by Noah Harris
“That’s my favorite poem,” Shaeffer said with a wondrous laugh, and then Konrad smiled charmingly, looking down at his empty glass.
“I see you’re empty.”
“It appears I am.”
“Let me get you another,” he said, and took Shaeffer’s glass, letting his fingers graze the back of Shaeffer’s hand. He disappeared through the crowd, and Shaeffer looked around, feeling as if he’d been transported from the intimate, tiny room of his and Konrad’s conversation back into the loud buzz of the exhibition. He could barely breathe.
“Here you are,” Konrad said from his left, and Shaeffer nearly gasped. Recovering himself, he took the glass.
“Thank you,” he said gratefully, taking a sip but not taking his eyes off Konrad, who did the same.
“People rarely remember the next line, but it’s the best line,” he said slowly, and Shaeffer shuddered at the quiet passion in his voice.
“Its loveliness increases,” they said at the same time, and then smiled at one another, playfully. “it will never pass into nothingness.” Shaeffer looked at him, realizing suddenly how large and tall the man was, how much of Shaeffer’s vision he took up. Like a painting that causes everything in the periphery to fade into oblivion. His face was broad, scruffy, but not that of an elderly man. He seemed weathered, mature, wildly healthy and potent. The pull Shaeffer had felt when he’d stood with Fiona had only multiplied with their proximity.
“Find me after,” Shaeffer looked up at him, the warmth in his gut, the arousal becoming noticeable, but then Konrad was gone, getting lost in the crowd. Moments later he turned around to look at the stage as if a premonition had alerted him to the fact that the lights were about to dim, that the show was about to start. And then it did. The room lost all its light, plunging them into pitch black darkness. Shaeffer looked around, the murmurs of the audience filling his ears.
Pffzt! A spark crackled over their heads, and they all looked up in unison. The spark, like a firework, hissed and sent smoke billowing out over their heads before splitting into four distinct lights, then eight, then rejoining to become an even larger orb of burning golden light. They circled one another, whirling in the air, turning from white-hot to gold to a burning, passionate red that filled Shaeffer with an indescribable emotion that made his lungs feel full and his eyes feel wet.
Shaeffer watched as the flaming sparks overhead began to move away toward the stage—Konrad was standing upon it, coaxing them toward him with waving, beckoning hands. He was dressed all in black, and Shaeffer only briefly considered how he hadn’t even noticed what he’d been wearing when they talked, before getting caught back up in the show. The red light of the sparks on Konrad’s silver hair made him look like a magician, a sorcerer, controlling the uncontrollable.
Suddenly, with a complicated movement of his hands, the whirring circuit of flame transformed into a phoenix, its wings of fire beating hard, sending waves of heat over the crowd.
“Firebird was alone.” The phoenix began flying in circles over his head, slow and languid, gliding. “All was dark, and the dark was infinite. Firebird died and was reborn, died and was reborn, always changing but never transformed,” Konrad said, and his voice felt like a sorrowful song to Shaeffer’s soul. The phoenix seemed to dim, struggling to stay in the air, and the lights overhead that were illuminating Konrad dimmed as well while the audience watched, fixated. Konrad waved his hands over his head in a wide arc, creating a line of white-gold fire.
Another phoenix beat its wings harder, pushing itself higher into the air, and Konrad flourished his hands. The line of fire turned into another phoenix, a firebird, but smaller, chasing the other and nearly catching it. The original firebird’s wing broke.
Konrad was silent, as was the whole room, that eerie silence Shaeffer had felt at the beginning of the night returning. The firebirds circled one another hungrily, nosing their beaks at one another’s feathers, and eventually joined in the air, becoming a flashing, violently spurting fire. The crowd gasped and stumbled back collectively, pushing Shaeffer into the person behind him, and then all was calm. The firebirds separated, and from the smaller firebird, a star, sparkling and so bright it was blinding, was born. Then, darkness.
The audience hesitated, and Shaeffer felt the tension. Was it time to applaud? As the sound of the applause began and grew, Shaeffer stood silently, still, in the middle of it all, feeling far more drunk than he should have after only one drink. It was the show, he knew, the drowsy euphoria of experiencing something that hits you hard in your stomach. He felt, vaguely, the tears running trails down his face, and swiped quickly at them, glad the lights were off.
