Makarovia! Yes, I Know Where That is! Sophomore Year - 13. Chapter 13

The end of the semester was coming and we had to study. This time I was glad there were no distractions. The pressure just built the closer we got to the semester’s end. With any of the other students, how you did during the semester determined how well you would do during exams. Peter was a good student. He studied hard. There was one drawback as in we didn’t get a lot of time to enjoy college life. No parties and almost none of the football games or campus activities. The few times we did, it was a little chaotic for everyone, so we stopped going. I didn’t really miss it, we were busy. The house invasion and other issues being royal on American soil, security issues…we were busy! Parties and games were low on the priority list. We planned since my grandmother was not going for Christmas to Makarovia, to have her for Thanksgiving that week. Boris was fixing the dinner. I offered help. It was an American holiday, my holiday! It was the last one as exclusively American for me, but nooo, Boris was going to do it. Okay. I was glad he was, he was a damned good cook.

One certainty with colleges and universities; term papers! I hate them. Almost with every single subject, you wrote a paper. I helped Peter with his, but I would miss things as well. He knew the subjects. He was smart. You had to know what the professor wanted and give it to him. He had a professor that…right as he was, wanted the paper in English, which Peter did! The paper he turned in that came back and had red marks all over it. I didn’t tell him to do it, but he handed in his next paper written in Makarovian. We had a Cyrillic keyboard and the computer had the font. When the professor got it he said. “I can’t grade this. I don’t speak Makarovian.” Peter’s response was. “I do, along with several others including English, though English is just one language I can speak better because I use it every day and read and write it. Since you don’t, do I take points from you because of that? It's right, with everything you ask for written in this. I know because I wrote it correct in Makarovian. You can have someone else grade it. What’s in it is accurate. It’s right. Even someone speaks Ukrainian they can read it, the tense and usage will be a bit different, or…you can send it to someone that can read Makarovian. In Makarovia! How many languages do you speak? What you want is in here, but you can’t read it, so I’m not graded well because I don’t understand the English language enough to do a paper?” The professor agreed and assigned an advisor with the English language was needed. I wasn’t qualified even though I spoke the English language my whole life. I was…slightly offended. Kind of. Many nights we would type on both our computers to do various papers and other research needed for whatever subject we were studying. There were times I had a paper and he didn’t, but we would study together in the study or the other way around. When it was just reading or looking at the textbook, we studied together on the sofa or on the floor. I wasn’t kidding about Peter liking to bother me. We were on the floor. I was propped against the sofa as Peter was stretched out on the floor beside me and slightly ahead in front of the warm fire. It was very nice and peaceful. He was barefoot and his feet were next to me. He blew a breath, tired of reading what he had been studying and dropped his head on whatever he was reading and his foot inched over to me, his head was still down, he wasn’t looking at me, but his foot began moving to my leg where it moved against it, and then moved over my leg to my inner thigh and up.

I chuckled as I kept reading. “Can I at least finish this page?” His foot didn’t stop as his toes began moving over my crotch. I let my head fall back on the couch and tossed the textbook away. “The Hell with Geoffrey Chaucer, I’m tired of reading Old English for now.” I came over stretching out over him. “I don’t like poetry much anyway. The Canterbury Tales? The Nun’s Tale just tells me things haven’t changed much of the centuries.” I said as my hand went up his shirt to feel the warm smoothness of his back. He rolled over so I could access his chest and over great parts of him. I smiled at him as my hand went to his hairy chest.

His grey-green eyes sparkled. “That time, I was really bothering you…on purpose.”

I nodded. “Yes, you were. I love you, too.” I grinned kissing him a little consuming, which, of course, just stoked the passion we already had, causing him to bring me closer. We had a pretty nice study break! We were enjoying the afterglow when there was a knock on our door. “Just a second!” I said loud to whoever was at the door. I smiled at Peter. “I don’t care, but do you want to at least put pants on?”

Peter nodded. “Olek, you and I were naked in the pool with Yuri, but...”

“What if it’s not Boris or Yuri?”

Peter nodded as he reached over and picked his up and put them on as I did. “Okay.” He called to whomever.

