At the park, some kids were playing rugger, and he and Ben hung around for a while to watch. From the corner of his eye, James glimpsed one of his security guards standing about thirty yards away; nobody else might notice the man, but the black suit with unbuttoned jacket was a dead giveaway for those in the know. The jacket was unbuttoned so that they could quickly reach for their guns, if needed.
I can pass more easily then they can, James thought with pride.
Across the way, he saw two men who were obviously gay walking along, one with his arm slung casually around the other's shoulders. It took James's breath away to see both their confidence and the utter nonchalance with which their togetherness was treated by those nearby.
Could he take Ben's hand? How incredible that would feel, to hold Ben's hand in front of the whole world--
--but no. His security guards would see them, and after that, they'd know the truth. Their confidentiality was expected to be absolute, as was that of all those in service to the royals, but breaches had occurred and would again. James couldn't chance it. Not even here, not even now.
"Are you all right?" Ben said.
"Aye. Just . . . lost in thought," James replied in his brogue, and the smile that won from Ben smoothed over any discontent, at least for the present.
*
Ben had heard that suspense heightened arousal like nothing else. That afternoon walk proved it.
"We did it," James breathed as Ben shut the door behind them. "We actually did it."
"We did indeed." Ben grinned as he watched James pacing the circuit of his tiny living room, like an actor dancing on the stage where he'd just earned an ovation.
"I walked past a Pizza Express. I could've gone into a launderette. Hundreds of people walked right past me and they didn't suspect a thing!"
Grinning, Ben said, "You were magnificent."
"Hardly." James gave him a look Ben had learned to anticipate. "Come here, you."
Then he was practically tackled against the wall and dragged into the bedroom amid laughter and kisses. Ben let James be the one to undress him, and he willingly toppled onto the bed when James pushed him back. Once James was naked too, he straddled Ben's thighs with a wicked grin on his face.
"There, now," James murmured as he squirted lube onto his hand and took hold of Ben's cock, already rock-hard and jutting up from his belly. "Play it cool all you like. You enjoyed that walk as much as I did."
Ben thrust into James's grip, very slowly, enjoying the roll of each finger over the swell of his cock. "Not nearly as much as I'm going to enjoy this."
"I don't think you're going to get any work done for a while," James said. "I've broken my promise not to interfere."
"Depends on what you mean by work. Because I'm going to work you hard."
"Oh, really?"
"Mmmm." Ben took James in hand as well.
"That's--that's good--oh, come here."
James pushed aside Ben's fingers, the better to bring their cocks together in the cradle of his slick palms. As he pressed them both together, moving his hand slowly back and forth, Ben groaned.
Sight exhilarated him almost as much as sensation. James straddled him, naked as Ben was himself; the afternoon sunlight filtering in through the curtains painted them in gold. There was the ripple of muscle beneath James's stomach and along his thighs as he rocked back and forth, the dark thatch of pubic hair that bucked forward with each thrust, and the vivid redness of their cocks as they disappeared into James's clenched hands, slid forward glistening with pre-come, then slipped back again. This obscene display was exactly what James wanted, Ben realized. It was a sort of gift, a turn-on for them both.
"You said once there was something innocent about me," James panted as he began moving his hands faster, bringing them both closer. "Still think so?"
"You're wasted as a prince," Ben said, grinning open-mouthed. "You should've been a pornographer."
James laughed, and then he sped up again, until they were both dizzy and gasping and desperate, until they both came across Ben's chest, the final and most intoxicating image of all.
*
"Stay out of sight," Ben said again as they listened to the deliveryman's footsteps on the stairs.
"I am!" James ducked down behind the bar that separated the kitchenette from Ben's living room. He could have giggled--here he was, the Prince Regent of England, hiding from the guy bringing them chicken tikka masala. But the laugh would have given him away.
