The Knife that Twists Within - 6. The Step

"Tower Green!" the guide shouted over the heads of various visitors gathered together in the yard of the Tower of London. With relief, Marcus counted less than he'd expected, even for an off-season Tuesday. So it was with little fanfare that Marcus found himself fulfilling a life-long wish to visit The Tower.

The guide, a Beefeater distinguished by his funny dress, stood beside a rail indicating a brass plaque. "This place marks the exact spot where scaffolds for private executions once stood. Generally reserved for royalty, only the 'invited' attended proceedings held here."

Marcus followed the explanations attentively whereby he watched the black uniform, the bulging hat upon his almost white hair and the large E II R letters, embroidered at his chest.

"Anne Boleyn, second wife of Henry VIII, was executed on this place 19th May of 1536," the Beefeater continued without emotion. Attempting a closer look, Marcus craned himself around the fleshy back of a German tourist ahead of him and accidentally stepped on a tourist to his right. Turning quickly to apologize, he found a good looking man with honey coloured hair. It crossed Marcus' mind that it was odd for the gentleman to be wearing sunglasses when the sun had not shone for the entire day, nor did it seem likely to appear any time soon. As if reading his thought, the man removed his glasses and Marcus found himself staring into the grey eyes of a man somewhere in his thirties. Their gaze held a moment or two longer than Marcus was comfortable with and Marcus shivered, not just because a sharp wind was suddenly blowing through the leafless branches beside them.

"Leading to the church of St. Peter ad Vincula," the Beefeater droned on, "we pass by the final resting places of Queen Anne and Katherine, wife of Charles II.

It felt to Marcus as if the stranger had been searching deep within him, and he was aware of the heat which had radiated from him, still radiated as he moved close behind him. He heard a light "ahem" and a very pleasant, low voice at his ear,

"Italian?"

Marcus knew instantly that the speaker was British-born and whispered back. "Sorry. German."

Receiving no acknowledgement, Marcus assumed the man didn't like Germans but then he felt the touch of a body in his back, leaning against him.

"First time in London?"

"No. But my first time to the Tower." Marcus knitted his brows to understand what the guide was saying. The group began to move and Marcus followed. "Where are we going now?" he asked the foreign man who walked at his side.

"To Martin Tower. In the mood for instruments of torture? There are cages, racks for stretching, suspended manacles, skewers..."

"Actually I'm not into S&M", he said seriously looking over his shoulder, hearing his neighbour’s accompanying laugh. "Where are the crown jewels?" Marcus continued.

"Ah, only interested in the precious things? Well, it's the last attraction of the tour. You have to wait for good half an hour." Again looking to into Marcus eyes, he smiled. "Your English is excellent. Are you living here?"

Marcus shook his head and signified quiet because the guide had begun to speak again as they followed the group upstairs from the yard into a light brown, stony tower. Inside it was dark, barely illuminated.

"By the way, my name is George."

"Hello, George."

When Marcus did not reciprocate, George said, "And what shall I call you?"

Marcus slowed his pace to come to the end of the group, closing the space between them before speaking directly into George's face. "What do you want, George? A quick fuck behind the knight's armour?"

George grinned. "Why not?"

Marcus watched his thin, long nose which built a crass contrast to the soft flesh of his rosy lips and couldn't help but smile a bit. The Beefeater was speaking about the execution block and the numerous victims that had been tortured as a result of politics.

"I've been watching you since the start of the tour. I never would have thought to see such dark hair and eyes in a German man."

Marcus shot back, "And I thought all British men wore only bowlers and carried umbrellas.

Again his comment was met with pleasant, low laughter. "All stereotypes, my dear. Are you alone here?"

"Yes. Alone here." Marcus stressed the word 'here'.

"On holiday?"

A woman turned and gave both men an angry look.

"Come with me, I'll guide you to The Jewels. I've been here many times before."

Marcus gave him a suspicious look, but nodded briefly and both left the group and the gruesome atmosphere.

Outside George pointed in the opposite direction. "Over there, behind White Tower are the ravens. Legend says that if the ravens fly away it will spell the end of the British Empire. But don't worry, being a clever lot, we keep their wings clipped so they can't fly."

"Funny thing", Marcus answered. "What a sad life."

While they had a look at all the precious gems, scepters, crowns and rings, swords, guns and armour, Marcus wondered why he'd agreed to accompany George. The man wasn't unpleasant, quite the opposite in fact, but Marcus was uncomfortable, not knowing where this detour might lead to.

"Ok, George, that was very interesting. But now I have an appointment to keep."

George's sparkling grey eyes seemed to be disappointed.

"I thought I could show you some more. But if you really have to go..." He interrupted himself. "What about the evening? I know a good bar."

Marcus shook his head. "Sorry. Not interested," and was about to leave.

"One moment, Marcus. I have something to tell you that I think you'll find most interesting."

Marcus actually didn't want to answer but then something struck him. He turned.

"Did I tell you my name?"

George grinned. "No, you didn't. Surprised?"

"Indeed!" Marcus came closer again. "Where do you know my name from?"

"I'll tell you at the bar."

Marcus rolled his eyes to the cloudy sky and nodded obligingly. "Ok. Where's the bar?"

A light veil of fog hovered over the Thames clouding the pillars of Towerbridge. After leaving George, Marcus went to St Katherine's Pier, enthralled by the master achievement of Victorian engineering. He shivered in the cold breeze coming from the river while he tried to figure out who this George person was, how he knew his name, and what interesting information he had that he seemed so anxious to share. No answers came to him.

Marcus regretted that Nicholas wasn't with him to chat about all that had happened. Yes. He regretted beyond measure that his lover was alone in Berlin; how much he missed him at such moments.

Marcus went along the restored Docks, looking at the various ships and boats anchored in the port. Though the shops lining the Pier were by then closed, he enjoyed looking at the displays. Passing the occasionally restaurants, he considered stopping, but decided he wasn't hungry. With a quickened step he reached Tower Hill, the next underground station. He entered the tube and took a seat.

Hands in his pockets, lost in thought, Marcus hardly noticed the other occupants. Karl had finally figured out where Dennis Carlisle was residing, but neither of them had been able to reach him. Marcus' last hope was that he hadn't yet spoken to the administration of the museum. Marcus was convinced that the museum would stop at nothing to obtain the screen. He wasn't sure anymore if he could compete. And finally: was it worth it? His stupid search for this piece of work had led him away from Nicholas, leaving him all alone. He sighed inwardly. But then, Nick was old enough to care for himself and to comprehend that each of them had to live his own life to a certain extent.

Simon came to his mind. He was relieved that the boys had found him and apparently in better condition than he had feared, but what now? Marcus had no clue what to do and he wasn't sure, all of the sudden, if he even wanted to see him again. Of course there still was a feeling of protection and care, but what if Simon would become seriously ill? It was inevitable, he would die in the more or less nearer future and this thought frightened Marcus more than he cared to admit. Would he have the strength to care for him in days of despair? Was it even his obligation?

Marcus jumped. He'd nearly missed his station. At High Street Kensington he went upstairs, passing the 'Sticky Fingers' cafe, owned by former Rolling Stone, Bill Wyman. He passed Prince's Gate heading for the Leyland Museum, but then he changed his mind and went directly to the cosy little bed and breakfast he always visited when he was in London. Sometimes he'd just had enough of all the luxury hotels.

Briefly he wondered why Nicholas' hadn't called but got the answer as he stepped into his room. His mobile phone sat beside the bed. He took it and dialled home but there was no answer. Marcus was startled as the phone rang seconds later.

"Hi, it's Karl. Finally I reach you! Is something wrong with your phone?"

"Simply forgot to take it with me. What's up, Karl?"

"I managed to speak to Carlisle! He wants to see us and to lend us his ear. What do you think? Am I excellent?"

"Yes, you are excellent and one in a million, Karl! That's great. When?"

"Nine p.m. Marble Arch. I'll pick you up."

* * * *

"Have you noticed that Andrea didn't ring?" Kay asked as he and Sebastian entered the broad staircase leading up to Capitol hill.

"Of course. But I'm not too sad about it, you know. He's a bit unnerving. A party-animal."

"Party-animal? So it was he with whom you caroused, spending all your money, yes?"

"Mostly. At least the last few months before he left me."

"What does he do?"

"His family owns a little grocery shop where he works until late in the night. Located near the tourist center, it's often besieged by travellers, so it does well."

Wearing a look of surprise, Kay stood in the centre of several large, ocre coloured buildings which together created a sort of a trapezoid. Before him was an equestrian statue, the stone gilded by the deep sun. Kay's eyes hurt. "Who's this?"

"The emperor Marcus Aurelius. The original will be housed in this museum here." Sebastian pointed to left of the ocre coloured buildings. "This copy was finished last autumn."

"Is it old, too?"

Sebastian grinned. "The original, yes, almost 1900 years old. And it eluded destruction only because the Christians thought it was an image of Constantine, the first Christian emperor."

Sebastian touched Kay's arm and guided his steps through a gateway to a square which was covered with holm oaks. He stopped at the balustrade, pausing for a long moment before he spoke.

"This is almost a secret place. You see?" Kay watched as the tourists hurried up and down the staircases while none took notice of the small passage leading up. The deep sun caused the siena-red brick stones of the church and the stark white marble of the monument to glow.

Sebastian made a sweeping gesture with his arm. "This is what the Normans, Huns, Vandals and Goths left behind. You see the half round building? That's the theatre of the Marcello, and there, between the ash and fig trees, that is the Jewish Ghetto."

"Do you really know the names of all the cupolas and churches and theatres?"

"Of course, sweetie, but I don't want to bore you."

"You don't bore me in the least. It's only that I have a weak memory for history."

Sebastian pulled him close and smiled. "Behind us once stood the great temple of Jupiter. I was present when the archaeologists discovered the foundation of the temple deep down in the earth. Perhaps you read it in the newspaper." He watched Kay's dark eyes for recognition. "Or maybe you don't read newspapers?"

"What do you mean? That I'm not educated enough for you?" Kay rolled his eyes in mock horror. "You could try to teach me, knowing what a willing pupil I can be." Kay's eyebrows then danced suggestively over his forehead.

Sebastian squeezed his arm. "That's right, honey. And perhaps I'll awaken the history lover in you."

