Date: Tue, 21 Mar 2000 03:37:27 -0800 (PST)
From: Willie Hewes <williehewes@yahoo.com>
Subject: Nickolas Rising (4)

Laine wandered around the house aimlessly. He had locked himself in his
room for hours, but he couldn't bare those walls any more. The idea he
might run into Nickolas unnerved him. He had been avoiding him since their
little discussion yesterday morning. His idea to take pictures had not
worked out very well. He had thought Nickolas was vain enough to be pleased
with someone who wanted to take his picture, but he had been more insulted
than honored. Laine did not understand this, and things got very ugly. In
the end he felt so humiliated he thought he hated Nickolas. He wondered,
did Nickolas hate him? Well, never mind. They were an impossible couple
anyway. He had thought this so often before, and still felt like it hadn't
really sunk in.

     He thought of seeing him dance. Perhaps Nickolas had been more upset
with his spying than with his offer to use him as a model. But he couldn't
help himself. It had been so beautiful, he had forgotten to breathe for at
least half a minute. It was more than just very sexy, it was almost,
spiritual. Yeah, right. If it was so spiritual, then why had he constantly
searched for the bulge that was hidden under Nickolas' long shirt? Never
mind, he told himself again. Don't think about it.

     He had wandered into the library and let his eyes roam over the
familiar titles. When he turned around, he was startled to see Nickolas was
sitting there, apparently absorbed in some colour illustrated art-book. The
page was open on a full-page picture of Michealangelo's David. Laine knew
the image well. He had seen the real thing in Florence, and it had scared
him. David was huge, the ropy veins on his hands like tiny bloodsucking
snakes. His enormous leg seemed strangely twisted if you looked at it from
behind. David wasn't only a giant, he was something of a monster. Nickolas
hadn't looked up yet. He seemed not to know Laine was in the room.

     Laine half planned to sneak out pretending he was never there, but
then he felt angry. Why should he be the one sneaking out? This was his
house! Nickolas was still looking at David. Laine started to speak, his
voice sounded angry.
      "Michealangelo," he said as if that were Nickolas' name, "was so much
absorbed in the male anatomy that when he painted women, they all looked
like men." A silence followed. Nickolas didn't look up. After a long
moment, he spoke:
      "It's a matter of ideal," he said in a slow, lazy manner. "To
Michealangelo, the ideal woman was strong and muscular like a man. So that
is the way he painted them."
      Laine found himself thinking about this. He had never looked at it
this way. "And... do you agree with this ideal?" he asked surprised.
     Nickolas suddenly put the book down and stood up. "Do you?" His voice
was soft and low as ever, but it had an intensity that made Laine take a
step backwards. Nickolas towered over him. Talking about giants, he
thought.
     "Do you agree with this ideal, Laine, or would you rather have your
men look like women?" He gestured almost noticeably at himself. "Why do you
keep following me around, Laine?"
     "I don't follow you around!" Laine struggled to keep his voice
down. "I've been avoiding you for two days, for Christ' sake! I do live
here, you know!"
     "Well, did I ask you to avoid me?"
     "No," Laine cast his eyes down, confused. What did that have to do
with it? There was no arguing with this guy. He felt defeated, and terribly
tired suddenly. The worst part was that even now Nickolas' presence was
turning his insides to hot wax. Near to tears, he asked: "Why do you hate
me?"
     Nickolas waited a long moment before he answered. "I don't hate you,"
he said slowly, "I just..." he hesitated. "You make me nervous."
     Laine looked up. Nickolas' eyes were averted.
     "Why?"
     "Because," Nickolas continued in the same slow, thoughtful manner,
"you... are a very," he put his hands on Laine's shoulders, "very, sexy
little boy." Laine felt his mouth drop open. The next thing he knew was
that Nickolas' mouth was locked to it and his tongue was in his mouth. He
gasped, almost forgot to kiss back. Yes! he thought, yes! this is it, this
is bliss! Nickolas was sucking on his tongue, licking in his mouth,
nibbling his lips. Laine kissed back for all he was worth, he wanted it to
go on forever. But Nickolas' hands were tightening on his shoulders, and
before he realised what was happening, Nickolas shoved him backwards. Laine
almost stumbled. He was stupefied. Had he done something wrong? Nickolas
looked away again, his face an expression of pain. "I, I'm sorry Laine. I
shouldn't have done that. I can't..." He bit his lip, his eyes were still
on the wall. "I can't do this."
     "Why not?" Laine's voice was high-pitched, desperate. What the hell
was going on? Nickolas looked angry, but Laine guessed that was just a way
to hide his pain. He wanted to say something, to tell Nickolas that it
didn't have to be complicated like this, that it could be something simple,
and natural.
     "Why not?" he asked again, more softly. "Of course you can do this..."
he stepped up to Nickolas again, who still wouldn't look at him. Then,
gently, he pressed closer and put his hand to Nickolas' crotch.
     This time, Nickolas pushed him away so hard that he did stumble. He
landed in one of the chairs, hurting his leg. Nickolas looked furious.
     "Laine! I'm serious, I can't do this!" he hissed. They stared at each
other for a moment. Nickolas continued, more quietly. "I'm sorry I let it
come to this. It really can't go any further. So it's best if you just
leave now."
     "But why?" Laine pleaded. "What's wrong?"
      Nickolas wouldn't look at him. After a moment hesitation he said:
"You're too young. I'll get in trouble." He straightened his shoulders,
tried to stare Laine down. But Laine could see through that by now.
     "That's not the real reason," he said shaking his head.
     Nickolas cast his eyes down. "No, it's not," he admitted.
     "Then why!"
     "Laine, just leave me alone, I can't ..."
     "Tell me why!" Laine stood up.
     "Will you leave me alone now!"
     "No, I won't go until you tell me what's wrong." They were standing
close to each other, trying to stare each other down. He could see Nickolas
nostrils move. He didn't look away. Finally, Nickolas tilted his head
slightly backwards, his eyes on Laine, and said,
     "Do you want to know what's wrong?" His voice sounded dangerously
quiet.
     "Yes!"
     There was a long silence. Laine's bright gray eyes were looking up,
waiting. Nickolas realised now why he couldn't play with this boy, why he
couldn't tease him the way he was used to. Laine was too young, too pure to
be treated badly. He deserved the truth. When Nickolas' voice broke the
silence it sounded light, eerie. It sounded like his voice didn't belong to
him anymore, and it made Laine uneasy.
     "What do you see when you look at me?" Nickolas asked. "Do you think I
am beautiful? Sexual?" He made a little dancing step. "My long legs, my
white skin, my... androgynous face?" He looked vicious now. "Do you think
I'm beautiful Laine?"
     Laine nodded obediently. He felt afraid. Whatever it is, he thought,
it's something big. Something terrible. And I made him tell me.
     "I'm not." Nickolas told him. "I'm a mutant. I'm a living perversion
of nature, a freak. An accident." He spit out the words angrily. Laine's
imagination was running wild. He thought of nuclear experiments, alien
invasion. Perhaps Nickolas was some sort of extra-terrestrial lifeform,
perhaps his dick was a slimy, purple tentacle, or a couple of them.
     "You want to know what's wrong? Why don't you look for yourself!" The
alien put his hands on Laine's shoulders and forced him to kneel. Laine was
scared, he didn't really want to know anymore. But he was too intimidated
to protest; reluctantly, he started to open Nickolas' pants.