Yes, it does, because I’ve already thought it myself. You but not you.”

  “I may do things that hurt you but I don’t know I’m doing them—like Kate. Fuck, I can’t believe I did that now and in your house. That’s not like me.”

  “No, it’s not. I suspect you were very expertly manipulated.”

  “She—” Ben idly scratched the back of his neck, apparently realising just in time that this might not be the best topic of conversation.

  Nikolas caught him around the neck and tugged his newly shorn, dark hair again. “Don’t worry. I’m not as upset as I was earlier when I arrived home. In fact, when Kate and I have our conversation, I might even thank her. She precipitated this. In a way.”

  “Why do I get the impression when you say you’re going to talk to her that isn’t going to actually involve words?”

  “I’ve no idea. You are very strange sometimes, Benjamin. I’m head of a small charity. What else could I possibly mean?”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Quick hard sex on floors was one thing. Deliberately undressing with another man and sliding naked between his sheets was something else. Even Nikolas was finding it odd, because although it was something they’d done without thought, now he was hyperaware, ultra-conscious of what Ben must be thinking, and consequently found himself stiff and ill at ease too. He then had something of a brainwave and returned to the kitchen, coming back with a bottle of ice-cold vodka and two glasses. Ben sat up in the bed and frowned. “We drink vodka together in bed?”

  “All the time. I’m Russian, Ben. We always drink vodka.”

  “You’re Russian? You told me you were Danish. Do I speak Russian as well?”

  Nikolas told him he was an idiot in Russian, and Ben grumbled, “I understood that.”

  Nikolas grinned. “That’s because I say it to you a lot.” He filled both—large—glasses to the rim and handed one to Ben. The first taste was beyond describing. It slipped down as easily and with the same sense of coming home as pushing into Ben had earlier.

  Ben was sniffing it suspiciously. “Are you sure I like this?”

  “Absolutely. Drink up.” He lit another cigarette. They were sitting cross-legged, the bedding tangled around them, and now there was hardly any embarrassment at all.

  “What did you do in London? Was it connected to me and this?” Ben tapped on his head.

  “In a way. We’re still chasing up loose ends. Nothing for you to worry about. What are you smiling at?”

  “Nothing. You look…happy. Do you always look like that after sex?”

  Nikolas blew smoke at him. “I don’t know. I’ll have to ask you when you’re back.”

  “Was this how it was the first time? I mean, how did we…? You must have…bloody hell, I can’t even imagine what you did to make me…”

  “On the contrary, Mr Rider. You seduced me one weekend in my own house. I was a happily married man and completely taken unawares.”

  “Really? Huh. Philipa did say you’d been very happy together.”

  “We were. It was the perfect marriage.”

  “But I seduced you? So, what…? I was your first man?”

  “Most definitely you were. Goodness. You had to…teach me.” Nikolas topped them up again and blew some more smoke at Ben, watching the green eyes with their ridiculous long lashes in a whole new light. He was reflecting he’d started taking Ben Rider-Mikkelsen too much for granted. Seeing him here, like this, raw, before…well, before Ben had met him, he supposed, before he’d shaped and moulded Ben into what he wanted him to be…was something of a revelation for Nikolas. Ben Rider-Mikkelsen didn’t eat with his mouth full, spit crumbs all over him and fish teabags out with his fingers. Actually, he still did that, but not with Nikolas’s tea. Ben Rider-Mikkelsen didn’t casually take someone else—a woman—to bed for the afternoon. Although it was fascinating meeting this unformed Ben Rider again—in the flesh, so to speak— he knew which Ben he preferred, which one he wanted back.

  But speaking of flesh…Nikolas removed Ben’s glass from his hand and pushed him back onto the bed. He braced above him on one arm, the other hand reacquainting itself with Ben’s familiar features. Ben held his gaze, which was clearly difficult, for it was piercing and intent, fuelled on vodka and the smell of sex. Nikolas put a hand around Ben’s throat. “I think it’s time I jogged some of those memories back for you.”