"You could start with your work. You mentioned a foundation. What were you doing there actually?"

"I belong to the Society of Excavations at the Forum Romanum. Come, let's have a quick look."

Sebastian led them to another corner of the terrace, pointing to a wild field of ancient ruins.

"God, that's huge!" Kay exclaimed.

Sebastian laughed. "Yes, and in ruins. Can you imagine that for about hundred years all that was buried beneath a meter of earth? And the excavations won't be finished for a long time. There's still a lot to explore. During the emperor's time, life was bustling here."

"Can we go down?"

"Not now, it's too late. But now that the weather is getting better, I'll be taking up the work again. By the way, last night I had a marvellous idea."

"Yes?"

"I think I should buy a motorcycle. It would make for a faster ride through the town. What do you think?"

"Yes! A splendid idea! Can we do it right now?"

It was already dark when their breakneck motorcycle ride came to an end in front of Sebastian's house. Taking off his helmet, Kay exclaimed, "That was great, Bastian. What a good idea you had."

"I can't help it, whenever I ride I get incredibly horny!" Sebastian told him, grinning mischievously before he kissed Kay's cool lips. "Hurry up or I undress you before we get into the house, sweetie."

* * *

"Is this your last word on the subject, Dennis?" Marcus waited impatiently for an answer.

Dennis Carlisle, a 55 year old man with a small, flat face sat sprawled in the chair opposite him. Thick, greasy fingers idly turned the stem of a smeared wine glass repelling Marcus. Careful concentration was required to understand the man's broad, American accent.

"Yeah, the last word. The museum is the right place for this screen. And", he gave Marcus a sly grin which revealed crooked, spotted teeth, "their bid is much higher!"

"That's impossible!" Karl threw in. "We're able to pay you a quarter of a million and you are saying it's still under what the museum will spend? I can't believe it!"

Before Dennis could respond, Marcus' cell phone rang. Annoyed he pulled it out of his pocket and grumbled, "Yes."

"Marcus, you've been impossible to reach, why haven't you called me?"

Marcus instantly recognized the voice. "Sorry, darling, but I can't speak now, it's a bad moment. I'll call you as soon as I'm back home in the hotel, Nicholas. Wait for me. Bye." Without another word he switched off the phone and turned his gaze back to Carlisle who's face was pinched in disgust.

"Could it be the guy's a faggot?" he mumbled in Karl's direction. Karl looked with dismay to Marcus as Carlisle rose and swayed slightly. "I don't do business with fags," he said clutching the back of his armchair. Face reddening he continued, "The screen goes to the museum."

"But," Karl shouted but Marcus held him back.

"He's drunk. Let's try again tomorrow." Marcus offered and looked at his watch. "I have an appointment and I'm already late." He waved to the waiter and ordered a taxi.

A half an hour later he found himself at Piccadilly Circus, the corner of Regent Street. Orienting himself quickly in the bright neon light of the entertainment district, he moved toward the nightclub where George was to meet him.

Seeing Marcus making his way across the street, George stepped forward, flicking his cigarette at the curb. "I was afraid you wouldn't come," he said.

"I'm too curious to have missed this appointment," Marcus responded.

George led the way downstairs into the club. Red lights pulsed in time to the music while incredible looking young men danced upon the stage, undressing each other, encouraging the audience.

"Wow." Marcus said, looking around. It had been a long time ago since he'd been in such a club. George guided him to a hidden corner where they had a good view of the stage and the men seated before them at little tables, their gazes glued to the dancers.

The waiter who appeared was barely of age, Marcus guessed, surveying his tight fitting trousers made of a translucent black material and his naked upper body. The boy smiled at George.

"The same as always, Ducks." 'Ducks' then disappeared silently.

Marcus watched George pulling out another cigarette and offered one to him.

"No thanks. Gave it up long ago."

George blew the smoke into the air and gave Marcus a very intent and longing look. "How come a good looking man like you is alone in our wonderful London? Tell me."

"Business."

George arched his small and fine eyebrows. "Business, aha. Which business?"

"Like all business, things which are not YOUR business." Marcus was amused by George's blunt curiosity.

The man sitting in the first row of the stage began to squeak and Marcus saw that one of the dancers had stepped down to dangle his now unveiled cock in the face of the sweating patron. The man grabbed for it but the young dancer escaped, laughing.

"Sorry, sir." 'Ducks' excused himself and set the order down with gracious moves. George stuffed some notes into the waistband of his sheer pants before he silently disappeared again.

"Martinis! You want to get me drunk and have your way with me behind the curtains over there, right?" Marcus said half laughing.

"Why not? You're worth it."

Marcus leaned over and downed the martini in one gulp before fishing out the olive. "Now tell me the real reason for our meeting tonight." George made a signal in the direction of the bar, presumably to alert Ducks.

"Cheers to you." George lifted his glass and drank. Then he said, "I know you have business here, Marcus. I know who you are and why you're here." His gaze became suddenly serious. "My name is George Rosenstock."

Marcus' facial expression remained blank and George realised that his name meant nothing to Marcus.

"Ok, let me tell you another story." He began before a dancer slinked around the table, cock hidden behind a tiny, red cloth. George pulled a few notes from his wallet and held them up, encouraging the young dancer to pull away the cloth. George briefly stroked the shiny surface of the exposed penis before tucking the bills into the red elastic. Blowing a thank you kiss the dancer moved on to another table.

George smirked, "What a job." Again he leaned toward Marcus. "You don't remember my name? Ah well, there's no reason you should, I suppose. You were right when you said I didn't look much like the typical Englishman, umbrella and bowler or not. I'm a recently transplanted Englishman, actually. My family is of German decent. However, being Jewish... The Nazis killed everyone in my family with the exception of my Great Uncle and his nephew - my father. Together they escaped to Canada, settling here in England after the war."

Marcus listened but still didn't understand how it involved him. Before he could inquire, George went on, "My Grandfather and his brother were rich businessmen in Berlin until their estates were confiscated by the Nazi's." George lit his second cigarette.

"There was a wonderful screen in my Grandfather's collection, designed by Edward Burne-Jones. I'm sure you've heard of it?"

With a canary grin George took the fresh cocktails from Duck's tray.

"Cheers again, Marcus," he said, extending a glass to his speechless companion. "To the screen!"

Marcus took the glass, fumbling a sip. "Ok," he said recovering, "you are saying that the screen once belonged to your family and now you'd like to have it back. Am I right?"

"Completely."

"Have you any proof that the screen was your family's private property?"

"Unfortunately only an old, fading photograph. Perhaps not enough to take it to court, right?"

"Right. You have no chance." Marcus emptied his second cocktail knowing that liquor so late in the evening was sheer poison to his system. Yet he needed something to help him swallow the shock. George's leg pressed close and he felt his gaze upon him. Meeting George's eyes he saw longing there.

"I know Carlisle, Marcus. I spoke with him the other day and there's no chance you'll get the screen, my dear," George announced. "First of all he's the most homophobic arsehole I've ever met. But I'm sure he's corruptible too, so I offered him a horrid sum not knowing what the museum would pay. But it can't be more, I'm sure."

"Perhaps he wants to force the price up. He tried something similar at our last meeting in New York. But how does he know that you are gay?"

George shrugged his shoulders. "I made certain he did."

Marcus nodded. "So, now what are your plans? Let me explain this once more to make sure I've got it right: You and I are after the same screen, yes?"

"Indeed I think so. You have a name in these circles and if you want to buy a screen, everyone knows about it. I simply followed your steps, knowing that this screen was once owned by my family."

"So we will fight over it?"

"Not necessarily." He smiled openly at Marcus. "Give me a week of your time and I'm certain we can come to an arrangement."

Marcus gasped. "One week with me? Do you mean what I think you do?"

George nodded politely, then he waved for Ducks and ordered another round of martinis. Marcus knew he wouldn't be able to close his eyes tonight, but it didn't bother him. He carefully eyed the man across from him. His slightly curled, honey coloured hair shimmered red in the light and his eyebrows were barely visible. He wasn't exactly good looking but he seemed to exude both sex appeal and intelligence at the same time. Looking at his hands, Marcus saw that they were long and graceful and he knew he wouldn't runaway from their touch.

But this was out of question, wasn't it? He couldn't understand these feelings. Perhaps it was the alcohol muddling his brain. Behind him he heard laughing and cheering and didn't need to look to guess what was happening on the stage.

George waited patiently, relaxed and smoking as Marcus considered the offer. "You don't have to decide here and now. But I won't ask you a second time." He leaned forward and one of his long legs brushed Marcus' again. "Actually I would like to leave the screen to the museum so that everybody can see it, but I suppose it would be nice to see it in your bedroom. It is your intention to put it there, right?"

"Yes," answered Marcus automatically. "But what do you want me to do?" This question was foolish especially since he already knew what George would say.

George's chuckle was very low. "You are a beauty. It must be heaven to be in bed with you."

Marcus felt his cheeks reddened with embarrassment. "I don't understand. Why is a body so much more important to you than getting back a piece of work that once belonged to your family?"

"Simple. I don't need it. But I need you."

Marcus set his glass down. "You get your pleasure from buying a body? Knowing that I will do this to get what I want, without any loving feelings? It is... perverse."

"It's a deal. Nothing more. You get what you want and I get what I want. That's not perverse." George's grey eyes held Marcus'.

"I don't know you. Perhaps you're into S&M or worse. I can't do this." Marcus shook his head for emphasis.

"What a pity. Is there something back in Berlin waiting for you? Is that the reason?"

"It's not just that..." Marcus supposed he could take the offer and never tell Nicholas about it. The thought horrified him. He should go right now. He should call Nicholas this instant. But the screen...

Alcohol coursed through his veins, making his limbs and his resolve weak. What would happen, he thought. One week of fucking and the screen would be his.

"You would help me get the screen?" he asked loudly.

"Yes. Maybe I should mention that the name, Rosenstock, is well known in England. I'm surprised you never heard it. My family holds the patent for a special industrial glass. I can pay the museum any price they want and they know it. It's Carlisle who has no chance - and you."

"I'm not unwealthy either, you know."

George laughed. "I know. I know. But I really doubt you can compete with a man from such rich family, so eager to get back his possession."

