pasta. No more scones. No more clotted cream. No more biscuits or toast. No more alcohol . Fucking hell.
Ben finished his hour with some stretching. Muscle mustn’t appear bulky. It needed to be sleek—post-apocalyptic muscle. He chuckled and wandered back through the bathroom to the bedroom, stripping out of his soaking shorts, T-shirt and socks as he did so.
Nikolas had turned again, right around, his feet on the pillow, his head half hanging off the bed, one arm trailing back towards the nightstand. Ah, the alarm had gone off at…eleven! Nikolas had apparently struggled awake to turn it off. Ben could read the bed like a forensic scene. He went closer, stood right by the sleeping figure and dropped his stinking clothes onto the upturned face.
§§§
Ben liked company in the shower.
He liked sex in the shower, which is why he’d woken Nikolas.
Infuriatingly, Nikolas’s muscles were as ripped as his.
Apparently, he could achieve the same physical perfection from stretching out his arm.
Ben didn’t care. So long as it led to this.
He was bent double, holding onto his ankles, and Nikolas was pressed into him under the streaming water. It demanded a lot of trust, because if Ben slipped, he’d go headfirst into the tiled floor, and Nikolas was thrusting so hard he’d probably crack one or other of them—tile or skull.
But, fuck, it felt good. Every single molecule worked to exhaustion and now this, this rising surge of desire from the core of all his masculinity, the hardness of his cock, the tight rise of his balls—and all this with another man. That was the beauty of the whole thing. There was nothing of a woman in this. It was all a man’s concern—his strength, his power, his manhood, his sex, his smell, and the roughness of his flesh, the intensity of his grip. The pain. The bruises.
Nikolas was going to come. Ben could feel the change in his rhythm, knew the signs, the sounds he made. He pushed back harder and reached the same place, and they fell together from that great height, freefalling through the layers of euphoria until they hit the dirt and needed to retreat into themselves, no talking, no murmuring of endearments. They were men. They understood these things. He got a slap on his arse as Nikolas pulled out. He got his hair washed for him with a mock punch to his belly when he refused Nikolas’s poofy-smelling crap. He got a perfunctory kiss from unshaven skin, which rasped against his stubble. He got brown eyes fixed upon him at his exact height, and awareness that he was sharing these intimate moments with a man as powerful and as dangerous as he was.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Nikolas claimed he ought to visit the cottage and wanted to take Ulyana Ivanovna and Emilia with him. It would be the first time Emmy had seen it.
They didn’t talk about the fight. They didn’t discuss what Nikolas had told him that night. Ben needed more time to process all this before he could speak of it. He hadn’t even suspected…Christmas. No wonder Nikolas had not enjoyed celebrating Christmas.
Ben’s Christmases hadn’t been like a Hollywood movie, but he and his dad had exchanged a few presents, watched TV together, cooked a turkey…
He watched Nikolas teasing Emilia as they guided Radulf across the lawns, saw him offer his arm to Babushka over a rough patch. The sun fell onto Nikolas’s blond hair, making it gleam. He was remarkably brown already, and it was only the first day of the official summer holiday.
He was beautiful, and he was Ben’s.
Forever was a long time to hold onto something so magnificent, so rare, so precious.
He’d better get started.
He took the boxsets of DVDs into the TV room and put the first disc in. He didn’t normally sit down during the day, but this seemed more like work than lazy pleasure.
The first episode, the pilot, launched him into a post-apocalyptic world with no explanation at all of what was happening or why. A group of survivors were introduced gradually as
Ben finished his hour with some stretching. Muscle mustn’t appear bulky. It needed to be sleek—post-apocalyptic muscle. He chuckled and wandered back through the bathroom to the bedroom, stripping out of his soaking shorts, T-shirt and socks as he did so.
Nikolas had turned again, right around, his feet on the pillow, his head half hanging off the bed, one arm trailing back towards the nightstand. Ah, the alarm had gone off at…eleven! Nikolas had apparently struggled awake to turn it off. Ben could read the bed like a forensic scene. He went closer, stood right by the sleeping figure and dropped his stinking clothes onto the upturned face.
§§§
Ben liked company in the shower.
He liked sex in the shower, which is why he’d woken Nikolas.
Infuriatingly, Nikolas’s muscles were as ripped as his.
Apparently, he could achieve the same physical perfection from stretching out his arm.
Ben didn’t care. So long as it led to this.
He was bent double, holding onto his ankles, and Nikolas was pressed into him under the streaming water. It demanded a lot of trust, because if Ben slipped, he’d go headfirst into the tiled floor, and Nikolas was thrusting so hard he’d probably crack one or other of them—tile or skull.
But, fuck, it felt good. Every single molecule worked to exhaustion and now this, this rising surge of desire from the core of all his masculinity, the hardness of his cock, the tight rise of his balls—and all this with another man. That was the beauty of the whole thing. There was nothing of a woman in this. It was all a man’s concern—his strength, his power, his manhood, his sex, his smell, and the roughness of his flesh, the intensity of his grip. The pain. The bruises.
Nikolas was going to come. Ben could feel the change in his rhythm, knew the signs, the sounds he made. He pushed back harder and reached the same place, and they fell together from that great height, freefalling through the layers of euphoria until they hit the dirt and needed to retreat into themselves, no talking, no murmuring of endearments. They were men. They understood these things. He got a slap on his arse as Nikolas pulled out. He got his hair washed for him with a mock punch to his belly when he refused Nikolas’s poofy-smelling crap. He got a perfunctory kiss from unshaven skin, which rasped against his stubble. He got brown eyes fixed upon him at his exact height, and awareness that he was sharing these intimate moments with a man as powerful and as dangerous as he was.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Nikolas claimed he ought to visit the cottage and wanted to take Ulyana Ivanovna and Emilia with him. It would be the first time Emmy had seen it.
They didn’t talk about the fight. They didn’t discuss what Nikolas had told him that night. Ben needed more time to process all this before he could speak of it. He hadn’t even suspected…Christmas. No wonder Nikolas had not enjoyed celebrating Christmas.
Ben’s Christmases hadn’t been like a Hollywood movie, but he and his dad had exchanged a few presents, watched TV together, cooked a turkey…
He watched Nikolas teasing Emilia as they guided Radulf across the lawns, saw him offer his arm to Babushka over a rough patch. The sun fell onto Nikolas’s blond hair, making it gleam. He was remarkably brown already, and it was only the first day of the official summer holiday.
He was beautiful, and he was Ben’s.
Forever was a long time to hold onto something so magnificent, so rare, so precious.
He’d better get started.
He took the boxsets of DVDs into the TV room and put the first disc in. He didn’t normally sit down during the day, but this seemed more like work than lazy pleasure.
The first episode, the pilot, launched him into a post-apocalyptic world with no explanation at all of what was happening or why. A group of survivors were introduced gradually as
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