Page 123 of The Bright and Hungry Future of Hawks

No one knew why PB had turned up a week later, his perpetual scowl turned menacing, his neck torn in places and bloody, as if he had fought against some unwelcome restraint. But he had run in from the woods one day straight to Radulf, and the old dog had rarely left his side since. Ben wondered who was truly leading whom in that relationship, a thought, given his current situation, which made him grin happily.

He had Aleksey Rider-Mikkelsen exactly where he wanted him. Had had him there, in fact, for the last four months during a painful recovery. He was still not quite there yet physically. He still limped, was still in pain at night. But these, they both agreed, were minor irritations in the overall scheme of things. Fractures of a leg were less important than fractures of a life, after all.

Ben was only half-listening to the low muttering from Squeezy and Tim, who appeared to be arguing over something by the bookshelf.

Tim apparently won the debate, which, Ben reflected amused, was possibly a very common outcome of all such interactions these days. He and Aleksey weren’t the only ones who had depths to their relationship that others didn’t understand. Some soft, sensual, romantic music began to fill the space. It competed with the rain drumming on the panes and the crackling from the fire. To Ben’s astonishment, Tim and Squeezy began to sway together, arms around each other, foreheads touching. Aleksey craned his neck to watch them too for a moment, until he returned his concentration to Ben’s new bracelet—the AK47 one he had bought him fortheirbirthday. After all, as he’d pointed out that morning when he’d given it to Ben, before they’d dressed for the funerals, whilst their limbs were still tangled in the warm bed, Aleksey was not the only one celebrating being born this day. Ben was, too, because being effectively one person now, it was therefore Ben’s birthday by default. He had needed a present too.

Ben relaxed back against the warm body next to him, the flames sufficient for him to think about. It had been a strange, otherworldly and yet perfect day, and knew he was not the only one still processing all its significance and wonder. Even Radulf, belly up, legs impressively spread wide and snoring lightly at their feet, had collapsed into a grateful heap of boneless fur when the party was over.

The presents had been eclectic, many homemade, and Ben had seen that Aleksey had been genuinely touched to have other people, people who loved him, think of and find the perfect gift for him. Molly had not only painted papa a picture—a blond man on a horse (apparently), but had played him the Danish birthday song on the piano, singing along with words so badly pronounced that Ben had not understood a single one. Aleksey had swooped her up and told her how brilliant she was and had her help him stick the picture to the wall, next to some other men’s more expensive, but much less valuable artworks.

After presents, had come cake. Ben had baked it. All three children had helped him decorate it, and the result had become a bit exuberant. More than all of his other food aversions, cake always seemed a personal affront to Aleksey for some unknown reason, and so Ben had been fairly sure he wouldn’t eat it whatever the outcome. He’d therefore not curtailed the endless addition of icing and various things made of chocolate, which Molly claimed were turrets and drawbridges on a fairy castle.

But Aleksey Rider-Mikkelsen had accepted a slice. He’d appeared...challenged...for just a moment, even glancing around to see if anyone was watching him, which they weren’t, and had then taken a forkful. After this first success, he’d fed his second piece to Ben, whohadbeen watching of course.

Ben had not given Aleksey a present for his fiftieth birthday. After all, he’d given him his name and his life back, so he reckoned that was good enough.

Aleksey had thought so too. Ben could tell.

That’s just the way they were together.

Over by the sound system, Squeezy was laughing at something Tim had murmured too low for Ben to catch, but its import fairly obvious when they danced slowly through into the kitchen and presumably then to a spare bedroom. Ben sighed and got up to change the music to something Aleksey would prefer. Something with too many notes and no words. He wondered if he could risk playing a piano concerto by a woman called Nina Mikkelsen, but laid it aside. It had been a long, emotional day for all of them, and he saw no reason to put Aleksey’s apparently calm acceptance of the changes in his life to too much of a test. Molly’s rendition of the Danish birthday song had been enough of a strain. He was fairly sure that it was the first time Aleksey had ever heard it sung for him.

