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valarltdTuition Fees, continued.
The great portrait hall of the schloss changed for each student. Marcelo and Geoffrey had learned this as they compared notes with Nick. Nick’s Machiavelli and Washington were replaced by Pasteur and Curie and Calvin and Loyola as befit the situation. Marcelo in particular found the hall conducive to meditation.
“Don’t let me disturb you.”
He had heard the deliberately heavy step behind him. “Good morning, professor. I spoke with Loyola for a minute.”
Morgenstern smiled. “Yes, Ignatius was one of my better pieces of work. I understand why you would speak to him and not,” he strolled down the line of pictures “let us say, Luther.”
Marcelo nodded. “I toured Luther’s home in my traveling. They are still showing the ink stain to tourists.”
“Dear, stuffy Martin. He grew full of himself in his later years and no longer welcomed a visit from his old teacher." Morgenstern took in the lack of surprise on Marcelo’s face. “How long have you known, dear Marcelo?”
“Since I came. The name is transparent. And the legends, although not so common, are well known in certain villages." He looked on down the wall as the more modern pictures. “Robertson.”
“Of course. I could not have asked for a better sower of discord." He tapped another one familiar to millions of television viewers. “Falwell, alas, was not one of my more successful endeavors. He is a small greedy man.”
“Cho, of South Korea..." Marcelo stared into the face of the leading proponent of the Prosperity Gospel, which stood in direct opposition his own Liberation Theology. “You set us at each other’s throats.”
“You set yourselves there. I merely give you the tools.”
“Yes." Marcelo’s face was disturbed. He had been disturbed since arriving and his unease was growing more pronounced as the first year wore down.
“You need not continue in your studies, Marcelo." The offer came softly and Morgenstern’s hand fell on his shoulder.
“It is enlightening to argue with one who was present from the dawn of time." Marcelo had thought long and hard on the subject. “Teach me and I will use it to withhold as many as I can from you.”
Morgenstern laughed. “So be it then. Shall we continue with substitutionary atonement or shall we move on to transubstantiation?”
“Why?" Marcelo turned to face him. “Why the school? Why the teaching that we may go forth and aid mankind when you despise us?"
Morgenstern said nothing and led him to the book-lined study where they always argued. He sat in his great leather chair and, for the first time since Marcelo had seen him, the smile vanished. “Because even I am not outside of the Divine Plan. Because, like all angels, I cannot create, therefore I must inspire others. This is my chosen method of it.”
Marcelo sat quietly for a minute. “I believe I understand.”
***
New Year’s came and went with a party in the parlor and what Chris thought of as a deathwatch for the old year. Each boy had put in a request for a special dish at dinner and there had been much laughter and passing of plates at the table. They moved into the parlor. Matt and Bansi had favored them with a composition for voice and cello. Okeleke’s hothouse provided the orchids that graced the occasional tables. Several of Chris’s best pieces were on easels for the others to see.
Marcelo and Faki were quietly arguing the nature of God in the corner. Li and Malcolm were talking computer technology, mathematics and the possibility of life on another planet with Ayutu and Ignacio. The discussion often grew heated and profanities in Spanish and Japanese vied with the Cantonese and Bunaba vulgarities.
Chris sketched ferociously, as if trying to record the whole night for posterity in pencil. He lingered in the tight curls of Malcolm’s hair, on the highlights of Faki’s long, straight nose, getting the swirled embroidery of Matt’s cuffs and the geometric designs of Bansi’s tunic.
Morgenstern merely watched over his boys, amused. At five before midnight, he signaled Matt to stop and cranked an old Victrola. Guy Lombardo filled the room with ”Auld Lang Syne” to many puzzled looks.
“A happy new year,” Morgenstern said. “May your next year here be as productive as this one has." He stepped out the door to his rooms.
The boys, realizing the party was over, drifted back to their rooms. Nick lingered, talking to some of the others, but Chris, tired, went straight upstairs.
He flipped through his sketch pad: his friends; his classmates; and always the professor. Just looking at the art made him want Morgenstern.
He set the sketch pad aside and curled up under the blankets to masturbate. Maybe he could be done and asleep before Nick got in. His roommate had only gotten slicker and more charismatic over the last year, as well as more demanding. Chris didn’t mind the sex so much, but sometimes, he just wanted to sleep without being fucked first.
He put Nick out of his mind and thought of the professor. He imagined his hand was Morgenstern’s large one, cool and firm, wrapped around his cock and stroking. He knew he was moaning, but couldn’t stop, lost in the fantasy and the sensation.
Nick sitting on the edge of the bed broke both. “Someone had himself quite a tutoring session tonight, it looks like.”
Chris rolled up, startled and clutching the blankets tighter around himself. Nick laughed softly and replaced Chris’s hand with his own.
“Going bashful on me?" When Chris just looked at him, Nick stroked Chris’s hair out of his eyes. “Big blue eyes. Your hair’s growing out. You need to re-dye it or cut it." He played in it a moment, touching the roots. “I like the brown.”
Chris licked his lips, trying to find words for the moment. He shot Nick a pleading look. “Finish me?”
Nick gave the charming half-smile. “Sure." The hand that loosely circled Chris’s cock moved faster, gripping tight. He moved faster and faster until Chris came over his hand with a loud wail. Nick laughed softly and wiped his hands on a tissue. “Noisy little thing.”
Chris rolled away, fumbled for the clove cigarettes he kept in the night stand. After lighting one and taking a deep drag, he sighed, “Needed that.”
