The Muse

Author's Note:

I just wanted to give a sincere thank you to everyone who has shown appreciation for my work thus far! The comments and criticisms really keep me going. You've all been wonderful! Enjoy!

- your city bird

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The photographs are exquisite. A portrait of a young man, his tattooed shoulders bared and soft brows furrowed as he takes a drag from a cigarette. The same man crouching, doubled over, a black sock-clad foot pressing into his back. Every single black and white blown up print showed this pale, inked-up young model in a different light - with glitter trailing from his chest and neck up to his forehead, with his fingers squelching in thick clumping mud, with his head tilted back, hair tousled as he exhaled a cloud of smoke. Umberto had clearly found his muse.

I wandered off into the belly of the gallery in search of Umberto and came face to face with the muse himself. He was sitting, literally, on a pedestal, one long leg dangling off the marbled edge, the other bent and hugged tightly to his chest. Tattoos covered both pale thin arms and one rather large piece wrapped from near his shoulder blades around the front and dipped over his hip and into the waistband of his dark jeans. He rested his chin on his bent knee, as his intense gaze, darkened with generous amounts of shadow and liner, floated above the milling heads of the gallery's patrons. I stared in awe of the mystifying beauty in front of me until I was shaken from my trance by a firm hand on my shoulder.

"His name's Zepar. Even his name suits him. Like the fallen angel," Umberto said, his gaze lingering over the young man as well.

I settled back into my friend's grip on my shoulder, my eyes continuing to rake over the statuesque model as my conversation with Umberto carried on. He had a name. Zepar.

I was able to free myself from the mystique of the young man and milled around, making small talk with the gathering of Umberto's friends and other art world bigwigs. I was beginning to get bored in the sea of pretension and apathy and started to work my way toward the large glass doors of the gallery.

"Owen! I was just looking for you!" Umberto shouted from behind me. He always had a way of popping up when you least anticipate or wish for it. "What's up, Bert?" I said, turning my head, but not bothering to do an about-face from the exit.

"I was just wondering if you had any plans for later. I was hoping to have a sort of low-key afterparty kind of thing. My apartment's still sort of a wreck from last night, and I thought, maybe you'd want to host tonight. Your place is always squeaky clean."

I rolled my eyes, letting out a sigh, "I don't know, Bert. My place is sort of small..."

"Whose isn't in Manhattan?" Umberto chuckled, shaking one of my shoulders, "But really, it won't be more than maybe ten people. You, me, Zepar, a couple of fashion editors, Sarah, and her friends. That's it. And I'll reimburse you for any liquor we may put to use."

I rubbed my eyes with the palm of my hand as I thought it over. I loved Umberto to death, but he could be a complete dick at times. And all his art and fashion friends drove me up a wall. If I had to hear another pompous art director tell me how Bert was 'the next Steven Klein,' I was going to become physically ill. But as soon as I heard Umberto say that Zepar would be there, in my apartment, I knew I had no choice but to say yes. For whatever reason, I didn't want to be the one to put a wrinkle in the young man's plans; I didn't want to be the reason for his disappointment.

"Okay," was all I said, not wanting to sound too reluctant or too enlivened.

Umberto beamed, "You're the best, man! You can head back to your apartment if you want. I'll corral everyone and be there in a few!"

I just nodded and continued out the door, a glacial blast of air stung my eyes as I opened the glass door and quickly ducked into my silver compact car. Tonight was going to be interesting.

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Umberto kept to his word. Only a handful of people accompanied him when he arrived. They consumed copious amounts of alcohol and chattered away about so-and-so's summer collection or what's-her-face's performance art. I would have been absolutely mad if I hadn't had that one sweet distraction.

Umberto sat back comfortably in the corner of my sectional sofa and sitting on his knee, his back against Bert's chest was Zepar.

He didn't speak a word the entire night, just sat back against Umberto, occasionally sipping from the bottle of vodka he clutched loosely in his graceful fingers. I wondered how he felt in this moment, with Umberto clutching at him like he was his own property. I wondered if he felt the same way I did about this room full of overinflated ego.

His heavy-lidded eyes wandered over the room with a listless ennui, looking at no one or nothing in particular. Until he looked at me.

