"I don't." James drew Ben close for a quick kiss. "Even if I did, it wouldn't mean anything. Those would just be museum artifacts, no more. This is so much better, so much more personal. Thank you. I can't think of anything you could've given me I would like more."
"You say that now. Open the little present."
That made James narrow his eyes in mock suspicion, but he immediately turned to the next present, which was welcomed with a whoop of delight. "You remembered! It's perfect!"
Ben couldn't stop laughing as James pulled out his brand-new blue Slanket, tugged it on, and modeled it. The corgis waddled closer to sniff at the hem; no doubt it smelled like no organic thing.
James smoothed the front down. "I believe I've found my coronation robes."
"The nation would be dazzled."
"Stunned, at any rate. And it actually is sort of comfy, isn't it? Too warm for in front of the fire, but perfect for the drafty back rooms." As James tugged it off, he plopped down onto the couch, the better to nudge Ben toward his remaining gift.
This was something fairly small, in a tin, with small pieces that shook a bit inside; he wondered at first if it were chocolates or candies. But Ben pulled away the blue-and-silver paper to reveal a miniature chess set, complete with metal board and magnetic pieces. He smiled as he lifted one of the pawns. "Are we going to play for secrets again?"
"We can play for any stakes you'd like." James's expression became serious. "It's for travel. I know that you--that you've spent much of your life on the go, and no doubt you'll find yourself on the road again, lots of times. I wanted you to have something to take with you, so you could always enjoy a game of chess." His green eyes met Ben's evenly. "And think of me."
James knew this wasn't forever. Probably he already knew this wasn't for much longer.
Ironically that was what made Ben draw him closer, made the prospect of splitting from James seem far more remote. If they only had a short time, then Ben felt safer to enjoy it. He could make sure James had a good Christmas.
They folded together in an embrace, kissed long and deep in front of the fire. When they broke the kiss, James smiled. "You really like your presents?"
"Very much," Ben murmured. "Now, what was that you said about playing chess for any stakes I'd like?"
Arching one of those thick eyebrows, James said, "Tell me what stakes you have in mind."
"We'll start with one piece of clothing for each chessman lost. Once you're naked--"
"--which will be several pieces after you."
"--then I'll get a little more creative."
So they played a long, lazy game of strip chess, right there in front of the fire. They were generous with definitions--one lost pawn meant both shoes and socks went, for instance--the better to get to more interesting penalties.
"And your knight is mine," James said, snatching it up. He still had boxers on, the smug bastard.
Ben leaned forward over the chessboard. "Name your price."
"Suck me off."
"No getting off until you capture the king."
"Since when is that a rule?" James pouted, pushing out that full, dark lower lip.
"My chess set," Ben insisted. "My rules."
James's eyes danced with anticipation. "Then come here and suck my cock for, hmm . . . two minutes."
Ben bowed down and did it, slicking James's cock with his own spit so he could work him better with his hand. Two minutes was more than enough to have James panting, but Ben kept an eye on the clock, and he leaned back on the second. "There we go."
"Ben--oh, come on--"
"Play or get played, Your Most Radiant Exaltedness."
"Now that's just silly," James said with as much dignity as he could muster with his hard-on jutting from his boxers.
Ben won the next piece, which got James's boxers off. He also won the one after that, which got him both of James's hands pumping him while they kissed with their mouths open. The negotiations continued into the night, each of them earning every touch, every kiss.
Beneath their hunger for each other, Ben knew a deeper level of bargaining was going on. How long would they touch each other? What limits were they going to set? Those boundaries had become too blurred for them lately. This was what they needed: hard and fast rules. A relationship fixed into the formality of a game. Black and white squares, defined moves. After all, as tonight proved, even sex so strictly regimented could be deliriously good. It made perfect sense to him, at least in this haze of arousal and need.
Finally, as one of the fireplace logs crumbled into glowing embers, Ben moved his knight into position and whispered, "Mate in three."
James studied the board, even now unwilling to surrender, but after a few moments he nodded, conceding the game. He stretched his naked body out for Ben's gaze as he said, "Name your prize."