Nick stroked his hair. “Your lessons are pretty good then.”
Chris nodded. “I haven’t had a crush in years. I’ve never had one like this.”
“Kinda hard not to around here. Alla these gorgeous guys and the prof himself.”
“You have one too?" Chris was surprised. Nick didn’t seem like the crushing type.
“A few actually." Nick touched his cheek. “You're one.”
“Is it a crush if I let you have me?" Chris wasn’t sure about that. After all, he was in Morgenstern’s bed too and it seemed silly to describe it as something so small as a “crush.”
“Only when I fantasize about keeping you." Nick leaned in and kissed him, thrusting into his mouth, making it very clear who was in control of the kiss. “That would be a real scandal, especially since I’ll have to get married in the next few years. No one gets anywhere without the wife and kids and dog. Representative Admire and his wife and his gay lover just doesn’t look the same on the Christmas letter to the voters.”
He kissed Chris again and there were teeth behind his lips, hard and bruising. He didn’t stop until Chris was whimpering.
“So what was your lesson?" Nick always loved seeing his artwork. He flipped through the sketchbook. “Still drawing the professor at every chance, huh?”
“Light and shadow work. The fire does amazing things to his face." Chris smiled, lost in thinking about the play of light over the angular face.
“It’s the cheekbones, man." Nick set the sketchbook aside and slid in beside Chris, slipping out of his pants. He kissed Chris’s neck then licked up to his ear to whisper, “You know, I'm not afraid of what First Baptist says anymore. I answer to a lower power.”
***
Chris enjoyed his lessons with the professor more and more. He knew what Morgenstern was, yet it didn’t matter. He didn’t believe in hell or devils or God or any of it. At the beginning of a session, when all the homework he’d had to show were chiaroscuro studies of the professor’s face, he found the nerve to ask.
“I want to see you, this time. Not this,” he gestured at the glasses and the beard, “but the real you.”
Morgenstern blinked at the request. “Little artist, you don't know what you're asking. When my kind appears uncloaked before humans, the usual greeting is ‘Do not fear.’ Few mortals can stand on their feet in the presence of an angel.”
Chris set his jaw. “My gift is my eyes. I'm able to make real what I see. And I want to see you: Lucifiel, not my professor who likes tweed and cognac.”
Morgenstern drew Chris in close and kissed him. “If you are certain." Chris nodded. “Sit then and take up your materials. I cannot hold the manifestation long." He seemed to wrap himself in a cloak of darkness that filled the entire center of the parlor and then emerged. Chris looked upon a true angel, his broken wings smoke-stained, golden armor dented and tarnished, his face bruised, battered and careworn.
Chris sat, his sketchbook in his lap for a moment. His breath caught in his throat and he drank in every detail of the being before him.
“Be afraid, little one,” Lucifiel, the Morning Star, said.
Chris was shaking, but he steadied his hand. “I am afraid. I won't let it stop me." He drew rapidly, broad strokes, capturing as much as he could before the vision left.
After a few minutes, too few for Chris, the angel was gone and only his much-adored professor was still there. Chris ceased looking up from his drawing and filled in the details from memory. Sweat stood out on his forehead and he pushed his too-long hair out of his face several times.
Morgenstern sat quietly, drinking his cognac and watching. When Chris finally set the sketchbook aside, he drew the artist to his feet and kissed him. Chris clung there, stretching the kiss out.
“Show it to me when you finish,” the professor said. “Little one, are you too tired for me?”
“Never.”
“I feel generous,” Morgenstern said, drawing Chris toward the bed. “What would you like tonight?”
“Sweet and slow?" His eyes were big and hopeful and Morgenstern did not miss the bruised look of his lips.
The professor stroked his face. “You know I'm just tempting you, ensnaring you further. And that any small kindness done me is tantamount to sacrificing to idols.”
Chris shrugged. “I don't care. I'd rather have this than anything else.”
Morgenstern’s laugh was soft and bitter. “So you shall, little artist, of your own will.”
Another year passed and a third. Chris grew more and more uneasy in his rooms. Nick had mastered persuasion and now he could talk anyone into anything and Chris had learned more about deviant sex than he’d ever really wanted to know. Every time Chris made Nick angry, there was a new and humiliating sex act to try and Chris dared not say how much he hated them. He’d seen Nick truly angry exactly once. Then, the solid wood armoire had ended up so much kindling. He never wanted that turned on him.
Nick had been quite apologetic afterward and very loving. Even Chris had read enough to know he was spiraling into a cycle of abuse, but he couldn’t think how to get out. Chris noticed Nick’s anger tended to peak two days after he’d spent the night with the professor. He also noticed Nick never stayed out overnight anymore.
Chris knew it was over the night he came in late from a session with Morgenstern. Nick was waiting up for him, as he almost always did.
“Good fuck tonight, slut?” he sneered, slamming his book onto the table.
Chris just looked confused. “Yes.”
He knew it was the wrong thing to say. Nick spat in his direction and rolled up into the blankets, hogging the majority of them. Chris managed to retrieve enough to sleep under once Nick was asleep. He was disconcerted to awaken in Nick’s arms.
The awkwardness only grew. Nick ignored him as often as not in the next weeks. Chris could live with being ignored, but it was the little verbal digs and the occasional physical things that got to him. Nick would trip him when he could, or make sure his art was destroyed just before class. Chris began avoiding his room, except at bedtime, which only made Nick angrier.
“Fucking around on me like a little whore,” he raged, one evening when Chris hadn’t come in for two days.