"One week?" Marcus asked unsure.

"One week. No longer."

Indeed, Marcus didn't end up closing his eyes that night. Though as drunk as he was, his thoughts on the true cost of his actions were disconnected. What exactly was the price of indulging this slightly insane collector for the screen? Nicholas? Perhaps. Was it a betrayal of the man or his love for the man? Did he love Nicholas? Of course he loved Nicholas. Then surely the price was far too high. But what of the screen? It was one of a kind. Nicholas didn't have to know... Marcus tossed and turned in his bed unable to settle on an answer.

*

Nicholas was convinced that it wouldn't make much sense to wait for Marcus' call. Heaven knew where he was, with whom and at which important negotiation. Marcus would call when the time was right. Stop being such a baby, he chided himself as he slipped under the blankets.

Anna had changed the bed linens and now Marcus' familiar scent was gone. Nicholas gazed into his lover's painted eyes on the wall. To him they were the most beautiful eyes he'd ever seen. Deep and promising and sparkling with intelligence. He could be caring and tender - and so cool and unfriendly and calculating. And Nicholas admitted that he liked this side too. Simply caring and tender would become boring and he liked to have a good discussion, even a bit of a row from time to time. It kept the fire glowing, as Marcus would say. Nicholas smiled at the painted image. Right?

Attending class had vastly improved Nicholas' disposition, particularly because Frank was absent. And talking with Ben had eased the remains of the loneliness and discomfort he felt about Marcus, though they hadn't necessarily agreed about notifying Kay of their encounter with Simon. Nicholas was against it, feeling Kay would get see his brother soon enough. But Ben wasn't sure that Simon even wanted to see Kay at all. After all, he'd had plenty of opportunity to make contact and yet he hadn't. Finally both students agreed the problem would solved itself in time.

Conscience-stricken Nicholas realised he hadn't spoken to his mother for days. Nor had he seen Matthias. Tomorrow, he promised himself, he would contact both of them.

"Marcus?" Nicholas shook his head at Ben's question. "Somewhere in London. I called him yesterday but he didn't have time to talk. He's never called back."

Ben and Nicholas strolled through the artists' specialty shop slowly filling their carts.

"I don't know where he is or what's going on with the screen."

Ben looked at his friend with compassion before asking carefully, "Do you trust him? I mean he's a great looking man."

"Yeah. He certainly gets noticed," Nicholas confirmed, tossing a set of paintbrushes into the cart. "To be honest, I have no clue. I think I trust him."

Ben thought briefly about Simon's suspicions but decided it was best to keep them secret.

"But", Nicholas continued, "what can I do? Follow him like a shadow? If he's with another man I don't want to know. If I knew I couldn't forgive him." He smiled sheepishly, "Tell me about Simon instead. You met him again, yes?"

Ben nodded, his eyes beginning to sparkle while at the same time his ears reddened. Nicholas had to grin. "Looks like you're in love." But instantly his heart sank. Simon was doomed to die, it wouldn't make sense to fell in love with someone who... stupid feelings, he thought then. The decision to love was made by the heart, not by the head. Altering such a decision was like asking water to flow uphill.

"I'm not sure." Ben spoke, "I like him immensely, but, you know...I don't know if it would be wise to fall in love ... it has no future. You understand?"

"Of course I do. I just had the same thought." Nicholas replied standing before at a heavy leather suitcase full of articles for outdoor painting. "Look here's one with a small easel. Isn't it good?"

Ben had a look at the price tag and flinched.

Nicholas made note of it and said, "Have you ever painted outdoors? It's difficult to take all the equipment with you. Would you like to have it?"

Ben looked at him with confusion. "What do you mean?"

Nicholas put the suitcase in the cart. "Think of it as a little investment, a gift from a rich man." He drove to the cashier's desk with a speechless Ben following.

"You can't do this, Nick. I cannot accept it!" Nicholas pretended not to hear him and paid with Marcus' credit card. Afterwards he handed the kit to Ben.

"And you?" Ben asked, hesitating to take it.

"I have everything I need. Marcus' supply is without limit."

"Which - the money or this?"

"Both." Nicholas smiled. "Come on, take it. A good painter needs good equipment."

Reluctantly Ben took it and sighed. "Ok. But I owe you something now."

"Nonsense. It's a gift for helping me finding Simon." Nicholas watched as the shadow crept back over Ben's face. "Hey," he said softly, "if you want to avoid falling in love with him, you should stop visiting him. Otherwise, resign yourself to it."

"I doubt that Simon could love somebody. Not in his condition."

Ben went to his little car and tossed the suitcase into the backseat. "What do I tell my guts when my brain says it's impossible, foolish and useless to be with Simon?"

Nicholas stepped into the car. "Afraid I can't help you, dear. You'll have to figure it out for yourself."

Ben nodded and began to drive. "You said you would leave Marcus if you found out he was with another man. Even if it's only one time?"

"You mean one time doesn't count? Don't know about that. I would never do it." Instantly he remembered Sebastian and his face burned a traitorous red. What was he saying? If it hadn't been for Kay arriving that night, he'd have fucked around with Sebastian. He wouldn't be any better than Marcus. To sit here and play the judge was ridiculous. "At least I think I wouldn't do it," he said quietly. "But what we are talking about, eh? Marcus didn't call because he's busy, that's all. So better to talk about more important things, Frank for instance. He didn't look so good today, right?"

"Right. Perhaps he's waiting for the test results, scared shitless!" Ben's laughter was unhappy. "I'm afraid he's mad at me because he thinks I'm the reason for this."

"Huh?"

"The reason, Nick. Because he couldn't fuck me he ran around the streets and got caught by an AIDS-infected hustler."

"That's absurd."

"Is it? Not to Frank's sick brain. Have you seen the looks he shoots in my direction? If looks could kill, I'd be dead by now!"

Nicholas had to laugh. "Oh dear, what problems we have gotten into."

* * *

Kay examined Sebastian's rooms, chewing at a cornetto before he went out to the terrace and sat in one of the comfortable armchairs. It was still cool but the air was fresh here above the Gianicolo hill and carried the slightest hint of spring with it. From the table he took one of the Rome guides he had pulled out from Sebastian's book shelves and leafed through it until he got to the Piazza di Spagna and remembered the big staircase leading to the church.

"Sebastian," he shouted, "can we go here?"

Sebastian stepped out of the living room and peered over Kay's shoulder. "Ah well, of course we can go." Bending over he placed a kiss on Kay's neck, feeling slightly uncomfortable about the touristy request since it was at the Piazza that Andrea managed his parents' shop. Sebastian was not keen on meeting him again, at least not with Kay in tow. He took the book from Kay and replaced it on the table. "Don't need it, sweetie, I'm your guide. Come." He instructed, pulling Kay out of the chair.

It took a while to drive the motorbike from one corner of the city to the other, especially with Sebastian shouting facts about the sights from time to time along the way. At last they reached the large Via del Corso which led to the Piazza di Spagna. At the pedestrian zone of the Via Condotti Sebastian slowed the bike to allow Kay a closer look at all the famous shops.

"Look, there's Armani," he shouted, "and just beside that, Valentino."

Kay nodded, "And where's Cerruti?"

"Next street."

"And there, Cafe Greco! Can we go in?"

Sebastian parked the motorcycle against a wall. The place wasn't too crowded with tourists, affording the men an undisturbed look at the big, steep staircase crowned by an obelisk and the twin belfries of Trinita dei Monti. "That's amazing, Sebastian, really."

"Yes, but wait until you see the art- and antiques dealers along the side streets," Sebastian said. Sebastian stole a furtive glance in the direction of Andrea's fruit stand, hoping to miss Andrea altogether, after all it was still early. But the stand was already open, Andrea already positioned beside it waiting for customers.

"Sebastian!" Andrea exclaimed with delighted, "what are you doing here?"

Sebastian pointed with his head toward the spring, and Andrea discovered Kay examining the deep, boat-shaped fontana.

"Business ok? Why are you open so early, there are barely any tourists here yet."

Andrea rolled his eyes. "Ah, Pa wanted to open it, the weather is fine and I've already had some customers." He held an orange under Sebastian's nose. "Doesn't it smell wonderful? Straight from Sicily."

Sebastian laughed, "Si, si, caro. You are a great salesman. Give me some."

He watched as Andrea carefully picked the fruits, weighed them and put it into a plastic bag. "You don't want to tell me where you've been the entire winter, do you?" Sebastian asked him.

Andrea looked unabashed. "A rich English tourists took me to his house for entertainment." The shock of curly black hair felt over his eyes and he avoided Sebastian's gaze.

"A rich English tourist, I see. You preferred him to me, yes? That's not especially flattering."

Andrea threw his head back in a rebellious fashion, snorting. "So? You've managed to console yourself I see. Is he your entertainment now?"

Sebastian threw a short glance to Kay, now standing in front of the staircase leading up to the church. "Stop talking about him that way, Andrea. You are not the only guy with an insatiable cock, you know."

Andrea snorted and Sebastian joint his laughter. Then he looked with a cheeky grin directly into Sebastian's eyes and asked, "He can't be better than me, right?"

Sebastian didn't respond but said, "I've been waiting for your call actually."

"Ah, yes, I wanted to call but then ... you know, Pa needed my help, the winter season is always difficult, the debts are growing bigger. But we can meet this evening if you want."

Sebastian said quickly, "Impossible, what would Kay say?"

Andrea pouted, "Just one evening with an old friend. I promise to be well behaved."

Sebastian sighed. "I will see, perhaps I'll call you in the evening, yes?"

Kay was moving in their direction. "Look, there are palms!" he beamed until he saw Andrea.

"Come here, sweetie. Andrea runs this stand here and I bought some oranges. You will be surprised at how good they taste."

Kay gazed suspiciously into Andrea's face, meeting an equally unhappy Italian face.

"Come, let us go upstairs," he said, dragging Sebastian with him.

Sebastian grinned helplessly to Andrea and nodded, "ci vediamo."

"What were you doing with Andrea?" Kay asked. "Looking to freshen up your relationship?"

"Heavens no, Kay. Stop being jealous, sweetie. Will you always behave so strangely when I talk with another man?" Sebastian stopped on a landing and looked over the place to the tearoom 'Babington's'.