The lights suddenly came up, blindingly bright, and he tried to wipe the rest of his face before anyone saw. But not a single person was looking anywhere but at the stage as the applause became deafening. Konrad was gone, but Shaeffer hoped he could hear how much his audience had enjoyed the show. He looked up, interested to see how Konrad had pulled off the amazing feat he’d just performed but didn’t see a single wire in the air, a single cinder on the ground. How had he done it? Did it even matter? Maybe Konrad would tell him
He turned around and almost jumped when he saw the old woman from earlier standing almost directly behind him. He looked down at her, eyes wide, as she appraised him. She seemed older than he’d ever be able to guess, her eyes bright but the rest of her body wrinkled and frail. Maybe she wasn’t judging him, maybe she was just like all the other old women who came to the fashion shows he modeled for, interested in the fabric and the stitching and how handsome and beautiful they all were.
“Did you…did you enjoy the show?” he blurted without thinking, feeling like he should be more used to dealing with women such as her but inexplicably feeling disconcerted by her presence. Her laugh came out like a wheeze, but her smile was friendly.
“I don’t have to like it. I paid for it.” He smiled in spite of himself, at her honest bluntness.
“My name is Shaeffer Gipson. It’s nice to meet you,” he said, holding out his hand stiffly. Older women preferred a strong handshake.
“Shaeffer Gipson,” she mused, her voice sounding like she’d smoked a pack a day for her entire life, possibly out of the womb. “Irish.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, bowing his head. She looked him up and down, and he cleared his throat. “Born there.”
“And you arrived here.” It was a statement, not a question, but it invited an explanation which he felt compelled to give, somehow. She had the same magnetic quality as Konrad, but it didn’t set him at ease in the same way. Perhaps she was his mother. The thought made him queasy.
“Well, I was scouted in Ireland, and they had me bouncing around different cities, New York, Los Angeles, Denver.”
“And you arrived here,” she said again, and he smiled awkwardly.
“Well, yes, I did. All the agents I’ve ever worked with have said that Drake Street is the new, well,” he wavered under her steady gaze. “I guess they call it a hot spot.”
“A hot spot. And many agents…it seems you’ve broken many hearts on your journey.” He looked down at the frail old woman, feeling like he needed to run. But this was how it always felt, his business. It must have been the booze making him feel more uncomfortable than usual. Or maybe it was his emotions after the show, frayed and intense.
Suddenly he remembered Fiona worked for this old woman, Fiona, the socialite, invited to every event, sent on business trips. Was this old woman the monarch of Drake Street? Was she interrogating him to see if he’d fit in, if he belonged in her little society when so many others didn’t?
“Clara,” came a deep voice that stirred remembrance and lust in Shaeffer’s gut. Konrad had come up from behind her, and she turned with the first genuine smile Shaeffer had seen during their entire conversation. Konrad bowed his head and grasped her hands tightly, giving her a grateful smile. “Thank you.”
“Anything for you, my dear.” Shaeffer heard her say, despit
e the fact that it had been a mere murmur, and she walked past Konrad without another look at either of them. Konrad smiled confidently at him, and Shaeffer struggled to find something to say. It had been so easy earlier, the performance, the depth and emotion of it all, had intimidated him. He didn’t know what to say to this man who had stirred so many things in him without even being near him.
“I hope you enjoyed the performance,” Konrad spoke first, and Shaeffer nodded.
“It was mesmerizing,” he said honestly, and then blushed when Konrad looked at him heatedly.
“You are here with another tonight? Karl…”
“Kyle,” Shaeffer said quickly, wondering how he knew. Clara? Fiona? “And I’m not here with him tonight. I’m here alone.”
“Alone in a crowd of people,” Konrad said in a low voice, and then looked around before looking back at Shaeffer. “We are not so different.”
“Well, I don’t know. You’re far more talented than I am. My job is to…be.”
“A model.”
“Yes,” Shaeffer said, and then sighed. “It has its moments.”