“I only sleep with the Professor. You know that.”
Nick closed the distance. “Yeah, that's what you say.”
Chris found his voice at last. “Who else do you think I've been with?” he demanded.
“Anyone that'll fill your pretty ass." Nick’s tone vibrated with fury and danger. “Bet Sterling loves it when you look up at him with those big blue eyes while your mouth is around his cock. And I know Malcolm's been in your pants. Bet he’s hung. If you haven't gone tail-up for Ayutu, it's only a matter of time." Nick caught Chris by his shirt front and slammed him against the wall to kiss him hard, almost biting him. The move knocked away the breath Chris had taken to refute the charges. “You’re mine,” Nick snarled, his face ugly with possession. He did bite Chris with the next kiss, bloodying his lip.
Chris cried out and pulled away, hitting his head on the wall. He gasped as Nick gave a nasty laugh and dove in, leaving a very large, dark hickey, with teeth marks in it, high on his throat.
“Now anyone who sees you knows you’re taken. I catch you fucking anybody else, or sucking anybody and you are going to be one very sorry little slut.”
Chris stayed as quiet as he could. He hoped the storm had passed. Nick’s next actions confirmed it had. Nick drew him in and kissed him sweetly. He responded just as sweetly, hoping the tantrum was over.
Nick cupped his face and pressed their foreheads together. “Love you, babe. You just make me crazy-jealous." He held Chris close, whispering over and over how much he loved him.
Softly, Chris ventured, “I love you too. Just you. You don't have to be jealous.”
“That's my sweet boy.”
Nick was very sweet over the next few days. He didn’t hesitate to show affection in public. Chris was careful not to cover the hickey, knowing Nick would want it seen.
During the next art lesson, Morgenstern ran very light fingers over the bruise and the bite on his mouth. “Our Mr. Admire is causing you trouble I see.”
Chris shrugged. “He just got a little rough." He didn’t want to make a scene.
Morgenstern nodded. “And do you like him rough? Or do you not know how to tell him no?”
“I like it to a point,” Chris covered.
“To this point?" The quiet question hung between them.
“No, he went too far this time. Marked me. Like I was his property or something.”
“Are you? And may I trespass?”
Chris nodded, thinking Nick was right, he was a slut to enjoy this. “Please. Evenings with you are what keep me going.”
Morgenstern was very gentle and Chris left, considerably easier in his own mind. Nick was asleep, so he slipped into the bathroom, brushed his teeth and undressed for bed. When he slid in, Nick flipped him to his back.
Chris gasped. “You’re awake.”
“Damn right." Nick backhanded him. “Out half the night. How many put it to you? Did you fuck the eleven other infernal apostles and his Satanic Majesty too?”
Chris just blinked, stunned by the blow and the accusation. “Just...the professor." He shook his head trying to clear it.
“Lying little slut." Nick rolled off and threw him bodily out of bed. “I don’t sleep with whores.”
Chris landed hard, cracking his head on the night stand. Nick never even checked the thud and somehow that hurt most of all. Chris grabbed his clothes and yanked his pants on as he left. He found one of the sofas in the parlor and fell asleep holding his bruised head.
In the wee hours, Chris woke to a hand on his shoulder.
“This will not do. Back to your bed, little artist." Morgenstern offered him a hand to help rise. Halfway to the door, he saw the bruise on Chris’s face. He drew the young man into an embrace. “Why do you sleep here?”
“Nick’s angry at me. Because of you.”
“Is he?" Morgenstern’s soothing voice counter-pointed his gentle hand in Chris’s hair.
“I just-- I really want to leave about now.”
Morgenstern guided him back to a sofa and sat them both down. “Darling boy, talk to me.”
“I miss home. I did have a few friends there.”
“And you have none here after three years? You do not sit in the gardens with Okeleke and speak of flowers? You do not draw fractals for Ignacio? Or paint as Matthew plays the piano? You have not gotten all the boys to pose for you at one time or another?”
Chris screwed up his courage. “May I get a new roommate? The others like me better than Nick.”
“Jealous little beast. Perhaps it is time for a roommate reassignment throughout the group.”
“Professor, I don't want to mess up everyone else's assignments who are doing well together.”
“No, it is time. We always shuffle about half way through the term. I’ll do it Saturday. Now, back to your own room. And if Nicholas harms you again, come straight to me.”
Chris said nothing. He decided that the next time Nick hit him, he was going to hit back. He got his chance sooner than expected. Morgenstern had barely shut the door behind him when Nick left off feigning sleep.
“Had to have a second round?"
Chris knew when Nick’s voice was quiet and sweet like that, he was in danger. When Nick slapped him, he was ready for it. He rolled with the slap, not taking the full brunt of it. He drove out sharply from the shoulder with his fist, planting it in Nick’s stomach, just like they’d taught him that summer at the Y.
Nick sat down hard. He glared up and tried to catch his breath. “Oh baby, you just made a big fucking mistake,” he whispered, getting to his feet and seizing Chris’s wrist. Chris tried to pull away, but Nick held him fast and bent his hand painfully back at the wrist. “How well you gonna draw with a broken hand, slut?”
Chris looked scared. “Stop. Nick, please.”
Nick bent it back farther and Chris’s eyes filled with tears. There was no question in Chris’s mind that Nick would break it.
A wicked smile spread over Nick’s face. “Maybe I should start with your fingers. Then every bone in your hands. Then your wrist.”
