"Okay, okay," Roberto said, "but if you ever want to stop being so secretive and invite Mr. Dog Owner out to drinks with us sometime, that'd be cool."
"Maybe," Ben replied, meaning never in a thousand years.
For a long few moments after they'd both turned "back to work," Ben could only stare at his computer screen, reading nothing, seeing nothing. The only concrete thought he could come up with was that he needed to buy a lint roller, immediately.
After the panic cleared, more mundane concerns began to intrude. All right, James understood the security situation better than Ben ever would. If James thought he could get to Ben's flat without being seen, probably he was right. But once James got there . . . well, he'd be there, the whole weekend. Ben had tons of work to do, and though James would do his best not to interrupt, he'd have to be a distraction. His flat wasn't exactly spacious; the two of them would be on top of each other.
Then again, wasn't that the whole point?
Ben finally grinned and gave in to it. What the hell. If they got on each other's nerves, it wasn't as though James couldn't tell his security service to pick him up early. They hung out for long periods of time at Clarence House, so maybe his place wouldn't be so different. And he'd finally get to have sex in his own bed.
Besides, after so much tiptoeing around, so much caution, it felt good to take a risk, even a highly controlled one. It felt good to try something, to dare something. Ben was tired of the world dictating when and where and how he and James got to see each other. This weekend, for a change, he'd be making the rules.
*
It was just a quick ride across London, and yet for James it felt like an incredible adventure.
He wasn't in one of the usual sedans. Instead he was being driven in a Fiat, the personal car of one of his security agents. Normally when he left the house he wore one of his impeccably tailored suits, but today he had on khakis, a charcoal-colored jumper and a bulky, beat-up anorak on loan from yet another fellow in security. The sunglasses were his own, but James figured that if anyone noticed the designer logo, they'd assume he was a normal guy wearing knockoffs. He'd even done without shaving this morning. Stubble might help disguise him, mightn't it?
"We're coming up on the corner, sir," said one of the agents.
"Thank you, Roberts. Our mutual friend will meet me there and walk me inside. You've secured the building?"
"Yes, sir." The security team didn't look thrilled. No wonder, as a weekend getaway in Islington was a rather uncharacteristic move on James's part. He knew that both security and the service staff valued one thing in an employer beyond any other--predictability--and normally he provided that. But when he emerged safe on Sunday evening and went back to regular life, they'd forgive him.
It was twilight, a bit late to be wearing sunglasses, but James thought it wouldn't attract too much attention. As the car pulled in front of the row of flats, he saw Ben standing by the door, quite casual, playing the part of the "mutual friend." His jeans hung loosely around his tapered waist and muscular hips; a pale blue Henley shirt was all that shielded Ben from the chill. James shouldered a duffel bag (also borrowed from someone in security), tugged on a fairly wretched-looking cap (his own, from Indigo's short-lived fascination with knitting), and said, "Right. I'll walk to him, and he'll lead me in."
"We've men at the back, sir." This meant, if anybody tried to overpower James and spirit him out of the building, the evildoer would be set upon instantly. The chances of this seemed remote, but today he couldn't help but wonder: What if he were found out? How could the Palace ever explain his presence in Islington, of all places?
Then he took another look at Ben, specifically at the way that pale blue shirt hugged Ben so tightly his sculpted abs were visible. James's hands curled slightly, in anticipation of sliding around Ben's waist.
For the first time in years, he opened his own car door. Although James could see the tension in Ben's face, he suspected no stranger would pick up on it.
As he walked up, Ben said only, "Hey."
"Hello there yourself," James replied, laying on the thickest Scottish accent he could muster--and it was a good one, too, as it ought to be after endless childhood summers at Balmoral. Ben got a slightly panicked look in his eyes that obviously meant he wanted to laugh, but he held on to it as they walked inside.
The next two minutes felt like a roller-coaster ride. Oh, no, there was someone else in the entryway! A woman in a pink coat--but she didn't even glance at him, too busy tapping out a text. They were going up the stairs, good God these steps were narrow, was that allowed? Wasn't there some sort of ordinance? Ben with keys in his hand, unlocking his door. James didn't own any keys. Heart pounding, he stepped inside, heard Ben shut the door behind him--and he'd done it. He'd done it!