Boris entered with a silver tray with two mugs on it and saw us both bare-chested and…well, sex smells. Okay? You could see it on our faces, too. He grinned at us. “So sorry for the interruption, I hope I didn’t knock at the wrong time.” He said sincerely.

I shrugged. “We can always resume, but no, we were done…for now.”

Boris chuckled with a nod, bending over and putting a big mug of steaming coffee for Peter down and that cold latte I love down. “Love at your age is pretty good.” He stood up reflecting on what he said. “Then again, sex at Yuri’s and my age is pretty good, too.” He shrugged. “Sex is just…good. Love is wonderful.” He put the tray under his arm. “I just thought some coffee was due up here.”

Peter took his and sniffed like he always did first. “You’re a good man, Boris. If you weren’t married and we weren’t engaged, I’d ask you to marry me.”

I grinned at Peter. “We’d have to move to another state or country to do that.” I chuckled. “The countries that allow polygamy don’t like homosexuals…the state that allows polygamy doesn’t either. Besides, I don’t think either of us could handle Boris from what Yuri said.”

Peter laughed at that, but Boris’ eyes widened. “What did he say about me?”

“That after nearly twenty years together, you still excite him,” I said simply.

Boris did turn a little pink at that. “Well, that’s nice to know.” He grinned. “He tells me often, but it’s nice to know he lets others know. No details, but he says it others.” Peter and shook our heads at the details part. “I’ll leave you to your…” he grinned more, “studies.” He waved at where we were and what had happened and winked. “Just to tell you, he always excites me, too.” He frowned. “He does things sometimes; when I’m working…just to do it. I’m working!”

Peter chuckled. “Okay, but if you’re doing something that won’t keep, I understand, but you can always just…go and do it.”

Boris smiled. “Who said I don’t?” He said simply and walked out the door.

I brightened. “Good for them! Now,” I said pushing Peter down again, “do we keep going? Or is it study time again?”

“If those are my two choices? I vote we go some more.” Peter said putting his coffee down pulling me down again kissing me. He hugged me gently, but tight, but added with a near whisper. “What you do to me, Eric. I’ve never been so happy.”

“I feel the same way about you, Peter.”

The webpage for Makarovia was taking shape! There were prettier pictures of the city of Stryia and the others. The countryside and it all looked beautiful. Those three photographers from Northeastern did a great job. The photos of the family were taking shape as well. I sighed as I saw mine. I was joining the family. I needed to get over whatever I was feeling if I knew what the feeling was or even about. My picture was there as current Earl of Stryia and future Prince of Makarovia. It said that just below my picture. The world was seeing this! Maybe that was my feeling of being ill at ease. There were pictures of King Olek the First. To me, he was a very, very handsome man. The Olek we knew and loved took a lot of his great looks from this man. Olek’s mother, King Olek the First’s first wife was there. Queen Alla was a former model! Her pictures were always good. Peter’s pictures were there, but there was a lack of ones from before he was twenty-five. I could see Olek the First in Peter as well. With feedback to Dean Sutton, I was having a special link done on the website to how Makarovia became what it was. A big logo to point to The Holocaust. It was that event that really shaped Makarovia. I found out about this wonderful doctor that had done these therapy sessions and understood why she’d done it. Her mother was Jewish. Her father was Jewish, his father was Jewish and his mother wasn’t. They were all Jews! Rachel Lowenstein. A truly gifted and brilliant woman that struggled because of her heritage and because she was female to get an education, but she did it. She got her parents out of Austria before it was too late and moved to Makarovia where she stayed and helped the others fleeing from elsewhere in Europe. She struggled again when the Soviets incorporated Makarovia into the USSR. She was the one hiding the tapes and records from the Soviet militia but worked with many that escaped to Makarovia. We began to add some of the written testimonials to that page but were waiting for the rest of the clips to finish. Guests could see the authentic letters and writings and see a translation.