"Not with every man, but with any former lovers," Kay assured him.

Sebastian tugged at his earring. "Another word and I'll leave you standing here," he teased.

"Pah, then I'll ask Andrea if he can show me around. Perhaps I'll give him a reward!"

"Don't tease!"

Sebastian reached over to the nightstand for the plate with the peeled and sectioned oranges, then stuffed one into Kay's mouth.

"How do you like them?"

Kay purred, "Heavenly! I feel like one of the old emperors you told me about. All I need is a group of boys surrounding me, boys I can have sex with."

Sebastian laughed but quickly became serious. "Do you really mind if I go meet Andrea? I want to speak to his parents."

"His parents? Why?"

Sebastian gave him another piece of orange. "Business, I've known them for a long time," He explained, stroking Kay's flat belly.

"Sticky as orange juice. Come, let's have a shower and then I'll go. I promise to be back soon."

"But can't I go with you?"

"Baby, you would be bored, I tell you."

Sebastian stepped out of bed and held out his hand, "Come, be nice." Kay never could resist that dazzling smile and followed Sebastian into the bath room.

But soon as his lover was gone Kay felt into a brooding mood. Strolling through the house, he stopped now and again to look at several things but remained bored. Briefly he thought about Nick and the other guys, if they'd found his brother yet. But no, he realised, Nick would gave called.

Then he went back to the terrace to collect the travel guides. What was it Sebastian had said? That behind the Colosseum was a good gay cruising spot? He looked at the clock mounted on the wall, it was shortly before nine, as he'd learnt, the usual Italian supper time.

Without hesitation he went to the bathroom, combed his hair (which looked somewhat funny now - brown at the parting and blond part way down) and pulled on his leather jacket. He unlocked the door and started the motorcycle. Sebastian had taken the car. After a last glance at the city map, Kay drove slowly down the hill, over the bridge, and along the Circo Massimo until he reached Monte Celio and the Clivo Scauros.

Sebastian had told him that this area had been the training area for the gladiators who fought in the Colosseum. The small streets were dark where he passed fields of ruins currently under excavation until he reached the round building of the Colosseum. It was magical, illuminated with little lamps in each arch, but what struck him were the groups of young men standing under pine trees and talking quietly. So Sebastian was right.

He parked his motorbike and moved with feigned indifference along the street until he reached the big Via dei Fori Imperiali where the traffic was still bustling. Then he slowly returned, asking himself just what he was searching for. Couldn't he trust Sebastian, who said it was only a business meeting with Andrea's parents? Or was Sebastian lying somewhere with Andrea? The Italian was a handsome guy and he wondered if he'd resist such a temptation himself. Kay sighed, shaking his head and scolding himself for being a dickhead.

His self-chastise was rudely and abruptly ended when he reached his motorbike and felt himself being grabbed from behind. A sharp pain in his head was the last thing he remembered before it all went dark.

Only slowly did the chaos before his eyes form again into trees and lawn. The street lamps hurt his eyes. Moaning, he tried to sit up but the pain in his head too intense. Again he sank into unconsciousness.

It was hours later when Kay again awoke, this time with a clearer head. He heard someone whispering words he couldn't understand and he felt a cold wet cloth wiping over his face. Reaching for the hand to stop the fumbling ministrations, Kay was greeted by a rush of Italian.

Kay felt for his watch, but it was gone, as was his jacket, and his shoes. Lifting his head, he discovered the motorcycle was gone also. Great! he thought, my first time out alone in Rome and I'm robbed in no time. He sat up and could now clearly see the young, small face of his concerned friend. "I don't understand you, man. Stop babbling, please." Kay muttered.

The guy pulled Kay to his feet, pressing a cloth to his head. Kay saw that it was bloody.

"Oh shit!" he exclaimed.

"Ospedale", the young man repeated again and again and tried to drag him toward the Via dei Fori Imperiali. Apparently he was one of the hustlers. Kay followed him in his torn pants and stocking feet until they reached the street and the guy stopped a taxi. He said something to the driver and pushed Kay into the vehicle. Before Kay could thank him, the guy was gone and the car lurched forward.

"No, no," Kay said, "not to a hospital. Please to Trastevere, Via di Scala."

The driver looked him carefully up and down before driving in the proper direction. Kay rummaged through his pockets, only momentarily forgetting the loss of his wallet. What now? Certainly Sebastian must have money somewhere in his house, but where?

Pulling up in front of the house, Kay didn't think he would ever be so glad to see Bastian's car beating him home again.

"Wait a minute, please."

Moving slowly he went to the entrance where Sebastian threw open the door before he was able to ring. "Jesus, Kay! Where have you been?"

"Can you pay the taxi?"

Sebastian was only gone a moment, then he pushed Kay into the house, switching on all lamps. Concerned fingers carefully examined the bloody gash on Kay's head which had matted and glued the hair. Without a word he dialled a number and spoke while Kay sat dazed in an armchair.

Sebastian knelt beside him. "Ok, where and how?"

"Colosseum."

Sebastian was furious but tamed his anger, it would do no good to reprimand now. Perhaps tomorrow.

"I won't ask you what you were looking for there. You've been mugged, right?" He looked at Kay's dirty socks, riddled with holes. "Your wallet?"

"Gone." Kay said, sounding as miserable as he looked. "I'm sorry, Bastian. I wanted.."

"Shsht. Tell me tomorrow. The doc will be here in a minute."

Kay felt a pleasant warmth and inner peace from the injection he had received from the doctor to stop his shivering and pain. He pressed his body close to Sebastian's as his lover slipped under the covers to hold him and stroke his back.

"I can't leave you alone for just one minute." Sebastian whispered. "What did you want there? To pick up a guy?"

Kay didn't answer because he was already asleep.

 

* * *

Marcus paced the room like a tiger in a cage, fighting with himself from one corner to the other. George had suggested they meet again at the same club. There Marcus could reveal his decision. Briefly he imaged the fine features of the screen, the preciousness and uniqueness - how it would look in his bedroom. Nicholas would enjoy the view, he was sure.

The thought made him flinch. He would be a swine to do this and Nicholas would never forgive him if he were to find out. And, to be honest, Marcus was a bit afraid of the longings held by this foreign man, George. But that was ridiculous, Marcus reasoned, he was no wimp and was more than capable of taking care for himself if the situation should prove to be dangerous.

He went to the bathroom to look at himself in the mirror.

"Certainly you are an arsehole, Marcus." he told himself. "You are sick! Insane!"

And once again he was tormented by the screen. How many years he had searched for it? Endured the urge to touch it, to know it as his own, felt it like some painful injury to his stomach? He washed his hands, then ran the wet fingers through his hair before buttoning up his red shirt. He would never forgive himself if he were to let this chance pass.

George occupied the same table as before and one look at the ashtray told Marcus that he'd already been waiting some time. George's gaze was glued to the stage and so he was startled when Marcus 'hemmed'. Turning his head, his face broke into a relieved grin. George pulled at Marcus' sleeve, coaxing him into the seat beside him.

"I can't express how happy I am to see you," he beamed.

"Don't be delighted too soon." Marcus said.

"Rubbish. You're being here says it all."

Marcus didn't respond. Perhaps George was right.

"What do you want to drink?"

"You can skip the martinis this time, it was impossible to close my eyes after last time."

George laughed and ordered a bottle of wine.

"And I couldn't close my eyes myself, thinking of you," he said.

"Good news on the screen?" Marcus asked.

"Oh yes! I spoke to the administration of the Leyland museum. Carlisle was still wavering on the sale. I can't believe he is so stupid to keep forcing the price. Nobody serious will buy it."

"Nobody serious. But we're serious, right? Two insane men who would sell heir souls for a work made of wood and glass."

George looked at him curiously. "Playing a bit of Faust? Me as Mephistopheles? The pure temptation?" He lit up another cigarette. "Perhaps. What's your favourite game, Marcus?"

"I'm good with words." Marcus answered.

"Only with words?" George's hand disappeared under the table and slipped between Marcus' legs to caress his balls. Marcus jerked in his seat.

Ducks arrived with the wine, opened it and poured a bit into George's glass. George approved the taste and Ducks filled the glasses. While Ducks was at his work, George smiled a mischievous grin, staring intently into Marcus' face.

"Not ONLY with words," Marcus said in reference to games when Ducks was gone. "You didn't answer my question. Carlisle refused the museum's offer?"

"In a away. He accepted mine."

Marcus looked confused. "What - yours?"

"The museum bought the screen this morning. And here's the sales contract between the museum and me." George withdrew a copy of the agreement from his jacket.

"But... I don't understand this."

George smiled. "I paid them much more than they paid Carlisle. I was also obliged to give them a precious painting by Dante Rossetti as a sort of a bonus. It had been in the family for a long time."

Marcus took his glass and drank. "Good deal. And where's the screen now?"

George grinned delightedly. "At my house, of course."

"Where is where?"

"Greenwich. I'm convinced you're excited to see it, right?"

"Let's go."

Marcus gathered his guts as they stepped into a taxi which drove them north to affluent Greenwich. Beside him, George cautiously touched his hand. "Are you a top or a bottom? Probably both..."

"I didn't say I wanted to fuck with you." Marcus hissed and saw the taxi driver peering at him in the rear view mirror.

"Oh. You'll change your mind as soon as you see it." Marcus was afraid he was right.

It wasn't long before the car reached the Victorian brick house which was painted white and had little towers at all four corners. The high windows were dark where the curtains had been drawn. To Marcus' surprise the interior was modern with glass tables, steel chairs, and coloured plastic lamps. No carpets covered the polished hardwood floors and huge modern paintings covered the walls, images of colourful blocks and circles, tone in tone.

George motioned at him to sit down in a strange armchair which looked like a big plastic ball and then giggled when Marcus nearly fell over.

"Be careful, it's a water chair."

Marcus rearranged his weight and kneaded the surface which gave way with every poke. He had never heard of a water chair.

"Gin?"

"Please."

George filled a glass, shaved a lemon and tossed a twist into each glass. He noticed Marcus' estimating look. "Do you like it?"

Marcus shrugged. "I'd have to get used to it."

"I guess your house is full of antiques, right?"

"Right."

