Date: Tue, 11 Mar 2003 18:29:43 -0800 (PST) From: Cillian Mayfair Subject: Magnus part 3 If you're offended by sexual activities between men, or if you're younger than 18, you're not supposed to be here. The author reserves all rights. Individual copies of this story may be downloaded for personal use, but may not be reproduced without the author's express consent. I did not see Magnus much after that first meeting. It was as if the common world we inhabited had mysteriously pulled itself into unconnected, self-contained spheres. The confluence that once bound us inexorably together had become enfeebled to the point where only faded memories of its past grandeur remained. Strange feelings started to take root in my mind. The bliss of gaining a new friend was mysteriously tempered by the gaping void that had once housed another. I brushed such thoughts aside as often as I could, telling myself they were but the irrational ramblings of a nervous, flawed intellect that, unable to accept happiness was seeking to find faults with the ephemeral contentment that tried to embrace me. But I did not always succeed. The convergence of diametrically opposed emotions left me breathless at times. I could neither be completely happy, nor could I plunge into depression. The dull, throbbing mediocrity of this sensation was an uncomfortable experience I soon tired of. I had never cared for half-fulfilled fantasies. They had always reminded me of the other half left wanting. Perhaps I called Magnus simply to extricate myself from the limbo I found myself in, or perhaps I genuinely did miss him. Sometimes I wonder if there is any real difference between the two. The minutes that passed with my ear to the phone, waiting with bated breath for an end to the redundant ringing were some of the longest of my life. In the end, there was no answer. Each eon that spent itself within my foiled attempts took me farther and farther away from the very peace I craved most. I found some manner of comfort with Bianca, but even she could not take away the whispering of discontented inner voices that plagued my waking hours. The savior that came to my aid was on old friend called Remy Martin. When I was younger, he used to live in an oaken cabinet in my father's study, but he had followed me faithfully throughout the years, which is why I trusted him so completely. His fiery kiss enflamed me as I gave myself over to the deliciously familiar taste of it. Soon, there were no thoughts to trouble my surrender to his love. He helped me forget. He helped me like he always had. On a deliciously warm night, just as Remy had convinced me to dress down to a silken black robe and accompanying shorts, there floated into my ears a previously familiar noise. I could not recognize it immediately, but the creaking of my front door that followed it led me to realize that someone had just entered my apartment. As I waited, out of inebriation as much as anything else, there emerged from the darkness a familiar shape. Slowly, the shape evolved into a being, a creature of sable hair and clear eyes that seemed to have been fashioned from glass. He looked strange to me and yet, profoundly beautiful in a way I had not noticed since the very first time I saw him. It was a different beauty however, one that did not reflect the usual warm exuberance that had become one of its salient features but possessed a mysterious radiance that seemed to chill the air surrounding him. His face reminded me of the unsympathetic expression of an ancient alien god staring forward with detached superiority as blood sacrifices were prepared for his appeasement. There was something intensely unsettling about the way his cold, penetrating stare immobilized me, and suddenly, I was afraid. He moved towards me soundlessly, with a vacancy in his eyes that was redolent with the ominous assurance of capture. Unable to look away from him, I started to move backwards, a long stemmed wine glass still in my hand, as the most exotic fear escalated in my mind. His pace mimicked my own and kept a steady distance between us till the deceptive softness of the bed against my calves halted my retreat. He slowed down slightly, perhaps simply for effect or perhaps to give me a chance to move away, but I found myself unable to fathom those possibilities. The contingencies that existed unrefined in my mind impregnated the moment with myriad possibilities. I merely stood, watching breathlessly as the distance between us vanished beneath his feet until I could feel the passionate heat that emanated from his body and smell the cheap sangria that flavored his breath. I tried to move further but succeeded only in lowering myself onto the bed that blocked impassively the path that led away from him. I felt suddenly dizzy, as the alcohol I had consumed demanded I lie back to prevent the room from spinning around me. He imitated my descent and with an outstretched arm on either side of me, hovered inches above my reclined frame. He then lowered himself further by bending his arms at the elbows and the resulting nearness made me tremble involuntarily. I could feel him pressed against my silk clad body, and his weight upon me became a delicious caress that I found myself addicted to and repelled by simultaneously. The cognac raced lividly through my very veins, igniting all of my body to the sensations of the moment. I could feel the luscious warmth of the air as it merged with the heat radiating from him. I could hear the sound of his breathing coupled with the thundering drum of my heart. I could see his eyes grow darker as they reflected the black sheen of my robe. His hair spilled fluidly onto my face and blinded me beneath a veil of darkness as I felt his lips graze my ear. "Comment se sent-il," he asked, his chocolate voice barely audible, "ne comprend-il pas?" I felt myself solidify, as all the muscles in my body seemed to go rigid. Then suddenly I heard the noise of breaking glass and a stab of pain shot up my right arm from my clenched hand, which had unconsciously snapped the stem of the glass still clenched within it. A strange calm descended upon me as I slowly turned my head away from his magnetic gaze towards my hand where the small wound had already started to fill with blood. I remember thinking it was the most beautiful color. A slender string of crimson slowly made its way down my palm onto my wrist. "Ce se sent bon." I whispered in what little broken French I had picked up from him, to no one in particular, and not particularly in response to his question. He gently took my hand and brought his lips to my wrist. His first kiss caught me completely by surprise as he took the blood away for his own. He then slowly moved upwards, claiming every drop till his lips reflected the vermilion that issued from my palm. I watched him, not quite believing, as he shifted his gaze towards my eyes. And then, with scarlet lips, he moved towards me. I think I realized what was about to happen before it did, but I still did not believe it, nor did I react. Perhaps I wanted to experience what it would feel like. His face drew closer to mine till I could almost taste the sangria on his breath. His mouth quivered slightly as if he were for a moment unsure of himself, but continued towards me till it gently brushed my lips, imparting to them a wetness that they had never seemed to possess before. I felt him pry my mouth apart as an indescribable softness engulfed me. I could taste my own blood in the kiss, something that made it seem almost surreal. I don't quite remember how I felt during the kiss that seemed to last for an eternity as if held captive outside of time unable to return. When he released me, I looked up at him with eyes that had never seen him before. He was beautiful to me in a way that had never existed before. I felt myself come alive for that one moment as it existed between us, with me staring into clear gray eyes as they refused to let me sink into simple reality. He represented the unreal for me, the magical fairy-tale that we all grow up believing, or at least hoping to be true. It was like staring a dream in the face while fully awake. The fine lines of his expression as they curved into his features dazzled me as the sensation of his chest pressed against mine became for the first time very tangible to me. It was no longer a friend that lay atop me, but a pure sexual being, one that I craved to possess, and one I hoped would possess me. As I looked him up him, his impassive face melted suddenly into an expression of disbelief at what he was doing. His brow furrowed with worry and realization as he struggled to get away from me. He jumped off me and tried to move away. I followed his ascent and caught his arm with my wounded hand, leaving a trail of blood on his caramel skin as I foiled his escape. He looked into my eyes with a quiet desperation, half begging me to let him leave while the other half stood silent, not quite sure of what it wanted. I ran my bloodied hand through his hair and he melted into my touch sighing deeply. "Sejour avec moi," I said and felt myself smile with an abandon I had not felt for weeks. He looked at me with worried eyes. I lay back on the bed and pulled him down along with me.