The Knife that Twists Within - 2. A trace of someone before

The world, watched from the view of a street painter, was very strange to Nicholas. His knees hurt and the palms of his hands were grazed and burnt. But every evening, after his job as a sales clerk in a large shopping centre was finished, he was drawn out onto the street, armed with his box of chalks and with the little copies of the paintings he so loved to draw.

It was the next-to-last Saturday before Christmas and the streets were an anthill of jostling people, with heavy bags, irritated faces, tugging kids and the wall-to-wall Musak which tried to lift them into a pleasant and anticipatory mood.

Nobody took any notice of the young man who, calmly and undisturbed, drew with his chalks on the cold pavements of the shopping arcade. The skies had been grey for the entire day and a cutting wind blew, but Nicholas' cheeks glowed. As always, he only had eyes for his chalk drawing. He closely inspected the ring with the emerald stone that the young man was wearing in the reproduction, lying on the ground in front of him. Deliberately he selected the sea-green chalk and sketched a perfect copy.

He sensed without looking up, that from time to time, a few people stood and watched, making comments. He never listened though, not minding anyway. He knew his painting were good. He would much rather have drawn the lad the way he looked beneath that expensive shirt, and coat hanging elegantly over his shoulder - naked and in a provocative pose. He undressed every handsome man in his mind in order to carry out with him the most exciting things, although . . .

Nicholas sat back on his heels. His knees hurt too much. He looked at he coloured drawing in front of him. Some coins jingled into the open box beside him. Startled, he looked up into the friendly eyes of an old woman. But he wasn't begging. Feeling slightly hurt, he bent down and smudged a too sharp contour with his fingertip.

A rain drop splashed onto the face of the painted lad. More followed. Nicholas stared at the heavens and cursed. Quickly he gathered up all his chalks, wiped his fingers and got up. The people rushed for shelter into the entrances of the shops or struggled with their umbrellas. Finally Nicholas was alone except for the rain drops falling.

"He’s beautiful."

Nicholas jumped and turned. Behind him was a man. He stood so close that he could feel his body heat. The man smiled and pointed to the drawing. "Raphael." Again the man smiled and Nicholas could not but respond. Then he looked at the ground and watched as the image of the young Bindo Altoviti melted in the pouring rain, the colours swirling and mixing to a mid of chalk. His heart bled.

He knew of course that what he painted on the streets was destined to disappear, but he never had to see it going. He painted, went away and never returned. He had created and it was his for ever in his heart. But to see the destruction was hurtful. Nicholas closed his box of chalks with a click.

"Can I invite you to a drink? Coffee, tea? It's cold and you are soaked."

Confused, Nicholas turned around. Oh yes, the man. He had almost forgotten him. He was again smiling his disarming smile and Nicholas nodded mechanically. The man touched him slightly on the arm and guided him into the next coffee bar.

Lost in his thoughts, Nicholas stirred his coffee cup and watched how the milk swirled and disappeared - like his painting.

"You can talk, can you?"

"Huh?"

Nicholas looked into the dark brown eyes of the man opposite. Damn! He was already smiling again. How old did he seem to be? Late twenties? About seven, eight years older than he. His hair was wet from the rain and it had made it dark. He looked pretty good and Nicholas himself thinking how he could pull off his clothes to study what was under them. Blood flowed into his groin. The man wore an expensive leather jacket, tight jeans and Italian shoes. His light grey woollen pullover perfectly suited his rather dark skin.

"Sorry. I was thinking." He tried to avoid looking into those dark brown eyes.

"You do this painting for your private enjoyment? Or is this your job?"

"Private."

The eyes observed him more insistently.

"My name is Marcus."

"Nicholas."

"Why are you doing this in the street? Why not on paper? Canvas? You're very talented."

Nicholas looked up. The deep voice reverberated in his ears.

"Can you tell from this?"

"How old are you?

"Twenty."

"Academy of Arts?"

Nicholas shook his head. Academy of Arts! The name aroused unpleasant memories. What did this Marcus want from him? He darted a glance at the man opposite. His hair was almost dry and revealed the actual colour: deep brown, almost black. Nicholas felt uncomfortable under his gaze. Marcus wore no ring on his finger, and gave no evidence that somebody else would be waiting for him at home.

"Would you like to come with me?"

Nicholas almost swallowed a mouthful of coffee the wrong way.

"Pardon?"

Marcus didn't answer, Nicholas couldn't interpret the look in his eyes, so he just returned the gaze. Marcus leaned back and relaxed on his stool.

"Suppose I have something you could be interested in."

Nicholas was still looking. Yet, what could it be? Interested in? His cock? Does he want to show me that? Did he always pick up his fuck mates this way? Nicholas found he was shaking. What made him think this man was gay?

"Gaydar."

"Huh?"

Marcus tossed some bank notes onto the table, rose and stretched out his hand.

"Come."

To Nicholas' great surprise he drove, not to Marcus' flat but to the centre of the city to a former factory building now used as a loft. While he was still asking himself why he had gone with a man he didn't know, Marcus opened the iron door to a huge room with large windows. It seemed to be an artist's workshop and instantly Nicholas forgot his doubts and inhibitions.

The room was full to the brim with strange and wonderful things.

Beautifully shaped legs, long and hairless, winged heels, smooth, dark skin polished until it gleamed. He danced on tiptoes upon the breath of the Wind God Zephyr and pointed the way high up with his caduceus, held tightly.

Nicholas' fingertips outlined the muscular back down to the tight buttocks. He sighed soundlessly. Lovingly he looked at the bronze cast of Giambologna's "Flying Mercury".

There were glass and wooden shelves and cupboards with dusted glass doors whose contents could only be seen as vague shadows. Fingerprints in the dust: peepholes into an unknown world. Between the cupboards and the shelves were stacked broken spears with long-time rusted, perhaps blood-encrusted, iron tips.

An old sword stuck into a rock. It had an odd resemblance to King Arthur's sword. Nicholas stepped closer, grabbed the hilt with one hand and pulled lightly. It did not move.

Another hand was placed tightly over his own and loose his finger gently. He heard a deep voice in his ear:

"You are not the chosen one, my dear. Me neither!"

Nicholas pulled his hand from the sword as if it were red-hot. Embarrassed he stepped away and looked around. The rubbish dump of history seemed to be gathered here, broken pieces of an exhibition, blind busts of Roman emperors, faces with chopped-off noses, maimed limbs made of marble and gypsum, oxidised bronzes.

Nicholas looked up and noticed a framed copy of a Michelangelo drawing hanging on one wall between others. He thought the male head was beautiful and stepped closer to get a better look. Again he sensed Marcus behind him, the very presence of his physical body.

"Is it a woman or a man, do you think?"

Nicholas was silent. The figure wore an earring and female finery on its head, like a turban, but the expression on this slightly austere face was androgynous enough for Nicholas to see it was a beautiful young man with full, soft, so kissable lips.

"A man," he said huskily.

Marcus laughed quietly. "A man," he repeated and Nicholas felt the warm breath on his neck.

"Tommaso de Cavalieri, Michelangelo's young admirer and friend. The old master was infatuated with him. I can definitely understand it. He is beautiful, isn't he?"

Nicholas turned.

"You too think it is a man? But all the experts say it is a woman."

"Well!" Marcus grinned. "Then we will have to ask Michelangelo himself." He shrugged his shoulders.

"Are you interested in all these things? Look here." He took up a little alabaster copy of Donatello's David. One arm was missing and lay on the table beside it. Suddenly he took hold of one of Nicholas' hands and inspected it. Nicholas flinched and tried to take his hand away but Marcus held it tight. "Wonderful hands," he whispered and stroked it cautiously. Nicholas felt his palm begin to sweat and finally was able to pull away.

"Would you enjoy working for me? Cataloguing all these things, repairing, preparing for an exhibition? I'm planning to make a second one as well as my picture exhibition." He paused as he saw Nicholas' eyes widen. He laughed.

"Think about it."

Nicholas was dumbfounded.

"Hungry?"

"Huh?"

Marcus screwed up his eyes, laughing. "Can't you answer with something else than 'Huh'?" Nicholas was embarrassed again. This man must think him a complete idiot. He looked down at his worn out shoes.

"Yes, I'm hungry. And..."

Marcus stared at him, relaxed as always.

"And...?" he whispered encouragingly.

"I wanted to thank you. And... I'm sorry for my stupid thoughts back in the coffee bar."

"Your thoughts?" Marcus raised an eyebrow. "Do you think I can guess your thoughts?"

"But you have..."

Marcus grinned. "Your face is an open book, my dear. I can read everything that is in your mind." He lifted one hand as if he wanted to stroke Nicholas' hair but let it fall again.

"I'm Marcus Weidenbruch."

Nicholas' jaw dropped.

"THE Weidenbruch? The most famous Art promoter in town?"

Marcus didn't answer. He didn't need to. He read in the lad's face that we wanted to run away from the place. He certainly didn't like the thought of keeping company with one of the richest men in town. But then was Marcus responsible for his wealth? It was all inherited but he was too tired to try to explain or make excuses.

"What's wrong, Nicholas? Am I now a different person when you know I am rich? It's always the same, whenever I mention my name I sense a holding back, a dislike - or over excitement. I hate this. It hurts me, you understand this? I'm never sure what the reason is that people say they like me or want my company. Do you understand? Is it because of my money or because I'm a likeable man?"

Marcus stopped abruptly. This explosion of his own feelings startled him. Now where was his self-control? Was it the innocent face in front of him that confused him so much? The violet-blue, sparkling eyes, in whose depths lay something he couldn't interpret... the vulnerability of a child. He felt an urge to comfort him. Then he shook off the sentimental feelings.

"What do you want to eat? There's no kitchen here and you don't want to come with me to my home do you?" One look into Nicholas' face told him that he didn't.

"OK, I can order something. Hamburger? Fries? Pizza?"

"Chinese."

Marcus raised an eyebrow. "Chinese." He took it as an order, pulling out some loose notes from a drawer and searching for an advertisement for a Chinese take-away.

"Chicken, pork, roasted duck, fish?"

"Duck with peanuts and rice, please."

Marcus grinned. "It's your favourite, isn't it?" He turned, dialled a number and ordered. Then he clapped his hand together and asked, good humoured, "Now tell me a little about yourself. You are a pavement artist for your own amusement. What else would you like to do?"

Undress you, was the immediate thought which came into Nicholas' mind. To paint you naked. He assessed the tall figure which was only a few centimetres taller than he was. The strong thighs in the tight jeans. The obvious bulge in the crotch. He looked for other signs as to how Marcus' body would look in the nude. Such dark types with black hair and dark eyes were usually covered in dark body hair but his forearms, which were visible because Marcus had pulled up his sleeves to his elbows, didn't reveal any body hair. This was something Nicholas liked, how the light would have to shine on bare, smooth skin. He knew exactly in his mind how to draw a portrait of Marcus, sitting on a chair, legs spread apart to reveal his balls and the dark trail which led to his hole. He would need a spotlight to let the light fall from one side and illuminate a glow on shoulders, chest, one thigh and knee. It made Nicholas' fingers tingle and this feeling continued until it met the tingling in his groin.

He saw Marcus' gaze and felt his own cheeks flush. Damn it! The man must think he was really stupid. Pull yourself together!

"Pardon?" he said weakly.

"What else do you like doing?" Marcus answered calmly.

"Nothing other than painting."