"Well," George sat beside him on another water chair. "I don't care much for antiques, as I said. They are too heavy for my ... brain." He licked his lips. "I like light materials, modern styles and plenty of plants."

Marcus noticed a big palm standing in the corner and in front of it an arrangement of all plants he ever saw. He was growing impatient.

"Show me the screen, please. Where did you hide it?"

George smiled again and rose. "Follow me."

Silently he led Marcus to a small room with several wardrobes and empty bookshelves. It stood in the center of the room, taller than either of them, about 2 meters long. Marcus was overwhelmed by the luminosity of the colours painted on the glass. Dazzled he closed his eyes. He felt like he was in a church where light flooded through the stained glass windows into the apse. An invisible wind blew the clothes of the two young lads and girls which were framed by painted, fanciful pillars and flower ornaments like in a fresco of Ghirlandaio. Marcus moved closer to touch the deep dark mahogany wood of the lower sides.

"How much did you pay?" he asked as he found his voice again.

George laughed his pleasant laughter. "No way, my dear. I won't tell you."

Marcus sensed George's closeness. Then a sleeve touched his own. "To the screen, Marcus. Is it worth it, or not?"

Marcus turned his head. George's face was tense as he held his glass aloft, waiting for Marcus drink the toast with him, signalling his acquiescence. Marcus had confirmed his decision as soon as he'd seen the screen and touched the wood beneath his trembling fingers.

Without a word, Marcus began to unbutton his red shirt, still gazing into George's striking grey eyes. George followed every movement until he grabbed Marcus hand.

"Not here." He guided Marcus two stairs up and opened a door. While he entered it backwards he asked in a low voice, "You didn't told me what you like."

"Everything." Marcus began, then stopped. "Except spanking, whips, or leather. If that's a problem, you must search for another customer."

George looked momentarily dismayed. "Never. How could I hurt a body like yours?" He approached Marcus and finished unbuttoning the shirt, pulling it out of his trousers and tossing it aside. Then he dipped a finger into the glass of gin he still carried and cautiously touched Marcus' bare chest, painting a strange pattern on his skin, circling his nipples and marking a trail downwards until he stopped at Marcus' belt.

Marcus began to shiver slightly as George went to turn out the light and to push open the curtains. Only the light of the street lamps and the full moon shining into the room illuminated the scene. Marcus saw a spacious waterbed and he briefly thought, almost grinning, that this George must have an affection for water.

Standing against the window George began to undress in a slow and tempting manner which Marcus wouldn't have guessed him capable of. He was copying some of the dancer's moves from the club and Marcus found he did well. Yet he was also embarrassed since his own aim would be to leave as soon as was possible.

"One week, lover", George reminded him in a sultry voice as if he were reading Marcus' mind. And Marcus shivered again. Shit, the deal. One week! But now there was no return.

George came closer, naked, his thin, flaccid penis swinging between his legs. He was more slender than Marcus had thought.

"So you want to fuck me for a week," Marcus ask with brittle voice.

George smiled and touched his lips. "Not fuck. Making love."

Marcus swallowed. "Making love?" There was a stab in his stomach. Those words were reserved for another young man who was sitting home alone, waiting for this call. Shit! Marcus cursed a a second time to himself. If only he was strong enough to pull on his shirt and flee the house...

But then George's mouth closed over his soft, rosy lips and Marcus tasted a mixture of gin, wine and tobacco. While their lips were pressed together, he felt George's hands unbuckle his belt, push his trousers to the floor and grind his groin against his own. Then breaking the kiss, George took his hand and pushed him gently back onto the bed. The water moved in waves, softly caressing Marcus' arse and back. George stripped Marcus' pants all the way off before burying his face deep into the black pubic hair and breathing in the scent of his foreign man.

Marcus moaned, more out of pain than of joy. He felt a wet, lithe tongue caressing his limp penis and couldn't help but jump. Desperately he tried to cheat his brain, promising himself that it was Nicholas' tongue who guided him. But he failed. Staring at the ceiling, the foreign smell disturbed him, keeping him from the contented and satisfied feelings he knew George hoped to create.

George made strange noises and breathed heavily through his nose as he worked Marcus' cock fervently. Reluctantly Marcus' body began to respond despite his will, and finally he closed his eyes, submitting to the skilful work of George's tongue. In only a few moments he felt himself tighten, the rising, tingling in his balls and then he climaxed.

Marcus unclamped his fingers from the blankets while the water swayed gently beneath him. George's slurping sounds as he licked the cum from his cock made him feel dirty. Marcus realized he was no better than any other slut in town, selling his body for nothing, for things, not giving it in love. Strained, he tried to think about the screen waiting patiently for him in the small room but it didn't help.

George's smiling face appeared in front of his own.

"You taste good, my dear", he said. Marcus wondered what would be expected of him now, but George stretched out beside him and pulled the covers up. While his body was pressing against him, Marcus felt that George's penis remained limp which scared him a bit. Perhaps George was impotent and tried to get his pleasure by this way.

He felt his long fingers stroking his face, his nose and over his eyes. "I was right," he heard George whisper, "you are a beauty."

George's hands wandered over Marcus' shoulders, his chest and down his belly. Marcus found it soothing to feel the fingers touching him like butterfly wings, circling around the head of his penis and below it.

"Have you got a problem, George?" he asked quietly. George didn't stop caressing his skin.

"A small one, my dear. It's hard for me to get aroused."

"Why? If I were you and I was lying in bed with me, I would have a hard-on all the way to the ceiling!"

George burst out laughing. "You're pretty cocky, Marcus! It's only .... I'm very shy you know and I haven't had many men in bed."

Marcus was surprised. "You shy? That's impossible."

"Believe me." He propped up on his elbow and looked at Marcus. "Perhaps you can help me."

Jesus! Marcus thought what am I into? "Please don't say you are a virgin."

"No, in my younger years all was well, but now..."

He never stopped stroking Marcus' genitals, sneaking his fingers between his legs and caressed the inner sides.

"And what do you want me to do now?"

"Nothing, dear. Let us sleep now, yes?"

George snuggled even closer to his body and after few minutes Marcus heard his steady, deep breathing. He himself lay there for hours with his open eyes, staring at the ceiling and wondered if he should just go and take the screen with him. Of course it was a stupid thought, he would never be able to carry the heavy wood and glass screen with him. It seemed equally difficult to spend another night with his strange host, though.

Again his thoughts went out to Nicholas. Another day gone and he hadn't called. He was certain Nicholas would be most cross with him. Although, what made him think Nick wasn't cheating too? Perhaps with Ben? Stupid. He wished it was Nicholas' breath gently touching his skin; that he could kiss the tiny freckles on his nose, see his love smile in his sleep.

* * *

Nicholas awoke to another morning without Marcus. It was always the first thought which came to his mind. Yawning, he looked at the paintings of Marcus. He had hung the newest one - of Marcus laying on the sofa in his atelier - under the first portrait he had made soon after he had met Marcus for the first time.

Again he felt the loneliness. A good diversion or two was required, he decided. First he would attend lessons at the workshop and then he would visit Johannes.

At lessons Nicholas was surprised to see Frank seemingly back to his old self, calmly explaining about the Impressionist painters and their preference for landscapes and street scenes. He was assured in his discourse on the effects of light on the contours of their subjects.

Ben smiled at Nicholas.

"Simon has agreed to meet this evening," he whispered.

"Yes? Great. Have you made a decision finally?"

Ben nodded, "I'd like to see him. I don't care about the consequences. After all he's going to need somebody willing to be there for him."

Nicholas was surprised. Things sounded more serious than he'd suspected.

"I only hope Simon will allow it," Ben continued.

Frank ceased his lecturing, staring silently at Ben. When he had their attention, he continued, "If the gentlemen are so well versed in Impressionism, then I recommend they step outside the class," he rebuked.

Ben's ears reddened, but he held Frank's gaze.

"On his high horse again," Nicholas whispered to Ben.

"Nick, how nice to see you!" Johannes beamed over his glasses. "I have missed you. Marcus instructed me to take care of you, but I wondered how I would manage it if you never came!"

The reception pleased Nicholas and he smiled.

"How is Trajan doing? He still feels well?"

"But yes. He had already survived two attacks and is safe for now. Forever, I hope. And how is young Augustus?"

"Also fine. Safe on the mantelpiece." He sat to Johannes and looked depressed.

"Have you heard from Marcus?"

"No. I thought you might have heard something?"

Johannes shook his head. "I don't know what he's thinking about. Next week he has his exhibition and nothing is prepared. He couldn't forget that." Yet, Nicholas observed, Johannes didn't look as assured as he sounded.

Nicholas began to worry that something had happened to Marcus... but then Karl would have called. Johannes was watching him.

"I don't think something ill has happened," he said, expressing the same thoughts. "Marcus can be very involved when he's at work - especially when he's after a precious piece of art. Do you know that he has longed for this screen for over two years? Perhaps it can be a little consolation for you to know that he might finally get it. But wait, you have his cell phone number, haven't you?"

"Yes, but when I call he either hasn't time to speak or there's no answer."

Johannes smiled grew wide. "Then take it as a good sign, Nick. Soon he will be coming through the door with a huge package. Trust me."

Nicholas sighed. If he only could trust like the old man!

"Johannes, may I ask you a question?"

Johannes nodded simply.

"Did Marcus have... many lovers? I mean you've known him a long time..."

Johannes took a deep breath. "I don't know what you mean by 'many'. A few yes, but I doubt that he brought all of them here, so I'm not quite sure. The last, Simon, was never here. Marcus said he had no interest, so perhaps others did not visit either.

I was wondering though, Marcus mentioned that you have been looking for Simon. What on earth for?"

Nicholas wasn't sure if he should tell him, but went for it.

"I found him, actually. Marcus knows, but in the heat of his chase, he suddenly seems not to care. You know Simon is HIV-infected, right? I just thought that he should be found, looked in on."

"Oh. I see." Johannes' face was troubled. "That's a sad story."

Johannes looked at the door and Nicholas followed his gaze. The man entering the room was familiar but Nicholas couldn't exactly place him.

"Alex!" Johannes seemed to be very pleased. "Two surprises at once are almost too much for my weak heart!" he laughed, rose and shook Alex's hand. "How are you?"