I froze, quickly averting what I immediately realized was an intense stare. After a moment, I dared a glance back in his direction and found that he was still looking at me. His eyes held a different sort of expression now. They were still hooded and dark, but they had a soft look, almost like curiosity. It certainly wasn't the boredom that had filled the depths of his gaze moments before.

I turned away once again. From the way that Umberto possessively wrapped his arm around the younger man's waist I decided that I should probably find myself a pastime other than ogling someone he seemed so quick to declare.

I walked into my kitchen and grabbed a bottle of rum, seating myself at the small round cafe table to wait out the storm. I was on the verge of sleep when I heard my front door open and close again. "Hey, Owen!" I heard Umberto shout from across the living room. I roused myself and rounded the corner, seeing Umberto hand in hand with a glum Zepar.

"Hey, Owen, we're going to take off. Thanks for everything! See you, bud!"

He walked across the room, practically dragging the younger man behind him, who seemed reluctant to even touch Umberto at this point. When Bert had opened the door and stepped outside, Zepar looked back over his shoulder with - what was that? - longing? "Bye, Owen."

He spoke. To me.

I froze up, not able to force any words out before the door shut behind them. Shit.

That voice was almost as beautiful as the creature who produced it. Smooth and alluring, shimmering with a just a hint of playfulness. So sensual and comforting, yet decidedly masculine. And that might be the last time I ever heard that voice.

That's exactly what I was thinking when I crawled under the covers that night. I thought of that voice, that face, that body. I thought about the sadness in his eyes, the ache, and how it was gone forever.

Then someone buzzed the intercom. Umberto must have forgotten something again. He never left my apartment with everything he brought in. I jumped out of bed, dressed only in my boxer briefs and adjusted myself as I ran into the living room, depressing the button and opening the front door for Bert. I sat down on the couch and waited for him to come back up to my floor as I wondered what he had left behind this time. Maybe his wallet or something.

When I heard knocking, I stood and crossed the room, undoing my locks. I opened the door and was taken aback by what I saw.

Zepar stood in front of me, leaning against the door frame. A large bruise was starting to form on his cheek and his eyes were red from tears. The dark kohl that rimmed his eyes was smudged and trailed down in the corners. His gaze drifted from down the hall and up to my face.

He didn't say a word as he leaned forward and kissed me. I was shocked, to say the least, but not shocked enough to stop me from responding. He cupped his cool hands on either side of my face, insistently pressing his lips to mine, his tongue flicking against my lips. I opened my mouth to him and allowed the determined younger man what he yearned for as I looped my arms loosely around his lissome waist.

The kiss ended just a suddenly as it began. Zepar leaned his forehead against mine, his bare, heaving chest rising and falling between us as his warm breath fell across my cheek. "Can I come in?" he whispered, his chilly grey eyes looking up into mine. I didn't reply, I just pulled him in over the threshold by the waist, shutting the door behind him.

Zepar spun away from me, out of the circle of my arms and walked in the direction of my bedroom. I had no idea what to do. I had never experienced any variation on this situation. How am I supposed to react? I just decided to let Zepar do what he wanted, let him set the tone. So I followed.

I entered the bedroom and watched as Zepar wiggled his black jeans down his hips, his smooth hairless body and fully engorged cock revealing themselves to me before he slipped beneath my sheets. He rolled over onto his side and, propping himself up on his elbow, looked at me as if he was expecting something. He nodded his head in invitation.

I crossed the room slowly and pulled back the covers on my side of the bed and was about to slide in next to Zepar when I was interrupted by that enigmatic voice. "Aren't you going to take those off?" he questioned, extending a long tattooed limb and motioning lazily with his hand in the direction of my still intact boxer briefs. I blushed slightly, but hooked my thumbs in the elastic waist of my underwear nonetheless, and quickly tugged them down to my ankles, my erection springing up toward my belly. Zepar smiled at me, the first smile I had ever seen from him, as I nestled in next to him in bed.

Zepar snuggled up close to me, his arms wrapping around my chest as his legs entwined in mine. He nuzzled his cheek against my chest, his messy soft brown hair tickling my torso. I could feel his hard length against mine as I ran my hands up and down the smooth pale skin of his back, dropping kisses along the top of his head. I pulled Zepar closer, cradling his body with mine. He needed to be comforted and I wanted nothing more than to be that comfort for him.