"What sort of paintings do you like? Modern Art? Expressionism? Impressionism? Oh I remember, you liked that young lad of Raphael, right, the one you drew in chalk on the pavement? Have you also painted on paper? I'm sure you have."

"Yes, I have. Mostly portraits."

"Would you let me see them sometime?"

"Of course. If you are really interested."

"I am, Nicholas. I watched you all the time this afternoon and I like the way you drew the lines so confidentlyly and chose the colours. You don't take long to make your choice for the right colour. You have a natural talent for this. That's unusual. Do you sketch with a pencil, too?"

Nicholas nodded.

"Interested in sculpture?"

"Oh yes. I like the things here. Where do you get all these from? And why are they broken? Who repairs them?"

Marcus smiled his special, infectious grin.

"First I'm glad you like them. Second, they come from all over the world, especially Italy, Greece and Turkey. I've got stocks in all these countries and freelance and employed workers who buy up private collections whose owners for some reason or other find they have to sell them. I attend all auctions and public sales in Europe personally, sometimes in New York, too. This - " he stepped up to the marble bust with a chopped off nose and damaged eye "- is about two hundred years old. It's a copy of an old Roman piece and represents the emperor Trajan. Do you know anything about Roman culture?"

Nicholas shook his head. "Only a bit."

"It doesn't matter. I have graduates working for me from the Academy of Arts, who have degrees in archaeology and are proficient in sculpture and restoring. What you see here is only a fraction of what I'm collecting to sell."

As Marcus spoke his eyes glistened with the light of a true enthusiast. He pointed into the darkness of the room which was shrouded in twilight and Nicholas could just make out some larger object standing there.

"What are they?"

"Furniture, old paintings."

There was a knock at the door. "Ah. Our food has arrived!"

Later Nicholas lay in his small bed at home and pondered on the events of the evening. What had happened to him? Had he finally found someone who would care for him? If yes, why was he doing this for him? What made Marcus think he could be any good at restoring all those broken things as well as his other employees? Why did Marcus think he was good enough at painting to give him such a chance?

But you are good at it, answered his alter ego. You know that. Don't be so self-effacing; there's no need for it.

He conjured up Marcus' face in his imagination. He was incredibly handsome - at least he thought so. He had almost the same austere beauty as that face in the drawing by Michelangelo though without the female touch. Marcus must have dozens of lovers who would cling to him like leeches. Well, his love life had not been mentioned this evening and Nicholas could scarcely ask him bluntly how many lovers filled his bed - his doubtless spacious bed with perhaps silk sheets and pillows.

Nicholas suddenly felt uncomfortable in his own cramped single bed. What could he see in me? A 'pick-up' from the streets who could satisfy Marcus' feelings of charity because it was Christmas time...

Nicholas moaned and turned onto his stomach. The movement caused pain to his erect penis. Pain and incredible pleasure... Marcus had mentioned the graduates from the Academy of Arts. Well, they were luckier than he was. He had never made the final exam, although he had attended the course. But that was something Nicholas didn't want to think about right now - it was too painful.

He suddenly thought of his father who was a metal worker in a factory and had to stand for hours on end in the suffocating heat of a steel foundry. He had never understood his son's ambitions. He was a simple man and knew exactly what cost per unit his work would bring but nothing about Art and its expression. There was no profit in Art and he prophesied Nicholas would end his life on the streets. Nicholas smiled a half grin. Well, to a certain extent that had turned out to be right.

In his mind Nicholas checked his wardrobe. There was nothing there which would make an impression on Marcus. Faded jeans, worn-out shoes, old pullovers and shirts. He had never placed much importance on his appearance.

His thick dark-blond hair desperately needed a trim. But he suddenly felt the memory of the touch of Marcus' fingers on his own palm which sent a warm feeling into Nicholas' stomach. He strengthened the pressure on his penis and rubbed it gently on the sheets.

He desperately wanted to see Marcus naked but was afraid of what would happen later... the caresses so warm and soft at the beginning would change into brutality, into pain and hatred. He never wanted to feel this again. Was Marcus different? Could he make love without hurting?

Nicholas fell abruptly asleep.

* * * * *

As always the shopping centre was in turmoil in these last few days before Christmas. People rushed through the departments, looking for this and asking impatiently for that, hardly waiting for the answer. The incessant background music got on Nicholas' nerves. It was repeated every two hours. What a drag! Every year the same. Customers hurried through the sections as if they were driven by Furies in that desperate search for gifts, most of which would be unnecessary and would soon vanish into dusty corners of the flats.

Nicholas watched middle-aged women looking for gifts for their husbands or sons. Silently and carefully he folded a pair of underpants into a small parcel and scanned the price. He himself would never wear such grey-ribbed cotton underpants but looking at the stale housewife of a woman he saw it was a practical gift for her husband and she would never have the idea of slowly pulling down these pants to reveal the hot, hard flesh and to suck on it...

The woman saw his grin and mistook it for a kind gesture to make the stressful atmosphere of the shop more tolerable. She smiled back at him and paid.

Nicholas served the next woman standing in the queue. His movements were mechanical and this gave him time to sort out his thoughts. From the Christmas bonus that was already in his account he had decided to buy a new black shirt, new trousers, shoes, an outdoor jacket and some sexy underwear - just in case - as he soothed his conscience. Although he wasn't sure what this 'case' might be...

His last meeting with Marcus had taken his breath away. Marcus had shown him all the other things in the loft, beautiful old carved wardrobes and partly painted heavy chests with iron fittings.

He felt a tap on his shoulder. "Coffee Break! I'm here now." Nicholas looked and found Kurt, the senior salesman standing beside him, ready for his shift.

Nicholas went upstairs to th canteen to have some coffee. Here he always met Matthias, the salesman from the electricity department and the only person in the store who knew anything about Nicholas' life. Matthias was already waiting for him and patted the red upholstered beside him. "And? Tell me everything. How was it?"

He passed him the little plastic container with the milk. Nicholas opened one and poured it into his coffee.

"Good."

Matthias raised his eyes despairingly to the yellow painted ceiling.

"Good? Man! Why do I have to pull every word one by one out of your mouth?"

Matthias grinned and revealed white, strong teeth. His grey-blue eyes sparkled. Unfortunately Matthias was straight as a Christmas tree and had a girlfriend, but he knew that Nicholas was gay. Nicholas grinned back.

"Fantastic, I should say. He offered me a job, every evening after work in his loft. There's an old man - a restorer who doesn't seem to have a home because he's always there till late at night, but he can't do all the work before Marcus' next exhibition. So he wants me to help him. It's fun, Matthias, really. As well as that he explained the history of the piece of Art he's working on."

He stared intensely into Matthias' blue eyes, his own sparkling with enthusiasm.

"Have you ever heard of Trajan?"

Matthias partly closed his eyes and wrinkled his nose in an attempt to remember - an expression which always made Nicholas want to kiss him.

"No, I don't think so."

"Anyway, he wants to see my paintings and drawings as soon as possible."

"Who? The old man or Trajan?"

"No, stupid, Marcus."

Matthias gave his friend a long glance. "You like him, don't you? Are you falling for him?"

"Up to my ears," Nicholas snorted. He was thankful that he could always make him laugh - he was such a nice guy.

"Now seriously, Nick. Do you fancy him?"

Nicholas stuck a biscuit into his mouth and nodded slowly.

"I guess so."

"Great! And what about him?"

Nicholas shrugged his shoulders.

"Don't think so."

"No?" Matthias seemed to be disappointed. "But you said he's gay."

"So what? Just because he's gay he doesn't have to fancy every other man. Do you think we fling ourselves on every man in town just because he has a cock in his pants?"

Surprised at his outburst, he stopped and gave a long sideways glance at his friend. "I'm sorry, mate." He sighed. "I only wanted to say that we too have our preferences, like you with your women. Where's the difference?"

Matthias nodded and smiled.

"It's OK. I understand." Then he looked at his watch.

"Shit. I have to go." He jumped up from his chair. "When do you see him again?"

"This evening."

"Fine, I'll await a full report tomorrow, ok?"

Nicholas sighed again. "Ok."

* * * * *

Nicholas didn't know how many times he had stood in front of the Michelangelo drawing and looked at it closely. He liked the light but sure control over the lines with the red conte chalk.

"You like this drawing very much, eh, my boy?"

Johannes, the old restorer took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

"Yes," whispered Nicholas.

"Did you bring your own drawings with you?"

Nicholas nodded. "But they are not half as good as this."

Johannes smiled at him and tiny, deep wrinkles appeared around his pale eyes.

"Marianne and Katja will not be coming today. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve and Marcus has already let them go. What are you going to do tomorrow?"

"Go to my parents. What else?" He turned to face the old man sitting next to him on a stool. In front of him were pieces of an old clay vase, Indian red, which he had sorted and was now preparing to put together.

"And you?"

"Invited to my daughter's. The usual things: Potato salad and frankfurters, then presents for the children. I guess it will be a quiet evening. I'm looking forward to her punch." His eyes twinkled.

"Hello, my dears." They both turned round to see Marcus coming through the door. Nicholas beamed.

"Morning, Marcus." Whenever Nicholas saw that smile it gave him what felt like a punch in the stomach. He was in love, surely, and remembered briefly the talk he had yesterday with Matthias. They had said goodbye till next year and Matthias had wished him all the best and 'many hot nights with his chosen one'. Nicholas grinned at the recollection.

"Now, how's the vase, Johannes? Let me see. Ah, you have managed to sort out all these tiny pieces? That's good. I'm sorry for the mishap." He referred to the fact that he had dropped the vase a few days ago. But this piece would only be for his own house anyway so it wouldn't matter if some of the cement traces showed or not.

"I think that's enough for today. Everything's done. I'll see you on the fourth of January, Johannes. Merry Christmas." He gave him a medium-sized parcel, prettily wrapped in coloured paper. Johannes' eyes smiled his thanks. "Thank you, my friend. You don't have to do this, you know."

Marcus smiled. He watched him say goodbye to Nicholas and go out. Then he returned to the young man.

"Now you have something for me to look at?"

Nicholas got out a large portfolio. His heart seemed to stick in his throat as Marcus opened it, pulled up a chair, sat down and silently looked at one drawing after another. From time to time he glanced at Nicholas.

"Good. I like them, Nicholas. Where do you get all the models? People you see in the street?"

"Memory mostly or fantasy."

Marcus nodded. "And the watercolour paintings?"

Nicholas gave him a second case. Marcus leafed through the paintings in the same attentive, slow, appreciative way. "Pretty." He pointed to a scene of a lake whose shore was covered with plants and trees. "You did this outdoors, didn't you? I'm sure I know this place."

There was a sound at the door and Marcus turned round.

"Oh, hey, Sebastian, come on in."

Nicholas tensed. The man coming through the door exuded sexual appeal so obviously that it filled the room - literally but Marcus didn't seem to notice, beckoning him over to look at the paintings.

"Look here, Bastian, how do you like them?" He paused. "Sorry, buddy. This is Nicholas. I guess the biggest talent I have discovered for years."

Nicholas blushed slightly as he felt the green-grey eyes piercing him. This was the first thing Nicholas noticed. This bright eyes in a regular face which got it's interest by a strong nose and sharp outlined lips. His sandy hair hung in waves to his broad shoulders and the grip of his hand was very firm.

"I have heard about you, Nicholas. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Nicholas had to clear his throat before he could speak.