  § § §

  Ben had always been physical. Some of his earliest memories were of running wild on the moors, which stretched bleak and dangerous behind his house in Yorkshire. He’d joined the army, and his love of the extreme had been given a whole new definition. But all that time, during all that excess, all the agony, he’d always felt something was missing, some peak of ecstasy was just out of reach. He’d been right. Beyond pain, there was intense pleasure, and this strange new boss of his took him there that night.

  § § §

  Nikolas showed Ben the direct and visceral link between pain and sexual fulfilment for men, showed them what superb physique could reward you with. What trust could lead you to explore. Nikolas, of course, had taken Ben on this journey many times, so for him it was not so overwhelming, so shocking. But he’d never done it all at once to a version of Ben who hadn’t worked up to it suggestion by suggestion, experiment by experiment. Ben’s body was still the same, and Nikolas knew it better than this half-Ben did himself. Nikolas also knew Ben’s limits, and he stayed well away from them. There was a lot he knew how to do within those confines, though.

  § § §

  By the time daylight came, Ben was as a wrung out rag on the bed, dazed, bleeding, bruised, but in a place in his head he’d been searching for his whole life—running wild, enduring beastings, excelling at selection, thriving on operations—and he’d found it here in a bed with a beautiful stranger he’d known for approximately three days.

  He only roused when Nikolas came in with a tray of tea and a large stack of toast dripping in yellow butter. This tea was in a porcelain pot with matching cups, milk in a delicate jug. Ben tried to sit up but couldn’t on his first attempt. He rolled onto his belly and levered himself back up against the pillows. Nikolas put the tray down and slid into the warm space Ben had vacated. He poured them both some tea.

  § § §

  “What’s that word beginning with s?”

  Nikolas raised his eyebrows. He’d been miles away, reliving the night. New-Ben was even odder than his Ben. “Shit?”

  Ben gave him the look. Nikolas laughed. Both Bens in one Ben body. Life threw you unexpected moments of pleasure when you thought all pleasure was done for the day.

  “No. The one that means weird.”

  “Surreal?”

  “Yep. That’s the one. I’m sitting here like this,” Ben clearly felt he didn’t need to point out the injuries, the bruises, the general state of his appearance, “in a bed with another man. A man I don’t know and drinking tea out of the Queen’s bloody china. Surreal.”

  Nikolas frowned. “How did you know this was palace china? Did Philipa tell you I stole it?”

  Ben’s mouth opened slightly, but he just shook his head and began to work on the toast. “This is really good.”

  Nikolas flicked a small wodge of masticated bread off his arm. “It’s the only thing I know how to make.”

/>   “You want?” Ben pushed the plate to him.

  “No. Thank you.”

  After swallowing and starting on a second slice, Ben challenged conversationally, “So, you gonna tell me?”

  Nikolas was stretched out alongside him now, contemplating the tor rising above their heads. “Tell you what?”

  “What you really are. Who you are. One thing’s for fucking sure: you haven’t always been a charity whatnot thingy.”

  “I was a diplomat. I ran the Ministry of Industries and Minerals.”

  “Bollocks and bullshit.”

  “Eat your toast.”

  Another few slices went the way of the first. “So, do I ever do that to you?”

  Nikolas shuddered theatrically. “No, never. I can’t abide pain. I prefer…flowers.”

  “Uh-huh. So how’d you get that then? That was a bullet. More than one.” Ben dug into Nikolas’s thigh scar with a buttery finger, which made Nikolas laugh and turn over sharply onto his belly. That only revealed all his other scars. They got poked at and buttered too. “So?”

  “Flower arranging is a very dangerous occupation.”

  Ben pushed the tray to one side and with an audible hiss of pain sat astride Nikolas’s thighs, just below his hard, moulded backside. He laid a hand there, brushing the tanned skin with his thumb. “Can I…explore?”

  Nikolas turned his head quizzically, staring back up at Ben. “You saw it all last night.”

