Author's note: This is my first story on fictionpress, though I've posted before on fanfiction dot net. I enjoy feedback immensely, and I will bake cookies for anyone who gives me constructive criticism. I did this based on a prompt from the book The Write Brain Workbook. It is amazing.
This is a oneshot, and it contains boy love: not specifically intended to offend those of you who dislike it, so consider this a warning. Back away from this page if you are not okay with men loving other men! For the rest of you, enjoy.
The beads of sweat on his smooth painted cheek glimmered in the pale white light peeking through the heavy velvet curtains. The crowd outside roared as Maribyl contorted beautifully and flitted around on the stage behind us. The light on her would be blinding, shimmering and reflecting off of her sequined costume as if she were pure light, but the light illuminating us was merely captivating to me.
I had paused to admire him in the near-darkness, and he stared up at me through long, gorgeous lashes, a nervous look in his cobalt blue eyes as he tried to interpret my actions. I leaned forward and brushed my lips across his cheek and on the tip of his ear, halting in my ministrations only to whisper hotly, "You are beautiful."
As he gasped, I drew his small earlobe into my mouth and alternated between sucking it harshly and biting it gently, scraping my teeth lightly against his sensitive flesh, a potential foreshadowing of what could come to pass... if we continued.
His diminutive hands fisted in the front of my silky ruffled shirt and he tried to stifle what noises he could, but the sharp intake of air was enough to reveal his appreciation of my attention.
Well, that... and the ever-firming hardness that was pressing against my thigh, not far from my own aroused manhood. I was pleased. He was beautiful. He would be mine.
As I reached beneath his crisp white vest and ghosted my hands across his smooth stomach, I closed my eyes briefly so that I could revel in the sensation of touch and the awe I was experiencing in his lithe form's proximity to mine.
I drew back just slightly so that I could impart his importance to him through my intense stare, so that he could know that all of the horrid things that everyone else said weren't true. I wanted him to know, before I made him mine, that I thought him divine, and I loved him. I loved him more than life itself. I wanted him to know, but I didn't think a stare could tell him all of that and include the meaning that I needed it to. I fucking tried anyway.
He breathed heavily and as I slid my hands around his hips and onto his lightly marred back, a dark look came across his face and he averted his eyes downward, ashamed and infuriated. I couldn't allow us to carry on in this fashion; his frustration would taint us. I leaned forward swiftly and captured his bright red lips with my own naked ones. I ran my hands over the many scars on his back gently, to show him that I didn't care, that I loved him the way he was, that I wasn't concerned or repulsed. I needed him to know.
He froze at first, but I pulled back for air and didn't waste time reconnecting our mouths after, and when I did he seemed to understand all of the things I couldn't say. I used my mouth to prove to him how badly I wanted him, as our tongues battled for dominance – a contest in which he quickly forfeited. I used my mouth to prove to him that I didn't care, that I was still passionately in love with him, all of him, as I slowed and gently caressed his swollen lips with my own.
I could feel him smile against my mouth, and I glowed, I must have. He withdrew and locked eyes with me as I had done with him moments earlier. His shoulder-length silvery blond hair glimmered as he stared at me, and I leaned in again to try to convince him with my lips just how much I cared for him, but he brought up a single finger to stop me; he wasn't to be satiated with stares and kisses.
He smiled sadly, his beautiful face often appeared thus, but there was a distinct hope shimmering beneath the surface. "I vant you to tell me zat I'll mean somezing to you after zis," he said to me in his adorable German accent, "Tell me I'll mean more to you zan zis one night. I need you to say it, and I need it to be ze truth."
His eyes pleaded with me, and I thought with some determination that he deserved this. He deserved to hear the words come out of my mouth, after all the horrible ones he'd heard coming out of everyone else's. I hated them. I loved him, and he was beautiful. I wanted to save him.
"You'll never be important to anyone, boy! Your mother is finally dead, and you're alone! You're mine, now!"
"Practice standing still, because we're going to use you for the knife toss act! I hope you don't flinch. Your nose could come clean off!"
"If the knife 'its you, eet es never 'is fault. Eet es alvays yours. Don't move, little idiot. Do one smart thing for yourself."
"Dietrich, stop flinching!"
"Heh, heh, heh, no one will want you now! You'll never get away. You're too ugly. You're good for nothing but target practice anymore."
"Dietrich, please! Don't breathe, don't move!"
"You used to be pretty. You're nothing anymore. No one will ever love you."
"Out of my way, ugly boy. You're a monstrosity."
"Dietrich, please. Try, for me. Be still. Please!"
"I can tell you don't wear your costume when you practice. It would be ribbons by now, eh?"
"It's just a little blood. Eventually it will just be another white line on your once-perfect body. Too bad."
"No one likes damaged goods, blondie. Vith the vay you're cut up, I can't believe you can perform."
"Dietrich, I-! Dietrich!"
"If only you had gotten away in time. Now you never will."