"Nice to meet you."

"Sebastian is the oldest friend I have. We were together at boarding school in Switzerland."

"Oh," was all Nicholas could manage.

"And," Sebastian grinned, "I was his first lover."

Marcus pulled up an eyebrow but wasn’t able to hide his own grin. “Right”, he said then, leaning in to murmur into Nicholas’ ear, “it's a long time ago."

Sebastian smiled his very charming smile, blinked at Nicholas, and peeled off his heavy woollen coat. He threw it carelessly over a chair and bent over to look at the paintings.

Marcus turned back to the door because he had seen a movement out of the corner of his eyes. He frowned instantly. Nicholas looked in the direction and saw an older man standing uncertainly in the doorway. His short, thin hair was grey at the temples and his lips were twisted into an insecure smile. The lamp light reflected on his glasses.

"What do you want?" demanded Marcus.

Nicholas was startled by his cold voice. Marcus went up to the older man and stood in front of him. "I have nothing more to offer you, Alexander. And you know that. I've told you already. You had your chance now now it's over. You'll never get another one. I'm sorry."

"But, Marcus, listen to me, please." The voice of the man was harsh and despondent. "What shall I do? I'm too old to get another job and you have made sure that what I did is known half way around the city. Nobody now will give me a job!"

Marcus shook his head and sighed deeply.

Nicholas was embarrassed by the scene and he cast a questioning glance at Sebastian who was standing calmly, following the incident with little apparent interest.

Marcus stuck his hands firmly into the pockets of his trousers. "Go now, I'm busy."

"But what about the job in your workshop? I could make lists of all the things and I still have some good connections."

"The place is taken already." Marcus' angry eyes turned for a second to Nicholas. "It's too late."

Alexander's head drooped. "Well then," he said - almost a whisper. "Bye."

He turned and shuffled away.

Sebastian said nothing but he and Marcus exchanged glances. Marcus turned to Nicholas who was looking at him curiously. "This was nothing," he said reluctantly. "A dismissed employee, that's all,"

Nicholas didn't know what to think. The charming and gentle Marcus had changed before his eyes into a cold and hard businessman. Why should the man have lost his job? But he didn't dare to ask.

Sebastian bent down again over his paintings.

"They're beautiful," he said after a while. "Have you any more?"

"Yes, but these are the best . . . in my opinion," he added.

"I'd like to see all of them. It would show how you developed. Bring them next time, will you?" Nicholas nodded. Marcus looked at his watch. "Time to go." He thought for a moment.

"Would you like to come with us?"

"Where?" Nicholas' voice sounded a little startled.

"To a restaurant. Where else did you think?"

Nicholas had never been in such a restaurant nor indeed in any hotel resembling the Four Seasons. It was in the Grunewald, the most exclusive area to live. The 'Four Seasons' was a new hotel and its interior had been designed by Karl Lagerfeld, one of the best and most eccentric fashion designers Germany had ever produced. According the prices were astronomically high and Nicholas was glad that he had worn his new shirt and a pretty expensive dark grey pullover.

As he opened the tastefully designed menu he was astounded by the prices of the food and especially of the wines. He watched how confident and self-assured his two companions behaved in this select area and Nicholas felt insignificant and stupid. He left it to Marcus to choose the dishes and drank the magenta-red French wine which to him had a slightly woody taste. He couldn't say he liked it specially.

Sebastian was wearing a silk, bluish-green shirt which complemented perfectly the colour of his hair and gave his grey-green eyes a deep emerald glimmer. Nicholas watched how the dimmed light behind him painted his hair silver and created something like a halo around his head. He regretted not having his sketch book and a pencil with him. Nicholas thought his skin was clear and the colour of marzipan . . .

"How do you like your venison, Nicholas? You have eaten almost nothing so far. Is anything wrong?"

Nicholas blushed. "No, no. it's all OK. It tastes . . . wonderful."

He picked up a piece of rose-coloured meat on his form and put it in his mouth. It was indeed like butter on his tongue. He dipped a piece of the dumpling into the cranberry sauce and tasted. His face lit up. He smiled at the two men who returned his smile.

"Now, Nicholas, when will you be having your first exhibition?" asked Sebastian.

"Exhibition? Me? You're joking, aren't you?"

Sebastian looked at Marcus. "Didn't you tell me he's the biggest talent you had for years? What's stopping you exhibiting his paintings along with your own in January?"

"Nothing," answered Marcus simply.

"What do you mean, Nothing?" Nicholas put down his knife and fork and grabbed his glass of wine.

"You don't like the idea?" Marcus' dark eyes reflected a point of light, from the dim lamps beside him.

"But of course I like the idea. You never told me you intended to do it though."

"The pictures you painted are very good."

"But I have only painted one little thing in your workshop. And the others I just showed you - are they good enough? How can you judge from this to exhibit my paintings?"

Marcus smiled. "Experience, my dear. Just experience. This man by my side knows me like the palm of his hand and could tell that I was going to exhibit your paintings as soon as he say your watercolours - and my expression."

"Oh," Nicholas nodded. Sebastian filled his glass again.

"Do you like the wine?"

"Well . . . "

Sebastian laughed. "OK, you needn't answer. What do you usually drink?"

"Beer. Cola."

"I like beer as well but not with this superb venison. Would you like some desert? Omelette with egg-flip, vanilla ice-cream and wild strawberries?" The emerald eyes seemed to gaze into his very being.

"Yes." Nicholas felt weak. What was this sexy man doing to him?

After another glass of wine which tasted much more pleasant, Nicholas gained the courage to ask Sebastian what he did for a living.

Sebastian seemed slightly put out at the question. He wiped his mouth with his napkin.

"What do I do? Well actually nothing."

Nicholas stared at Marcus and then looked back at Sebastian. "Nothing! God. I wish I could do 'nothing' for a while."

Marcus looked at the rosy cheeks of the young lad. What a wonderful boy, he thought. He wished he had been like him when he was his age. Interested in all new things, shy yet knowing exactly what he wanted to do. And determined to succeed. He had fallen for those beautiful violet-blue eyes, the sensitive mouth, the fresh complexion and the mature body. But most of all he had fallen for Nicholas' charming personality. His thoughts were intelligent although he was not always able to express them in an intelligible way. But he was so young; he had all the time to learn.

"You'd be bored soon," he heard Sebastian's voice.

"Are you bored?"

"He works for me in Rome, Nicholas." Marcus said. "Did you hear that the Galleria Borghese was re-opened recently?"

"Yes I have. I've never been to Rome. It's the museum with all the Bernini sculptures, isn't it?"

Sebastian nodded. "Why don't you come and visit me?"

Marcus shot a barbed glance at his friend. Sebastian caught it and was a bit confused. Seconds later it dawned on him that Marcus wanted the lad for himself. Bad luck, boy, he thought to himself, but it never occurred to him to fight against his old friend. Well there are other pretty Roman boys waiting for him though none with this innocent look in his face and so much pain in his violet eyes . . . He looked at Marcus and gave him a silent sign.

Marcus understood. "I think we should go. Will you come back home with me?"

Nicholas hadn't answered Sebastian's question or invitation, and now the moment had gone. He got up. The waiter came to their table, and Marcus signed the bill.

"Will you?" Marcus asked.

"Yes."

The whole time Nicholas was sitting beside Marcus in the taxi he asked himself what he was being led into. He wanted to be with Marcus but he was afraid. His heart was beating hard in his chest and his mouth was dry. He could feel the warmth of Marcus' thigh against his own, could see him from te corner of his eye; saw his profile, the straight nose, the full, red lips, the cleft in his chin and above them the shock of black, shining hair. He was breathing calmly and seemed very relaxed.

Nicholas thought about Sebastian who had taken another taxi home. The young man had confused Nicholas. He had played on the keyboard of his feelings like Rachmaninov and Mozart, fiercely and with tender subtlety - both at the same time.

But then Nicholas banished the thought of the tall, sandy- haired man from his mind. All he wanted was to touch Marcus' bare skin, to caress the shape of his body, to taste him, to smell him, to melt into him. Again blood filled his groin and he shifted uncomfortably.

It was only a short journey to Marcus' house set in the exclusive residential area of the Grunewald district. As they stepped out of the car Nicholas saw a large house set amongst fir and chestnut trees and a drive led to the entrance. It was cold and his breath condensed in the air. He was trembling.

Marcus led him through the gateway and silently to the front door. He pulled out his key and unlocked the door, stepped inside and waited until Nicholas followed him. Silence surrounded them. Nicholas sensed the warmth and a pleasant smell, but couldn't identify it - a sort of mixture of lemon and cinnamon.

He waited for Marcus to turn on the light but he didn't. In the dim light that came from the street lamps outside, he led Nicholas up two stairs until he stopped in front of a door.

"Come here," Marcus opened the door to a room which seemed at first to be complete darkness.

Slowly Nicholas' eyes adjusted and he could make out the rather small room, almost empty, but he could see the shadowy shapes of several easels and tables. Now he realised that the soft light came from the ceiling and from a large window opposite.

Marcus switched on the lights and the room was suddenly filled with soft light coming from lamps on the walls and tables, some covered with thin material which took any harshness away from them.

"This is my private workshop." Marcus looked at Nicholas who stood stock-still at the doorway. He touched him on the shoulder and drew him in. The ceiling was almost completely made of glass which could be tilted an make the studio bright and flooded with light.

Nicholas stepped up to the easels to find a canvas but they were empty.

He touched the paintbrushes standing in glass jars, the adhesive tape, palette knives, paper clips, water mugs, fixatives, palettes, looked at the twisted and almost squeezed dry tubes of oil-paint. Unpainted canvases stood around the walls, along with a very comfortable-looking sofa and some chairs and stools.

Marcus sat down on one of the stools. He let his hands lie relaxed on his thighs.

"I have no Christmas present for you. I'm sorry." His eyes held the gaze of the young lad.

"What would you wish for if you could ask for anything?"

Nicholas fingered one of the paint brushes and ran the soft martin hair over his palm. He didn't know what to answer. Suddenly and unexpectedly Marcus pulled his pullover over his head and threw it aside. Nicholas followed the flight of the garment with his eyes and would gladly have plunged his face into the soft fabric to smell its scent.

Marcus went to the heating, turned it on full and pulled out a spotlight from a corner. Nicholas watched. Marcus searched for a sketch pad, pencils and conte chalks. He placed them on a table, moved it nearer the sofa, turned and slowly unbuttoned his white shirt. He did it in such a seductive way that Nicholas felt hot. He wiped his sweating palms on his black trousers and could only watch in silence as Marcus revealed little by little his upper body, until the shirt was completely off.

He had no body hair, and his skin was milk coffee brown with the soft glow of velvet. The muscles of his upper arms were visible and Nicholas could see them moving lithely with every movement Marcus made. His chest was well-defined and lead to a flat, hard stomach. The rest of his body was covered by his dark blue trousers.

"The only present I can give you is me," he heard Marcus' sultry voice.

Nicholas took a deep, rather jerky breath.

"I'm sure you have drawn a naked man before, haven't you?"

Nicholas nodded slightly. He hadn't said a single word since they had stepped into the room.

"Is the light OK?"

"Uh." Nicholas cleared his throat. "Will you stay with this pose? I mean, sitting on he stool?"

Marcus grinned. "You want to ask if this is all I'm going to take off." He paused a moment. "No."

