The Other Side of Winter Read online

  Alex blushed, but didn’t protest. He let Bengt dry him and followed him into the bedroom.

  “I haven’t seen you in a year,” Bengt said. “I’ve got some reacquainting to do.”

  Alex remained standing, visibly at a loss, when Bengt sat on the bed and just looked at him, couldn’t stop looking. At those long legs, the narrow hips, straight, hard cock, flat stomach. He frowned at the ridges of the lower ribs showing under the skin, hinting at the need for a few more calories. But there was nothing scrawny about that well-defined chest, the muscled shoulders and neck.

  He noticed the flush that crept up Alex’s neck and relented, rolled over to the far side of the bed, and patted the mattress in invitation. With only the briefest hesitation, Alex came to lie beside him. Bengt let his hand wander across Alex’s skin. How hard his body was. He’d been fit enough a year ago, but nothing like this. “You’ve been working out,” he said.

  Alex hesitated. “I was bored.”

  “Bored. That’s what you’re going with?”

  Something flickered across Alex’s face, like remembered pain, before it relaxed again into that studied unconcern. “Well, I couldn’t work anymore, with Andúja breathing down my neck.”

  “Yeah, and I guess you didn’t have anything else to keep you busy, like, oh, I don’t know, staying alive?”

  Alex shrugged. “Hiding is less adventurous than you might think. Sometimes working out is the highlight of the day.” He hadn’t moved, but Bengt could almost physically feel him withdraw. Not what he’d wanted at all.

  “Well, I’m not complaining.” Bengt pulled him close, savoring the feeling of skin on skin. He wanted to hear about every minute of Alex’s life this past year, but they had time. Right now physical contact seemed like the easier connection between them. And about that Bengt wouldn’t complain either. He traced the bones of Alex’s face, the carved chin, first with his fingers, then his lips; worked his way down the throat, across the smooth chest, sucked a nipple between his teeth; and smiled at Alex’s gasp.

  It was intoxicating as fuck to find the chinks in that armor, to chip away at the fortifications Alex was so good at raising and maintaining, and if touch was the only way to do that for now, Bengt would take it. He wanted to raze those defenses to the ground, to rediscover the naked soul of the man who had haunted his dreams for so long, wanted to see that spaced-out expression in his eyes with no room left for thoughts or regrets, wanted to hear his name called out simply because Alex couldn’t help it.

  He took a deep breath, willing himself to calm down. He’d lost his head that first time, and the resulting no still stood. As much as he would have liked to fuck that narrow ass, he wouldn’t try it again until Alex asked him to. If he wanted Alex to relinquish control, Bengt had to earn his trust. And he could never let on how much it cost him to hold back. He briefly closed his eyes as he licked and kissed his way down Alex’s belly, along the hip bone and across the thigh, to the soft skin on the inside.

  Alex silently followed his every move with his body, opened his legs for him, and finally gave Bengt the satisfaction of a low moan when Bengt cupped his balls and gently played them between his fingers. His body started to anticipate and demand Bengt’s touch, turning into Bengt’s hands. His eyes closed, his rapid breathing coming very close to a gasp every time Bengt’s fingers wandered close to his cock without actually touching it.

  Bengt listened and watched, committing every sound, every nuance to memory, like learning to play an instrument. Where to touch how, to get what tune. He grinned when he caught Alex’s hand as he tried to stroke himself. On impulse he took the thumb in his mouth and sucked on it, which earned him an openmouthed groan. Holy shit. He couldn’t remember ever having made love to a guy who turned him on like that without even touching him.

  He licked along the length of Alex’s cock, eliciting a suppressed growl and a full-body twitch. He knelt, closed his lips around Alex’s cock, wrapped one hand around the base and the other around his own cock. He sucked hard, matching the rhythm with both hands. That was all it took. Alex came with a jolt that almost jackknifed his body, and a surprised shout that drew Bengt’s balls up, made him shoot himself in the chin, and left him gasping for air.

  For a long time Bengt just lay on his back, floating, Alex’s body heat against his skin, listening to Alex’s breathing slow down, thinking nothing at all while the light faded. Finally he drew the duvet up around them, made sure the towel covered the wet spot, and pulled Alex close into the curve of his body.

