Death's Ink Black Shadow by John Wiltshire

you will not see this my way—that I feel the danger is so real and so present that I was willing to risk you hating me to keep you safe.”
    “I think we’ve proved time and time again that your way of seeing the world is deeply flawed.”
    Nikolas frowned. “No, we haven’t. I was comfortably coasting along in hiding—who dragged me out and got me shot?”
    Ben opened his mouth to refute the suggestion that he did, but Nikolas continued, “Who didn’t take Anna seriously? So who got strung up and tortured?”
    That was even more outrageous, and Ben tried to counter it, but Nikolas ploughed on, “But who had the foresight to insist we hide the gold we found in a cave by cliffs which we could climb in case of a tsunami? Which sensible precaution consequently saved our lives, I might add. Who said…?”
    “Seriously?”
    Nikolas smirked. “No, not really. I owe my life to you. But I’m trying to get you to see that I know what I’m talking about.”
    “Steven wants to write about you—Aleksey. He told me Nina’s story was only the beginning.”
    Nikolas began to pick at the corner of his thumbnail, which, Ben noticed, was already uncharacteristically bloody. He caught Nikolas’s hand and stilled him.
    “What am I going to do then? I cannot allow any of this. You know that.”
    “I think you should tell him.”
    Nikolas scowled.
    “Tell him the truth. Explain why he can’t.” Ben sighed and added, “Buy him off. Give him something else to write…I don’t know…a book about ANGEL’s projects? Send him around the world first class, filming and writing about all the good things you do, Nik. It would be a brilliant book…the street kids, the tsunami work, the girls in Afghanistan, Amazing Grace…think about it. But tell him the truth .”
    Nikolas was staring morosely at his bleeding cuticle, frowning deeply. “Will you let me think about it?”
    “Can you think and fuck at the same time?”
    Nikolas quirked his lips, still considering his nail. “I always do, only I’m thinking about you.”
    Ben enjoyed a shiver of undiluted lust running down his spine, and pushed his fingers into Nikolas’s hair, snagging and tugging the strands. “Let’s go upstairs so you can think about me a lot.”
    § § §
    Ben wanted to ask if the sheets had been changed since Jackson had lain on them, but he didn’t want to complete his descent from man to the something else he’d resembled lately. He fell on them, regardless, Nikolas lying over him, kissing and biting into his neck, undoing the buttons on his shirt. Ben repaid the favour, yanking Nikolas’s shirt off and throwing it to the floor. Naked from the waist up, they eased apart, Nikolas straddled on his strong body, sitting over Ben’s hard cock.
    Ben put a thumb up and brushed over Nikolas’s bruised and swollen cheek, his black eye. It was all the apology Nikolas was going to get, and he seemed to understand this, flicking Ben a knowing smile. He began to rock lightly, which made Ben groan and arch. The sensation was intense, magnified through the material of his jeans. The friction dragged his foreskin along his sensitive shaft, which leaked evidence of his anticipation onto the faded denim. Nikolas scratched at the damp spot with a nail and tremors of desire shot from Ben’s cockhead to his balls. He needed to be fucking. He needed to thrust into Nikolas, take his pleasure in that hard, lean form. But Ben could see the same thought in Nikolas’s expression. This was the difficulty of them both being men.
    Usually they agreed to take turns, or one would be content to take the other inside with no reciprocation. This was not one of those nights. Both had territory to regain, status to recapture, punishments to inflict…
    Ben suddenly turned and flipped Nikolas off, pinning him to the bed. He was heavier and stronger than Nikolas. Nikolas would never admit to this latter claim, but he didn’t contest it either, Ben noted, usually finding subtle