So Ben grabbed a condom from his satchel and lay down on his back, close enough to the fire to feel heat painting his skin. His cock stood up from his body, rigid and thick, and he reveled in the way James's eyes darkened as he watched Ben prepare to take him. Ben's voice was low and rough as he said, "Come here and ride me."
He'd already slicked James up (the lost bishop), worked him open (the fallen queen). All James had to do was straddle him--there, one firm muscled leg slung across Ben's waist, James's thigh hot against Ben's pelvic bone--then lower himself down. Both of them groaned as James sank onto Ben's cock. Heat and pressure made Ben close his eyes, suck in a sharp breath. Then James rode him, hard and fast and good, and Ben couldn't stop the sounds he was making, hoarse ecstatic cries that seemed to be torn from deep inside.
"Please," James panted. "Ben--please--" His begging stopped short the moment Ben took his cock in hand. Now they were both plunging toward the brink together, bodies locked in a rhythm that overwhelmed them both.
I can have him, Ben thought, disjointed and broken through the daze. I can have him and walk away and have him again, it's just right, this is just right, don't stop don't stop don't stop--
James came in Ben's palm, hot and wet, and his open-mouthed grimace of sheer pleasure was more than Ben could take. Breath and heartbeat and thought all seemed to stop for one perfect instant, and then he was coming deep inside James, lost in the heat of it.
When they lay together beside the fire afterward, James murmured, "This might be my favorite Christmas ever."
"It's definitely mine. Of course, I never celebrated it before." James elbowed him, and Ben grinned as he added, "I might have to observe it from now on, at least in a highly sacrilegious way. Turns out I like this holiday."
"You'll never hear Christmas carols the same way again." James dropped a kiss on Ben's collarbone, then pillowed his head on Ben's shoulder.
This was just the sort of thing Ben had meant to avoid from now on. He'd even gone so far as to be "busy" the last time James had called. But the travel chess set sat nearby, showing remnants of a game Ben had won, and it served as a promise of future voyages, enduring freedom, and a lover who, despite occasional lapses into sentimentality, still understood the rules.
Ben felt as though there were an open door nearby, one he could walk through whenever he chose. So there was no hurry, not yet.
*
For a man with no particular religious feeling and no ties to Christianity whatsoever, Ben wound up with a very busy holiday schedule. He spent Christmas night with a group of unattached people from work, all hosted at Fiona's flat.
Fiona's place was more glamorous than James's. Far smaller, but stylish, everything vaguely Moroccan with patterned silk pillows, elaborately geometric candle holders, and bold, crimson curtains draped thickly around the narrow windows: It looked more like a scene from some glossy magazine than anyplace an actual human being would live. Even Fiona's decorations were all of a theme, stars and ornaments in the same brassy gold she seemed to prefer in jewelry.
Most of the evening was spent drinking, telling awful jokes, and cheering up Roberto, who had blown his last days o
ff for the year going back to the States for Thanksgiving and was badly homesick. As night fell, however, someone said, "Turn on the telly. It's time for the Christmas speech."
Fiona groaned. "Must we?"
A natural enough reaction--and yet it seemed so rude, almost cruel. Ben could only think of James in his flat that weekend, laboring over each word, all for the sake of people who would rather have been playing with their new video games. Before he could react, though, someone else said, "It's tradition," and that seemed to win the day.
Ben maneuvered himself front and center so he could have the best view. His pulse quickened when the BBC announcer decorously intoned, "And now . . . the Prince Regent."
James appeared on the screen, wearing an elegant suit. He stood in a room Ben didn't recognize, one dominated by an enormous Christmas tree. Was that in Buckingham Palace? Was it a stage set? He'd have to ask.
"This year, for the first time in half a century, our king is unable to give the Christmas speech, though I know his thoughts are with us all," James said, his voice every bit as warm and engaging as it was when he spoke to Ben in private. "Our entire family, and I believe the whole nation, has been united by our concern for the king's welfare, and our admiration for the courage with which he has faced his illness and worked toward his recovery. That courage is something I have seen reflected in so many people in Britain, the Commonwealth, and around the world--as individuals and communities find strength in times of adversity."