Alex smiled and then glanced at Nicholas.

"Fine, thanks."

"Nick, this is Alex, a former employee."

"Hi, I think we've met before, yes?"

"Yes." Alex's voice was reserved. Nicholas assumed that he was embarrassed remembering the unpleasant scene when Marcus had shouted at him.

"How's your son?"

Alex stiffened. "Fine. He is also fine," he expressed haltingly. "I'm here for a short visit only; Marcus isn't here, is he?"

"No, he's in London. You remember the Burne-Jones screen? It looks like as if he will finally get it."

"Indeed!" Alex's eyebrows rose. "That's good news. Actually, I'm on my way to London, too. Karl invited me, you know. I think it will be a good change of scenery."

"To London?" Nicholas threw in. "You'll meet Marcus then. Please tell him to call me. It's urgent. Will you?"

Alex looked him up and down before he spoke. "I don't think I will meet Marcus. I'm sure you know why," he paused, "But I can tell Karl, if that's ok?"

"Yes, it's ok, but don't forget, please."

"Are you working?"

Alex shook his head. "Still unemployed. And with my saving's gone, it was necessary for public assistance."

Johannes sighed. "Not good news, Alex. But enjoy your stay with Karl. Send him my greetings, will you?"

"Sure. Bye, my friend."

Alex's farewell to Nicholas was not much more than an icy stare mixed with a little nod. Nicholas shivered involuntary, and despite his compassionate nature, he couldn't help disliking Alex.

* * *

Sebastian had spent a unruly night. From time to time he had awaken to see how Kay was doing and had been relieved to hear the steady breathing of his injured lover. With the morning sun now streaming into their room, he was again watching Kay sleep.

What a pity about the new motorcycle. Certainly he would have to make it clear to Kay that there were certain corners of the city one had to ALWAYS avoid after sundown. He realized he hadn't spelled out the dangers of cruising the colosseum, but then who could have known that Kay would be so foolish as to go out looking. Looking for trouble because he was sulking, miffed, bored or heaven knew what else. There was absolutely no reason for him to have reacted in such a way. Sebastian had merely talked with Andrea's parents and taken their books in order to give them to his tax advisor in hopes of finding a way to economize the shop.

Kay's stirring interrupted his thoughts.

"Good morning, sweetie. How's the head feeling?"

Kay impulsively felt for the plaster on his head, touching it gingerly.

"Better I think." He blinked. "Doesn't hurt too much."

Sebastian's smile was relieved. Last evening the Doctor had assured them there was no concussion, but advised that Kay would probably have a headache for a bit and would need rest.

"So you're feeling alright?"

"Yes. What do we do now?"

"If you mean can we continue our tourist programme, you're wrong, sweetie. You need to rest."

"You're saying you want to keep me in bed?"

"Exactly." Sebastian raised his forefinger. "But no games!" He smiled, "You understand me?"

Indeed Kay's head was still aching a bit. Half sleeping he asked,

"What happened with Andrea yesterday?"

It dawned on Sebastian he hadn't had a chance to tell Kay about the previous evening. "I took the books with me so I can take them to my tax advisor."

"And Andrea?"

Sebastian brought his lips Kay's. "Nothing," he whispered, "did you think I'd go straight to bed with him?" He kissed Kay. "Why can't you simply trust me?"

"Do you like me?"

"What a foolish question, Kay."

"Answer me."

Time ticked away while Sebastian gazed into Kay's dark, questioning eyes. Finally he said, "I must have done something wrong if you need to ask me if I like you. I thought it was plain to see - to feel. Of course I do." He took Kay's hand and kissed it.

Kay blinked and he was close to falling asleep. "But it doesn't mean you love me, right", he whispered, eyes closing.

Sebastian patted his hand, relieved of an answer because Kay had gone back to sleep.

Antonella was waiting for Sebastian in the kitchen, espresso machine already going.

"Ciao Sebastiano," she cheered and they smiled at each other. She was two years older than Sebastian, with the same black, curly hair as her brother and the big, anthracite coloured eyes so common to Romans. Married with children in school, she worked twice a week for Sebastian.

"I hope I guarded the house well during your absence. I've heard from Andrea you brought home a new regazzo." Her eyes twinkled merrily.

"Si cara, he's upstairs sleeping. Had a motorcycle accident last night."

"Madonna!" Antonella made the sign of the cross. "Is he hurt?"

"No, no. Not badly. Actually he was robbed at the Colosseo."

"Haven't you told him that the place can be dangerous at night?"

Sebastian sighed. "No, I couldn't foresee that he..." He spread his arms helplessly. Antonella took the tiny cups filled with Espresso and carried them to the table. She dropped two cubes of sugar into each and stirred.

"Andrea also said that you were at Ma and Pa's shop; I think he was very excited to see you back."

Sebastian brought the cup to his lips and swallowed the coffee in one gulp. "So, he was excited." His tone was reserved. "Can you imagine how excited I was when he would turn up after he had disappeared for days at a time? You remember he was the one who picked up the rich Brit and ran off for a bit. It seems I was not enough for him."

Antonella looked amused. "So you still have grumbles with him? That's the ego of a man! You are hurt much too easily." She smiled. "Andrea is still a baby. He likes to play, capisci`?"

"I don't think I'm in the right playground for him," Sebastian responded.

"He must be a wonderful young man you have upstairs if you can resist Andrea's charms so easily."

Sebastian looked into the empty coffee cup. "Comparing their charms, I would say that Andrea thinks only of his own advantage." He looked up, "Scusi, Antonella. I'm sorry to say it, but I think it's true."

"That's not news to me, Sebastiano. You know he's the only boy in the family and you know how Italian families spoil their sons..."

Sebastian smiled. "Now, tell me how are your children?"

"Oh well, Maria has learned her first letters and Guido is mischievous and playful - like every boy." She laughed.

"You're raising another generation!" Sebastian laughed with her, then grew serious once more. "They are good kids, cara."

"That's right, my friend." She stood up, rinsed both cups and was ready to begin her housework.

"Mind if I vacuum next time? I don't want to wake up your boy."

Sebastian turned to her, "Very thoughtful of you. I'll disappear and make some calls. Perhaps later we can do the shopping together, what do you think?"

"Buon idea. And," she hesitated briefly, "thank you for caring about my parent's shop. It's very kind of you."

"Don't mentioned it. I'll see you later." He vanished into his work room, and reaching for the telephone tried to call Marcus first. He sighed and hung up when no one answered. He hadn't heard from Marcus since he'd left town, and now he was beginning to worry. Plus, he was anxious to know if Nicki and Ben had been able to find Simon. But surely Nick would had called. Pensively he dialed Marcus' home, but again there was no answer. O course! Nick would be at school now. Finally he gave up and called his office to get the news on the excavations at the Forum Romanum.

* * *

Nicholas picked up the receiver of the pay phone in the entrance hall of the Academy, inserted his coins and dialed. A male voice promised to summon Matthias to the phone.

"Nick? You're still alive?"

"Um, sorry Matthias, there's been so much happening I simply forgot to call. But tell me first, can you manage to get Tina to come to the store? I have a question."

"Sure I can. She wanted to pick me up anyway."

"Good, but she must come early because I need her good taste. I want to buy a present for my mother and she's the same size, you understand?"

"Of course. Birthday present?"

"No, just for fun."

"It's settled then. But you must tell me all about Simon later, ok?"

"Ok, I promise. Till later."

Shortly before closing Tina, Nicholas and Matthias left the centre.

"Can we drive you to your parents?" Matthias asked, eying all the parcels the three of them carried. "You won't be able to lug this all on your own."

Nicholas beamed. "Great idea! You don't mind?" He looked to Tina and she shook her head.

"Time to get your own driver's license, Nick. You don't have the excuse of money anymore."

Nick grimaced. "Yeah, I think you're right."

Nicholas entered the old block of flats, juggling the heavy parcels as he climbed the stairs. The almost forgotten odour of the place met him, sharp like urine and grungy, like an old sponge. His heart pounded as he reached the third floor and not only because of the stairs. He had no clue how his father would react; their last meeting had been most unpleasant.

The door opened and he saw his mother's beaming face shift to a look of surprise once she registered all the parcels in his arms. "Nick, darling. You haven't been home in so long."

He set the parcels down inside the door and she took him into her arms, holding him tight.

"You're looking good," his mother said. "You're even gaining weight."

"Ah, you are the fifth person to tell me that!"

Vera laughed. "It's meant as compliment of course. But what have you brought here? Have you robbed the shopping centre?" She looked suspiciously at the contents sticking out of the bags.

Nicholas laughed. "Yes, sort of it. But since I haven't been here in so long, I felt I shouldn't come with empty hands."

The door to the living room opened and his father appeared. He smiled at Nicholas, who reluctantly offered his hand. Hesitating, his father took the hand while looking at all the bags

"It looks like you want to move in again."

Nicholas took it as a joke and laughed, but his father didn't.

"Come," Vera pushed Nicholas into the kitchen, "tell me all about the past weeks. How is Marcus?"

Nicholas sat down in the chair and heard the door to the living room close, knowing his father had returned to the TV. He exchanged a glance with his mother and they sighed in unison.

"Marcus is fine, I guess. At the moment he's in London. He wants to buy a screen, but I haven't heard from him in a few days."

"He hasn't called?" Vera sounded concerned. "I hope nothing has happened to him?"

"I hope so too, Mum. Although certainly his employee would have called."

"Hm," Vera didn't seemed too convinced. "Are you hungry?"

"No, Mum, we ate at the shopping centre."

"This means you visited Matthias, yes?"

"Yes." Nicholas jumped up to get the bags and spread their contents onto the kitchen table. Vera watched with surprise as pineapples, mangoes, avocados, a salmon, and thick slices of ham were laid out. Just when she thought the bag might be empty, out came salami, prawns and olives, cakes and biscuits.

"What are you doing? This is much too expensive!"

"Nonsense. I know you don't buy these things because Dad doesn't care for them, but I also know that you do, so..."

Vera didn't know if she should laugh or not. She felt most uncomfortable looking at all the things.

"Nick, I don't know,"

"No complaints, Mum." He opened the fridge to put the things away. "And the other bags are for you and dad. I took Tina with me for help. I hope you will like what we picked out."

