Title: The Knife that twists within
The Knife That Twists Within
Part 15
by Stefan
"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 travelers, so it does well." Wearing a look of surprise, Kay stood in the center 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 Marc Aurel. 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 marvelous 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' cellphone 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 orderdown 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 newphew - 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 unsatiable 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-chastize 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 dialed a number and spoke while Kay sat dazed in an armchair.
Sebastian knelt beside him. "Ok, where and how?"
"Colesseum."
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 rearview 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 waterchair." Marcus rearranged his weight and kneaded the surface which gave way with every poke. He had never heard of a waterchair. "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 waterchair. "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, signaling 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. To be continued