Besides, after the smell of the stuff wafted in, James no longer felt like laughing. Instead he was overcome by the most ravenous hunger. It wasn't just the appetite he'd worked up on his walk, and his later exertions with Ben; it was also the fact that he hadn't had chicken tikka since Cambridge, and he'd missed the stuff more than he'd realized.
They washed it down with wine of very uncertain vintage. But James wouldn't have traded the stuff for a Domaine de Romanee-Conti Montrachet, if it meant drinking the wine with anyone besides Ben. The glow remained long after dinner and drink, long after Ben had returned to his labors and James had completed a first draft of his Christmas speech and returned to his novel. They were simply sharing space, sharing a night, like any other couple in England.
Would it be so hard to live like this? James thought. I don't think so. I think I could get used to it.
Not that he could expect this sort of life, were he ever to lose his place in the line of succession. "Normal" wasn't an option for him, ever, no matter what. James could possibly cease to be heir to the throne; however, he could never cease to be royal. If he did not become king, he'd probably be given a lesser title, a worthy estate someplace forgettable, and the cold shoulder at formal events. His life would retain most of its current inconveniences while losing most of its current pleasures.
And yet. Ever since the House of Lords had cleared the way for gay marriage to become legal in the UK starting next year, James had found himself wondering more often whether there might be a way to deviate from his hereditary path.
But if what I really want is impossible, what's the point?
Ben lifted his head from his work. "What is that? On the stereo."
"You said I could put on music."
"Well, yes, but isn't this Scottish nationalist stuff?"
"I don't know that you'd call Runrig Scots nationalists. Maybe they are? But I don't care. Cass listens to nothing else and she got me hooked."
"Nobody would know what to make of an English king who listened to Scottish Gaelic music. Least of all the musicians."
"It's like we said earlier. I can love Runrig; they don't have to love me back."
So very many things could fit into that formula.
*
Waking up beside James, a lovely mutual wank in the shower, a quick breakfast, and back to work: In Ben's opinion, this was the way to live.
Not only was he working productively, but he was also making even better progress than he would have had James not been around. Instead of getting caught up in larger distractions, Ben could have a few minutes of conversation with James, or a couple of lazy kisses, then settle back in. And instead of the oddly disconnected sensation he usually got when he had to work for long periods of time, Ben felt content. At ease.
By midafternoon, he was done but for a final double check. "And I'm celebrating with a nap."
"You party animal, you," James said, nose still deep in his book.
"Come on, then." Ben pulled James off the chair and back to bed. Instead of undressing each other, they both just lay there, James curled along Ben's side, in the pleasant space between waking and sleeping.
It occurred to Ben after a few minutes that he might as well have let James keep reading. If they weren't going to have sex, why had he dragged James to bed with him? Why did he simply want James near?
Better not to have the answer to that question.
But Ben found himself weaving his hand through James's chestnut hair, gently pulling him close. James respond
ed by wrapping his arm around Ben's waist. They held each other like that as the silence between them shifted from comfortable to charged.
After a moment, James said, "Ben?" Very quiet--very unsure.
"Yeah?"
"I wanted to say--just that the past couple of days have been lovely. Really lovely."
"Yeah. For me too."
James's voice gained strength. "I'm so grateful for this. This weekend, and, well, all the time we've spent together. It's been a long time since I had so much happiness in my life. I thought you should know what it means to me."
This was the moment Ben needed to slam on the brakes. He knew it. He saw it clearly. But that truth didn't touch him; the fear he needed to feel didn't materialize. He simply pulled back just far enough to look James in the eyes. God, he was so nervous, and yet he met Ben's gaze, willing to hear anything. It reminded him of those first few moments in Kenya, after the chess game had ended but they still hadn't kissed.
Ben remembered something James had said to him that first afternoon they'd gone to bed, and he said it back now: "You caught me by surprise."
James smiled, small and hopeful. Then he tilted his mouth up to Ben's for a soft kiss.