Nicholas pulled out a long, warm coat from one of the bags, acting like Santa Claus. "Put it on. And here's more." He showed her the matching scarf and gloves, then an ivory coloured suit which - as Vera knew at the first site - would fit like a glove. Without a word she pulled on the coat and stepped in front of the large mirror hanging on the door. She turned around, watching herself.

"But I can't, you mustn't do this, it's..."

"Please, Mum."

Again the living room door opened and his father peered out.

"What's all the commotion?" Stunned he looked at his wife in the new coat. "What's that?"

"I have something for you too, Dad." Nicholas rushed into the kitchen again and rummaged in the bags.

"You're saying you bought this?" He threw an angry look to Vera and followed Nicholas into the kitchen. "What is all this shit? You come here to lavish us with stuff we don't need." He raised his voice. "You should be ashamed!"

Nicholas glared silently at his father.

"And where did you get the money to buy all this? From your faggot friend, yes?" With one motion he swiped the bags from the table to the floor.

"Rudolf!" Vera stood in the door quickly pulling off the coat. "What's gotten into you? He only wants to please us!"

"Oh really? Then tell me, from whom did he get the money?"

"It's MY money since you are so interested. Mum knows that I got a lot from selling my paintings."

He looked at Vera and she nodded. "Yes, that's true."

"Ah! That's true! You got money for your blotchings! I'd be thrilled to know what jerks buy your 'paintings'!" His voice was full of scorn.

Nicholas' face grew red and he bent down to pick up the bags.

"We don't need money or so-called presents from a faggot."

Nicholas wasn't sure if he meant Marcus or himself but it didn't matter. A hurt look touched his mother as he went without a word back to the hall and pulled on his jacket. Vera followed him and began whispering to him, but Nicholas shook his head. "I tried. Of course it might look like a bribe, but I only wanted to make joy."

"I know." Vera's voice was choked with tears. She kissed Nicholas and wiped a strand of his hair from his forehead. "Promise me to come back, will you?"

"Of course. But not here. I come to the supermarket next time, yes?" He nodded shortly. "Enjoy the clothes, Mum. I'm sure you will look marvelous in them." He turned and was out of the door before his father could say anything else.

Running down the stairs he could hear his mother's voice shouting, which surprised him. He'd never heard her shout at his father before. Perhaps this was a good sign. It was a mystery to Nicholas how she had stood him all these years. She was too good for a man like him.

Nicholas wiped a tear from his cheek as he rushed into the dark street, nearly running into Mr. Reisig, a neighbour.

"Hello, Nick. I haven't seen you in so long."

Nicholas tried to smile. "Hello, Mr. Reisig. How are you?"

"Ah, the rheumatism you know. We will have a change in weather, I can sense it in my old bones."

"I hope it will be warmer weather," Nicholas replied with a sniffed. Mr. Reisig examined him more closely.

"Sad?" he asked.

Nicholas shook the head and turned his face. "It's nothing. Only the sharp wind in my eyes."

But Mr. Reisig wasn't easily convinced. "Would you like to have a hot cup of grog? I'm sure you could use it."

Actually what Nicholas wanted was to be alone in the comfort of Marcus' house, but then he thought it might not be a bad idea to follow the old man. After all, he'd known him his whole life.

Mr. Reisig resided on the ground floor. Unlocking the door, a fat tiger cat suddenly came around the corner, rushed to Nicholas and sat down at his feet, looking up expectingly. Unable to resist the invitation, Nicholas bent down to pet the cat beneath the chin. The cat slid around and between his feet before quickly scampering away.

"Oh, Tiger likes you!" Mr. Reisig exclaimed. "Usually he's very shy, you know. Come along."

Nicholas followed him into the kitchen where he pulled off his jacket and took it with Mr. Reisig's to hang on the hook behind the door. Mr. Resig had already put on the water, and into a second pan he was pouring red wine.

"There's nothing quite so relaxing as a cup of grog, you know." He turned to Nicholas. "And you'll sleep better."

Tiger appeared again, meowed and jumped upon the chair beneath the window whose paint had long since peeled away. Nicholas cautiously stroked the silky coat and then took a seat in the other chair to watch as the old man sliced a lemon.

"How is work? Or aren't you working there anymore? I mean, as I said, I haven't seen you for a long time."

"I don't working at the shopping centre anymore, Mr. Reisig."

"No?" The water and the wine were boiling. He mixed two parts wine and one part water into two glass mugs then added cinnamon sticks and lemon wedges.

"Don't call me Mr. Reisig," he said setting one mug before Nicholas. "I've know you since you were that tiny." He illustrated by showing the span of his thumb and forefinger. It made Nicholas laugh. "Call me Ludwig." Raising his cup, he blew on the red liquid.

"Call me Nick."

Ludwig smiled. "So you haven't lost your humour completely, right?" Tiger jumped into his lap, stretched out and began to purr. "Want to tell me about your sorrow? You were visiting your parents, yes? I always imagined you got along well with them."

"Yes, well... that WAS true, until lately. Now I can't speak to my father."

"Would you tell me why? I mean I don't want to be nosy."

"It's alright... Ludwig." Nicholas lifted the cup and had a taste. The brew was hot, heavy and tasted good, but then the scent of cinnamon and lemon reminded him of Marcus and he had to blink away tears once more.

"Want to have some sugar with it?"

"Yes, please." After a while he continued, "I brought some new things to my parents, but my father yelled at me that he doesn't need gifts. So I left."

Of course Ludwig didn't understand a word, but he remained silent.

"It was MY money I used to buy them."

"Who else's money could it have been?"

Nicholas hung his head. "I know you don't understand. It's ... my father hates me because I'm gay. Now you know." He looked into Ludwig's eyes which remained empty.

Then Ludwig said, "And that's all?"

Nicholas nodded.

"So you don't like all the pretty girls?" Ludwig pulled out a huge handkerchief and snorted into it. The cat awoke and jumped from his lap. "And you think that's the reason he's angry with you?"

"Yes, of course I think so."

"And your mother?"

Nicholas shrugged his shoulders. "She supports me, but hasn't been able to convince my father that I'm not something sick or disgusting."

"No, nobody can help you, Nick. Do you have a boyfriend?"

"Yes." Nicholas replied, watching the fine lines around Ludwig's nose and mouth and the deeper, serious lines around his watery eyes. He couldn't tell exactly how old Ludwig was but certainly old enough to have seen a lot.

"Do you know Marcus Weidenbruch?"

Ludwig pondered a while, "I think I've heard the name before. Somewhere in the news."

"Perhaps about the fire that broke out in the exhibition hall?"

"Yes." Ludwig nodded. "That's it. He's a rich man."

"You see, I stopped working at the shopping centre to go to school again. Marcus wanted it and naturally I did too. My paintings were in the exhibition and I sold almost all of them, making a lot of money - at least to me it was a lot of money. So all the things I bought for my parents were paid with money I earned from my paintings. MY money, not the money of a ... faggot!" He spit out his father's word with disgust.

"So that's what your father said, yes? He refuses to take your money because he thinks it comes from your friend?" Ludwig shook his head and had another gulp of his grog. "And what of this Marcus?"

"I live with him now, but he's not here at the moment. I'm completely alone."

Ludwig put sympathetically his hand upon Nicholas'.

"You're never alone if you have somebody who loves you. Believe an old man. It doesn't matter if it's a man or a woman."

Nicholas looked thankfully into the warm, watery eyes. A warmth was building in his belly, coming from the alcohol and the soothing words. He drank his grog and began feeling sleepily.

"Thank you, Ludwig. You helped me a lot, but now I must go, it's getting late and I have to get up early in the morning."

"This late and you want to go alone? Where do you live?"

"Grunewald."

"Phew! A noble house, yes? But it's too far away, the streets are uncertain. Stay here, you can have a breakfast with me tomorrow morning, what do you think?"

"But I cannot..."

"Why? It's been a long time since I had a companion other than Tiger in the morning."

As if on cue the cat appeared again and jumped into Nicholas' lap. Ludwig laughed, "You see!"

Nicholas admitted defeat.

As he lay on the living room couch, outfitted with pillows and covers, he remembered that he had meant to call Marcus, but didn't dare ask Ludwig to use the phone. It would be far too expensive to call London.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Seeking a late supper after visiting the King's Observatory, Marcus learned that the 'Trafalgar Tavern', situated on the Thames, was not far from George's home. Though Marcus appeared to stare intently across the river at the Docklands, an area famous for its futuristic buildings and high rises, he was in fact lost in thoughts of Nicholas. He'd been unable to reach the young man, which only added to the guilt he already felt.

"Don't you like the Whitebait?" George's voice pierced his thoughts.

"Huh? Oh, yes, I like it." Marcus took another bite from the fish.

"Don't worry, once it was fished from the Thames but not anymore. Did you know that this was once was a haunt of Charles Dickens'?"

"Indeed? It is that old?"

George dabbed his mouth with his napkin. "Yes, built in 1837. Some great parties have taken place within these walls. At least before it's brief conversion to an old seamen's home and then a workers' club."

Marcus looked at the old sextants and telescopes hanging on the walls. Other navigation instruments were displayed in glass boxes throughout the tavern.

"You've been far away all day, my dear," George continued. "I hope you haven't changed your mind."

Although he felt George's eyes resting at his face Marcus couldn't bring himself to make a friendly expression.

"Look, I'm not going to press you. You are here because you wanted it, remember that." George's tone was reserved, perhaps a little insulted.

"Yes, I remember." Marcus picked at his food. "But I'm asking myself if it's worth it."

"You're thinking of your friend back in Germany. Well, you should have considered him earlier, before you shared my bed. Voluntarily, I stress once again."

"I did nothing to you." Marcus voice was sharp and caused George to laugh.

"Yes, you did nothing, but you were delighted to receive. I could see it, my dear. And certainly, I could taste it." George's manner was coquettish. "I haven't had that much fun in years."

Marcus sighed. If that was the best fun the man had had in years, he was a sad case indeed. George was apparently full of complexes and if he could help him out a bit, well then maybe another good might be gained from their "arrangement". Certainly George wasn't unappealing and he was a good storyteller, Marcus rationalized before lifting his gaze to George. "Alright, George, what have you got in mind?"