“Well, this art and performance is not all it’s cracked up to be. It is exhausting. The applause tonight was reassuring, but…”
“I haven’t ever seen another performance or…or sculpture or painting or anything that’s been as amazing as what you did tonight.” He wasn’t sure why he was being so honest with Konrad. It wasn’t in his nature, or at least the persona he’d created in Texas, in Drake Street, to be so honest and praising of another’s work. It was important to be aloof, to hide how you felt so you could blend into any environment. But Konrad, well, Shaeffer wanted him to know he was like nothing he’d ever encountered. Konrad looked down at him, deeply, and Shaeffer felt his heart beating hard in his chest.
“Come with me,” he said, and then his fingers were wrapped around Shaeffer’s bicep, guiding him through the crowd, approaching a side door. Shaeffer watched his muscular back through his thin t-shirt as he dragged him along roughly, hungrily, through the door, into the darkness.
Too Close for Comfort
Konrad Fontaine
Konrad had plans, big plans, for this cute little Irish twink. He kept a tight hold on his arm, just the touch and the feel of Shaeffer’s lithe, toned bicep under his fingers, making his erection press painfully against his pants. Once they got halfway up the stairs, he couldn’t wait any longer. He whirled around, pulling Shaeffer roughly against him and devouring his pouty little lips, wrapping his free arm around his middle and pulling them tightly together so Shaeffer could feel his arousal.
Shaeffer moaned against his mouth and ground his hips, hard, into him. Konrad growled at the sound tearing from Shaeffer’s throat, primal and needy, desperate to feel more. He tore himself away, knowing it was about to go too far for where they were, and started pulling him up the stairs again. He fumbled in his pockets for the key to his apartment once they reached the door, trying to ignore Shaeffer who was trying to dig his fingers under his waistband.
Key in the lock, he turned it quickly and pushed the door open. He pulled Shaeffer inside and used his body to shut the door, pressing him hard against it. Shaeffer panted in his ear as he grabbed one leg and propped it up on his hip, grinding hard just like they had on the stairs but closer, more insistently. A whimper escaped Shaeffer’s lips and Konrad felt himself losing control, the animal in him waking up from its deep slumber, slowly at first and then more excitedly. He growled, sucking on a sensitive spot on Shaeffer’s neck, feeling the dragon in his chest, hot and predatory, egging him on.
He hadn’t felt like this in so long. His dragon had been dormant for longer than he cared to think about right now. But in the back of his mind, as Shaeffer dug his fingers into his shoulders and hooked his leg more tightly around him, the joy of being connected again, feeling passion like he used to, was almost as exciting as the little model melting in his hands. Sex, like his art, used to be one of his outlets; one of his inner dragon’s outlets. He hadn’t felt genuine, uncontrollable lust like this in…well, he couldn’t remember. Sex now, like his art, was becoming a chore, a performance, a mechanical process of going through the motions.
But now, with Shaeffer mewling in his ear and trying desperately to unbutton his pants, the surprise and ecstasy of finding someone who didn’t seem to want him for his social status or his wealth turned him on just as much as Shaeffer’s body. No one ever just gave in to the feeling of being with him, it was all about who he was, what he did, what he earned, who he knew. Shaeffer, on the other hand…it was obvious the feeling of being with Konrad was more than enough, maybe the only thing he needed. It drove Konrad, and his inner dragon, roaring with desire, insane.
Shaeffer gasped when Konrad shoved his hands down the front of his tight jeans, fondling his rock-hard member and unbuttoning his pants with the other hand. He thrust into Konrad’s hand desperately, but then, out of nowhere, stopped. Abruptly, as if he’d been frozen solid. Konrad leaned back and looked down at Shaeffer questioningly.
“Are you okay?” he asked, disappointment blooming in his chest prematurely. It might be fine, maybe he just needed to change positions, or lay down…maybe it wasn’t Konrad, but something they could fix. The animal inside him stamped its feet impatiently.
Shaeffer, though, was looking past him, over his shoulder. He turned and followed his gaze, and found he was staring at the painting he’d created to accompany the show, before deciding he wanted the audience to be entirely in the dark beforehand. The canvas, six-feet tall and totally empty save for the firebirds intertwined, their auras golden and seeming to glow, fading into the white canvas that encompassed them. They looked almost like they were floating somewhere in front of the canvas, rather than being painted on it. He should’ve covered it before bringing Shaeffer up here. It was distracting, dramatic, definitely a conversation piece when the last thing Konrad wanted was a conversation.