Chris kicked at him, truly panicking now. “Professor!” he yelled.
Nick slugged him in the jaw this time. “You want to shut it before I break your arm, too. Both of them." He let go of Chris’s wrist. “The Professor doesn’t care. He’s the Devil. He wants you to suffer. You ever notice he never calls you by name?”
Keep him talking, Chris thought. Nick loved the sound of his own words and maybe he’d forget his threats. “I noticed in the first month. It doesn’t matter.”
“Then this doesn’t either." Nick snapped the little finger of Chris’s left hand as casually as breaking a twig.
Chris clutched his injured hand between his thighs and staggered to the bed. He wouldn’t cry, not in front of Nick, but a whimper escaped him anyway. He lay down and curled into a ball.
“That's for hitting me, asshole. You want to keep the other nine out of splints, you better calm down and be good." Nick wrapped himself around Chris and hissed in his ear, “Do I make myself clear, you little shit? Nobody goes down your throat or up your ass except me.”
Chris shoved an elbow back. “Not even you. Not anymore. Get away from me.”
Nick only clutched him tighter, pinning his arms to his side. “You're wrong about that, little bitch. I'll have you when I want. Or I’ll make you an even sorrier slut than you are now.”
“Never again,” Chris insisted quietly. He rocked a bit, his finger throbbing.
“Oh I wouldn’t put any money on that." Nick thrust against him through their pajama pants, letting Chris feel just how hard this had made him. “ I’ve been wondering how easy one of your palette knives would take out an eye. I think you'll be begging me to fuck you in a week if not less.”
Chris didn’t say anything. He heard the threat and understood it clearly. He let Nick hold him and whisper about how good it all could be if he’d just quit fucking around. He didn’t have the energy to correct Nick, or even the desire now. Dawn was just starting to show in the castle windows when Nick let go of him. Chris shuddered when Nick kissed his neck and waited until he was gone for real.
He made his way down the steps and knocked on Geoffrey’s door. The young doctor would help him. He had to.
Geoff looked him over. “What did you do, pinch it in an easel?" His hands were gentle and careful as he set and splinted the finger. “You should always come to me at once.”
“It was late,” Chris said. “I didn’t want to bother you.”
“This hurt you all night, I know. It may be late, but never hesitate to call. Wake me if you must.”
Chris glanced around, nervous, hoping Nick didn’t overhear the encounter and read it as cheating.
“Okay. You keep it dry and take the pain pills at the first sign of discomfort. Do not wait to truly hurt." He handed Chris a vial with several tablets in it. When Chris took it, Geoff noticed the bruises on his right wrist. He knew what they were. “What happened here?” he asked, waiting to see if Chris would tell the truth.
“I fell on the stairs. Caught myself.”
Geoff’s eyes were cold and narrow. “You are lying." He indicated the palm and inner wrist. “You see, breaking a fall would bruise you here and here." He wrapped his hand around Chris’s wrist. “Being grabbed bruises you just as you are.”
Chris just looked at him. After a long while, he dropped his eyes and nodded.
“It was no easel, was it?" Geoff’s soft question made Chris shake.
“Don't say a word. He's my roommate. He'll break my hand in the night while I'm sleeping." The panic was back in the edged of Chris’s voice.
“Tell the professor,” Geoff urged. “If you do not, I must.”
Chris shook his head. “We’re getting new roommates in a few days. Just keep quiet, please?”
“What else did he threaten to do to you that you are so frightened?”
“Don’t. Please. Not unless you can make me new eyes.”
Geoff looked horrified. “He is a psychopath.”
“He loves me and he’s jealous,” Chris corrected.
“Love is not broken bones and threats of blinding, my friend. I will speak to the professor before I sign your death certificate.”
“Just stay out of it. Thank you for the fix." Chris left in a hurry, only to find Nick coming down the stairs as he stepped out of Geoff’s infirmary office and closed the door. He held up the splint by way of explanation.
Nick scowled. “Later,” he promised and left for his class.
Chris spent the day in the room until a summons came from the professor. He knocked on the door of the study, trying to keep his splint out of sight. Morgenstern looked up from behind the great ebony desk.
“Come in and have a seat." Morgenstern waited until Chris was sitting in the big leather chair, taking up as small a space as he could occupy. “Our young doctor told me a most distressing tale today." At Chris’s sigh, he commanded, “Show me your hands, little one." He looked at the bruises that were even darker now. “Rooms will be reassigned at dinner tonight. Now tell me why you did not come straight to me from the infirmary.”
Chris just shook his head.
“It has been a pattern, yes? And it has escalated from a few nasty words to broken bones." Chris nodded, not wanting to tell of Nick’s threat to take his eyes. “Now, he keeps you in fear. What does he threaten to do? And why?”
“He thinks I sleep with everyone here. And you know he's jealous. He hit me after you brought me back last night. I hit back, or tried. Then he threatened to break my hand. I tried to make him let me go and he broke my finger in retaliation. I yelled for you. Why didn’t you come?”
“I did not hear." Morgenstern let that statement lie between them. “Won't he make a prize husband for some luckless woman?”
“I do love him. But I can't risk my hand." Chris tried to make him understand.
“Would a man who loves you threaten to hurt you in any way? Would he break bones? Would he threaten your very gift?”
Chris shrugged at the questions. “If I made him angry enough, anyone could.”
“Yes, I think we will reassign. You are not to be alone with him again. Stay here until supper." Morgenstern rose to leave and shut his eyes at the sight of Chris massaging his bruised hand to keep it limber.