"That was easy enough," Ben said. "Welcome."
"Can't believe it was so simple." Fancy that woman walking right past the Prince Regent in her own building. James quickly took up his mobile and sent the code that would tell the agents downstairs he was in and secure. Then he slipped off his sunglasses and began to take a look around.
Ben's flat was--tiny. Incredibly tiny. From the short, narrow hallway they went into a sort of combined living room and kitchenette. The "dining table" would hardly hold dishes for two, and yet it fit perfectly in its little corner. Everything shone clean, white paint and light wood and shiny chrome. The tan leather sofa and chair had been pushed back against the walls to allow room enough to walk. The only elements that didn't seem wholly impersonal were the two wall hangings, brilliantly patterned textiles in vivid floral patterns.
"From Thailand," Ben said, obviously following James's gaze. "They're portable."
"They're lovely." James kept exploring. Here was the bedroom--thank God Ben had managed to fit a double bed in there, even though it filled nearly the entire space. He set his duffel bag stop the navy blue bedspread. It felt a bit like laying a claim. "This is amazing."
"This is amazing?" Ben started to laugh.
James felt embarrassed. "It's just--you know, I spend a lot of time in grand places. And in the course of my duties, I see a lot of poverty. I virtually never get to see anything that's simply . . . ordinary."
"Well, if you were looking for ordinary, this flat fits the bill."
"And here we have--hmm." He glanced back at Ben. "Are you going to laugh at me when I tell you this is the smallest loo I've ever seen?"
"No, because it's also the smallest loo I've ever seen."
Then they were both laughing, and finally Ben kissed him. James felt himself relaxing into the embrace. This was really going to happen; they were really going to get two whole days to live just like any other men.
When their lips parted, Ben said, "Get yourself comfortable. The one and only meal I know how to make is in the oven."
With that Ben took himself off to the kitchenette, and James unpacked his own suitcase for the first time since university. It felt like just another part of the most wonderful adventure.
*
The strangest thing about James's presence in the flat was how strange it wasn't.
After dinner, James insisted on doing the washing up so that Ben could get to work. He settled back into his nest of books and notes, and found he didn't mind James's presence in the slightest. Good as his word, James didn't interrupt even once, just piled into the one available chair with his book. There were the sounds of his breathing and moving about, but those weren't distracting. In fact, they were oddly comforting.
So deeply was Ben able to get on with his tasks that it took him a while to realize James had laid aside his novel and was instead going through Ben's catalogues. "Whatever are you looking at that for?"
"I've never gotten to look at these," James said. Apparently not much junk mail went to the palaces. "They're sort of amazing."
"Amazing? Catalogues?"
"There's this one thing--I don't suppose you'd let me borrow your credit card, would you?"
Ben sat back from his notes. "You don't have a credit card?"
"I don't need credit," James said, as though that were obvious, and possibly it ought to have been. "Not on this scale, anyway. Probably I've got some sort of debit card. I mean, I assume I do. But I don't ever use it personally."
"What is it you want to buy?"
"This." With great delight, James held out a page revealing, in all its glory, a Slanket.
Now laughing, Ben said, "What do you want with that?"
"It's just so bizarre. A blanket with sleeves. Who ever heard of such a thing? It looks like some sort of cult robe. But it also looks warm, and Clarence House is so drafty."
"You're giving in to impulse shopping, That's the temptation of catalogues." Ben firmly took the catalogue from James and said, "Sleep on it at least, will you?"
"Oh, all right." Although James pretended to sulk, he was smiling as he took up his novel again.
At midnight he could work no longer. Stiff and rather tired, Ben wondered exactly how much fun he'd be able to provide for James tonight. But James didn't immediately pounce; instead he simply went into the bedroom and undressed by his side. He said only, "What's that?"
"What's what?" It took Ben a few moments to recognize what James was talking about. "Oh, those are just the water pipes."