Peter’s and my schedule was tight. True to what I said to Makarovia and true to my own heart, Peter was my first concern. Don’t see it as me be self-sacrificial. I wanted to be there for him. There was no sacrifice, he was a major part of me. Make no mistake; Peter was the same way with me! He would see the strain on my face, come over and just begin touching me. Not for sex…though many times, it led to sex, but…it was stressful. His touch would bring that stress down in me. Our minds were focused on our work, but I would see him hunched over the books or computer. I’d hear the change in his breathing or hear the tired sigh…I just knew! One night, I let the first grunt go after I looked up and saw he was still typing. On the second grunt, followed by the frustrated light pound on the keyboard, I got up and walked to his desk. I pulled him up from the chair and pulled him to the other room. “You need a break, Baby. So, do I.” He didn’t fight me about it. “It will still be there when you get back to it. You need to relax.”

Peter grunted as I pushed him down on his stomach on the bed, straddled over his lower back and butt where I began messaging his neck and shoulders. “You need to relax, just like me,” Peter said muffled by his face in the bed.

I nodded. “Yes. I will, but right now, you’re feeling the stress more than I am.” I said as I worked feeling the knots in his muscles under my fingers. “Man, you are tense!” I kneaded the muscles more making him groan a little but it was a groan of relief of some of that tension.

“I am.” Peter agreed. “English shouldn’t be that hard. I don’t have to translate much anymore, I understand most of what I say without doing that, but writing it!?”

“You have that assistant assigned to help you,” I said simply.

“Who doesn’t speak Makarovian!” Peter complained. “She speaks English, French and a little German…that’s it. How do I tell her what I want to say in Makarovian to get what’s needed to say in English?” He said helplessly.

“I’ll help you,” I said grinning, leaning down kissing his knotted muscle on his left shoulder. “I speak Makarovian, you know? And English. What are you doing this paper for?”

“Statistical Analysis.” Peter groaned. “What are you studying?”

“English Literature,” I said. “I wish there was a course on Makarovian Literature.”

Peter chuckled. “You have to have Literature from Makarovia to have that.”

I stopped for a minute surprised. “Wait. There aren’t any writers or artists of any of those in Makarovia!? I have a hard time believing that.”

He shrugged. “Most the artists, writers and other good works were lost. The newer works of writers, sculptors and painters were in the last hundred years if there were any. We were plundered a lot in the past.”

“That makes sense,” I said. “With the sudden influx of gay men, many I’m sure were artists. We need to find those works.”

Peter’s head turned. “But they aren’t from Makarovia.”

“Neither am I.” I waved at the study room. “Tell me that Bren and Milo weren’t Makarovian!” I challenged Peter.

“You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t,” I said lowering my face near his ear. “How many people in Makarovian can say, they were born and raised in Makarovia? You told me there were very few. The rest came to Makarovia because of what it was; a haven.” I threw my arms out. “We’re all immigrants from somewhere. Olek even said I was Makarovian! He’s a king! When I marry you, I will officially become Makarovian. If Olek and Helga marry…” I grinned, “and I think they will. Any child born will be half German in heritage, but Helga will be Makarovian when she marries Olek.” I sighed. “Any work of art, book or sculpture done by anyone in Makarovia, after they become Makarovian is Makarovian Art!”

“Okay.” Peter chuckled offering no resistance.

I wasn’t finished. “You’re going to tell me…on those long winter days, trapped in their homes by the freezing weather and snow with nothing to do but make love…and they would tire of that sometime…humans have limits. They didn’t create anything during those downtimes!? They for the most part…are GAY!! A lot of male artists are gay! We had a lot of gay men! Of course, we had artists!” I asked and answered my own question. “Where are these great undiscovered works?”

Peter chuckled looking at me. “I thought this was to relax me.”

“Answer the question,” I demanded lightly.

Peter grinned. “They were bound to make friends with other people…maybe they left these works of art with them! The family would past it on in the family. I don’t know where they are.”

I flipped him over. “We are going to find out!” I said smiling at him more. “I just know there’s a hidden treasure there,” I said excitedly. “We are going to find it.” I was feeling the thrill of new potential.

