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.