***
The great portrait hall of the schloss changed for each student. Marcelo and Geoffrey had learned this as they compared notes with Nick. Nick’s Machiavelli and Washington were replaced by Pasteur and Curie and Calvin and Loyola as befit the situation. Marcelo in particular found the hall conducive to meditation.
“Don’t let me disturb you.”
He had heard the deliberately heavy step behind him. “Good morning, professor. I spoke with Loyola for a minute.”
Morgenstern smiled. “Yes, Ignatius was one of my better pieces of work. I understand why you would speak to him and not,” he strolled down the line of pictures “let us say, Luther.”
Marcelo nodded. “I toured Luther’s home in my traveling. They are still showing the ink stain to tourists.”
“Dear, stuffy Martin. He grew full of himself in his later years and no longer welcomed a visit from his old teacher." Morgenstern took in the lack of surprise on Marcelo’s face. “How long have you known, dear Marcelo?”
“Since I came. The name is transparent. And the legends, although not so common, are well known in certain villages." He looked on down the wall as the more modern pictures. “Robertson.”
“Of course. I could not have asked for a better sower of discord." He tapped another one familiar to millions of television viewers. “Falwell, alas, was not one of my more successful endeavors. He is a small greedy man.”
“Cho, of South Korea..." Marcelo stared into the face of the leading proponent of the Prosperity Gospel, which stood in direct opposition his own Liberation Theology. “You set us at each other’s throats.”
“You set yourselves there. I merely give you the tools.”
“Yes." Marcelo’s face was disturbed. He had been disturbed since arriving and his unease was growing more pronounced as the first year wore down.
“You need not continue in your studies, Marcelo." The offer came softly and Morgenstern’s hand fell on his shoulder.
“It is enlightening to argue with one who was present from the dawn of time." Marcelo had thought long and hard on the subject. “Teach me and I will use it to withhold as many as I can from you.”
Morgenstern laughed. “So be it then. Shall we continue with substitutionary atonement or shall we move on to transubstantiation?”
“Why?" Marcelo turned to face him. “Why the school? Why the teaching that we may go forth and aid mankind when you despise us?"
Morgenstern said nothing and led him to the book-lined study where they always argued. He sat in his great leather chair and, for the first time since Marcelo had seen him, the smile vanished. “Because even I am not outside of the Divine Plan. Because, like all angels, I cannot create, therefore I must inspire others. This is my chosen method of it.”
Marcelo sat quietly for a minute. “I believe I understand.”
***
New Year’s came and went with a party in the parlor and what Chris thought of as a deathwatch for the old year. Each boy had put in a request for a special dish at dinner and there had been much laughter and passing of plates at the table. They moved into the parlor. Matt and Bansi had favored them with a composition for voice and cello. Okeleke’s hothouse provided the orchids that graced the occasional tables. Several of Chris’s best pieces were on easels for the others to see.
Marcelo and Faki were quietly arguing the nature of God in the corner. Li and Malcolm were talking computer technology, mathematics and the possibility of life on another planet with Ayutu and Ignacio. The discussion often grew heated and profanities in Spanish and Japanese vied with the Cantonese and Bunaba vulgarities.
Chris sketched ferociously, as if trying to record the whole night for posterity in pencil. He lingered in the tight curls of Malcolm’s hair, on the highlights of Faki’s long, straight nose, getting the swirled embroidery of Matt’s cuffs and the geometric designs of Bansi’s tunic.
Morgenstern merely watched over his boys, amused. At five before midnight, he signaled Matt to stop and cranked an old Victrola. Guy Lombardo filled the room with ”Auld Lang Syne” to many puzzled looks.
“A happy new year,” Morgenstern said. “May your next year here be as productive as this one has." He stepped out the door to his rooms.
The boys, realizing the party was over, drifted back to their rooms. Nick lingered, talking to some of the others, but Chris, tired, went straight upstairs.
He flipped through his sketch pad: his friends; his classmates; and always the professor. Just looking at the art made him want Morgenstern.
He set the sketch pad aside and curled up under the blankets to masturbate. Maybe he could be done and asleep before Nick got in. His roommate had only gotten slicker and more charismatic over the last year, as well as more demanding. Chris didn’t mind the sex so much, but sometimes, he just wanted to sleep without being fucked first.
He put Nick out of his mind and thought of the professor. He imagined his hand was Morgenstern’s large one, cool and firm, wrapped around his cock and stroking. He knew he was moaning, but couldn’t stop, lost in the fantasy and the sensation.
Nick sitting on the edge of the bed broke both. “Someone had himself quite a tutoring session tonight, it looks like.”
Chris rolled up, startled and clutching the blankets tighter around himself. Nick laughed softly and replaced Chris’s hand with his own.
“Going bashful on me?" When Chris just looked at him, Nick stroked Chris’s hair out of his eyes. “Big blue eyes. Your hair’s growing out. You need to re-dye it or cut it." He played in it a moment, touching the roots. “I like the brown.”
Chris licked his lips, trying to find words for the moment. He shot Nick a pleading look. “Finish me?”
Nick gave the charming half-smile. “Sure." The hand that loosely circled Chris’s cock moved faster, gripping tight. He moved faster and faster until Chris came over his hand with a loud wail. Nick laughed softly and wiped his hands on a tissue. “Noisy little thing.”
Chris rolled away, fumbled for the clove cigarettes he kept in the night stand. After lighting one and taking a deep drag, he sighed, “Needed that.”