“Do you want to take a minute?” he asked calmly, giving Shaeffer a patient smile. Shaeffer laughed self-consciously, something that didn’t seem possible coming from the man who’d approached him so confidently. He was still eyeing the painting, and his breathing seemed to hitch when he looked back up at Konrad, finally.
“If…if you don’t mind,” he said breathlessly, and then looked back at the painting. Konrad nodded, watching him curiously but backing off. Shaeffer walked over to the couch, sitting down on it heavily and looking over the back at the firebird. Konrad felt something turn inside him and realized he was seeing a side of Shaeffer the man probably didn’t show many people, vulnerability. Specifically to his art. It spoke to him, made him feel open and seen and understood just as it made Konrad feel. He felt his heart pang as he watched Shaeffer’s face soften as he examined it, the fire in his belly quelling to a pleasant, almost affectionate simmer.
“Do you drink wine?” Konrad asked lightly, not wanting to scare Shaeffer back into his shell, enjoying the look on his face. Shaeffer glanced over at him and giggled, again, in that self-conscious way.
“Yes, in fact, I do.”
“Anything in particular?”
“Whatever you’re having,” he said, a flirtatious smile dancing its way back onto his face. Konrad grinned, small but genuine, and retrieved an expensive bottle of dragon-made wine, deep red and spiced and probably nothing like Shaeffer had tasted in his entire life. He wanted to give him the experience of a lifetime, even if it didn’t last. Even if it was just tonight, something special for both of them.
“Here you are,” Konrad said, handing him a glass filled a little over halfway. They’d finish the bottle tonight. Shaeffer smiled up at him gratefully and took the glass, swirling its contents.
“This is so dark, it’s almost black,” he said curiously, and Konrad nodded.
“It’s a family secret,” he said vaguely, enjoying the look of wonder on Shaeffer’s expressive face. Silence bloomed between them, but Konrad took advantage of it to let his eyes wander. Shaeffer ha
d leaned back on the leather sofa, sipping his wine.
“Wow,” he murmured. “Some family secret.”
“I’m glad you like it,” Konrad said with a chuckle. Shaeffer seemed to watch his eyes glide up and down his body and leaned back more, stretching his legs in front of him with a sly smile. His shirt rose up to expose his abdomen, tight and contoured, the V of his hips guiding Konrad’s eyes to the light trail of dark hair peppered above the waistband. He took another sip of wine, not taking his eyes off Konrad’s.
Konrad knew exactly what Shaeffer was doing, playing the part, showing off, becoming the innocent prey to Konrad’s lusty predator. He was waiting for Konrad to make the first move, but Konrad felt hesitant. Was that from the human in him or the dragon?
“I really did enjoy your show. I admire artists,” Shaeffer said suddenly, and Konrad sat down across from him, taking a deep drink from his wine.
“Have you been to many art shows on Drake Street? In general?” Konrad asked, frustrated with the art scene on Drake Street and abroad but realizing that art seemed to be Shaeffer’s escape from his job, his life. He was clearly unhappy with it.
“I always go to art shows in whatever city I’m working in at the time…but this is the best one I’ve attended,” he said, smiling over his wine. Konrad chuckled and raised his glass. He felt a small surge of pride, this was the first show, the first performance he’d been proud of, felt strongly enough about, in years.
“Thank you. I’m sure that can’t be true, though. There are far better artists on Drake Street, never-mind whatever other cities you’ve worked in. Drake Street is a good place for me, but the art scene is uninspiring.” Shaeffer was obviously listening to him closely, intently, and Konrad appreciated the attention, the genuine interest in him.
“It certainly seems like a good place for you…Clara, that older woman. She paid for the show.” Not a question, but Konrad could feel Shaeffer waiting for him to explain. He laughed out loud at the inconvenient topics Shaeffer seemed so interested in, and Shaeffer looked at him in confusion. First Shaeffer had talked about the art scene, art itself, which Konrad was starting to become convinced was going to kill him someday; the frustration and lack of inspiration were draining the life out of him.