Leaning over the CDs, looking for something with a boring enough cover, he felt Aleksey press himself lightly against his back. “Leave that one on.”

He turned, and Aleksey slid his arms around Ben, dipping his hands into the top of his waistband, pulling him close. He was smiling, which turned into a low laugh of delight at Ben’s expression. “What? Dance with me, Benjamin Rider-Mikkelsen.”

There were possibly one or two more uncharacteristic things that this man could have asked Ben to do, but dancing with him was definitely up there very close to the top of the list. But then, Ben reflected, Aleksey Rider-Mikkelsen appeared to be taking great delight in deciding for himself what was characteristic or not, which was just fine in Ben’s book. It’s what he’d done all this for, after all.

Ben wrinkled his nose a little. “I don’t know how.”

Aleksey chuckled and propped his chin on Ben’s shoulder. With a light brush of his lips against Ben’s ear he whispered, “Then I will teach you.” As they began to sway together, Aleksey’s hands slid up onto Ben’s back, and then he took one of Ben’s hands in his own, entwining their fingers. Cheek to cheek he added, in the same soft tone, “After all, as you said, I’ve taught you a lot these last fourteen years.”

He must have heard the slight snort from his dance partner because he pulled away and caught Ben’s gaze, asking teasingly, “You know a great deal more about a man’s body now and the pleasure you can give to it with your own. Do you not?”

Ben held the intense amber gaze, thinking about this as they moved slowly in the low, flickering light. The power of the rain increased, and he had to pull Aleksey close to reply into his ear, “I know more about love, yes. You found my heart and showed me how to use it.”

Aleksey was silent for a long time after that truth was spoken between them. Ben just held him and knew he was listening to their two hearts beating together. The track changed, and Ben rested his cheek against Aleksey’s, loving the feel of the stubble rubbing his. The same height, they fit together more one body than two. Ben had experienced this many times when they joined in more obvious ways, butthiswas the definition of true intimacy. They weren’t kissing, they weren’t working up to the fight for dominance that consumed them and defined their passion, but theyweremaking love. He sighed and snagged Aleksey even closer, teasing his lips over his ear and into his hair. He could feel Aleksey’s warmth, the heat which radiated between them. Smelling deeply into the blond strands, he was lost to the scents that had accompanied their lives together: the subtle smell of coconut and vanilla from his hair and the undertones of something earthy, hints of nutmeg, cardamom and sandalwood from his skin.

The music slipped seamlessly into a power ballad, and they both snorted quietly. Ben murmured, “I think I’m being conspired against.’

Aleksey murmured in agreement, but after a few moments Ben heard, almost inaudible under the drumming of the rain, a melodic voice picking up the lyrics and singing along: “‘They said, I bet they’ll never make it, but look at us holding on, we’re still together, still going strong.’” He broke off and appeared to find himself very amusing, laughing against Ben’s neck, “I am officially making that our song, by the way.”

Ben leant back a little so he could see the amber eyes. They were bright with repressed glee.

“You can sing? Nearly ten years of listening to me screech along to the radio, and I discover now that you can actually sing?”

Aleksey Rider-Mikkelsen snagged him back and squeezed the fingers which were intertwined with his. “You should be more shocked I know the words, perhaps.”

Ben replaced his cheek to Aleksey’s. “This is going to be the new feature of my life, isn’t it? You, surprising me with all the things Aleksey Rider-Mikkelsen knows and can do which he conveniently forgot to tell me in all his previous incarnations.”

“I think you like saying my name.”

Ben kissed his ear. “I do. It’s how I think of you now.” He tucked his free hand into Aleksey’s back pocket. “I named you, after all.”

Aleksey nodded and their stubble rasped delightfully. Ben sighed; there was friction in other places now, which was even more pleasurable.

Power ballad gave way to something more sensuous, and they slowed a little, closer to the thick panes of glass which separated them from the cold, wet night.

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