  “Not like this. In the light.”

  The winter dawn had just arrived in the room, shafts of light illuminating the bed from the glass ceiling. Ben didn’t wait for permission. He spread his fingers over the cheeks and eased them apart, brushing with his thumbs then using them to explore further, deeper. Nikolas bent up at the waist, his head hung low, groaning. It had been a very long night, and he was fairly sure he was now running completely on empty. Ben lifted up. “Turn over.” Nikolas did. Ben settled comfortably back onto Nikolas’s legs and contemplated everything he saw.

  Nikolas smirked. Not empty after all. Ben’s breathing hitched at the sight of Nikolas’s reviving cock, and he trailed his finger lightly across the tip, held its rigid length as it swelled and filled, tapped it lightly from side to side as it swayed independent now, erect.

  Ben scrunched his face for a moment and then slapped Nikolas’s cock hard. He laughed as Nikolas rose outraged and complaining. Ben leant forward and mouthed into a kiss, “I’ve done that before. I remembered.”

  Nikolas held him off. Ben shook his head and twitched his shoulder in a tiny shrug. “Just that. Sorry.”

  Nikolas huffed and lay back. “Typical,” was his only comment.

  Ben laughed, slid further forward and took Nikolas inside. Nikolas knew Ben was extremely sore because he winced and complained, but he did it anyway until he was settled and filled. Nikolas folded his arms beneath his head. They looked at one another, not speaking until Ben murmured once more, “Surreal.” He reached forward and placed his fingertips to the inside of Nikolas’s arm, and when Nikolas frowned in incomprehension, he just smiled. “Cool. I remember that as well.”

  After a moment, his buoyant spirit seemed to desert him and he pulled off Nikolas and lowered himself gingerly to lie alongside. Nikolas let Ben take his own time to speak. This Ben was the same Ben in all essential ways, and he would talk eventually. Ben always did; he wasn’t the bottling-up kind. Which was just as well, he reflected wryly; a relationship really only had room for one of those.

  “Will this be enough for you? If I don’t get my memories back? I don’t know what I’m missing, so it’s not so bad for me. But what about you? If I stay like this?”

  “You’ve remembered such essential things perhaps I’ll be satisfied.”

  Ben rolled onto his side and propped his head up on one hand. “Are you always like this?”

  “What? Beautiful, intell—”

  “Stop it. It’s like…fucking someone wearing body armour.”

  “Intriguing. Have you ever done—?”

  The hand clamped over his mouth prevented him finishing that question. He took his gaze from the tor and fixed it on Ben. Ben raised his brows; the “are you going to stop pissing around” message in them clear. Nikolas nodded and Ben removed his hand. “It’s like you’re one of those ninja warriors—I ask you something but you see a weapon being thrown at you and you deflect it all hah ya hah.” He made suitable small chopping motions.

  “Hah ya hah?”

  “Fucking hell! There you go again! Do you do this with me all the time? Seriously?”

  Nikolas sighed and rummaged in the sheets for his cigarettes.

  Ben plucked the lighter away. “And then you light up to avoid talking.”

  Nikolas frowned and snatched his lighter back—lighting up, just as Ben had predicted. “You’re more annoying now than before and that’s saying something.”

  “That’s more like it. What else?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Yep. Ask me a question you bloody well know the answer to so you can gain some time to think up more excuses and deflections.”

  “I’m not—”

  “Go on. Answer my question.”

  “Which one! You’ve been bombarding—no, seriously, I’m not trying to—no!” He almost bit his cigarette in two, trying to stop the tickling. He couldn’t believe it. Of all the things Ben could have recalled, he’d remembered this—that he hated to be tickled. He wondered if he elbowed Ben Rider in the head he might forget some more things! They struggled for a while, but with a lit cigarette Nikolas quickly had the upper hand. No one wants one of those pressed to delicate places, and once Ben got Nikolas wasn’t joking—that he was more than willing to press it to him—he surrendered and lay chuckling quietly, watching the play of light on the colours of the tor.