The young man's breathing slowed as he began emitting soft whimpers against my chest. I glanced down and noticed him deeply enveloped in sleep, a dreamy look masking the hurt for the time being. That look made my heart swell as I fell asleep with the fallen angel in my arms.

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I awoke to the feeling of a weight on my chest and I smiled at the sensation of a hot wet tongue tracing the curve of my ear.

As I slowly pried open my eyelids, my eyes met those of beautiful Zepar. He hovered above me, one hand trying its best to tangle into my hair, the other stroking lightly at my waist as he pressed his hips into mine. The chill had left his body overnight and the sadness had faded from his eyes. The bruise under his eye, however, had darkened into an angry purple, surrounded by a soft halo of green. I smiled a slightly concerned smile as I reached up to cup his face in my hand, tracing the contusion gently with my thumb. "Morning," I whispered up into that beautiful face.

He leaned forward and kissed me in reply. The kiss was exquisitely gentle, with his lips closed against mine. He began to trail a series of those same soft kisses down my neck and over my chest, forging a path downward, arriving at the crease between my hip and thigh. He lazily dragged his tongue up and over my hip bone, those steely eyes burning as he looked up at me through his messy hair. His attention was shifted to my achingly hard cock as he licked his lips, eyeing it with interest.

Without much warning, Zepar wrapped his thin hand around my shaft and engulfed it in the searing heat of his mouth. My mind was reeling at this point. I had no idea how I had ended up with this gorgeous young man in my bed, and at this point, I didn't care. His hands drifted up my flanks his fingertips fanning out as he dragged them back down underneath me, coming to rest on my ass and pulling me further into his mouth until his lips suctioned to the base of my cock. I groaned deep in the back of my throat, as I twined my fingers into his hair. He moaned around me, his fingers digging into my hips, nearly drawing blood as his throat vibrated, drawing a guttural sob from deep inside me. He continued slowly bobbing his head as orgasm racked my body, my cum coating the back of his throat as he drained me. He kept me in his mouth, slowly moving his tongue over my spent cock, devouring my cum to the very last drop.

Satisfied, he finally released me, crawling back up to my chest that surged beneath him.

"What happened to you?" I whispered, softly stroking his face and wiping some of the still thickly smudged liner away from his eyes.

He leaned into my hand, nuzzling it like an attention starved kitten. "Your friend Umberto is an asshole," he spoke, narrowing his eyes slightly. I didn't have time to hate Umberto. I didn't have time to think at all as he began his slow and fluent undulation against my body. I felt like I was drowning in the feeling - like I was smothered in something warm and sweet and viscous filling my lungs. And I kept breathing. I kept breathing in Zepar.

I could feel his flesh hard and insistent on my stomach. He wrapped his long fingers around my wrist, guiding me to his enfleshed scalding carnality. He hissed a sharp breath as I firmly stroked him, my fingers delighting in the velvet feel of his body.

I was hard again myself and could feel my erection sliding ever so lightly against the cleft of Zepar's ass as he continued his wanton writhing in my lap.

He smiled, the corner of his mouth turning upward as he reached back and began lightly running his fingers along my shaft, guiding it closer and closer to his heaving lithe form. Suddenly, he raised himself up, removing himself from my grip and positioned himself above my straining erection.

My eyes widened as I watched him, and placed my hand on his thigh. "C... Condom?" I managed, breathing becoming a difficult task in his tight grip.

He simply shook his head 'no' as he looked into my eyes and began to sink down over me. I saw the pain wrack his boyish yet powerful features, his brows furrowing as he buried my entire length and girth in his burning, taut body. I stroked my hands up and down his sides, trying to calm him as he continued his way down into my lap. My head rolled from side to side, as I lost myself in the sensations. I only realized he had me completely inside him when he braced his darkly decorated arms against my chest and began to gyrate his hips around me, as if moving to some unheard music. I stroked one hand around his back to his hip, tracing the large tattoo that transformed the look of his pale flesh - a large black angel wing stretching over his hip. What a name - Zepar.