It took a lifetime of training to look so unstudied in front of a camera. Ben was impressed.
The others were at least engaged. "He's easier to look at than old King George, that's for sure," one girl said as James began talking about various examples of bravery from around the country. "Do you really think the king's going to recover, or are they glossing it?"
It was Fiona who answered. "I have some sources within the palace. They say the king's able to speak a little now. Not much, but if he keeps getting stronger, they'd probably end the regency within a couple of months."
This was exactly what James had told Ben, but he had to stifle a smile at Fiona's pride. Sources within the palace. If she only knew.
"Hey, wait," Roberto said. "Listen."
James was saying, "--when Gregory Matthews of Manchester was bullied and beaten for coming out, he not only returned to that same school but continued to advocate for gay rights, now joined by dozens of classmates who understand that we are all equal under the law, and all beloved in the eyes of God."
"That's borderline political," Roberto said. "Huh. Wonder if he's going to be a bit of a loose cannon."
"At least the royals would be interesting for a change," Fiona said.
Ben wondered whether James felt proud to stand up for another gay man, or whether he felt hypocritical. Once he wouldn't have hesitated to condemn James for playing straight while praising gay rights; now he knew how much more complex everything was. How much more complicated James was as a man. Nothing was simple. Nothing was straightforward. And yet James had to keep going on as though he never felt a moment's doubt.
"It is my prayer this holiday season that we will all reach out to those who are suffering and give them our support and our love. In this way we can help them find their courage, and perhaps find our own." James smiled. "I wish you all a very happy Christmas."
Then everyone went back to talking and drinking wine as Doctor Who came on. Ben heard Roberto asking, "Hey, was that live? He was pretty solid if that was live TV."
"It's recorded," Ben said as he rose to refill his wine goblet. "They do it a week or two before the holiday."
Fiona gave him an amused look. "You know a lot about the royal family for a recent immigrant."
Ben smiled, hoping he appeared as casual and comfortable as James had. "I try to stay informed."
"Guess that means the royals are too busy having their own massive celebration," Roberto said. "Right now the Prince Regent is probably unwrapping that Maserati somebody put under the tree."
*
At that moment, James was sitting on the floor of his sister's bedroom, hanging on to Indigo, covered in blood. "Please, won't you give it to me? Please?"
"Don't take it! You said you wouldn't take it!"
Mad as it seemed to let her keep the blades and pins she hoarded, he had learned through hard experience that taking them away hurt Indigo terribly. It made her feel even more out of control. "I won't take it. But if you would just . . . let me have it for a while--"
"I won't use it again tonight," she sobbed. Her bleeding legs were wrapped around one of the bedposts; her dress was rumpled, her hair ruined, and mascara streaked on her cheeks. "But I need it here. I need it."
"Indigo, no." This wasn't the way you were supposed to handle these situations, and James knew it, but he'd never, ever seen her damage herself like this. There was so much blood, so much, and she might not mean to kill herself, but that didn't mean it couldn't happen.
"Don't take it away," Indigo sounded so broken, so miserable. Her body heaved with each sob, and her flushed skin glowed with the heat of shame and pain. "Please don't."
"All right. All right. If you need to keep it, you can keep it until you feel better."
"It hurts too much."
By this she didn't mean the new cuts still bleeding through her dress, smearing blood on her brother and the floor. She meant the anguish she felt inside. Cutting was supposed to help numb that pain, but tonight, apparently, she hadn't been able to cut deeply enough.
He felt so helpless. It was terrible to love someone and to be unable to do anything to save them from this kind of pain and fear. Was it like this to watch someone drown, or know you couldn't pull her from a fire?
Gently he smoothed her hair back from her sweat-damp forehead. "What if--what if you simply put it aside? Put it in a drawer or a box right here in your room. Let me clean you up, and I'll sit here with you for a while. You'll still have it nearby, I promise. But we just won't look at it for a bit. Do you think you could do that?"