The boy, Dietrich, beautiful and damaged, now a young man, stood in front of the full length mirror, frowning at himself. The costume was meant to mimic that of a French clown and was almost completely white, save for the dark spots, like huge buttons, on his chest and hat, and the black trim. It was fitted tightly across his body, to ensure that the knife wouldn't catch on it in the performance. It would be his first.
I studied his lithe form from afar as he studied it closely. I wasn't the only one observing, though, because soon the owner of our little troupe detached himself from the shadows and crept up behind Dietrich. The boy could see his revolting reflection in the mirror, and he scowled harder as the man approached.
"Hmm, now that you can finally stand still, how will you do in the presentation? I'll be watching; you'll pay back your debts yet." He was an oily slimebag of a man, and I hated him. I wanted to fell him where he stood, but I couldn't; I owed him as well. He had a funny way of conning people into his debt.
Of course, no one would work for him otherwise. The boy, however, was even more unfortunate than the rest of us. "I vill be amazing, just vait! I vill dazzle ze crowds and zey vill love me," he replied defiantly.
The vile man chuckled disgustingly. "Love you?! Who could love you anymore? Keep dreaming, ruined mutt. Maybe in your dreams they will love you!"
Dietrich's eyes narrowed. "My mutti loved me," he whispered, determined, but it was his mother who had gotten him into this mess, as I knew the slimy manager was about to point out.
"Your 'mutti?' Sure, she loved you. After all, it's her death, her debt, that got you those scars, boy! If she could see you now, she wouldn't love you!" He cackled, and I wanted to kill him right there, and screw the consequences.
I almost did, I think, but I caught myself.
I could see fierce tears welling up in Dietrich's eyes, and the manager, his horrid job done, slithered away. I removed myself from the shadows, and the second the blond boy saw me, he blinked the liquid away and smirked, putting on roguish airs for me.
"Just vait, I vill be amazing out zere tonight. I can do it, I know," he said, and I nodded, a proud smile overtaking my features.
I rested a firm hand on his shoulder and replied, "I know too. They will love you," I insisted, "forget whatever that bastard says to you. He's just jealous because you are in your prime, and you are beautiful. Don't let their envy convince you otherwise."
He must have seen something more in my smile, for he blushed a brilliant crimson, and I chuckled under my breath. Luckily, there was no way for him to know what I was thinking, because if he had, he might have run. Instead, he said, "I am not sure vhy you tell me zhese t'ings, but I vill try... to believe zem."
I nodded, and he stared for a moment at my hand, which was still resting lightly on his arm. My barely tanned skin contrasted amazingly with his white costume, and for a moment I fought back the urge to relieve him of it and stare lovingly at his pale, naked form.
I gathered my thoughts, and offered instead to help him with his make-up. He would be making his stage debut in little more than a half hour, and I wanted his first time to be perfect.
He nodded shyly, and I led him over to a nearby vanity, where I applied his white face and black and red adornments with care. He tried his best to stay still, but a few times I felt his breath catch in his throat. I tried to ignore it; I knew I wasn't allowed to acknowledge it, not now.
When I was finished, he thanked me and scurried off to make his stage entrance. The lights backstage dimmed, and I could hear the announcer quite clearly, singing the praise of our troupe with pizazz.
He was to enter the ring first, the wall against which he would stand and the knives would lodge themselves was already prepared, and I could see him practically shivering with anticipation.
"And now, the moment you've all been waiting for! Ladies and gentlemen, here for your entertainment tonight is the clown, Dietrich," the announcer called, and the lad bounded out of the curtain, where he proceeded to do some frivolous leaps and cute curtsies in the ring, "And he will be posing his stillest, as the great Russian knife thrower Andrei gambles with his life, tossing his great knives into the wooden wall behind him... hopefully.
"Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome, the amazing, the wonderful, Andrei...."
I loved him. I loved him with all of my being. I knew this now, and I would let him know too. It was the most I could offer here, in the dark, with the crowd roaring at my back and the light illuminating him so beautifully.
"I have loved you always, my beautiful Dietrich, and nothing will change that," I whispered hotly against his finger, "Please believe me. I would have you forever if you would allow it."
His gasp was certainly pleasurable to my ears. I kissed his pale digit softly at first, then with lingering intensity, until I enveloped it completely in my wet cavern and caressed it with my tongue. He stared, mesmerized, before withdrawing the finger and leaning up to me and into me, wrapping his thin arms around my back and connecting my lips with his.
He was so perfectly melded with me, we could have been one person in that moment. I reached between us and unbuttoned his crisp white vest as our tongues danced, and he released me for a moment so that I could slip it off of him. Next to go would be his carefully pressed shirt, now wrinkled from my ministrations, but he was eager to be free of it, and as soon as it was off, he clung to me again, insistent that we should not be apart.
I firmly gripped his slim waist and reversed our positions, so that he was on top of me. His thighs gripped me tightly as his world spun, but as soon as his brain caught up with his body, he leaned back into me and caressed my jawline with his hot mouth.
He pulled back, and the light around him made me think of the way an angel might be lit by God's holy favor. He smiled blissfully and whispered, "I love you too, Andrei."
And the un-moral of the story is: Every clown has a silver lining.