Nick stroked his hair. “Your lessons are pretty good then.”
Chris nodded. “I haven’t had a crush in years. I’ve never had one like this.”
“Kinda hard not to around here. Alla these gorgeous guys and the prof himself.”
“You have one too?" Chris was surprised. Nick didn’t seem like the crushing type.
“A few actually." Nick touched his cheek. “You're one.”
“Is it a crush if I let you have me?" Chris wasn’t sure about that. After all, he was in Morgenstern’s bed too and it seemed silly to describe it as something so small as a “crush.”
“Only when I fantasize about keeping you." Nick leaned in and kissed him, thrusting into his mouth, making it very clear who was in control of the kiss. “That would be a real scandal, especially since I’ll have to get married in the next few years. No one gets anywhere without the wife and kids and dog. Representative Admire and his wife and his gay lover just doesn’t look the same on the Christmas letter to the voters.”
He kissed Chris again and there were teeth behind his lips, hard and bruising. He didn’t stop until Chris was whimpering.
“So what was your lesson?" Nick always loved seeing his artwork. He flipped through the sketchbook. “Still drawing the professor at every chance, huh?”
“Light and shadow work. The fire does amazing things to his face." Chris smiled, lost in thinking about the play of light over the angular face.
“It’s the cheekbones, man." Nick set the sketchbook aside and slid in beside Chris, slipping out of his pants. He kissed Chris’s neck then licked up to his ear to whisper, “You know, I'm not afraid of what First Baptist says anymore. I answer to a lower power.”
***
Chris enjoyed his lessons with the professor more and more. He knew what Morgenstern was, yet it didn’t matter. He didn’t believe in hell or devils or God or any of it. At the beginning of a session, when all the homework he’d had to show were chiaroscuro studies of the professor’s face, he found the nerve to ask.
“I want to see you, this time. Not this,” he gestured at the glasses and the beard, “but the real you.”
Morgenstern blinked at the request. “Little artist, you don't know what you're asking. When my kind appears uncloaked before humans, the usual greeting is ‘Do not fear.’ Few mortals can stand on their feet in the presence of an angel.”
Chris set his jaw. “My gift is my eyes. I'm able to make real what I see. And I want to see you: Lucifiel, not my professor who likes tweed and cognac.”
Morgenstern drew Chris in close and kissed him. “If you are certain." Chris nodded. “Sit then and take up your materials. I cannot hold the manifestation long." He seemed to wrap himself in a cloak of darkness that filled the entire center of the parlor and then emerged. Chris looked upon a true angel, his broken wings smoke-stained, golden armor dented and tarnished, his face bruised, battered and careworn.
Chris sat, his sketchbook in his lap for a moment. His breath caught in his throat and he drank in every detail of the being before him.
“Be afraid, little one,” Lucifiel, the Morning Star, said.
Chris was shaking, but he steadied his hand. “I am afraid. I won't let it stop me." He drew rapidly, broad strokes, capturing as much as he could before the vision left.
After a few minutes, too few for Chris, the angel was gone and only his much-adored professor was still there. Chris ceased looking up from his drawing and filled in the details from memory. Sweat stood out on his forehead and he pushed his too-long hair out of his face several times.
Morgenstern sat quietly, drinking his cognac and watching. When Chris finally set the sketchbook aside, he drew the artist to his feet and kissed him. Chris clung there, stretching the kiss out.
“Show it to me when you finish,” the professor said. “Little one, are you too tired for me?”
“Never.”
“I feel generous,” Morgenstern said, drawing Chris toward the bed. “What would you like tonight?”
“Sweet and slow?" His eyes were big and hopeful and Morgenstern did not miss the bruised look of his lips.
The professor stroked his face. “You know I'm just tempting you, ensnaring you further. And that any small kindness done me is tantamount to sacrificing to idols.”
Chris shrugged. “I don't care. I'd rather have this than anything else.”
Morgenstern’s laugh was soft and bitter. “So you shall, little artist, of your own will.”
Another year passed and a third. Chris grew more and more uneasy in his rooms. Nick had mastered persuasion and now he could talk anyone into anything and Chris had learned more about deviant sex than he’d ever really wanted to know. Every time Chris made Nick angry, there was a new and humiliating sex act to try and Chris dared not say how much he hated them. He’d seen Nick truly angry exactly once. Then, the solid wood armoire had ended up so much kindling. He never wanted that turned on him.
Nick had been quite apologetic afterward and very loving. Even Chris had read enough to know he was spiraling into a cycle of abuse, but he couldn’t think how to get out. Chris noticed Nick’s anger tended to peak two days after he’d spent the night with the professor. He also noticed Nick never stayed out overnight anymore.
Chris knew it was over the night he came in late from a session with Morgenstern. Nick was waiting up for him, as he almost always did.
“Good fuck tonight, slut?” he sneered, slamming his book onto the table.
Chris just looked confused. “Yes.”
He knew it was the wrong thing to say. Nick spat in his direction and rolled up into the blankets, hogging the majority of them. Chris managed to retrieve enough to sleep under once Nick was asleep. He was disconcerted to awaken in Nick’s arms.
The awkwardness only grew. Nick ignored him as often as not in the next weeks. Chris could live with being ignored, but it was the little verbal digs and the occasional physical things that got to him. Nick would trip him when he could, or make sure his art was destroyed just before class. Chris began avoiding his room, except at bedtime, which only made Nick angrier.
“Fucking around on me like a little whore,” he raged, one evening when Chris hadn’t come in for two days.