His fingers found the belt, opened it, then the button and the zip. In one smooth movement he stripped his trousers to his ankles and stepped out of them. His boots followed and then his black socks. Without a pause, he grabbed the waistband of his sexy white briefs, pulled them down and threw them upon the pile of discarded clothes. Then he sat on the stool and opened his legs.

Nicholas swallowed hard. He still stood there stock-still and watched the beautiful man in front of him.

Hundreds of times he had dreamed of this situation and he had always feared that - if it came true - he would pass out or, worse, his fingers would tremble so much, he would never be able to hold the pencil steadily. But nothing like this happened. The artist awoke in Nicholas. He was able, calmly and level-headed to gauge the proportions. Then he grabbed the paper and the conte chalk and began to draw what his eyes saw. The spotlight was set perfectly at a diagonal angle, so that it shone on Marcus' shoulder, his upper arm, the thigh and knee and partly on his penis, lying softly along one of his thighs, like a sleeping, rather thick snake, waiting to be awakened.

One of Marcus' arms hung freely beside his body, the other lay on his heavy, hairless thigh. He shook his black glossy hair back and closed his eyes.

Nicholas knew he couldn't hold that position for long. Soon his back and shoulders would ache, so he sketched as quickly as he could. The broad shoulders, the arm and leg, all the contours of his body he could trace with his eyes. That wasn't difficult for him. He could easily transfer it later more carefully. What he was really interested in was the soft glow of Marcus' skin. The body colour, the jet-black trail of fine hair leading from his navel into the curled hair of his crotch. And again even more interesting the colour of that thick cock and the smooth balls beneath.

It seemed to Nicholas that the resting snake stirred a little and expanded, because of the intensive stare of the artist.

Marcus loved it when someone looked at him, but Nicholas' cool reaction astonished him a little. He had feared he would run away or resist, but his reactions told of the true artist. Marcus knew he would look now from the point of view of an artist, but the expression on Nicholas' face told him that he was liking what he was looking at.

Suddenly the chalk fell to the ground and Nicholas put down the block of paper. He blinked a few times and focused his gaze on Marcus' eyes. Marcus saw the rosy glow rise in his cheeks and knew immediately that the artist in Nicholas was gone, leaving behind the shy, young man, that Nicholas always was. Marcus sensed the session was over and bent down to pick up his clothes. He was cold.

"No," a muffled cry came from Nicholas' throat.

He stepped forward until he stood in front of Marcus, still sitting on the stool, who felt suddenly a feather light touch on his shoulder, on his neck, leaving a trail over his upper arm and back to his ear. It was a very warm fingertip and Marcus felt his skin erupt into gooseflesh. He shivered. He felt he had never been touched in this way before. He closed his eyes and felt a pair of moist lips searching for his own until they met. Marcus opened his eyes abruptly and, startled, Nicholas stepped away but Marcus stretched out his arm and pulled the young man back, pulled him tightly to his chest between his open legs and felt the fabric of Nicholas' trousers and inside the hardness of his penis. Their lips met and after a few moments of soft kissing both found themselves in a passionate exchange of saliva and dancing tongues. Marcus gave a scarcely audible moan and let his hands wander over Nicholas' body. He desperately wanted to feel him naked but didn't dare to undress him in case he scared away his shy lover.

Nicholas' hands burrowed in his dark hair, glided over the muscles in Marcus' back, kissing him behind his ear and leaving a trail of saliva on his skin. He felt Marcus' engorged hot flesh through his trousers and let his hands roam down his stomach into he pubic hair to meet the moist, leaking cock.

He clasped it in his hands and caressed it with long, slow strokes. Marcus moaned louder. Nicholas released his tight grip and stopped to lick at Marcus' ear, then fell down on his knees and without a moment's hesitation leaned forward and pressed his lips at the point between the shaft and his balls. Then he slid down further to bury his face in his crotch and lick the hairless balls. To seemed to Marcus that this went on for hours, so delicious was it. What was this boy doing to him? Nicholas had suddenly lost all his restrained and was uninhibitedly sucking at the crown of his cock.

Every so often shivers of delight ran through his body and Marcus heard low noises and heavy breathing and was not sure whether they were sounds of pleasure or pain.

Marcus knew though that Nicholas had definitely done this before and was astonished at his skill. He rolled his balls with one of his palms, rubbing his shaft with the other and sucking at the same time. It wasn't long before Marcus knew he was about to come. He threw back his head and at the same time pushed his hips forward, deeper into Nicholas' mouth.

Nicholas didn't back away. He sucked on the hard flesh like a baby and made approving noises until Marcus clasped Nicholas' head and his body spasmed. He gave a loud groan and shot his semen into Nicholas' mouth. The feeling was so intense that he almost lost consciousness and would have fallen off the stool if Nicholas hadn't held by his thighs and around his waist. Cum flooded out at the corners of his mouth, dripped over his chin and onto the floor. With a final moan, Marcus regained his composure. He opened his eyes again and found Nicholas' face buried in his crotch and licking the base of his still hard shaft.

Marcus shook his head and wiped the sweat from his chest. Then he grabbed Nicholas by his forearms, pulled him up until he was level with his face. The boy's face was flushed, his dirty blond hair stuck to his forehead. Marcus lovingly wiped some white traces off his semen from Nicholas' chin and licked it. Then he grinned and put his mouth to Nicholas'. Their lips met and again they exchanged their saliva and the remains of his cum and the bitter-sweet taste of it.

"Will you stay with me tonight?" he said huskily. "It's late, you don't have to go home."

Nicholas stared into the intense burning eyes and knew he couldn't say no. But then fear replaced this happy feeling. He frowned slightly. Marcus saw it and his heart sank. What was wrong with this lad, he asked himself. He had flung himself on him and sucked him like a starving animal and now he didn't want to receive the same from him. He sighed.

"As you like, baby. Although I don't understand. Will you try to explain to me some time?"

Nicholas didn't answer.

"Honey." Marcus took Nicholas' hand and stroked the palm lightly with his middle finger. "Do you remember the first night we met?"

Nicholas nodded, his gaze lowered.

"Do you remember the sword? I told you, you are not the chosen one."

He paused for a moment and but didn't stop stroking his palm. The voice echoed in Nicholas' ears. He felt slightly dazed but not because of the wine he had drunk.

"It was a lie. I didn't want to scare you away. I knew right from the start that I wanted you. And the only thing that stopped me flinging myself on you like an eagle on its prey was my brain. And the inner voice that told me it would hurt you. I wanted you to feel safe. I didn't pick you up purely for my physical pleasure. Do you believe me?"

Nicholas head was still lowered.

"Look at me."

Abruptly Nicholas lifted his head and stared into Marcus' eyes.

"What do you want from me?"

Marcus let his hand fall, breathed in heavily and seemed to be disappointed.

"Nothing."

Nicholas stood up. "Nothing?" he echoed. "Well then I should go to bed. I'm tired. Where can I sleep?"

Marcus got up and went, naked as he was, out of the door, upstairs and opened a door for Nicholas.

"Good night." Marcus' voice was only a whisper.

"Good night."

*

Water splashed in hard drops into Nicholas' head. He lifted his face to meet the water jet and opened his mouth. His body relaxed slowly and he felt the arousal grow in his groin from the tender caress of the hot water.

His hand firmly grasped his ball sack and rubbed its silky surface, then went higher and slid with his middle finger over the head of his erect penis.

He knew exactly what Marcus had wanted from him. To share his bed, to make love to his body and perhaps to his soul. Just thinking about it made Nicholas' stomach feel as if it had had an electric current through it.

His hand firmly grasped his member and stroked it in long time learned practice.

Nicholas couldn't understand himself. He imagined Marcus' body, the strong thighs, he tight ass and the pleasure it would give to him to feel him bare skin to bare skin. So why, he asked himself, don't you stop torturing yourself and let Marcus go ahead. Why are you such a damn coward?

Then in his imagination appeared another face with white- blond hair and thin, pale lips. The face of his teacher at the Academy of Arts.

It had always been difficult for Nicholas to stay calm when they had a lecture in nude painting and the model was male. He could barely hide his hard on during the two hours and he always therefore wore loose, baggy trousers.

His teacher, the white-blond, 30 year old Frank had said he was the best pupil he had ever had in years. He had hung Nicholas' drawings in the classroom pointing out his work as shining examples and had even taken some of them home with him. Nicholas wasn't altogether happy with that. Frank made no bones about the fact that he was gay and the other students didn't appear to mind. Frank had invited Nicholas to work with him, to train him to look at objects properly and Nicholas had enjoyed this until the pleasure turned to hatred.

Nicholas stopped stroking his penis. He grabbed the bar of soap lying in the dish and began to lather his chest.

Frank had been a likeable guy, though his humour seemed a little twisted and the pictures hanging on his walls showed muscle men in heavy leather clothes showing their large, erect pricks.

Nicholas felt the slippery surface of his soaped skin and it reminded him of the blond hairs on Frank's chest. In fact his whole body was covered with a fine, blond down and, together with his very pale, ice-blue eyes, he resembled an albino - but all that he found out later. Nicholas was interested in the colour of his skin from an artist's point of view, a porcelain-white which could never tan.

He spent his evenings drawing pictures of Frank which he drew as well as he could from memory - but he never showed him a single one of them.

Nicholas didn't know exactly when it was that Frank started to undress him. Nicholas' first thought was that he wanted him to pose as a model for him, but as he began to open Nicholas' fly, he knew what his teacher wanted.

Nicholas' erection was gone. He noticed it as he bent over to wash his feet and between the toes. He stood up again and felt the blood flush into his face. He still felt ashamed that he had to been so naive, has trusted him.

Frank hadn't kissed him. He only grinned a wicked grin and Nicholas hadn't noticed it because his eyes were fixed on the porcelain skin which his hands glided across. He had always dreamed of a long, sensual seduction, lingering kisses and a tenderness that leads little by little to a passionate climax. But Frank wanted nothing more than the passion.

He searched for the own, relentless satisfaction of his desires. Very soon Nicholas found himself naked upon Frank's double bed and watching Frank undress. He hadn't minded in the first place that Frank's hands were rough and it had hurt as he had clamped his mouth around his cock and grazed it with his teeth. He thought this was only an expression of passion and once the first rush was over, it would come to a quieter, more lingering tenderness. But in this he was mistaken.

Nicholas had his eyes closed so he did not see when Frank had pulled a condom on, bent over him, put a cushion under Nicholas' buttocks, spread his legs and pushed into him.

Nicholas had never felt such agonising pain. He tried to lower his legs, tensed all his muscles to push out the big, unwelcome, intruder only to produce the opposite effect. Frank's cock had slid deeper in, forcing through the sphincter. Nicholas screamed and heard Frank's throaty giggle. "You like this, don't you?" Nicholas wanted to hit him in the face but his fists were gripping the bedcovers tightly. He couldn't escape and had to put up with all the pain his teacher was causing.

At last it was over. Frank pulled out and left the room. Nicholas felt blood dribbling out of his anus. He closed his legs, rolled over on his side and pulled his knees up high to his chest. He lay there curled like a fetus.

Then he heard water splashing from the bathroom. Suddenly he had jumped up and groaned as he tried to leave. It was hurting immensely. He rummaged for a handkerchief and wiped his crack. The blood-soiled cloth he threw on the bed, tried to dress as fast as possible and left the house.