They lay side by side for the longest time, sometimes kissing but mostly just close together, for the pleasure of the nearness itself. Ben stroked James's back, trailed his fingers along James's belly, caught one of James's ankles between his own. He wanted to touch and look at every inch of James, not out of heated desire but instead so that he could learn him by heart. They breathed in and out together, captured in a silence as delicate and intricate as a spider's web. James pressed his lips to Ben's collarbone and then remained there, nuzzling the curve of Ben's neck.
At moments Ben remembered he shouldn't be doing this. But it was a distant warning, like an alarm clock ringing in a bell jar during a school experiment meant to show you that sound couldn't travel in a vacuum. Sound couldn't travel here. Caution couldn't reach him. Later, he'd deal with it later. This hour had nothing to do with the rest of the world. It was theirs alone.
He closed his eyes as he gently kissed James's forehead--and then heard roll roll roll roll THUD.
The wall shook, and both of them started to laugh. "And he's at it again." James propped himself on his elbows to look at the ceiling. "Won't he ever let that dead body rest in peace?"
"Never," Ben said, and then they got up, made tea, and dealt severely with a packet of HobNobs that had the gall to be in the cupboard. He wasn't sure whether he was relieved that moment had been so painlessly broken, or whether he regretted it.
*
James had thought he would feel wistful when he left Ben's apartment that Sunday night. Instead he was still aloft, carried above his cares by the memories of the past two days.
"I had a wonderful time," he whispered between kisses at Ben's door. Already he was wrapped in the borrowed anorak, counting down the seconds before he needed to walk out and meet his security forces for a swift pickup. "This was perfect."
"Absolutely." Ben pulled him into his arms, and James closed his eyes, giving into the kiss.
That giddy buoyancy sustained him all the way out of Ben's building, even as they passed another neighbor who gave them no more than an absentminded nod. James felt as though he were bubbling like champagne the entire time he rode home in the Fiat, his behavior unquestioned by the security team that took him back to Clarence House in respectful silence. When he was in his own room, unpacking his things from the duffel bag so that he might return that to its rightful owner, he even sang snatches of song to the corgis.
But as he settled in for the night, taking up his iPad to review the day's news, a headline pierced his happy mood.
Manchester Boy In Hospital After Hate Bash
James looked down at the screen, heart clenching painfully, as he read the story of a young gay man--still in his local comprehensive school, and yet already speaking out for gay rights--who had paid a terrible price for his courage. He had been beaten by some schoolmates so badly he'd had to be taken to hospital Friday night. He was expected to be released the next day with no lasting injuries, a mercy for which James was grateful. But his gratitude deflated into shame.
While a boy who was hardly more than a child had been made to suffer for the crime of being who he was born to be, only because he had told the truth--at that very moment, James had been enjoying his secret passions, safe and sound, because he could hide so very well.
It wasn't so unlike being a callow teenage boy who could knock back pints of Guinness while his parents drowned in the Coral Sea.
James swallowed hard as he looked down at the beaten boy's school picture. Quickly he e-mailed Kimberley, telling her to have flowers sent to the boy's hospital room and to pass along his personal concern. But that was such a small gesture. So useless. It wouldn't help heal the cuts, or keep the young man safe when he returned to his school.
Until this point, the whispers in James's mind about coming out had been in Ben's voice (Coward.) or Cassandra's (Sod Uganda!).
But now he heard another whisper, and this one belonged to him alone: How long can you hide while others suffer for the truth?
How much longer can you live a lie?
*
Ben reviewed his work one last time after dinner, tidied up, and went to bed. As he lay there, he once again heard roll roll roll THUD and began to smile.
And by instinct, he turned his head toward the place in the bed where James would have been.
James wasn't there. Ben missed him. In that moment, he knew this had gone too far.
Their relationship had spilled over the boundary lines Ben had set. For the first time since Warner, Ben felt . . . tethered. If Fiona de Winter came to him tomorrow and told him he was wanted for a long-term assignment in Buenos Aires or New York, Ben would hesitate, and he had built a life with no room for hesitation. Was he going to wreck that now?