"Should they be making that sound?"
"You hear more from your neighbors in a block of flats than you do in a palace. And you haven't heard anything yet. Wait until morning. Then you'll see." Ben slumped down onto the bed, on his stomach, and for a moment he wondered whether James might be game to just go to sleep. They could make up for it tomorrow.
But then James spooned behind his back, his chest warm against Ben's shoulders, his cock half hard against Ben's ass. Energy started to flow through Ben again, slowly, but ever stronger. His pulse quickened slightly as he heard James search for lube in the bedside table, and find it.
"You must think I'm very silly." James kissed the back of Ben's neck and ran his hand down the length of his side. His slick fingers closed lazily around Ben's cock. "Surprised by everything you take for granted."
"Not silly at all." In truth, it was surprisingly endearing--discovering that a man who could be blase about his Renoir would be delighted by ordinary junk mail. Or maybe the pleasure he felt had more to do with the way James was starting to caress him.
"You're worn out, aren't you? Wonder if I'll be able to get you to move at all."
Ben stifled his smile against the pillow. "Nope. Don't think so."
"What a shame." James moved against him, sinuous and possessive; Ben felt himself going rock-hard in James's palm. "Maybe I'll have to do all the work."
"Be a love, would you?"
That made James laugh. "Oh, I will," he murmured, as his fingers traced the cleft of Ben's ass, then began to push inside.
Within minutes, James was pumping into Ben from behind, breathing hard as he worked Ben's cock. Ben tried to play along for as long as possible, but the urge to move with James was too strong. He rocked into the motion, clawed at the sheets, kept swearing and gasping and giving in to the ride.
Why was this so good? Why did sex with James always blaze within Ben's brain, set his body on fire, in a way wilder and better than any club pickup ever had? Ben couldn't explain it and didn't want to. He didn't want to think. He just wanted James to fuck him harder. "More--oh, James, more--"
Then James gave it to him, rolling him flat to pound him into the mattress, and Ben was lost to everything but the ecstasy of the moment.
*
Though he longed for a coffee, James remained in bed beside Ben the next morning, tangled up in the sheets and trying not to laugh too loudly. "Is it rollers on a chair, perhaps?"
"It's too big for a chair. Listen, there it goes again."
They lay there as, upstairs, the sound of something very large being rolled slowly across the floor rumbled past--then hit the far wall hard enough to thud. Ben started laughing again as James whispered, "What is that? It sounds like a barrel or something. But who would have a heavy barrel in a flat?"
"And what's in the barrel? Sometimes I think he's got a dead body in cement or something."
"Why would he be rolling a dead body in cement across his floor?"
"Why would he be rolling anything across the floor? It's beyond reckoning."
"This happens every morning?"
"Every single morning. On weekends sometimes it lasts for an hour or more. Maybe on weekdays too, but I don't know, I'm out the door too early. Every once in a while he'll take it up in the afternoon, but not for as long. That's my only clue."
The rolling began again, and James shook his head in wonder. "So this is what it's like to have an upstairs neighbor. Have you ever seen him?"
"A couple of times. He's a big guy. Solid. Never heard him speak."
"So you've never just asked him what it is?"
Thud against the wall. Ben shook his head. "I don't want to know. Just in case it really is a dead body."
It was the most glorious day, though James never said so out loud, knowing Ben would have thought it was preposterous. But every aspect of their time together was as dear to James as it was exotic: breakfasting on Sultana Bran at that tiny table, having no need to watch a clock and mentally figure out how long he had before duty would resume, and hours upon hours to spend in Ben's company, knowing nobody would intrude.
For the most part, Ben worked; James did too. Although he'd brought his novel to read, he also wanted to write a draft of the Christmas speech. James employed a speechwriter, of course, and both he and Kimberley would review and revise whatever he came up with, but he thought it would be nice to have at least some of his own thoughts included. They'd film it in another week or so. Best get a move on, he told himself.
It was a pleasure just to have Ben near, and the few words they exchanged every hour or so were more than enough for now.