That had been the last time he had entered the Academy. He tore up all his drawings and paintings of naked men and tried not to be gay anymore. It was of course impossible.

The rip healed only slowly. He wasn't able to shit and he got the most terrible stomach pains.

Nicholas soaped his crack now and flinched at the thought of the pain he had felt that time. After days of pain he had visited the doctor because he feared something bad had really happened. He could still see the disgusted look on the face of the young doctor examining his ass with cold fingers who could barely bring himself to touch him. He could read in his face that this 'fucking queer' had only got what he had deserved. Nicholas was immensely relieved to learn that it was nothing life-threatening and prescribed an ointment. But he would never forget those hours, the pain as the rape had happened and the pain afterwards. He felt dirty inside himself and with every attractive man he met, the feelings returned, the questions, the doubts. He never wanted to feel such pain again but something deep inside him urged him towards the beauty of the male body, to the firmness of male flesh. Surely there must be a man for him somewhere, the answer to all his dreams.

Nicholas stood motionless. He saw Marcus' dark eyes and felt again the touch of his stroking fingers along his palm, felt the soft kisses from his lips and tasted once again the sweetness of his semen in his mouth. He sensed that he would never do anything that Nicholas didn't want him to do and - Nicholas almost smiled - there was always the possibility of being a top, that would certainly transfer the fear of being hurt again. But in reality his body craved to lie down and be caressed, to be taken and to be carried into a state of bliss he had so far not yet experienced.

Little by little the rip had healed, likewise his heart. Nicholas knew that not all men would behave as Frank had done. In fact there must be many men with whom it must be a pleasure to love, without pain or abuse. He consoled himself with the thought that he only had to keep his eyes open.

Then he had taken a job as a sales clerk in a large department store and spent his spare time painting.

Nicholas shivered. He turned on more hot water and let it splash over his body. His body relaxed and he was aroused again. Closing his eyes, he concentrated his thoughts on Marcus and the image of Frank faded. His hands washed away the lather and Nicholas felt better. Much better than he had for months. He heard Marcus' voice in his head telling him that he wanted him, he wanted him to feel safe and had made no attempt to rape him. There was no sign in Marcus' behaviour that he wanted to hurt him. Neither with words, nor with his body.

Nicholas opened his eyes again. He turned off the water, stepped out of the shower and towelled his body dry. You will never know, he said to himself, how it is to be loved by Marcus if you never try it!

He looked at himself in the large mirror. He was certainly not as handsome as Marcus. Too slim but his flesh was in the right proportions. His shoulders were broad, his skin smooth and he moved with a catlike grace.

He looked at his tousled hair which, wet, appeared much darker and at his violet-blue eyes. He tried to grin.

Abruptly he turned, left the bathroom and pulled on a robe which was hanging behind the door. Again he smelled the scent of lemons and cinnamon and something else. Nicholas realised it was the scent of Marcus; fresh and musky, masculine yet soft, both exciting and calming. His body felt relaxed after the warmth of the water as also did his mind. What if he should go to Marcus right now and tell him everything that had happened to him? Certainly it would be good to speak of it, and everything else could be up to Marcus.

Would he want to be loved by him? To be touched in the same way he touched him? Nicholas' body screamed yes, but his mind went further and wondered what it would lead into. He wasn't ready for all this. But how long did he want to wait? There, so close, was someone who seems to like him. But then he had thought the same about Frank. His instincts didn't seem all that reliable.

Almost without thinking, Nicholas left his room and stood at the bottom of the staircase. Opposite some light came through the crack under the door. It must be Marcus' room. Silently, on bare feet, he walked over the thick carpet, knocked softly at the door and opened it. The room he stepped into was dark but there was another door from which the light was coming from. Still silently Nicholas went to the open door. He found Marcus lying on the bed on his stomach, his head resting on one arm, eyes closed. The light from the little lamp on his nightstand made his face soft and relaxed like that of a little boy. Nicholas stopped by the bedside and knelt down.

Marcus opened his eyes. In a second he sat up and watched, almost disbelievingly, the young man kneeling beside him. He couldn't interpret the expression on his face, so he stretched out one hand, stroked the smooth skin of his cheek and whispered, "Come in."

Nicholas obeyed. He dropped the robe, crawled across Marcus and stretched out at his side. Marcus pulled him to his chest and stroked his damp hair.

"What have they done to you? Will you tell me now?"

"Not yet. I have thought a lot. About you. About . . ."

"About?"

"Somebody."

Marcus sensed that Nicholas liked the closeness of his body. There was none of the threat that he must have feared. At the moment his mind couldn't interpret this and probably didn't need to. Nicholas felt the stroking hand on his hair and heard the breathing of a still unfamiliar body. Marcus didn't insist on an answer. Not tonight. He felt the hot body beside him, smelled the scent of the soap and breathed in deeply. He would give his soul at the moment to make love to this smooth body cuddled in his arms - but didn't dare.

It was so long ago since someone had shared his bed and the memory was not pleasant. His lover and he had broken up because they couldn't live together. Marcus was always away, on business in many countries and one night he had found him with a stranger in his bed and had thrown him out of the house. His thoughts went out to Sebastian who was certainly sleeping like an innocent baby. He would never bother about unhatched chicks, lie awake at night worrying about things that had not yet happened. He took what he could for his pleasure but had never consciously hurt another person. Marcus feared the time when Sebastian would fall in love, really in love and would get paid back all the heartbreak he had himself caused. A fickle person like him probably wouldn't be able to stand this.

Marcus sighed softly. The heaviness of Nicholas' head on his shoulder told him he was asleep. He was surprised. Perhaps he had minor problems that he had thought, or maybe he - Marcus - had been the solution of his problems.

He reached over and turned off the lamp. It was dark in the room and the only sound he could hear was Nicholas' regular and calm breathing. He wondered what would happen in the morning. The thought made him excited but at the same time he feared it. It was almost morning before he fell asleep.

*

Morning light flooded through the slats of the blinds and crawled over the bedcover. Nicholas had pushed away the midnight-blue, silk sheet while he slept and now revealed the upper part of his body.

Marcus awoke and at first was a little confused to find Nicholas at his side. But then he remembered last night and lay on his side, propped on one elbow and watched the young man sleeping peacefully. Cautiously he stretched out a finger and touched the warm skin. He had never felt so much pleasure in touching another man although he himself loved to be touched. It was as if Nicholas had opened a locked gate. He felt so sorry for the lad; obviously he had gone through some nasty things. How, he wondered, could he help him out of his situation.

Nicholas stirred and his eyelids flickered, he opened his eyes and looked straight into Marcus' face bending over him. It smiled and Nicholas smiled back.

"Morning, honey."

"Morning."

"Slept well?"

Nicholas yawned and rubbed his eyes. Then he was aware that he was lying naked beside the man of his dreams and suddenly he felt warm. Not only warmth radiating from the man beside him but also a mental warmth of understanding. He drew closer to him and felt the hard cock against his thigh. Marcus pulled him even closer to him so that his head lay on his chest. He stroked him, soothing the soft hair.

"Feeling better?"

Nicholas murmured a sound which Marcus took for yes.

"What are your plans for today? It's Christmas Eve."

Nicholas had almost forgotten this. He propped himself up on one elbow and stared into the face beneath him.

"I have to go to my parents. This evening," he added.

"This evening? So you have time to stay with me and tell me all about yourself."

Marcus paused for a moment. "Do you have any brothers or sisters?" he asked.

"No, I'm the only one."

"I guess your parents are proud of you."

Nicholas raised an astonished eyebrow.

"Proud? Why should they be? I have . . ."

"What do you have?"

Nicholas sighed. "I don't understand why you should think so."

"But I do, Nicholas. I would be proud to have a son like you."

Nicholas felt confused.

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-nine."

Nicholas grinned. "So it's impossible for you to have a son like me!"

Marcus snorted. "I guess, yes." Then he pulled him back to his chest and played with his hair.

"Will you tell me what's wrong with you. You promised last night. Remember?"

"Yes". The answer was hardly audible.

Although he didn't really want to tell what had happened he felt he could trust Marcus. Maybe he would find comfort . . . and understanding.

"When will you show me your house? I'm anxious to see it."

"Soon, honey. And I'm anxious to see your drawing of me!"

Nicholas still felt the hard cock pushing gently against his own thigh. His hand slipped under the blanket and stroked it lightly. Marcus twitched and grabbed hold of his hand.

"Hey, boy, not so fast. This time it's my turn."

Nicholas didn't know what was happening to him. He felt a tongue flickering over his nipples, leaving a moist trail on his skin down to his crotch. He shivered at the coolness and the warmth both at once. Marcus caressed his inner thighs and planted soft kisses around his groin.

Nicholas thought he was still dreaming. This couldn't be true, this increasing pleasure. His breathing became heavy as he felt a warm, wet mouth covering his penis and a tongue circling around the tip, snaking into he slit. It was too much for him and without warning he shot into Marcus' mouth.

Marcus continued to stroke his thighs and to suck on the crown but so tenderly that it didn't hurt.

Nicholas' back was still arched but then he sank into the sheets again. Marcus lifted his head to see a single tear run down from the corner of Nicholas' eye. He released the cock and lay on top of him, his weight supported on one arm. He gently wiped away the tear and kissed him on his mouth. Nicholas tasted his own cum and felt all of a sudden as light as a feather. He stroked Marcus' back and upper arm, and smiled.

"That was quick. You needed it badly, right?"

Nicholas stared into his dark eyes. "Love me. Make love to me."

Marcus blinked but didn't answer. Nicholas stroked the stubble on his chin.

"Please."

"Not before you have told me what you worry about."

"I don't want to talk about it now. You don't want me?"

Marcus sighed. The lad was really hard to understand.

"Nicholas, I do want you. But I don't want to hurt you - do something wrong. I really have to know your story first."

He raised himself and stood up. Then he turned and pulled Nicholas with him. "Come into the shower with me. I want to feel your mouth again!" He grinned at him.

Nicholas followed.

After a long and luxurious shower under the hot water, they sat in the dining room, eating scrambled eggs and sausages.

They sat on strangely-shaped chairs which were more comfortable to sit on than they looked. Marcus called them scissor chairs. He took another bite and said, "You're a good cook, What else can you prepare?"

"You mean to say you can't cook? So what do you eat all the time?"

Marcus grinned. "I have a housekeeper who does all those sorts of things for me."

Nicholas stared at him but said nothing. They sat in silence for a while until Nicholas said. "You think I'm not very bright, don't you?"

Marcus put his knife and fork down on the plate. He looked the young man up and down. "I can't understand why you have such a low opinion of yourself. It's no good. If you want to become a real artist, you mustn't doubt yourself so much. Not in yourself, not in your ability to create wonderful things."

His voice rose forcefully and his expression serious. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

He leaned forward. "You can't just sit there and say 'Oh well, my paintings look very good and I will just rest on my laurels.' You have never to be satisfied with what you have done. But all the same you should never surrender the confidence that you can achieve and the belief in yourself. Everything that I tell you in the future is because I believe in you. You are good. You can be better. You see? It's not enough to want to be only 'good'. There are always things you can improve." He paused. "Nobody is excluded from this. Certainly not me. And, Nick, I certainly don't think you are not very bright. That's impossible. You are so loveable but you have a lot to learn. Will you?"

Nicholas held his gaze steadily. "But I will never be you equal? We shall always be teacher and pupil."

