Date: Mon, 17 Jan 2000 05:32:25 -0800 (PST)
From: Willie Hewes <williehewes@yahoo.com>
Subject: Nickolas Rising (2)

     They didn't really have anything in common, that was the
problem. Laine was a highschool-kid, a nobody, or at least nobody but the
son of Thomas Leff. Nickolas Rising was a star! Not really famous with the
"common people", but well-known among those that mattered. He was a dancer,
one of the best. He had worked with all the big names, David Bowie, Duran
Duran, Madonna even. He knew Prince personally. That he was staying at
their place was something of a coincidence. He was shooting a video nearby,
and he hated hotels. The Leff's place had entertained bigger guests than
him, and entertained them well. Laine wondered how much his father really
had to do with this video. He was never told much about the various
projects and productions his father was involved with. He never asked.

     Now he was at Nickolas' door. He hesitated. Mabe he shouldn't do this,
what if Nickolas was already in bed? His bad temper was legendary. If he
just sneaked back to his room, there would be plently of time to make
friends with him later, tomorrow, or... "Chicken," he told himself. Then he
knocked and opened the door.

     Nickolas nearly jumped out of his skin. He was already undressing, and
when Laine came in, he wrestled his T-shirt back down. Laine caught a
glipse of naked belly. For a moment they were both dumbstruck. Then,
Nickolas said with a meaningful glare: "Oh, it's You."
     That shattered the last of Laine's carefully gathered courage. He
started stammering, anxious for some way to explain what he
wanted. "I'm... I'm sorry ah, I didn't mean to disturb you..." Nickolas
frowned at him. He forced himself to go on. "I-I-I was sent by my father to
er... to see if you needed anything." Dammit! why wasn't this going as it
was supposed to? Nickolas looked down at him with a smirk curling his
lips. "Oh, really?" He paused. Laine moved from one foot to the other,
feeling very awkward. "Well, that's very kind of your father, er... What
was you name again?"
     "Laine," Laine mumbled. He tried to pull himself together, to think of
something good to say. At least Nickolas was looking at him now...
     "Laine Leff?" Nickolas asked amused. "The famous Laine Leff? Honey,
you need a stage name, your name sounds like a Chinese wino. Mistel Laine
Leff!" Laine's face felt like it was the colour of chilly peppers. It
probably was. *He's just teasing you,* he thought panickly. *Say something
funny back!* But all that made it out of his mouth was a shy: "It's
Lawrence, actually." Brilliant. He hated that name.

     "Lawrence? How lovely. Well then, *Lawrence*, thank your father for
his concern, but I'm fine right now." How could he make his voice sound so
sarcastic while it didn't lose anything of that gut-melting sensuality?
Laine felt drained. He was miserable and horny, and angry for being treated
like this. That asshole.
     "Well, I wish you a good night then, Nick." At that Nickolas gave him
such a foul look that he fled from the room, closing the door behind him.

                                     ***

Nickolas undressed slowly, allowing himself to get used to the strange
bathroom. There were two doors, both of them now locked from the
inside. The door of the shower-cabin was made of clear glass. It must give
a sense of exposure he wasn't used to. Being naked in an unfamiliar
environment made him nervous anyway.

     He thought of the boy who had stumbled into his room just now,
Laine. He caught himself smiling. So the son of Thomas Leff was gay? He bet
daddy didn't know about that one. Thomas Leff was rumoured to be unusually
homophobic. Nickolas smelled a family drama. He grinned.

     Naked, he stepped into the shower. It took him a second to figure out
how to turn on the water, and when he did, it was searing hot. He didn't
adjust the temperature though, he just took a deep breath and waited until
his skin got used to the temperature. He thought of Laine again, running
his hands over his own smooth skin. The boy had the beginnings of a beard,
would he have a few chesthairs as well? He was young, Nickolas estimated
about sixteen. Most of his admirers were older, especially the men. Oh, he
would be fun to play with, this one. Young, beautiful, naive... But what
was wrong? He felt a little sting at the thought, as if playing with Laine
would not be right. He imagined himself gong down on him, taking a long,
hard penis into his mouth, tasting a secret, salty drop on the cloven
tip... He shook it off. Nonsense.

     He started soaping up his arms and chest, creamy flocks dripping down
his stomack. Poor boy, this Laine. Being what his father dispised. And what
a place to live in. Hollywood is a city-sized Titanic, bursting with its
own decadence, dodging icebergs while the party never stopped.  It was hard
enough just to live in it, Nickolas thought. Imagine being born in
Hollywood!

     Vaguely he noticed that he did not only still have a hard on, he was
gently stroking it. Could he do that? Masturbating in someone elses shower?
Well, why not? He looked through the glass door just to establish there was
no one there. He leaned against the white tiled and stroked in a familiar,
slow rhythm. He sighed. Ah, Laine... Again he was seeing that fine, almost
aristocratic face. He had great eyes, this Laine. Light grey, and wide
open, as if he was constantly surprised. He thought of Laine in a couple of
years, when the puppy-fat would have melted off, and his personality had
had the time to take shape. And then he thought of Laine now, undressing,
staring at him with those wide-open eyes. Pink nipples, those few hairs, a
small, barely visible trail leading down from his navel. His panting was
reflected and amplified by the close walls.

     He took care not to make any sound. He closed his eyes, and tried to
imagine Laine's dick. It wouldn't be very large, he was young, and his
balls, would they be warm, and soft? He spread his legs a bit more, the hot
water streaming down on his chest and his legs, increasing the pressure
now, pretending it was Laine's mouth sucking him...

      Not a sould escaped his throat. Just a halting of his breath, and
then a deep sigh. He pushed himself away from the wall, let the water take
away the chill from the tiles. He turned his face up, felt the water coming
down on his cheeks, his closed eyelids. Simply stood for a long moment. He
was still hard.
      "One more time?" he whispered softly, "want to do that again,
Lawrence?" Now he could see Laine's ass, perfectly round and small, his
desiner jeans had been tight enough to reveal that much. And in the cleft
there would be more hair, slightly darker brown that on his head. And he
was on top of Laine now, pressing him down into the sheets, thrusting deep
into him. Oooh... he almost forgot to be silent. Then suddenly, the roles
were reversed, he was rolling his head in the sheets and Laine was keeping
him down, opening him u with that big... No... he shook his head. He didn't
want to think of that, but he came to it anyway, hard and fast, unable to
get the image out of his head.

      He breathed deeply, turned off the water with a sudden, decisive
movement. Laine. Well, he was a delicious-looking boy. But nothing to get
upset about.

                             ***