  “Welcome home,” he whispered, but his only answer was a soft snore.

  Alex slept around the clock, and Bengt let him, filling the day with domestic crap and a quick log-in to the bureau for some paperwork.

  He ordered dinner, and was just closing the door behind the delivery guy when he heard the soft padding of bare feet. Turning around, he completely forgot about food.

  Sleep-tousled hair like a halo around his face, chin covered by the usual dark shadow, Alex came down the stairs buck naked. “Couldn’t find my clothes.”

  Bengt tried to say something, cleared his throat, tried again. “I threw them in the laundry. Thought you might want something clean,” he mumbled, then finally caught himself and held up the box. “Food?”

  “I could eat a horse.” Alex rummaged in his kit bag. He came up with a pair of well-worn canvas pants, pulled them on, and closed the zipper.

  Bengt tried not to stare at the open button. “You can hang your clothes in the closet upstairs,” he said. “Unless you’d prefer one of the guest rooms,” he added as an afterthought, and held his breath.

  But Alex shook his head. “No dice. You got me in your bed; that’s where I’m staying.” The faint blush in his cheeks belied the boldness in his voice. “Food first, though. I’m starving.”

  Bengt carried the box into the kitchen and opened it. “You look like food wasn’t always easy to come by,” he ventured.

  When Alex didn’t answer, he turned to look at him. “Did you get enough to eat?”

  That shuttered face again. “I’m still alive, aren’t I?”

  He made Bengt want to hit him and hug him at the same time. “Come on, Alex. Don’t attitude check me like that. I want to know how you’ve been doing. Is that really too much to ask?”

  “What do you want me to do? Cry you a river?” He crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I mean it. I’m still alive. That’s all that matters.”

  He didn’t look like he was going to volunteer anything else, but what he’d said was telling enough. Bengt sat down. “Let’s eat, then, before it gets cold.”

  After dinner, Bengt showed him where to put his clothes. He’d cleared the space weeks ago, as soon as the date for the flight had been announced, and long before he knew whether Alex would be on it. As it was, he’d made way too much room for the three shirts, two pairs of pants, and the handful of socks and underwear Alex unpacked.

  “That’s it?”

  Alex shrugged. “The rest was uniforms.” The words seemed to gain weight, epitaph of his old life, shed and shredded, until Alex grinned and said, with a flush creeping up his neck, “Next time you’ll just have to make sure I strip first.”

  Bengt laughed. “I will. But the fact remains, you need more clothes. Summer isn’t going to last forever.”

  “I expect I’ll have to be a bit careful, moneywise. And before I can buy anything . . .” he dug out the novels that Bengt had sent him and pulled an envelope from one of them “. . . you’ll have to help me turn this into cash.”

  It was a letter of credit. The sum was relatively substantial by Santuarian standards, but, Alex was right, it wouldn’t cover him for more than a few months here. “You sold the house?”

  Alex nodded. “I’m not going back.”

  Bengt wondered what his plan B had been if Bengt hadn’t been at the airport, but Alex had managed to evade Andúja for a year. He’d have survived in Hentavik on his own. “You need a grip.”

&n
bsp; “A what?”

  Bengt slapped the letter lightly into the palm of his hand. “Grip. Little gadget that does and holds just about anything. Phone, wallet, planner. ‘Get a Grip on your life?’ No, you wouldn’t have seen that one. Ancient ad. Anyway, you need one; we haven’t had cash for decades. We’ll get you one tomorrow, then I’ll take you shopping. But before that, we should stop at the bank and get you access to this.” He held up the letter of credit, wondering whether he’d be able to make Alex believe it was worth more than it was.

  Bengt parked the Forstmann in the east end of the U-park from where they would have easy walking access to centertown. He led the way up, past the tunnel access to the mall, to street level. Might as well enjoy the sunshine and warm weather while it lasted.