“I only sleep with the Professor. You know that.”
Nick closed the distance. “Yeah, that's what you say.”
Chris found his voice at last. “Who else do you think I've been with?” he demanded.
“Anyone that'll fill your pretty ass." Nick’s tone vibrated with fury and danger. “Bet Sterling loves it when you look up at him with those big blue eyes while your mouth is around his cock. And I know Malcolm's been in your pants. Bet he’s hung. If you haven't gone tail-up for Ayutu, it's only a matter of time." Nick caught Chris by his shirt front and slammed him against the wall to kiss him hard, almost biting him. The move knocked away the breath Chris had taken to refute the charges. “You’re mine,” Nick snarled, his face ugly with possession. He did bite Chris with the next kiss, bloodying his lip.
Chris cried out and pulled away, hitting his head on the wall. He gasped as Nick gave a nasty laugh and dove in, leaving a very large, dark hickey, with teeth marks in it, high on his throat.
“Now anyone who sees you knows you’re taken. I catch you fucking anybody else, or sucking anybody and you are going to be one very sorry little slut.”
Chris stayed as quiet as he could. He hoped the storm had passed. Nick’s next actions confirmed it had. Nick drew him in and kissed him sweetly. He responded just as sweetly, hoping the tantrum was over.
Nick cupped his face and pressed their foreheads together. “Love you, babe. You just make me crazy-jealous." He held Chris close, whispering over and over how much he loved him.
Softly, Chris ventured, “I love you too. Just you. You don't have to be jealous.”
“That's my sweet boy.”
Nick was very sweet over the next few days. He didn’t hesitate to show affection in public. Chris was careful not to cover the hickey, knowing Nick would want it seen.
During the next art lesson, Morgenstern ran very light fingers over the bruise and the bite on his mouth. “Our Mr. Admire is causing you trouble I see.”
Chris shrugged. “He just got a little rough." He didn’t want to make a scene.
Morgenstern nodded. “And do you like him rough? Or do you not know how to tell him no?”
“I like it to a point,” Chris covered.
“To this point?" The quiet question hung between them.
“No, he went too far this time. Marked me. Like I was his property or something.”
“Are you? And may I trespass?”
Chris nodded, thinking Nick was right, he was a slut to enjoy this. “Please. Evenings with you are what keep me going.”
Morgenstern was very gentle and Chris left, considerably easier in his own mind. Nick was asleep, so he slipped into the bathroom, brushed his teeth and undressed for bed. When he slid in, Nick flipped him to his back.
Chris gasped. “You’re awake.”
“Damn right." Nick backhanded him. “Out half the night. How many put it to you? Did you fuck the eleven other infernal apostles and his Satanic Majesty too?”
Chris just blinked, stunned by the blow and the accusation. “Just...the professor." He shook his head trying to clear it.
“Lying little slut." Nick rolled off and threw him bodily out of bed. “I don’t sleep with whores.”
Chris landed hard, cracking his head on the night stand. Nick never even checked the thud and somehow that hurt most of all. Chris grabbed his clothes and yanked his pants on as he left. He found one of the sofas in the parlor and fell asleep holding his bruised head.
In the wee hours, Chris woke to a hand on his shoulder.
“This will not do. Back to your bed, little artist." Morgenstern offered him a hand to help rise. Halfway to the door, he saw the bruise on Chris’s face. He drew the young man into an embrace. “Why do you sleep here?”
“Nick’s angry at me. Because of you.”
“Is he?" Morgenstern’s soothing voice counter-pointed his gentle hand in Chris’s hair.
“I just-- I really want to leave about now.”
Morgenstern guided him back to a sofa and sat them both down. “Darling boy, talk to me.”
“I miss home. I did have a few friends there.”
“And you have none here after three years? You do not sit in the gardens with Okeleke and speak of flowers? You do not draw fractals for Ignacio? Or paint as Matthew plays the piano? You have not gotten all the boys to pose for you at one time or another?”
Chris screwed up his courage. “May I get a new roommate? The others like me better than Nick.”
“Jealous little beast. Perhaps it is time for a roommate reassignment throughout the group.”
“Professor, I don't want to mess up everyone else's assignments who are doing well together.”
“No, it is time. We always shuffle about half way through the term. I’ll do it Saturday. Now, back to your own room. And if Nicholas harms you again, come straight to me.”
Chris said nothing. He decided that the next time Nick hit him, he was going to hit back. He got his chance sooner than expected. Morgenstern had barely shut the door behind him when Nick left off feigning sleep.
“Had to have a second round?"
Chris knew when Nick’s voice was quiet and sweet like that, he was in danger. When Nick slapped him, he was ready for it. He rolled with the slap, not taking the full brunt of it. He drove out sharply from the shoulder with his fist, planting it in Nick’s stomach, just like they’d taught him that summer at the Y.
Nick sat down hard. He glared up and tried to catch his breath. “Oh baby, you just made a big fucking mistake,” he whispered, getting to his feet and seizing Chris’s wrist. Chris tried to pull away, but Nick held him fast and bent his hand painfully back at the wrist. “How well you gonna draw with a broken hand, slut?”
Chris looked scared. “Stop. Nick, please.”
Nick bent it back farther and Chris’s eyes filled with tears. There was no question in Chris’s mind that Nick would break it.
A wicked smile spread over Nick’s face. “Maybe I should start with your fingers. Then every bone in your hands. Then your wrist.”
Chris kicked at him, truly panicking now. “Professor!” he yelled.