A bit before lunch: "James?"
"Hmmm?"
"Something in this book reminded me about a reference I ran across once--about a former Prince of Wales who was in the army--"
James looked up. Why did Ben appear so concerned? "Yes?"
"You said you weren't in the military. For medical reasons."
"Right." James sighed. "I'd been looking forward to it too. It's more or less the only chance I'd have had to live mostly like a normal person. Dad loved his time in the RAF."
"But what medical reasons?" Ben persisted. "You're not--it's not anything serious, is it?"
"Good Lord, no. Football accident when I was at school. Thought I'd show off, tried a header, and wound up with a detached retina." He tapped his left temple, remembering that weird blurry time. "Scared my parents half to death, but the doctors set it right. Like as not I'll never have any problems with it again, but it turns out the military don't accept soldiers who have even a remote chance of suddenly going blind in one eye."
"You're all right, then."
Ben said it very simply, but a deeper current of feeling flowed around James and made him almost shy. "Yes. I'm all right."
They both went back to work, but the silence felt fuller than before.
Over a lunch of sandwiches and cold cuts, with a sort of mustard colored an almost comically vibrant yellow: "So why do we love Hemingway so much when he's such a bloody homophobe?"
Ben shrugged. He didn't seem to notice anything odd about the mustard. "Because he's brilliant, and there's no denying it. We can love him without him loving us back, I suppose."
"He makes the world seem so simple. So clear-cut. And yet romantic and complex too. It's a difficult combination, but there it is, in everything he writes."
"I don't believe in most of what he says after I lay down the book. While I'm reading, though, I believe completely."
"Me too." James took a tentative bite of his sandwich. The mustard actually tasted pretty good.
Midafternoon on Saturday, however, he became a little restless. As much
as he liked Ben's apartment, and Ben, they didn't have very much room. James worked out virtually every day and enjoyed riding, hiking, and other outdoor pursuits. More than twenty-four hours in such close quarters felt strange, not just mentally but physically.
"Gorgeous day out," James said at one point, gazing from the window. The blinds would make it hard for anyone to see in, but he could look out well enough. "I know it's cold, but it's so sunny. I always enjoy days like this. Makes it seem like winter's not going to be so gloomy."
After a moment, Ben said, "Why don't we go for a stroll?"
"Ha ha. Very funny."
"I mean it. I could use a short break right now. Why not?"
James turned away from the window, gave Ben a look, and then pointed to his own face.
This wasn't as persuasive as James had expected. Ben said, "You're halfway to a beard by now--which looks very handsome, by the way. You could wear your sunglasses and your cap. Besides, half of recognition is expectation. Nobody expects to see a member of the royal family strolling around Islington of a Saturday afternoon. Speak in your Scottish brogue, and trust me, nobody's the wiser."
It couldn't be that easy . . . could it?
But then he saw the mischief in Ben's eyes, saw how badly he wanted to do it, and that enthusiasm caught like a spark into flame.
Who's to say what's impossible?
"I've got to text my security team," James said, anticipation building. "Let them know what I'm up to. Otherwise they'll think you're kidnapping me, and that wouldn't end well."
"They won't forbid it?"
"Forbid it? I'm the bloody Prince Regent, aren't I?" James hesitated. "But they'll follow at a distance."
Ten minutes later, pulse pounding, they headed back down the absurdly narrow stairs, though the lobby--no one there this time, thank goodness--and then James was walking down the pavement, alongside an ordinary street on an ordinary day. True to Ben's prediction, nobody gave him a second glance.
"We'll head down to the nearest park," Ben said. "It's not far. Nice stretch of green."
James nodded silently. He trusted his brogue but couldn't find his voice.
Store windows: clothes in awful taste, specials at the greengrocer's--were those prices high or low? He hadn't any idea--a comic-book place with a cardboard standee of Wonder Woman on the door, half a dozen places to buy mobile phones, coffeehouses, and an Oxfam shop. James found himself staring at all of it. Even those parts that were familiar to him from his university days had seemed far distant.