Peter nodded and pulled my face to look at his grey-green eyes. “Think about it, Eric,” Peter said beginning to explain. “What was the one thing we were good at? Hiding.” I nodded as he went on. “Not just people, but things! Everything before was…taken. They couldn’t take what they don’t know is there. The palace itself was hidden inside a fortress! In order to keep what we had, Makarovians hid what we had.” He said simply.

“I understand that.” I nodded but feeling great about this idea. “I can see how it happened, but Peter…baby…we could have works hidden that would surprise the world! Isn’t it time to stop hiding? We’re giving the world uranium! We’ve let them in. Now, we show them what we’ve got!” I grinned. “In fact, I’ll make my first Makarovian wide royal decree!”

Peter’s eyes widened at this. “You are?”

“I, the Earl of Stryia, future Prince Eric Ivanov of Makarovia decrees that all art, writing, sculptures by any artist, especially from 1935, worth keeping should be shared with all of Makarovia and the world! If it was worth keeping, let us see it!” I said.

Peter’s smile grew. “Oh, now you want your title.”

I shrugged. “The title is always there, I just didn’t like using it too much,” I stated simply.

“It opens doors.” Peter reminded. “Doesn’t it?”

I grinned more directly at him. “I know of one Makarovian work of art I really love and like to see.”

Peter looked confused. “What’s that?”

I unbuttoned his shirt. “Born and raised in Makarovia, by Makarovians.” I ran my fingers through his chest hair as his smile grew and he nodded as he understood what I meant.

“Well, I’m half…”

“No, you’re not!” I said kissing him quickly to stop him. “When Mom married your father, she became Makarovian. She was Makarovian when you were conceived and born. You are a living Makarovian work of art.” I stretched out over him. “I can’t get enough of you, Peter.”

Peter smiled. “I’m glad you think so. You always did. I gave everything to you I can. I’ll give more.” He said softer. “I love you, Eric. With every part of me. I love you.” He ran a hand over my face. “I have the greatest work of American Art here with me.”

“I know you do, Peter,” I said softly, indulging myself in the hairs of his arm and chest. My little desire to do this no longer caused him to jump or start, it just…was. “I do and will love you with all I am until time runs out.”

“I know,” Peter said pulling on my own shirt.

Peter and I weren’t playmates, we weren’t together just to have sex. We part the whole that made of two separate parts that were solidifying as we both touched our own bodies…even if that body part was a part of someone else. Again, no sudden burst of passion, no urgent need to claim what was ours, but a slower, more meaningful act of love.

We finally had to get up again. There was more studying to be done. I saw something I had never seen blinking on my computer. Nothing would be added without Yuri’s okay, so I clicked it. Nothing happened. I frowned and heard Peter look surprised.

“What is this?” Peter asked seeing the same thing on his computer.

Then Boris’ face appeared. “I see you’ve found the intercom icon Yuri just added.” He said smiling at us. “I told Yuri about what happened and I never want to interrupt, so he put this on our computers. You can contact me or Yuri from there.”

I smiled at the man. “Boris, you didn’t interrupt anything.”

“Maybe not.” Boris agreed. “But now, if you want coffee or something to eat while you’re studying, I can bring it to you. Or if you need Yuri, the same thing.”

Peter chuckled shaking his head. “That’s it.” He said happily. “We are going to marry you and Yuri.”

“I agree,” I said to Boris. “We love you and Yuri. Thank you for helping us while we’re here. You two are wonderful people.”

Boris chuckled. “Well, it’s the least Yuri and I can do. You are both working so hard. For who? Makarovia! Yuri and I are Makarovians. It’s our privilege to work to support you two. Do you want coffee? It’s late.”

Peter looked at the clock, it was after midnight. “No, we’ll be heading for bed in a minute.”

“You need rest, too, Boris.” I reminded. “Do me a favor.”

Boris’ face got serious a second. “Anything I can do.”

“Go find Yuri, if he’s not ready to turn in. Get him to bed and go to sleep.” I said smiling. “Both of you, and make love before you go to sleep.”

Boris smiled and chuckled at that. “We usually do. We love you two.”

Peter looked at me. “We know.”