George placed his hand over Marcus', playing with his fingers. "I don't know how far you want to go with me."

"How far I want to go? Well, I would have thought you'd have it meticulously planned. First you want to seduce me, suck me off, then fuck me? Or do you want me to fuck you?" He stared into George's face who bristled at the coarse language.

"I told you before, I don't want to 'fuck you'". He lowered his voice and the last piece of the sentence was barely audible.

"No?" Marcus lifted his glass and drank a bit. "Good. Because I don't think I would allow it."

Now George lifted Marcus' hand to his lips and kissed his fingers. Marcus flinched and pulled his hand away, looking around the room. Apparently the gesture had gone unnoticed. George pushed his empty plate aside, leaning closer to Marcus, laying his arm over the back of Marcus' chair so he could lightly caress his back.

"Then what do you say to fucking ME?" he whispered.

"Is it this you want me to do?"

"Yes." George's lips shifted away from Marcus's ear to plant a soft kiss on his cheek. It was at that moment that Marcus' eyes caught site of a man sitting across the room, arm raised in a toast to the apparent intimacy he shared with George. Marcus went pale as he recognized Alex, and with him, Karl, who thankfully appeared too wrapped up in conversation to have noticed Marcus' presence.

Shit! How much he had seen? How much he would tell Karl? But then, he tried to soothe himself, Karl didn't know about Nicholas and he saw no reason why Alex should make difficulties for him. Still he couldn't get rid of the odd feeling that coming here was a big mistake. Instantly he made space between himself and George, hoping to avoid all body contact. But George, inhibitions lowered by the port wine and unaware of Marcus' distress, followed his movements and leaned in close beside him. The impression they made, Marcus realized, was that of old lovers.

"Can we go now?" Marcus said quickly. "I could use some fresh air."

"But of course." George waved to the waiter, settled the bill and remained close beside Marcus as they crossed the room, passing Alex's table. Alex was grinning broadly at Marcus and poked Karl in the arm to look up as they passed, but George had already rushed Marcus out of the room by the time Karl's attention was gained.

Arriving home by taxi, George couldn't get Marcus upstairs to the bedroom quickly enough.

"Come on, don't waste time," George was breathless, tugging at Marcus' dinner jacket and shirt while grinding his very hard erection into Marcus' abdomen.

Surprised, Marcus looked up. "It's the first time! Could it be you need port wine to get aroused?"

"Perhaps. It doesn't matter now though." George fumbled with his buttons, even ripping off one of them.

Marcus observed the flush over George's face and realized that he would probably need only a minute to empty his load. Though he encouraged the man to calm down, George continued with his frantic stripping, jerking down his trousers together with his boxers so that he stood there, thin pole pointed at Marcus, shivering and ready.

He stepped closer. "Come on. Fuck me now," he hissed, his breath heavy with port wine. Unzipping Marcus' trousers and slipping his hand inside, he searched for the hardness he craved, but found none.

To Marcus the scene was more than a touch ridiculous: George's stunned face, his desperate attempts to land them both upon the waterbed... Finally Marcus gave in, and plopped down on the bed, causing a great sloshing which George ignored as he flung himself onto Marcus like a bee to a flower. Rutting like a pig, George slid his stiff cock over Marcus' still limp penis roughly. In only a few moments George went rigid atop Marcus, letting lose a shrill cry to accompany the warm, sticky liquid pulsing across Marcus' belly and black pubic hair. George then collapsed over him.

"Gosh! You don't have to cry like a stabbed ox!" Marcus scolded as he tried to move George's inert body off his own. He was disgusted.

Seconds later George opened his eyes and began to shower a struggling Marcus with kisses. With persistence, George snaked his way down Marcus' body, licking his own cum away and beginning to suck fervently on Marcus' still limp penis.

"What's the matter with you?" George complained after a few moments, "Now I'm in the right mood and you are so cold to me."

"Ah, shit, stop it. I'm really not up for this."

George instantly released the flaccid penis, peering up to meet Marcus' eyes, which were rolling toward the ceiling at that moment. Then he crawled up the bed to face Marcus.

"I don't have to remind you of our deal, do I? With a word you can go." He grinned. "But the screen stays."

"God damn it, George!" Marcus cursed and tried to sit up.

George rolled away, "As you like it, lover," he said and pointed at the door.

Marcus jumped out of the bed, collected his clothes and vanished through the door. Downstairs he came to a halt in front of the door leading to the room which housed the screen. He hesitated before stepping inside.

Decision made, Marcus groped for a light switch against the wall and then finding it, winced when the room was suddenly so brightly illuminated. With his clothes still pressed against his chest, he moved barefoot around the screen to turn on the lamps so that he might turn off the harsh ceiling lights.

Again he had the impression of being in the isolated crypt of an old church, illuminated by the morning sunlight streaming through the bright colours of the painted glass.

He set down his clothes and shoes to simply look at the screen. After taking in the whole of it, naked as he was, Marcus moved forward, hands outstretched and trembling, to cautiously touch the surface. Knowing it was probably the last time he would see the piece, he tried to absorb as much detail as he could - the way it looked, how it felt, even how it might smell. Close as his face was, anyone seeing him would guess that he was about to kiss the screen as he might a lover.

But the glass was cold and flat and it couldn't compare with Nicholas' smooth, warm and silky skin.

With that thought, he suddenly reached for his jacket and withdrew his cell phone. No matter how late it was, he had to speak to Nicholas immediately. He longed to hear his voice, but the only sound he heard was a depressing, emptiness of infinite ringing. Eventually he gave up, shaking his head. How long had it been since he had spoken to his lover? Days?

A chill crept over him and he became aware of his nakedness. He pulled a chair forward and sat down in front of the screen with the idea of putting his clothes on. Instead he found himself once more tracing the lines of the figures depicted, imagining the wind that blew their dresses, veils and hair.

With a shiver to remind him of his present vulnerable state, he wondered at his foolishness. How could an adult man behave so? But was it foolish to love beautiful things? Perhaps to do so was to harbour a sort of craziness. Were all the men and women who collected precious works of art in hopes of saving them for posterity crazy? Certainly there were differences between curators and private collectors, especially those collectors who would hoard and hide the treasures. The Japanese tycoons who bought all those Van Gogh's, came to mind. They'd locked the paintings away in a vault which was only opened occasionally and to a very select few, celebrating their good fortune with wine and cigars. Marcus didn't count himself among those kinds of collectors.

His feet were getting cold in the unheated room and he stuffed his hands inside the pockets of his trousers. He still felt dirty, George's scent clung to his clothing, probably at his skin also. His thoughts jumped from one subject to the next so he wondered now why Nicholas hadn't answered the phone. Was it that he was so sound asleep that he hadn't heard the ringing? Marcus made a mental note to install an extension in the bedroom. Or perhaps Nicholas wasn't at home. Maybe he was out with Ben or Simon or with both of them? He remembered their last quarrel on the phone and Nick's threat to have a nice threesome. He had meant to be playful, hadn't he? Would Nick be capable of wronging him?

A derisive laugh escaped his lips. There he was, alternately praising and doubting his lover when he himself had entered into a deal to fuck George for the screen. And still his mind was scheming, trying to figure out how he might get the screen without fucking George.

God Damnit!

He ought to simply go, forget the beauty his eyes feasted upon and take the next airplane home to his lover. Why didn't he?

Again he picked up the phone and dialed home, but just then the door behind him opened. Dropping the phone, he turned to find George dressed in a blue robe.

"I hoped I would find you here." George's voice was soft and low. "I'm sorry about what happened. Can you forgive me?" His striking grey eyes sparkled in the light, free of the madness Marcus had seen before. Marcus said nothing.

"Come with me." George offered his hand. "It's the middle of the night. You can go still tomorrow if you want."

Marcus clenched his teeth, causing the muscles in his jaw to move. "Ok. But only because I'm tired."

George took his arm and led him out. "I'm sure you are."

Arriving in the bedroom, George began to undress Marcus lovingly before motioning him to lie down. Then crawling in beside him, he spread the covers over both of them, snuggling as close as he felt Marcus would permit. Marcus was asleep almost immediately.

In the morning, Marcus' cellular phone rang repeatedly but went unanswered since it lay forgotten on the cold floor, the screen before it.

Marcus dreamt of a warm body sliding over his erect penis, causing him to squirm and buck his hips. He murmured incoherent words and moaned as he imagined Nicholas hunched above him, smiling down at him while his cock sought shelter in the moist crack of his arse.

"Honey", Marcus purred, "Come," he reached for Nicholas' legs, stroking them and Nicholas bent down to kiss him. But the kiss felt different. An eager tongue pushed into his mouth and then his lips were bitten. Marcus flinched and opened his eyes to find George only a few inches from his face. He realized all at once that this wasn't a dream. It was the wrong man who squatted above him, sliding his arse crack over his cock feverishly, before positioned himself so that Marcus could penetrate him.

"Shit, what are you doing?" Marcus shouted, trying to push George away. "I told you already I don't want this!"

"Sssshhh, you don't have to do anything. Let ME do it. Just lie there and enjoy it."

"No!" Marcus blinked away the last of his dream, "I don't want to."

George gripped his shoulders firmly, pressing them into the sheets. "I want to feel you inside me," he hissed, and Marcus could see the madness again building in his eyes. "It's your decision - me or the screen. And," he grinned, "if you don't want the screen I will destroy it. I have no use for it."

"What?" Marcus pushed aside George's hands. By straining his legs he was able to roll George away from his body. "What did you say? Are you crazy?"

George giggled.

"That's not meant seriously, is it?" Marcus continued.

"Of course it is, my beauty. You must decide now."

It was too much for Marcus. Screen or no screen, things had gone too far. He didn't want to fuck a complete lunatic. As he had only a few hours before, he jumped out of bed, slipped into his trousers, threw on the shirt, grabbed his shoes and jacket and left the room. He moved quickly down the stairs, never looking back.

Passing the door to the screen he again hesitated briefly, but this time went on, stepping outside to breathe in the cool, fresh air. Greenwich lay before him in peaceful slumber, dawn just beginning to break. He slipped into his shoes - without socks because he hadn't seen them as he made his escape - and into his coat. Then he slammed the door behind him.