Nick slugged him in the jaw this time. “You want to shut it before I break your arm, too. Both of them." He let go of Chris’s wrist. “The Professor doesn’t care. He’s the Devil. He wants you to suffer. You ever notice he never calls you by name?”
Keep him talking, Chris thought. Nick loved the sound of his own words and maybe he’d forget his threats. “I noticed in the first month. It doesn’t matter.”
“Then this doesn’t either." Nick snapped the little finger of Chris’s left hand as casually as breaking a twig.
Chris clutched his injured hand between his thighs and staggered to the bed. He wouldn’t cry, not in front of Nick, but a whimper escaped him anyway. He lay down and curled into a ball.
“That's for hitting me, asshole. You want to keep the other nine out of splints, you better calm down and be good." Nick wrapped himself around Chris and hissed in his ear, “Do I make myself clear, you little shit? Nobody goes down your throat or up your ass except me.”
Chris shoved an elbow back. “Not even you. Not anymore. Get away from me.”
Nick only clutched him tighter, pinning his arms to his side. “You're wrong about that, little bitch. I'll have you when I want. Or I’ll make you an even sorrier slut than you are now.”
“Never again,” Chris insisted quietly. He rocked a bit, his finger throbbing.
“Oh I wouldn’t put any money on that." Nick thrust against him through their pajama pants, letting Chris feel just how hard this had made him. “ I’ve been wondering how easy one of your palette knives would take out an eye. I think you'll be begging me to fuck you in a week if not less.”
Chris didn’t say anything. He heard the threat and understood it clearly. He let Nick hold him and whisper about how good it all could be if he’d just quit fucking around. He didn’t have the energy to correct Nick, or even the desire now. Dawn was just starting to show in the castle windows when Nick let go of him. Chris shuddered when Nick kissed his neck and waited until he was gone for real.
He made his way down the steps and knocked on Geoffrey’s door. The young doctor would help him. He had to.
Geoff looked him over. “What did you do, pinch it in an easel?" His hands were gentle and careful as he set and splinted the finger. “You should always come to me at once.”
“It was late,” Chris said. “I didn’t want to bother you.”
“This hurt you all night, I know. It may be late, but never hesitate to call. Wake me if you must.”
Chris glanced around, nervous, hoping Nick didn’t overhear the encounter and read it as cheating.
“Okay. You keep it dry and take the pain pills at the first sign of discomfort. Do not wait to truly hurt." He handed Chris a vial with several tablets in it. When Chris took it, Geoff noticed the bruises on his right wrist. He knew what they were. “What happened here?” he asked, waiting to see if Chris would tell the truth.
“I fell on the stairs. Caught myself.”
Geoff’s eyes were cold and narrow. “You are lying." He indicated the palm and inner wrist. “You see, breaking a fall would bruise you here and here." He wrapped his hand around Chris’s wrist. “Being grabbed bruises you just as you are.”
Chris just looked at him. After a long while, he dropped his eyes and nodded.
“It was no easel, was it?" Geoff’s soft question made Chris shake.
“Don't say a word. He's my roommate. He'll break my hand in the night while I'm sleeping." The panic was back in the edged of Chris’s voice.
“Tell the professor,” Geoff urged. “If you do not, I must.”
Chris shook his head. “We’re getting new roommates in a few days. Just keep quiet, please?”
“What else did he threaten to do to you that you are so frightened?”
“Don’t. Please. Not unless you can make me new eyes.”
Geoff looked horrified. “He is a psychopath.”
“He loves me and he’s jealous,” Chris corrected.
“Love is not broken bones and threats of blinding, my friend. I will speak to the professor before I sign your death certificate.”
“Just stay out of it. Thank you for the fix." Chris left in a hurry, only to find Nick coming down the stairs as he stepped out of Geoff’s infirmary office and closed the door. He held up the splint by way of explanation.
Nick scowled. “Later,” he promised and left for his class.
Chris spent the day in the room until a summons came from the professor. He knocked on the door of the study, trying to keep his splint out of sight. Morgenstern looked up from behind the great ebony desk.
“Come in and have a seat." Morgenstern waited until Chris was sitting in the big leather chair, taking up as small a space as he could occupy. “Our young doctor told me a most distressing tale today." At Chris’s sigh, he commanded, “Show me your hands, little one." He looked at the bruises that were even darker now. “Rooms will be reassigned at dinner tonight. Now tell me why you did not come straight to me from the infirmary.”
Chris just shook his head.
“It has been a pattern, yes? And it has escalated from a few nasty words to broken bones." Chris nodded, not wanting to tell of Nick’s threat to take his eyes. “Now, he keeps you in fear. What does he threaten to do? And why?”
“He thinks I sleep with everyone here. And you know he's jealous. He hit me after you brought me back last night. I hit back, or tried. Then he threatened to break my hand. I tried to make him let me go and he broke my finger in retaliation. I yelled for you. Why didn’t you come?”
“I did not hear." Morgenstern let that statement lie between them. “Won't he make a prize husband for some luckless woman?”
“I do love him. But I can't risk my hand." Chris tried to make him understand.
“Would a man who loves you threaten to hurt you in any way? Would he break bones? Would he threaten your very gift?”
Chris shrugged at the questions. “If I made him angry enough, anyone could.”
“Yes, I think we will reassign. You are not to be alone with him again. Stay here until supper." Morgenstern rose to leave and shut his eyes at the sight of Chris massaging his bruised hand to keep it limber.
***