Marcus shook his head. "No. You are my equal. I have the utmost respect for your gift. I will never become as good as you are. Never. But you have to fight for your talent."

Nicholas stopped chewing. His eyes sparkled. "I will," he said simply.

His gaze turned towards an object standing behind Marcus on the sideboard. He got up from the table, picked it up and looked at it carefully. It was an antique looking oil lamp. A man squatted and between his legs a huge penis stood out. Nicholas laughed.

"Now, what's that?"

"Terracotta."

"So?"

"It's an old Roman oil lamp, the oil would be poured in here," Marcus lifted the man's hat, "and would come out here." He pointed at the opening in the penis. "I bought it at an auction in London."

"Very expensive, I guess." Nicholas' fingers cautiously touched the slightly rough surface. Marcus followed the movements of the slender fingers and wished he would stroke him in that way right now. Nevertheless he didn't want to tell him the price; it was probably more than Nicholas earned in a year.

"I've never been to London . . . or Rome," said Nicholas regretfully.

"Would you like to?"

"I'd love to."

Marcus changed the subject. When to you have to go to your parents' home?"

"Around 5 p.m."

"Well then you have plenty of time to tell me your story."

Nicholas carefully put back the little terracotta figure on the table. His eyes looked round the room.

It was filled with antiques, cupboards covered with rich carving, tables with lion's feet. There was a box-shaped cupboard with a heavy base and above it four pillars won which stood a second, longer box with drawers. Its doors were covered with floral carving. Nicholas found it beautiful.

"Is this oak?" he asked. Marcus nodded.

"Old?"

"Very."

There were other pieces whose polished surfaces seemed almost like velvet. The room was not over-crowded, almost the opposite. It showed the supreme good taste of its owner. Nicholas could tell this by instinct. Marcus had followed Nicholas' gaze.

"Do you like it?"

"Will you tell me about the furniture? I really like them. But I guess that painting there doesn't match the warm colour of the table." He stood up. "Look her." He went to a round table made of mahogany inlaid with a pattern of brown, green and red marquetry.

"The beautiful shine and colour of the table and above it that modern painting with its broad blocks of yellow and blue. I think it clashes. The colours fight with each other."

He turned to Marcus, suddenly embarrassed. "Am I talking rubbish?"

Marcus smiled and relaxed in his chair.

"No. You are certainly not talking rubbish. I know they don't go well together. I intended it, Nicholas."

He stood up, standing next to him.

"See, on their own, both pieces are beautiful. The warm colours of the wood and the bright, cold colours of the painting. But each individually clashes with the other and yet emphasises the other's beauty. The beauty of the table and the beauty of the interplay of the colours."

He touched Nicholas' hanging hand.

"You are the first person who has seemed to notice it. Or if there was anyone who saw it, they never told me, perhaps fearing to make them seem foolish." He laughed.

"In front of me - the 'Art Expert'!"

"And," said Nicholas. "Am I foolish to say it?"

Marcus lifted Nicholas' hand to his chest and pressed it.

"No," he said softly. "I guess I am the fool. What you tried to tell me is: Art must be understandable. When you draw a picture you do it in a re-enactable way, in portraits for instance. You are right." He looked at Nicholas and softly kissed his fingers.

"What would you do?"

"Eh?"

"What do you think I should hang there?"

Nicholas giggled. "I don't know - a Stag at Bay?" Marcus joined in his laughter.

"Think about it. I'd like to know."

He still held his hand. "And now, tell me. Would you like to go for a walk? It's cold but the sun is shining."

Nicholas agreed.

"First of all you have to learn to see the purpose. That's what he used to tell us at the beginning of every lesson."

Nicholas' voice was low and Marcus had to listen hard. The wind blew sharply through the bare branches of the trees which stood in the gardens of the large houses they passed. Nobody else was out in the streets and he felt Nicholas shivering in his thin anorak. Marcus cursed himself that he hadn't thought of giving him one of his own woollen coats. Ge groped for his hand and held it tightly in his own.

"Who said that? Your teacher?"

Nicholas nodded. "He was a good teacher. In spite of . . . ."

"In spite of what?"

"I learned a lot from him. The way to see the colours right, to get an eye for proportion and light. And," he looked into Marcus' face, "he was very handsome."

Marcus didn't bat an eyelid. What was he trying to tell me, he wondered. 'He was very handsome'. Many men were handsome.

"He always said I was his best pupil and so on." Marcus paused. "What did you call it at the coffeebar where we went the first time?"

Marcus face betrayed his incomprehension.

"When you realised that I was gay."

"Oh. Gaydar."

"Yes. How did you know it?"

"I don't know how I knew. It doesn't work every time. Only sometimes."

"Anyway. He invited me to his home several times. I liked it. I liked him, but then . . ." Nicholas swallowed.

Marcus felt his hand start to sweat and pressed it soothingly.

"I thought he liked me, si I didn't mind when he began to undress me. I wanted it too. A bit of fun . . ." His voice trailed off.

"It happened so fast. He flung himself at me ... and ... and ..." Marcus stood and looked at him, appalled.

"You don't have to tell me, baby." He pulled him closer and stroked his hair. "I can imagine. He hurt you, didn't he?" He felt Nicholas nodding.

"Badly?"

"Yes." Nicholas freed himself. Marcus put his hands on his shoulders.

"It was your first time?"

Nicholas nodded.

"Shit! How long since it happened? You visited the doctor?"

Nicholas sighed. "Yes. It's been eleven months now."

"And since then you've never . . . ?"

"No."

Everything was clear to Marcus now. Except for one thing. "What about the Academy? All over?"

Nicholas started to walk on, then turned and grabbed Marcus' hand. "All over. I never saw him again."

"He seemed to enjoy it," he added.

"Enjoy it! Good God! I'm so sorry, Nicholas. It breaks my heart to hear this and I guess I now understand you better. I . . ."

"I'm happy if you can," Nicholas interrupted.

"But of course, I do. Of course." He stood and kissed Nicholas on his cold lips.

"I'm glad you told me. Am I the first? Yes? OK. Let's turn back."

Marcus felt lost. He didn't know what to do. He wanted Nicholas dearly, to feel his body, his sweet kisses, his wonderful, sensitive hands. He wanted to sleep next to him and wake up with him like this morning. But could he? After all Nicholas had told him? Then he remembered Nicholas' asking him to make love to him and he realised that this was the last attempt to shake off the shock which had remained with Nicholas since that event.

"But the worst thing was that I tore all my drawings up. I couldn't stand the sight of a naked man. I had lost my best friend: the love of painting, and it hurt. Hurt me much more than the rape."

Marcus flinched inwardly at the harsh words as if he felt physical pain. The he blurted out, "I was the first man you drew nude since then, right?" He put his arm round him. "I'm eager to see it. Come home quickly."

*

Nicholas stood in front of the building where his parents had a three-room flat. He felt slightly sick. Soft snow flakes floated down onto his hair and glued themselves to his eyelashes. His feet were cold in his shabby shoes.

Somehow the scene suited his old blur anorak, but he was still wearing his new grey pullover and black trousers. Underneath them, though, he wore a pair of Marcus' briefs he had 'borrowed' from one of his drawers. They made him feel somehow safer to face his parents - especially his father. He looked the old house with its peeling plaster up and down. It was a typical 'barrack block' built during the Thirties for workers on a low income.

Up until five years ago his grandmother had lived with them and Nicholas had had to sleep in a little windowless room. After her death he had moved to her room and finally had had enough space for his books and drawings with which he covered the walls.

The heavy dark brown door opened and an old man appeared, loaded with bags and boxes wrapped in coloured paper. As he saw Nicholas he stopped.

"Merry Christmas, Nicholas. Come to visit your parents?"

Mr Reisig was their next door neighbour.

"Hello, Mr Reisig. And you are going to see your son?"

The old man beamed. "As you see! The grandchildren are growing up and here I have all their presents."

Nicholas grinned and nodded. He knew that Mr Reisig lived on a small pension and saved his money the whole year to buy his three grandchildren presents which he couldn't really afford.

"Enjoy the evening. Merry Christmas, Mr Reisig."

The old man pulled down the earflaps of his cap. "The same to you, my boy."

He plodded on through the snow.

Nicholas gave a last look at the run-down facade and opened the heavy door. An unwelcome coldness greeted him. The iron mailboxes were rusty, the walls covered with graffiti and it smelled of urine and dog shit. Slowly he went upstairs and stopped on the third floor. Above him he heard a child crying and the a husky female voice squabbling.

Nicholas sighed. 'Merry Christmas,' he murmured to himself, depressed. He rang the bell. Almost immediately the door was opened by an attractive woman in her mid forties. She smiled at Nicholas and almost dragged him into the hall.

"Merry Christmas, Nicholas. I'm so happy to see you. How are you? Fine? You're looking well."

"Mum, can I take my coat off first?"

He hung his anorak on a hook together with the bag he had brought with him, and took off his dirty shoes.

"Uncle Hans is already here."

"Oh."

From the kitchen a spicy, appetising smell escaped. Nicholas sniffed. "You cooked Soljanka? Especially for me?" His mother nodded. "Also for me! Now, go and say hello to your dad."

He went through one of he doors. Everything was so familiar as he faced cheap, imitation walnut sideboard, above it the framed photographs of the family and the little Christmas decoration with the white bells and baubles, which once had belonged to his granny. The cupboard in the corner, and beside the door, the old sofa with matching armchairs, a table which always wobbled in front and on the opposite side another cupboard with the TV. Immediately Nicholas compared it with Marcus' large living room with its friendly and expensive furniture, the thick ivory coloured carpets, the lilac couch and armchairs and the aquamarine curtains.

Nicholas suddenly felt uncomfortable.

A movement beside him brought him back to reality.

"Nicholas, my dear. Haven't seen you in a long time."

He uncle stood up and shook his hand. He was half a head shorter than Nicholas. Then he went to his father and sat beside him. He looked at him from aside.

"Feeling well?" asked his father.

"Yes."

"How's work?"

Nicholas shrugged. "Dreadful. So soon before Christmas, as you know. Everybody waiting until the last possible day before buying their presents. I wish I had the day's takings from the shopping centre."

His father nodded. "Me too."

He was a slim man, losing his blond hair over the forehead. He didn't like the idea of his son working as a salesclerk, selling underpants, socks and ties. He thought it was an effeminate profession and he would rather have seen his son doing real man's work, a mechanic, or at a petrol station. What he hated most though, was this Academy of Arts with all those terrible paintings - mere blotches - unprofitable Art for bohemians and other useless layabouts. Probably this 'Academy' was crammed full of queers and lesbians in search of what they would call 'self-realisation' and 'emancipation' and he was really glad that Nicholas had decided at last never to set foot again in the building. He didn't want to know what he reasons were. He just wasn't interested.

"So you've not been invited out to a Christmas party? Or New Year?" His uncle's eyes looked at him curiously.

"Well, I wouldn't call it a party exactly."

"So what would you call it?"

Nicholas certainly didn't want to tell him about Marcus. His father would have a fit if he heard that he had met Marcus Weidenbruch. the richest and - according to his father - the most useless person in town. Not to mention that his father would call him a 'fucking faggot'. He searched his mind for an answer.

"Ma - Matthias has invited me. We are going to a movie and his girlfriend will be cooking a meal for us afterwards. There will be some others though."

"So it IS a party?"

Nicholas shrugged and stood up. He heard his mother busy in the kitchen.