After a few long moments, Indigo nodded. "If you promise."
"On my life."
James let go, and Indigo slowly stood; her entire body shook from adrenaline overload. True to her word, she walked across the room and dropped the box cutter into a drawer. Silently James began planning a shakedown of the entire Kensington Palace staff to find out who had been negligent enough to leave one of these around where she could find it--but what was the use? If his sister ordered steak, they had to bring her a steak knife. There were needles in the maids' sewing kits. Once Indigo had broken a window to get the shards of glass. He knew by now that if his sister wanted to hurt herself, she could always find a way. No point in firing some hapless soul because they'd accidentally provided her latest method.
The servants, who knew Indigo's troubles all too well, had set a first-aid kit before the door as usual. Now James used it to clean and bandage her latest cuts as they sat together on the bloodstained carpet. She winced as he sterilized each wound, but maybe that pain too helped stunt the emotional turmoil his sister carried inside. James didn't truly understand how cutting worked, on a psychological level, and didn't want to. At the moment he focused only on the cuts, and his relief that none of them looked bad enough to require stitches, though a couple of them came close. Once the bleeding had stopped, he'd be able to use skin glue on the worst of the wounds.
But how long before the skin glue wasn't enough? How long before they had to bring a nurse into the fold, risk Indigo's secrets being exposed?
Indigo made a small sound as she saw the smears of red on James's gray suit. "I ruined your clothes."
How could she worry about his clothes when she'd just carved gashes into her own legs? But James knew better than to say that out loud. "Savile Row can always make more suits. Besides, I wasn't really looking forward to yet another performance of the Messiah."
(This was untrue--James liked classical music--but hours with the queen in the royal
box sometimes proved wearying. Nicholas had stepped in to fill the role of "obedient royal grandchild" at the last minute.)
"I just couldn't pretend anymore."
There was no point in asking what Indigo meant by that specifically. James knew what it meant in the greater sense. The gap between who he and Indigo were supposed to be and who they really were--sometimes it felt more like a chasm. Sometimes she fell in. "Shhh. It's all right now."
She flinched. Clearly she knew it wasn't all right, not even close. However, she only said, "Could I have something to sleep?"
As always, James wanted to resist giving his sister tranquilizers, but surely tonight she needed them. "Of course."
Hartley brought the pills and stood by Indigo's bed, holding one of her hands, while James held the other one. Groggily she said, "I'm sorry I ruined Christmas."
"You didn't ruin it." James squeezed her fingers gently. "And tomorrow's another day."
He meant it to be optimistic, but she groaned, as if the prospect of even one more Boxing Day was too much to face.
Within another ten minutes she was so soundly asleep that one of the maids was able to go in and start working on the stains in the carpet. The scent of detergent followed James as he walked downstairs, followed by Hartley. To his surprise, the elderly butler spoke first: "Your Royal Highness, I wished to have a word."
"Yes, Hartley?"
"Sir--forgive me, sir, but with all due discretion, I obtained these."
Hartley's wrinkled hand shook slightly as he held out a few brochures. James took them, at first confused, but understanding dawned as he began to read. The brochures were for inpatient psychiatric facilities, specifically programs that dealt with anxiety disorders and self-harm.
"I know it's not my place, sir," Hartley said. "I humbly beg your pardon. But the princess suffers so. If she could be helped, surely--"
"Is the latest episode over?" Richard came striding through the door, not bothering to have himself announced; he was a big believer in protocol when it came to other people but considered it something he could ignore when convenient. "I cannot fathom how she got set off by receiving a ruby bracelet. Was Prince Zale's Christmas gift still too modest for her liking?"
"She liked it very much," James said. No wonder: The bracelet was sumptuous, even by Hanoverian standards of gift-giving. But that very display of seriousness on Zale's part had been enough to spark Indigo's anxiety. "It's only that the thought of a more committed relationship is daunting for her. The prospect of intimacy, of changing her life so radically: You can see that it's frightening on some levels."