  Alex’s head swiveled this way and that, taking it all in. The way he moved . . . A few years back Bengt had nursed an injured bobcat back to health, as much because he felt sorry for it as to save his trash cans from being ripped apart. The cat had gotten used to him standing some ten, fifteen meters back while it fed, but it had never lost that hypervigilant muscle twitchiness that enabled it to suddenly disappear at the snap of a twig.

  Alex moved that way. Alert, ready for anything. It gave Bengt a sudden, gut-punching insight into what his life must have been like this past year.

  Bored, my ass.

  He’d known it in his head, but this brought it home so viscerally that he had to make a fist in his pocket to keep himself from pulling Alex protectively close in the middle of the street. Considering how he’d reacted at the airport, that would probably not go over well.

  He did get away with paying for the grip, calling it a welcome gift, and arguing that the Þing should really offer them free to the newcomers in the first place. He made a mental note to mention that to Sunne.

  They picked a model that fit comfortably into Alex’s hand, and Bengt showed him how his thumb or index finger fitted on the print reader on each side. A frown of concentration appeared between Alex’s brows when he tried it.

  There was a bit of confusion when the sales assistant realized they weren’t just buying a new grip, but the first one, and that there was no birth certificate or ID on file. But in the end he accepted the number on Alex’s paper passport and let Bengt vouch for him otherwise.

  “We should get your ID stuff cleared before we hit the bank,” Bengt said back in the car. “I have a feeling they’ll put up the same or even more of a fuss there.”

  “Mmm.” Alex was studying the manual for his new toy and pointed at a menu item. “Driver’s license?”

  “What about it?”

  “I need a license to drive a fucking car?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Alex rolled his eyes. “You guys sure know how to make things complicated.”

  “It’s not complicated if you grow up here. But, yeah, I guess there are a couple of things that could be made easier for new arrivals.”

  “Well, it’s not like this opening-of-the-borders shit is an everyday occurrence for you either.” The sun hit Alex’s face as they emerged from the parking garage. He reached up as if to pull a nonexistent hat lower, then flipped the shade above the window down.

  “I was thinking about dropping Sunne a line.” Bengt turned his attention back to the road. “Did you know she got elected þingwoman?”

  “Huh. Funny how both our former bosses are now in politics.”

  “Mendez is the one who took the real leap, though. Getting Svoboda organized as the official opposition was a stroke of genius.”

  “It might look organized from here. It’s not quite that organized on the ground. Or that official.”

  Before he could comment, Alex said, “This thing is amazing. And I thought your netpad was small.” He was back to checking his screen, going through stuff in the menu, minutely shaking his head now and then. When he became aware of Bengt watching him, he turned the screen off and looked up with a wry grin. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t bitch about the way you guys handle things. It’s not like the Santuarian way won any prizes.”

  Bengt grinned. “Oh, bitch away. In fact, nothing will mark you as a native quite like bitching about the government.”

  It took them the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon to get Alex’s papers checked, verified, and transferred to an electronic ID. Bengt suggested he apply for a social insurance number as well, since he wouldn’t be able to work without one. Alex was content to follow Bengt’s lead and only asked a question when something completely eluded him.

  His lack of a birth certificate caused some consternation. He was photographed, fingerprinted, and swabbed, getting ever more fidgety in the process, then asked to fill out an application. Bengt, staying close to help, bent over Alex’s shoulder when he had trouble with some of the legalese. He braced his arm on the table, chest touching shoulder, and wasn’t really surprised when Alex instantly turned to stone. Baby steps.

  When they entered the bank, Bengt tried to be casual. “This is pretty much going to be more of the same. If you want to take a breather and get yourself a coffee in the lounge over there while I set things up, I don’t mind.” He so wasn’t good at subterfuge.

  Alex threw him a look. “I’m fine,” was all he said, but during the next half hour he asked the clerk every question under the sun, until he was completely satisfied that he understood the system and the extent of his funds.

  When they were back out on the street he said, “Nice try. But you’re a lousy liar.”

  Bengt didn’t even try to feign innocence. “I’m sorry. I just . . .”

  “I know. And I appreciate the thought. But I’m new, not brain-dead.”

  “That was not . . . I didn’t . . .”

  Alex laughed. “You’re absolved. Do we still have time to get a jacket or whatever I need when it gets colder?”