I attempted studying him as a method for staving off my orgasm. It didn't really help. His soft tousled hair, his full parted lips, those grey eyes gone wild and dark from lust, his alabaster and almost translucent skin moving over his lean muscles - I had never seen anything like him before.

Zepar began to lift up, only to slowly wiggle back down on top of me. My breathing was growing shallow and uncontrollable. I placed my hands on his hips to help guide him and he nodded at me, forming a smile around a deep moan. I began to help his movements, lifting him up then thrusting upward into his hot depths, building in speed until we were crashing into each other, like breakers in a storm. Zepar tilted his head back, his arms now braced behind him against my thighs as he rolled his hips toward me, my body plowing into his. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed a sob, and his cock coated both our restless bodies with his release. His entire body tightened, as he trembled above me.

I continued my relentless thrusting, so close to the edge. Zepar leaned forward and raked his fingernails down my ribs, leaving behind ten angry red marks. I lost it.

I grasped Zepar's hips and pulled him down to a halt on my lap as I came deep inside him with a loud groan of his name. Zepar smiled, a fully content smile as he collapsed on top of me, a dead weight against my chest. I wrapped my arms around his agile body, pulling him into an embrace I never wanted to leave. Our heavy breathing slowed and matched in tempo as we gently stroked one another, occasionally decorating the other with a soft kiss or a tender nip.

I rolled us over on our sides and Zepar wrapped his arms and legs around me, clinging to me like a koala bear to a tree. I smiled and kissed him on the cheek, "What did I do to deserve you?" I whispered against his ear.

He glanced up at me, his expression almost unreadable. "You hate those people almost as much as I do. And you saw me. I know it. You didn't see my face, you saw me. And Umberto. He really is an asshole. Tried to make me fuck him because he 'made me.' Fuck him," Zepar spoke, his tone even as if this was something he said everyday. That was the longest I had ever heard him speak.

I smiled a little sadly as I cradled him closer, not saying anything in return. I didn't have to.

"Will you remember me?" Zepar said softly, barely audible against my chest.

I wasn't thinking clearly about what he could possibly mean by that. And I was too tired to try. In hindsight, I should have said something, but I didn't. I just hummed softly and pulled him closer.

His body shuddered against mine, and as I succumbed to the warm serenity of sleep, I swear I felt Zepar's tears fall on my chest.

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I awoke later that morning to an empty bed and an empty apartment. Gone. It was as if he'd vanished without a trace. I couldn't explain it, but my heart felt as if it were being slowly crushed in a vice. I walked lethargically into the bathroom, desperate for a hot shower and saw what he'd left behind: a note, scrawled on my bathroom mirror with a bar of soap. "I'm sorry. Remember me."

How could I forget?

It has been nearly a year since my night with Zepar, and I still think about him every day. After that night, I couldn't be bothered with taking another lover. Every touch, every caress was Zepar.

He had vanished completely from my life almost as quickly as he entered it. Umberto called me many times, asking if I had seen him. He explained to me that they'd had a 'disagreement' that night, as he so vaguely phrased it. He swore their argument to be the cause of Zepar's departure, and all I could think of as he spoke was Zepar's tears, falling, burning into my flesh. It crushed me.

I didn't really have much to do with Umberto after that. We had been friends for years, but every time I saw his face, I saw Zepar's face, tearstained and bruised.

To keep myself from going completely mental, I let my office job become my focus. I immersed myself in my work, trying to convince myself that advertising was much more interesting than any other activities with which I could possibly occupy my time.

It was a Fall Tuesday morning when I finally saw him again. His face, still smooth and pale, was covered in an assortment of semiprecious and precious stones. A broken string of pearls wrapped around his neck like a noose and wound up into his short brown hair. Large, opalescent stones rested over his closed eyelids and a gaudy necklace set with onyx and white diamonds draped across his forehead and tucked behind his ear. The jewels and glimmering platinum decorated his neck and shoulders as if they weighed him down with their decadence as he lay reclined on a pale shag carpet.

I stared transfixed at the image as if I had just seen a ghost. The photograph stretched the entire length of the back of a covered bus stop - an advertisement for some New York jeweler.