"Can I help you, Mum?"

"Yes, you can lay the table." She looked at her son and lightly touched the wool of his pullover.

"Is it new?"

"Yes."

"Pretty."

Nicholas took the big bowl of soup and carried it into the living room. The smoke from the cigarettes curled into a mist through the room. Nicholas put down the bowl and opened the window. It was very quiet outside. In the window of the flat opposite he could see a brightly decorated Christmas tree and under it lay several wrapped presents. A family was gathered around it apparently singing Carols.

His mother came in with the potato salad and steaming sausages while Nicholas put the plates on the table.

They ate in silence, only interrupted by the glugging of the beer which his father and uncle poured into their glasses. His mother sipped at a sherry glass, while Nicholas' thought of Marcus. He had told him he would meet Sebastian to celebrate Christmas Eve but had promised him in the same breath that he would wait for him to come back. A shiver went down Nicholas' back as he thought about the man with the black hair and the tender hands. But there was also a stab of jealousy when he thought about Sebastian. Could he actually trust him? What if they were both doing now - at this moment - indescribable things of passion? At the same moment he called himself a fool. Marcus had promised him nothing. He was not his lover. He had no right to be jealous. The one blow-job hardly counted. And a man like Marcus could break hundreds of hearts.

The fork fell from his hand. Potato salad made a mess on the white table-cloth. His fingers trembled.

"Something wrong?" His father stared at him.

Quickly he picked up the little pieces and put them back on his plate.

He realised that he certainly didn't like the idea of Marcus and Sebastian being together.

*

"Nicholas?" Marcus raised one eyebrow. "What makes you think he stayed overnight in my bed?"

Sebastian laughed. "Oh, Marcus, my dear old heart. I know how comfortable your bed is!"

Marcus leaned over so that his mouth was near to Sebastian' lips. "Would you like to have that feeling again?"

Sebastian's eyes slowly closed. Marcus knew that that meant yes but he had no intention of letting that happen. They had stopped sharing their beds when Simon entered Marcus' life and Se went to Rome to work there for Marcus.

Actually he had no real need to work, but as he had studied History of Culture and Art and worked in the Art/History Department at the University, he liked to work in this area, especially when he could do it in his favourite city, Rome.

Slowly Sebastian drew back.

"Are you tempting me?"

Marcus grinned.

"What do you think about him?"

Sebastian stood up and went to the sideboard to bring the already opened bottle of red wine to the low glass-topped table on the marble block base. He poured a glass for Marcus.

"I don't know yet. He's very talented. Pure in his conception. Does he ever draw anything from his own imagination or only copies of old masters?"

"He did a drawing of me."

Sebastian looked surprised. "Did he? Nude?"

Marcus nodded.

"Then you have made progress with him."

"Only a sketch so far."

"He must have had a good teacher."

"Apparently. But an arsehole too."

Sebastian lifted his head. "Why?"

"Mixed up sex with kinky violence."

"Oh. Nicholas was his lover?"

Marcus' laugh was short and unfriendly. "I wouldn't say that. A quick encounter that left Nicholas needing the doctor."

"Shit!" Sebastian shook his head and drank. "He's so lovable. Reminds me a bit of Simon."

Marcus put back his glass hard on the table.

"Don' talk about him."

"I'm sorry. I know you were devoted to him." His grey-green eyes gazed fixedly at his friend.

"But if you intend to fall in love with Nicholas and to live with him, you will have to tell him about Simon. You cannot make the same mistakes as you did last time."

"Oh come on. Stop preaching to me. It hasn't got that far anyway. Can I 'intend' to fall in love? I don't know whether he's ready for a relationship anyway. In fact, after all that he told me, I'm afraid that his heart is so deeply scared that I don't dare to touch him. You understand?"

"Of course. Take your time. Don't rush things. If he really likes you, everything will be all right in time. By the way, do you think he should go back to the Academy? He cannot do both things, go yo work and go to school."

Marcus sighed. "I know. I'm not sure what to do. I can try to get a scholarship for him, but even on this he won't be able to live and pay the rent. His parents will have to help out and I have a feeling, there isn't much money there. We haven't talked about it yet."

He ran his fingers through his hair and looked at he naked bronze figure of the Roman God, Neptune, standing in front of him. It was Sebastian's Christmas gift for him. He had bought it from an impoveroshed titled owner who needed the money.

In the kitchen, the little alarm clock rang. Sebastian jumped up from the leather sofa.

"The goose is ready."

He rushed out of the room and Marcus smiled affectionately. Sebastian loved to cook and Marcus hated it. "Shall I help you?" he called.

"For God's sake, no!" he heard from the kitchen. "The last time you made fried potatoes we had pieces of coal in the pan."

Marcus laughed, looked for the plates and laid the round table in the corner. The aroma of the of the goose and the red cabbage made his mouth water.

A few minutes later Sebastian entered the room.

"Voila!" The goose was already carved. The meat steamed.

"My, Bastian, you have excelled yourself."

"And now," said Marcus with his mouth full, "tell me all about your sex life."

Sebastian raised an enquiring eyebrow at his friend.

"How many hearts have you broken since our last meeting?" Marcus continued.

"Too many!"

"Come on. I know the Romans are keen on blonds but I didn't notice them queuing at your bedside."

Sebastian laughed his deep laugh.

"You exaggerate shamelessly."

Marcus suddenly looked serious.

"Take care of yourself, Bastian. Think of Simon."

Sebastian wiped his mouth and picked up his glass.

"I will be, baby. You know I'm not jumping from bed to bed. It's just . . . there are so many hot-blooded young men I can't resist, but I think I will have to. I always wanted to have the sort of relationship you had with Simon."

Marcus for a moment looked painfully touched. "It's a long time ago now."

"But his picture is still in your bedroom. Will you tell Nicholas about him?"

Marcus shook his head. "Not yet. Sometime. I promised I will see him later tonight."

"Did you?" Sebastian asked surprised. "He's coming back later?'

"Yes. Probably to finish my sketch ," Marcus grinned. "Maybe I'll have to undress again."

Sebastian returned the grin.

"Good Luck."

*

Nicholas' mother turned around in front of her family to show off her new white blouse, a gift from her son. It had been hard for Nicholas to save up enough money to buy the gifts be he wanted to. His mother had secretly slipped him money she had probably skimped and saved from the family budget. She kissed him on the lips. "Thanks, Nicholas, you didn't have to do this."

His father liked his new shirt. Nicholas saw it in his eyes although he had never in his whole life heard a single word of appreciation from him. Nicholas always felt that he was looking for a something to excuse his failure at the Academy, his job as a sales clerk, his shabby flat, perhaps for his very existence. But then he felt that his father loved him all the same, but could never show it. He wondered whether he would still love him if he knew his son was gay.

His uncle opened the box with his favourite cigarillos. His eyes lit up and he winked at his nephew. "Want to try on?"

Nicholas shook his heard. "I don't smoke, uncle."

"Hans, please. I'm glad he doesn't," his mother said. Uncle Hans turned to face Nicholas.

"Now tell me about your girlfriends. Where are they? Does he ever introduce one to you?" he asked his father.

Nicholas blushed.

"Not as far as I know."

He looked at his son. "Have you got one?" Nicholas shook his head and wiped his sweating palms on his trousers.

"I have no time for girlfriends," he managed to say. His uncle laughed in his high-pitched voice and patted Nicholas' shoulder.

"It will still work out, boy. When I was your age I had deflowered the whole street where I lived." Now it was Nicholas' mother's turn to blush.

Nicholas stood up and looked at his watch.

"I have to go now," he said. "Sorry."

"Ah, a date?" His uncle stared at him curiously.

"Yes." Nicholas' voice sounded fir, It wasn't a lie after all.

His mother stood up too looking disappointed, and went with her son into the floor. "Do you have to go so early?"

"I'm sorry, mum."

He hugged his mother and kissed her on the cheek. "It's important to me. I'll come back soon."

He shouted a "bye" into the living room and left the flat.

It had snowed heavily. The cars standing at the curbs had little snow caps and the pavements were slippery. Actually it was much too early to go to Marcus, he wouldn't be home yet. Nicholas went slowly through the silent night and looked into brightly lit-up windows, where the Christmas lights blinked in different colours and painted snowflakes were falling. At the next suburban railway station he took an almost empty train to Grunewald. Then he walked the short distance to Marcus' house. It was in darkness so he mooched around and waited. He was cold and wrapped his arms around him. Then he leaned on the iron gate and counted the snowflakes as they flickered in the light of the street lamps.

After what seemed an endless time he heard a car coming slowly along the street. It stopped in front of him and suddenly he felt two warm hands around his cold face.

"You're ice-cold, honey. Have you been waiting long? I'm sorry. Come on in."

Nicholas followed Marcus into his car and drove with him up the drive to the entrance. Marcus switched off the alarm system, unlocked the door and guided him inside. He turned on the light and rubbed Nicholas' frozen fingers.

"Wait a moment. I've forgotten something."

Nicholas heard the car door slamming and in no time Marcus returned with a bag.

"Hungry?"

Nicholas shook his head.

"Want to drink something?" Marcus pulled out a bottle of red wine.

"Present from Sebastian. One of the best Bordeaux vintages." Nicholas said nothing.

"Come on, do me a favour." He dragged Nicholas into the living room.

"I tell you what. I'll run water into the bath tub and you can warm up there. In the meantime I'll make you something to eat and open the bottle."

He paused and looked into Nicholas' eyes.

"What's wrong? Trouble?"

He stroked Nicholas' damp hair and the soft skin of his cheek and felt him tremble. He pulled him close and kissed his lips tenderly.

"Come with me," He grabbed his hand and went with him upstairs to his bathroom.

Second later Nicholas stood completely dumbfounded in the room which was the size of his parents' living room and kitchen together. Soft light came from tiny spotlights in the ceiling, the walls were covered in ochre-coloured tiles with a band of Italian style decoration. An oleander tree stood near to the window and beside it, set into the floor, a big bath tub. The floor was covered with thick carpet matching the colours of the bath towels.

"Everything you need is here. Help yourself."

He turned on the silver taps over the tub and tried the temperature with his fingers. Then he smiled at Nicholas and left the room.

Nicholas shivered. He had only seen such rooms on TV or in those catalogues intended for the rich. Slowly he began to undress and piled his clothes on a chair. His shivers abated the warmer the room grew. He stepped up to the tub and looked at the bottles of bath salts and oils and various other things. He selected one, unscrewed the top and poured some of it into the water, then he stepped in and stretched out in the warm water, closing his eyes and breathing in the scent of cinnamon and lemon. Somehow he couldn't believe all this, the surroundings, the company... the accumulated riches in this villa. Comparing all this with his parents gave him almost a feeling of nausea in his stomach. His father had worked hard his whole life at the foundry in a dirty, noisy factory and all he could afford was a holiday on a camp site by the Baltic Sea. And his mother worked as a cashier in a Supermarket and tried to make the best of her life. Did she ever love my father? Nicholas tried to think objectively. Could he fall in love with a man like his father? No. His father was timid, narrow-minded, interested in very little. There were no books at all in his parents' home. But Nicholas' grandmother had bought him all the books he wanted, even expensive ones - and later he had spent almost all his money on books. These had persuaded Nicholas to make more of his life and now he sat here in the bath tub of Marcus Weidenbruch, the most cultivated man he had ever met. But would he be interested in Marcus if he were poor? With only his charm as an attraction?