  “Plenty. Most of the winter stuff won’t be out yet, but we can at least get you ready for autumn.” He longed to drag Alex through all the boutiques he liked, but the stubborn bastard would probably check every price tag twice. So Bengt took him to one of the better department stores instead.

  Alex played along, tried on everything Bengt pulled out for him, and made everything he put on look twice as good as it had on the hanger. He gave Bengt decidedly lewd ideas about the use of the changing rooms. But in the end the only things he carried over to the cash register were a pair of hiking boots and a three-in-one jacket with fleece lining and a rainproof shell.

  “You still have only three shirts and pants,” Bengt protested.

  “They’ll do.” Alex turned his back, head bent over his grip, and Bengt found himself staring at the strong line of his neck where a strand of hair curled around to the pulse point under his jaw, his thoughts straying somewhere else entirely.

  This was ridiculous. He wasn’t twelve anymore. To give himself something else to do, he returned to the pile of clothes in the changing room and started putting them back on their hangers, or folding them up. He almost broke one of the hangers before he realized that his frustration was resentment as much as held-back desire.

  Why the ever-loving soul did Alex have such a hard time accepting the least bit of help? Well, not the least bit, maybe. He’d let Bengt navigate the paper jungle for him. But in light of how much Bengt wanted to spoil and pamper him and generally make up for the kind of life he’d led, that was a drop in the ocean.

  Letting the fabric of a soft gray tee slide through his fingers and recalling how it had sculpted every muscle on Alex’s body, he suddenly couldn’t bear to put it back. He collected all the clothes he’d liked best on Alex in a separate pile and went to pay for them.

  Alex, brows drawn together, bag in one hand, grip in the other, was busy again with the menu on his screen. “What in the world do they mean by—” he started, then, realizing what Bengt was paying for, interrupted himself. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Birthday present,” Bengt said.

  “Excuse
me?”

  “You had a birthday six weeks ago. Saw it on your form. Bet you didn’t celebrate.”

  “Why would I want to, and what the fuck does that have to do with whatever stunt you’re pulling here?”

  Bengt smiled his thank-you at the cashier and took the bag before he turned to Alex. “I don’t know what you guys do for birthdays, and I don’t really care. Here we throw a party for the birthday boy and give him presents.”

  “Well, I do care, and you’re not going to— What party?”

  “Weather being what it is, I’m thinking barbecue.” Bengt hid the smug grin he couldn’t suppress, by heading for the exit.

  “No, I . . . Caray.” That last one sounded like it had been squeezed through clenched teeth. By now Alex was quite fluent in Skanes, curses and all, so that slip into his mother tongue hinted at some agitation.

  Bengt decided against taking the elevator down to parking, and headed for the stairs instead, where Alex would be able to yell at him without an audience. When Alex caught up with him, Bengt said, “We’ll need a cake, and thirty candles. Do you blow out candles and make a wish?”

  “Fuck, no! No presents. No party.”

  Bengt stared pointedly at the bag in his hand. “Want me to donate these to charity?”

  “I don’t give a shit what you do with them. I’m not going to wear them.”

  Bengt just stood and looked at him, waiting for his temper to simmer down. Watched him trying to pace in the small space the landing provided.

  Finally Alex stopped and threw up his hands in defeat. “Fine, I’ll wear them. Since you already paid for them. But I didn’t come here to be a drain on your pocket.”

  Bengt wished Halden could hear that. But whatever was showing on his face made Alex shutter even further, so he hurried to reassure him. “I know that. That’s not what I—”

  “And no party.”

  “Think,” Bengt said. “You’ll have to meet everyone eventually, especially the family. Instead of awkward formal introductions, why not have a party, some music, some friends.” He was gently crowding Alex against the wall as he spoke, saw his eyes go dark when their bodies touched. “A bit of small talk,” he murmured, skimming a thumb across Alex’s lips. “Much easier to walk away from someone in a larger crowd if things threaten to get too much,” he added against Alex’s mouth, kissing him, gently at first, then, when Alex’s eyes closed and he responded, more insistently, until his own breath sounded harsh in his ears, and Alex groaned.