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We’re identical; why can't you love me too?
No, not all provocations demanded immediate, offensive action.
He had not faced up to their mother because he had not, even at that very young age, actually wanted to be told why she loved Nikolas best.
Although he told himself these things were not related, as clearly his relationship with Ben was based on nothing more than mutual sexual satisfaction, he knew he was fooling himself.
This man, Nate, had not stolen a disputed fossil.
This carpenter had pierced him right through the heart.
So, yes, one of them was a fucking bastard, that was for sure, only Aleksey was now coming to the conclusion that it might have been him all along.
And, of course, even with that apparently new insight, he was lying to himself.
Benhadtried to tell him.
Aleksey had known this really. He had almost succumbed himself—at weak moments when satiated from sex and enjoying a mellowness from the easy pleasure of Ben’s undemanding company, he had considered cracking open the shell and emerging into the sunlight. Even now, he remembered a wine label on a bottle he had ordered in for them to drink together when the sex was done. Which hotel, which ended operation, he could no longer recall. But that one label… It had been unique and had intrigued him: a single, long, extended horizontal V. No words at all. Anyone who mattered though would get it—Crescendo Wines. But he’d had to explain it to Ben, a few times and in different ways, before Ben had got it with a characteristic muttered, “Bit crap then if you don’t play the fucking piano, isn’t it?”
He had wanted to hear himself say, “But, I do, Ben. I play the piano like I play you:crescendo—getting louder and more insistent and drowning out all the shit of my life with the music I make in you.” But he hadn’t been able to articulate this. He told Ben nothing about his inner life. He shared nothing. He should not even have explained the label.
So, it wasn’t anger keeping him from meeting up. It wasfury. But not with Ben.
Ben had asked about the wine because Ben had seen he was pleased with it. Ben noticed everything he did or said, thought about it, stored it up.
Ben wanted more from him—with him—and had for a long time, and, not getting it, he had apparently gone out and found it with someone else.
Anotherman. An easier man. Anuncomplicatedman.
Once or twice, rising from a hotel bed to shower before dressing and leaving to return to his constricted, shadow existence, Ben had pulled him back down to the sticky hotel sheets. Not for more fucking—neither of them could raise a flag after the kind of sex they enjoyed, let alone anything more useful—but totalk.
And he had allowed those strong fingers to capture him to a tumbling that had been ongoing since Sennybridge, but he didn’t allow his masks to slip.
Ben had not been very good at making small talk; Aleksey hadn’t spoken at all, so Ben’s attempts to make a connection had been something of a struggle for the younger man. Aleksey, however, had enjoyed them very much indeed.
Occasionally, he’d deliberately given Ben presents that he’d known Ben wouldn’t like, just to see his reaction, these gifts distinct from the ones he gave him which they both liked very much, although obviously he hid this enjoyment from Ben, merely tossing him a watch, or some other trinket because he said Ben was embarrassing the department by being so shabby.
But the rose-pink shirt he’d bought because he’d known Ben would hate it, think it was poncy and say he’d look like a fucking fag wearing it—that had been worn. Ben had been in it the next time they’d met. Old jeans, his familiar leather jacket, but beneath it he’d chosen the dusky-rose linen shirt, which was the exact shade a man with green eyes should wear.
So what did that say about Ben being heartless and cold, or his fear of plunging into shallow waters?
And Aleksey had never forgotten the scene he’d come upon in the kitchen with Philipa: the genuinely joyous, beautiful young man he’d seen there. If Ben acted cold, it was because of him. If Ben was troubled and angry, it was because of the things he made him do.
Aleksey was beginning to conclude that the whole situation was a bit of a cock up.
This was another fun expression he’d picked up in English. He had no idea what it meant (was fairly sure it couldn’t mean the obvious, because how did an erection relate to a mistake in life? Or even holding a chicken higher?), but it perfectly described this situation. A complete and utter cock up.
So Aleksey was avoiding Ben.
Just until he’d healed. That was all.
If he could go back, Aleksey would let Nikolas have the fucking fossil he'd so coveted. He'd even take him to the place where he'd found it, and they would hunt for them together. He’d let him have the stuffed soldier, too. And maybe, just maybe, his mother would then pull him to her side and say,
"What a good boy you are, Sey. What a goodbrother."
Chapter 44
Nine Years Ago