  “This house is absolutely incredible. I love it.”

  Nikolas lay alongside him, cigarette happily being smoked and smoke being shared with Ben. “I know. It’s yours.”

  Ben was very quiet for a long time, wreathed in smoke. “Mine?”

  “Uh-huh. I live in your house, not the other way around.”

  “How can this be mine? I only earn thirty thousand a year…I suppose that’s gone up a bit now? Inflation in ten years?”

  “I gave the house to you. I had it built and gave it to you.”

  Ben jerked his head over.

  Nikolas wondered if he’d said too much too soon on top of all the other things he knew Ben was having to compute. He should have been more cautious, more aware of Ben’s fragility.

  “So I pissed in my own swim lane?”

  Nikolas laughed, and it wasn’t cynical or defensive or any of his other deflections he produced to fit into the world’s norms. He mirrored Ben’s position, their faces close on the ruined sheets. He leant even closer still and gently bit Ben’s bottom lip then sucked the bite, easing the lip into his mouth, their tongues coming together, stubble scratching on stubble and creating delicious friction of need. At the same time they rolled, pressing their bodies together as they kissed. Their eyes were wide open, watching the other’s reactions. Ben was hard again, and their cocks were doing a similar dance below, rubbing, joining, playing. They left them alone, hands too busy elsewhere, and let the kissing and the hot connection bring them off one last time. When the last drops of pleasure had been wrung out, almost as one they fell asleep, tangled and illuminated by the overhead sun.

  § § §

  Debauched wasn’t a word Ben had ever applied to himself before. He was in the army—squared away, disciplined, even in his private life. Waking up some time in the afternoon in Nikolas Mikkelsen’s bed—huh, his bed—his first thought was that such depravity could only exist in fiction. The place was filthy. He had slices of cold toast stuck to him with congealed butter. There was a spilt pot of tea with loose leaves in a huge flood of cold brown over the sheet (at least, he hoped it was tea) and he was covered in sweat, blood and other substances he, again, ho
ped had something to do with tea or toast, but suspected didn’t.

  He poked his equally guilty partner. Nikolas grunted and turned over. Ben could see he was getting nothing there for a while yet. He crawled across the bed and discovered the vodka bottle and glasses as he knelt on them, pressing them into the mattress, and then tipped onto the floor. He reckoned once, just once, in the mess in Fallingbostel after an RTR initiation he’d woken up in a worse state. But that hadn’t included sex. At least, he hoped it hadn’t; he didn’t actually remember.

  He rose unsteadily to his feet and discovered Nikolas’s shower—huh, his shower—and not for the first time stood in awe at the wealth and luxury of this house. It was one vast wet room with showerheads that blasted down with incredible pressure, and in one corner stood a huge hot tub, Scandinavian style, with a door to a sauna. The far side of the bathroom led to the gym. His gym! It was so un-English he laughed as the water cascaded over him.

  Arms slid around his waist. “Hello, Benjamin.”

  “You were unconscious.”

  “Never. I was assessing my surroundings.”

  Ben slicked drops off his face. “How about assessing me for a while?”

  Nikolas hitched in his breath and slid his hands lower, cupping Ben’s cheeks, parting them so the stream ran into his cleft, tickling, teasing him. Ben moaned and leant back a little in Nikolas’s embrace. Nikolas increased the tease with one finger, Ben came back up sharply with a hiss of pain, but Nikolas persevered until he could see the very obvious evidence of Ben’s considerable pleasure. He eased his finger out and Ben opened his eyes. Nikolas laid his palm over Ben’s lips to quell his imminent complaint and ran some soap into his hands. It smelt of coconut and vanilla, something Ben would never have risked in the showers in the mess. Nikolas began with Ben’s short, dark hair, soaping him from head to foot—he actually knelt under the stream of hot water and washed Ben’s feet, still a little muddy from his night time excursion to the stable. When he was done, he rose, slicking the suds off as he went.