Nicholas sighed. Marcus was the product of everything: his wealth, his education, his upbringing. But had it corrupted him, too? It didn't seem to have. Nicholas enjoyed the little luxury Marcus was willing to share with him, even if it was for only a short time. He wondered what this man could see in him.

A poor young lad who had nothing to offer other than a hurt heart and his talent of drawing a naked body. Was this enough?

Nicholas knew little about the world outside. He had had to educate himself by studying thick books on the history of Art, be he was sure that only with this modest knowledge, he would hardly be likely to impress the older man.

Marcus in the kitchen wondered briefly what he could get him to eat. Some of the goose that Sebastian had given him? But it was certainly too late to eat such rich meat, Nicholas wouldn't be able to sleep afterwards.

He opened the door to the pantry and saw the sliced bread. He tried to spread cold and hard butter straight from the fridge with the result that the bread tore. He cursed and then laughed at himself. Then he saw the remains of some cold roast beef and put it on the bread. A little horse-radish and it would be ok. He uncorked the bottle of wine and sniffed the bouquet. Then he carried everything into the living room.

Suddenly the bathroom was filled with the clear and transparent sound of music. Startled Nicholas looked round and located two loudspeakers standing on two shelves in a corner. He heard the gentle and tender voice of George Michael, and found himself relaxing again.

** NOTE ** Look up Lyrics on YouTube or our favorite search engine When you find a love by George Michael

 

He remembered Marcus' kisses, the smell of his body which matched the scent rising from the warm water...The song was over and another started but Nicholas decided to get out of the tub. He found he was suddenly yearning for Marcus' presence. He wanted to speak to him, to hear his voice, to look into his dark eyes and wanted to feel his warm hands again... Quickly he dried himself with one of those wonderful soft towels and put on his clothes again, ignoring the robe hanging on a hook.

George Michael accompanied him downstairs to the living room which was softly lit by some candles standing on the sideboard and the table, reflecting in the glasses full of blood-red wine.

By their side stood plates with sandwiches and peeled oranges. Marcus stoked up the coals in the fireplace and Nicholas felt an jolt to his heart. All this for him? Nobody ever did this for him.

Marcus stood up and turned to Nicholas. "Why did you put on your clothes?" He smiled. "Come here. Sit down beside me."

He lifted the wine glass. "I know you didn't like the wine at the restaurant the last time but try this one."

Nicholas took a little sip and tasted it on his tongue. It had a taste of age, a final faint sweetness and velvet mixed with the strength coming from an vintage oak barrel.

"It tastes marvellous, Marcus."

Marcus smiled. "Sebastian knew you would like it."

"He knows I'm here? You talked about me?" He frowned.

"Hey," Marcus touched him under the chin. "Why shouldn't we?"

"So you no doubt discussed the poor, stupid boy you picked up in the street, right?"

"You have a remarkable talent of putting off everyone who likes you. Why do you do it? Why can't you simply accept the fact that I like you for the person you are? I don't care who you are and where you are from, how much money you have or haven't. Completely the opposite, Nick. I'm the one who's distrustful and suspicious and should ask you: why are you with me? Do you enjoy my company because I'm rich?"

Marcus held the plate with the sandwiches in front of Nicholas, who grabbed one and bit.

** song ends **

Nicholas' hand trembled. Marcus took the sandwich from him and pulled him close to him.

"Have a little faith, sweetheart. You are safe here and I trust that you aren't just here because you like the painting with the yellow and blue blocks so much."

Nicholas had to laugh. Indeed he felt safe in Marcus' arms. He picked up his glass and drank the red liquid.

"When can I change the sketch of you into a real painting?"

"Whenever you want, baby." He took a slice of orange and fed it into Nicholas' mouth. "But you are always so quiet. Talk to me. You can tell me all the things that are roving around in your mind. I'm interested in hearing what you think, what you feel and what you know. What about your friend, Matthias?"

Nicholas swallowed. "Matthias? What about him? He's probably at a cool Christmas Party in one of his favourite clubs. He's keen on Techno Music. And he hates Christmas."

"Techno Music?" Marcus grimaced. "Whoever called that stuff music? And why does he hate Christmas?"

"Thinks it's sentimental crap."

Marcus nodded slowly and shoved another slice of orange into Nicholas' mouth.

"Now, can we go upstairs?" he asked, chewing.

"Just a second. Only one thing. I'll be back soon." He touched Nicholas' lips. "Don't move."

Nicholas watched him go. Then he stood up, stepped to the painting over the round marquetry table and pondered over which painting should be hanging there instead of this one. He had thought about what Marcus had told him of the way beauty rubbed together and afterwards realised that he agreed with him. But there could be other colours.

Then he looked at another picture and sipped slowly from his glass. It showed a young Greek warrior with a shiny helmet, spear, shield and metal greaves. A loosely hanging short chlamys over one shoulder revealed more than it hid.

Marcus wrapped his arms around him from behind and nibbled his earlobes. His hands slipped under his pullover and pulled out his shirt from the waistband of his trousers. Nicholas felt warm fingers roaming over his body and playing with his nipples. He pushed back lightly.

"Now, what are your plans for tonight?"

Nicholas put his hand over Marcus', turned around, gave him a deep look and dragged Marcus with him upstairs to the bedroom. There he stood and began to undress Marcus. Little by little the shirt was removed, the jeans and underwear. He pulled Marcus onto the still dishevelled bed, grabbed one foot and began to massage it. Marcus giggled.

"Oh no, stop it. I'm very ticklish there."

But Nicholas didn't stop. Lightly he kneaded the falls of his foot and began to suck on the toes. A low moan escaped from Marcus' throat. Nicholas grinned at him, then crawled higher, flickered his tongue over the erect penis and nibbled lightly on the shaft. Marcus pulled him higher and tried to undress him but Nicholas was faster. In no time he was naked and stretched over Marcus' body to kiss him on the mouth, the eyes, the neck.

Marcus felt dizzy. What was this young man doing to him? He had thought it would be difficult to seduce him after everything Nicholas had told him, but no, it was the opposite. Marcus wasn't sure what to do.

"Baby," he whispered, "what do you want me to do? I don't know..."

"Ssssh, make love to me." Nicholas' eyes were fixed on him. Marcus broke the gaze, wriggled from under Nicholas' body and now lay on top of him.

He wanted to ask so many questions, but then he decided to shut his mouth and to do what his heart was telling him. He snaked down, leaving a trace of saliva on the body under him, kissing, tasting, rubbing, stroking. His tongue glided below the balls, along the trail which led to his hole and heard Nicholas moaning. Slowly he spread his legs apart but suddenly felt a resistance. Immediately he stopped and looked up. A look of fear flashed across Nicholas' face.

"It's OK, baby. I won't do anything you don't want me to. I promise."

"I want you to go on. It was only..."

"Sssh, I know."

Nicholas opened his legs and revealed his hole. Marcus pushed his hands under Nicholas' buttocks and lifted them a little, then he dived into the dark sweetness.

At the first touch of his tongue, Nicholas tensed a bit, but suddenly was seized by a tickling pleasure he had never felt before. He lay there, under the midnight blue blankets and sheets and enjoyed the feeling that Marcus' mouth and warm tongue produced. He glided over the hole, sometimes quickening, then slowing down, light as a feather, alternating with a whole tongue washing and then trying to push deeper into the hole and Nicholas approached almost his climax.

Marcus nibbled now at the join between balls and shaft and Nicholas felt a moistened finger gliding into his hole. It slid in without any pain or resistance. Marcus licked the flooding pre-cum from the tip of his penis and crawled higher.

He removed his finger, reached for the nightstand and grabbed a jar of Vaseline, opened it and greased his fingers. Then he bent down to kiss Nicholas' nose.

"Are you sure you want me to continue?"

"Hmmmm." Nicholas purred. "Don't stop."

Marcus inserted two fingers into his hole and watched the face of the young man but couldn't see any sign of discomfort or disapproval, so he went on to stretch the flesh, continuing to suck lightly on his penis and to roll his balls in his mouth. Nicholas moaned louder.

"Come into me," he heard him whisper harshly. "Come into me."

Marcus put his lips to Nicholas' ear. "If it hurts too much, I'll stop. Do you hear?"

Nicholas shook his head. "Come." But as he felt his legs lifted and sensed the thick head of Marcus' penis pushing carefully against his hole, he tensed again.

Marcus leaned over his body to his ear. "Relax your muscles, honey. Just relax. Relax." Nicholas stared into Marcus' almost black eyes.

"Close your eyes, baby. I won't hurt you," he repeated again and again until Nicholas felt growing pressure and suddenly a lingering pleasure. Marcus didn't move any more. He was inside Nicholas as far as he could go.

Nicholas wriggled. "Don't stop. Come deeper."

Marcus snorted. "I'm already inside. Can't you feel it?"

Nicholas opened his eyes wide. Where was the pain he should be feeling? Marcus' cock almost split his body but it didn't hurt. Only a slight unpleasantness, but this vanished with every second. He smiled. "You are a magician, Marcus."

"Am I?" He bent over to kiss him on the lips, then his tongue slid into Nicholas' mouth and he began to move his hips lowly. Long, smooth strokes which pushed both men up on a staircase to heaven. They lost all feeling of time, of their surroundings. They were almost deaf and blind. The only thing Marcus could see was the pleasure on Nicholas's face and feel how the muscles of his anus clamped around his cock at every stroke he made. He heard, as if from a far distance, the loud moans of two voices and one of the two had to be his own...

Later he went down on his knees and played with Nicholas' cock and let his own slide freely in and out, increasing the pace until he exploded and got hit at the same time in the face with the first spurt of Nicholas' white semen, the rest landing on his chest and stomach.

With a long, deep moan, Nicholas lowered his legs but with his calves he pressed against Marcus' buttocks trying to get him in deeper. Marcus lay on top of him, outstretched and powerless.

"Have you ever had such an orgasm?" Nicholas whispered huskily.

"Never."

Both men lay and listened to their heartbeats gradually becoming regular. Marcus had buried his face in the cleft of Nicholas' shoulder and asked himself if it had ever been so pleasurable lying in someone's arms. Not even with Sebastian he had felt the same. Sebastian made an art-lesson of every encounter, but what they had just done had been pure sex, no, he corrected himself, making love. He couldn't analyse his feelings; the happiness Nicholas must now be feeling was transferred to his own soul.

He lifted his body and his cock slipped out. He looked into the sweating and flushed face next to him.

"What have you done to me?"

Nicholas smiled. He lifted his head and met his lips. Then he pulled Marcus to him, cuddled close to him, stroked his chest, outlined with his long, slender fingers the contours of Marcus' body.

Marcus' hands stroked his back and felt cum dribbling from his crack. He searched for a handkerchief and wiped it tenderly. He didn't quite know what to think. Nicholas was like a child, trusting, a little naive, but such a turn-on, so sensitive, so intelligent. But what now? How could he explain that a life with Marcus Weidenbruch was a lonely life? How could he advise that he should go back to the Academy to learn more. And how could he keep him from the clutches of his friends, who were doubtless very keen to get their hands on Nicholas' fresh body and innocent face? Marcus sighed heavily. Oh, baby, you have a lot to learn from me. He felt the heavy, sleeping head lying at the bend of his neck and collarbone.

"But I can't let you go," he whispered to the dreaming Nicholas. "I won't."