Yes, there were limits to what he and James could have. But the connection that had grown between them created limits of its own, limits on Ben's freedom. That freedom was the only thing Ben had ever owned absolutely, the only thing he could ever be sure of keeping.
If there had been no such limits--if James were not Prince Regent--there might have been other possibilities. Ben didn't let himself consider them in detail, though he could not hold back one misty image of the two of them together in New York City, hand in hand. This was not an ordinary relationship; neither of them had ever forgotten that for an instant. Ben knew better than to forget it now.
He wasn't ready to walk away immediately. It would be cruel to James. But Ben knew that if he was going to remain the man he'd been, the man he wanted to be, he had to find a way to slowly step back.
He had to find a way to end this.
Chapter 8
The Mirror Crack'd
Gentiles often became sentimental at Christmastime. James in particular seemed like the type to revel in the holidays, and he deserved what joy he could have. So Ben told himself there was no need to rock the boat for them just yet.
He went to Clarence House on a cool, bright Christmas Eve, because apparently James would be busy all Christmas day. Dinner was on an even grander scale than usual: cheese souffle, roast duck, some kind of salad dressing with champagne and Brussels sprouts and nuts that was glorious--even if it was again eaten in the cozy kitchen. Ben was gently amused by the fact that James was wearing a deep crimson sweater, but he'd dressed up a little more than usual himself that night. They had to make events from the ordinary, he supposed.
"Are you nervous about the speech?" Ben said as they settled in by the fire that evening. "The one that comes on before Doctor Who?"
James gave him a look. "Is that how they refer to it now? There are worse fates, I suppose." He sighed as he handed Ben a glass of mulled wine. "No, I'm not nervous. We recorded the speech a week ago."
"Then what do you do tomorrow?"
"It's all mixed up this year. Nor
mally we'd be at Sandringham, but the king's illness has kept us here. So, Christmas morning, we'll exchange presents at the House, and then a concert in the evening at the Royal Albert Hall." James shook his head ruefully. "That means there will be cameras everywhere throughout the day, which means no chance for you and I to get together, which means presents get exchanged tonight."
No decorated tree stood in James's private suite of rooms, but a large wreath of fresh holly and ivy hung above the mantel, and ivory-colored candles burned on virtually every surface. That had no doubt been the work of the butler, and affected Ben only in that he found the candlelight somewhat sexy. But then James brought out two presents, so obviously and clumsily hand-wrapped, that Ben felt something tighten around his heart. They were even wrapped in Hanukkah paper.
"All right," Ben said, reaching inside his battered satchel. "You'd better have obeyed the price limits, because I had to." Shopping for a prince had been daunting.
"I didn't overdo it. I promise." James's eyes were dancing with excitement, though, and Ben wondered whether he was fibbing. Maybe he'd open one of his presents and find a deed to something preposterously grand. Like Sussex.
Ben first took out a box of chew treats, two of which were immediately dispensed to Happy and Glorious. He felt a bit silly giving presents to dogs, but the treats had been on sale at the market. Besides, it made James laugh.
They'd agreed on two gifts--one big, one little--and went for the big gifts first. Ben wasn't entirely shocked to receive a new satchel, as he'd seen James eyeing the shabby one that had done hard duty for the past decade. But Ben was surprised at how well he liked the new version: cognac-colored leather, ample pockets, large buckles, masculine and classic and precisely what he liked. When he said so, James smiled with real pleasure. "All right, that was over the price limit just slightly. But it was perfect for you, I thought. Hemingwayesque."
Which was of course the moment James finished unwrapping Ben's gift, a first edition of For Whom the Bell Tolls.
"It's not signed," Ben said hastily as James studied the old-fashioned book jacket, which was at least in mint condition. "You probably have a dozen of those."