Date: Tue, 11 Jan 2000 05:56:01 -0800 (PST) From: Willie Hewes Subject: Nickolas Rising (1) ><(((*>Hello! This is a cool new story by Willie the Fish (that's me), chopped up for your convenience into nice little 1000-word chunks. You may expect part 2 sometime later this month (Jan). Please let me know what you think of it, and if you like it, spare a moment to visit my homepage, with lots of other cool stories: http://www.geocities.com/willie_hewes enjoy.<*)))>< Nickolas Rising *Nickolas Rising*. Laine was surprised to see his lips actually form those words. Was he talking to himself now? He must be going mad. Well, why not. He felt like he was going mad... Even his name is beautiful, he thought. And oh, he knows it so well! He understood now that some people hated Nickolas Rising. Oh, he was arrogant, yes, and rude, and vain, but Laine shook his head. He simply knows what he has, he thought. Who wouldn't be arrogant with looks like those? "Beautiful? But he looks like a girl!" Yes, Laine explained to the imaginary critic. But that is why he is beautiful! He looks like a girl, but he is not a girl. He combines the lush richness of a woman with the strength and power of a man. And the posture. Nickolas wasn't just tall; he was a giant. A giant of a man, for he was a man, no one could really doubt that. He was tall, muscular, and there was nothing girlish about the way he insisted he'd be called Nickolas, and not Nick. It was said that the agent who had insisted he'd accept Nick Rising as a stage name, was fired and never heard of again. Stupid agent, Laine thought, pulling faces at himself in the mirror. Nickolas is much better that Nick. I would have fired him myself. Nickolas was more than just beautiful. There was something about the way he moved. When he was close, Laine had noticed that his arms and legs were almost impossibly long. But he wasn't awkward, like so many guys in highschool; all his movements were graceful, catlike. He seemed to be dancing even if he just walked a few steps. It was almost eerie. It reminded him of the thin-limbed aliens in Close Encounters. Nickolas an alien? Well, he was probably human, but to Laine, he was as exciting and mysterious as any alien could ever be. After a moment consideration, Laine bound his hair together in a ponytail. Carefully, he pulled long strands loose again to fall alongside his face. An alien, he thought again. Extra Terrestrial. Nickolas was almost too beautiful to be earthly. He had seen him on TV, if only very shortly. In split seconds, he had seen enough to make him terribly nervous all day. He had changed his clothes twice, hoping his father wouldn't ask about it. He wanted to look casual, but beautiful, as if he didn't care what guest they had at the dinner table tonight, but at the same time he wanted to wear something that would show off his modest pectorals. He grinned at himself. He wasn't even sure if Nickolas liked men. He hoped he did. He wished he did. But even if he did, Laine probably did not stand much of a chance. He was not even a man, he was a boy of only 18 years, and though he wasn't ugly, he was sure he couldn't compare to the beauties Nickolas was daily surrounded with. When they met this afternoon, Mr. Rising had barely even noticed him. And Laine had not exactly been *cool*. Laine pulled the ponytail loose again. He had promised himself he wouldn't lose his cool, he had said to himself over and over, Nickolas Rising is coming, he's drop dead gorgeous, but I'm not gonna swoon, I'll introduce myself and talk to him and be cool. When Mr. Rising stepped into the room, he had been hushed by the sudden reality of it. He got a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach looking at the shape of his shoulders, his face, the quick gestures of his large hands. But he was completely swept away by the sound of his voice. He had never heard Mr. Rising speak. His voice was low, and soft. He spoke very clearly, articulating like a stage actor, and when he spoke, everybody else was quiet. Laine had been dumbstruck. The sight of Nickolas Rising would have been enough to make his head swimmy, but the sound of his voice made his legs into pulp. His knees threatened to buckle. If he had stayed, he would have fainted. He excused himself and locked himself up in the bathroom. He was brushing his hair with long, angry strokes. Never mind about that, he told himself. He let his dark-blonde hair fall over his shoulders. Never mind about that. He had been reasonably cool over dinner, had even added to the conversation every now and then. And he looked good now, as good as it got, and he wouldn't screw this one up. Nickolas Rising, he whispered to himself. Nickolas Rising, Rising, Rising... Oh, something was rising all right; it had been restless all day. Laine pushed it down, turned to see in the mirror if it didn't show. It did. A little. Well, so what? Maybe it was good if it showed; maybe that would help things. He felt reckless. His eyes looked a bit flat, perhaps with a touch of mascara... But what was he thinking? Wearing make-up around the house, with his father at home? He was acting like a fool anyway, nothing was gonna happen, he was just gonna say hi, and if he didn't hurry it would be too late. Without giving himself the chance to waver about it further, he stepped out of his room and was on his way to the guestroom. Just to say hi, he told himself, nothing to worry about. Drop in, pretend we have something to do with each other, we have things in common, convince him we could be, well, friends.