Luca held up his gloved right hand and threw a punch. It connected with his opponents' jaw but did not knock him down. He saw a tooth go flying out of the corner of the other man’s mouth. As Luca pranced around the boxing ring he could hear notes and melodies playing in his head, soft as anything. His feet seemed to follow the musical notes floating in his mind. Light as air his body seemed to levitate around the ring.
Out of the corner of his eye, the flash of a camera went off. Momentarily distracted, his opponent threw a hefty punch and Luca went down.
Silence.
Nothing.
It was a nothing that encompassed everything. It was a tranquil nothingness. A calm nothingness. He felt weightless. He felt peaceful. It was somehow a comforting nothingness. A nothing, nothingness. It was such a large nothingness that Luca wondered if he was dead. He realized he wasn’t when he thought that. If he was having thoughts then he wasn’t dead.
‘Get up,’ he thought. ‘Get up, get up, get up!’ he thought wildly, repeating his incantation. The soft, melodic, beautiful notes continued to play in his head, coming to a crescendo, playing louder and louder internally as the music reached its peak, it picked up, grew beautifully louder and more magnificent. It blurred out all the white noise of the crowds roaring and chanting.
He became aware again. The distant sounds of the audience cheering came back to him in a flash. It hit him with a force and he was awake again. He wasn’t dead, and this wasn’t a nothingness anymore
On shaky legs, he stood up, stared his opponent straight in the face, marked his aim and lashed out.
It was his publicist Marsha who was the first to properly congratulate him on the win. A short and somewhat plump lady, with scraggly blonde hair, smiling blue eyes and the fullest, most kissable lips he had ever seen. She handed him a bottle of Dom, hugged him and smiled at him proudly, like a mother hen.
They’d fucked once, not long after she had first agreed to take Luca under her wing and guide him through the world of professional sports. It had been an awkward experience for both of them. She, at fifteen years his senior, had been too dominant and in control for his liking. He found it almost offensive when she told him what to do. He felt she was putting it on when she over-zealously commented on how he was fucking and handling her body. With a sigh, he’d pulled out halfway through when it dawned on him that they may never cum, and could be there for hours.
They hadn’t spoken about it the morning after. No mention was made. Three years later, they had still never talked about it. It was better to leave some things buried in the past.
The post-match interviews and the press conference went by in a flurry, of which Luca could recall nothing specific. The questions all became the same after a while, and he had learned to formulate the same basic answer, but just change the wording slightly. He had been told it was a trick that most celebrities or people in the public eye had adopted, and it kept the public on side, rather than just a simple and standoffish “no comment,” answer.
The same piece of music from earlier still swirled in Luca’s head as he sat alone at the bar and drained a vodka tonic. He was at his manager’s house, and despite the fact that this after party was thrown for him and his victory, he felt utterly dejected and disconnected from the event and the dozens of people he didn’t know, yet they all seemed to know him.
Dropping himself off the bar stool, Luca slogged to the bathroom. He was greeted by the sight of three young men and a woman snorting cocaine off the black marble vanity, sharing a rolled up hundred dollar bill between them. The girl looked up first, seeming the most annoyed with Luca that he had interrupted them and brought them back momentarily to reality.
“Dude,” said one guy. “You want a hit?”
“No,” said Luca. Quickly he made his way to the toilet stall, did what he had to do and then left. He didn’t bother to wash his hands. He didn’t much feel like being covered in cocaine residue.
The classical tune in his head grew louder as he snaked his way back through the throngs of drunk and wasted people. A young woman, barely twenty-one by the looks of her, danced up against Luca, grinding herself into him, trying to elicit some sort of reaction out of him. Somewhat abruptly, he pushed her to the side and went back to the same barstool, ordering yet another vodka tonic.
“Evening," greeted a well-to-do gentleman. He came and sat down at the bar, leaving the space of an empty barstool between them. He ordered a crisp chardonnay and attempted to make small talk with Luca. “I enjoy watching you fight.’’
"Thanks," mumbled Luca into his drink. He emptied it and put it back down on the bar with some force, the sound of the glass hitting the hardwood bar, jarring.
"You’re different to the other boxers. You move differently. Some of them seem so awkward and forced, lumbering around the ring, but you move softly and precisely."
Luca turned toward the man, his body language softening, his guard starting to slip gently. The man turned also, holding out his hand and introducing himself. "Owen Samuels."
"Nice to meet you," Luca replied. For the first time that night, a small smile creased his face.
"Likewise," Owen said, smiling broadly in return. He found himself liking the young Luca, there was something that drew him in about his character.
"So, ah, how do you know management? How’d you get an invite?" asked Luca.
Owen chuckled slightly at how harsh the young boxer had asked that question, imagining that if it came from anyone else, it would be a pleasantry, yet from him, it had echoes of an accusation. The whole ‘who are you and what do you want?’ type thing. Luca seemed aware of this fact. It drew Owen in further.
"Mr. Gilligan invited me. My friend has joined the lower ranks of your team, but I suspect your manager will elevate her or keep her around, based solely off the fact that she is a looker. I just so happened to be with her when he came by, and in order to look generous in her eyes, he invited me and one of our other girl friends. Chances are though that if I were to walk up to Mr. Gilligan and strike up a conversation, he’d not have a clue who I was."
"That’s true," agreed Luca. "Unless you have a pretty face, nice tits, and legs, or can make him money, he’s generally not interested. You don’t get to the top by being nice to everyone you meet and making friends with everyone."
Luca felt comforted by the presence of the older man, who seemed very gentle and patient. Owen Samuels was a well dressed and distinguished older gentleman, who, in Luca’s eyes, exuded a sort of cool, quiet sophisticated presence. He was a tall and slim man; so tall and slim that he could aptly be described as lanky, or beanpole thin. Completely bald on top; his head had a sheen in any light. Large, brown eyes stood out against his fair skin, covered by black-rimmed glasses. His nose was straight, the tip of it small and could best be described as somewhat feminine. Same with his mouth. His face overall was somewhat youthful and slightly girlish, save for the black soul patch on his chin.
He was wearing a dark gray, ribbed turtleneck and sensible slacks. Not an overly trendy look, yet he made it look and feel somehow modern and classic. Luca had the sense that perhaps turtlenecks and practical pants were like a uniform for Owen. He couldn’t actually picture the man wearing anything else.
Steadily, Owen sipped at his chardonnay, never taking more than a small mouthful. He seemed to savor the taste and swill it around his mouth, getting full enjoyment from it. Luca was mesmerized. He’d never seen anyone get such enjoyment from alcohol. In his experience, you knocked it back and got drunk as quickly as possible.
"How long have you been boxing?” Owen asked Luca.
“Well, I started out in high school. It was just a hobby, a way to get all my feelings out and sort out personal stuff.”
“Is it the same for you now?”
“No,” said Luca. “No. I don’t think I’m an angry person anymore. Not as angry as I was back then.”
“So boxing has helped you work through things?”
Luca laughed. “Yeah, putting on the boxing gloves and laying into someone can really help a guy out.”
Owen chuckled. He found himself liking the young Luca. “I imagine it is rather cathartic.”
He appraised the young boxer sitting next to him. He was a stocky young man; 5’8, perhaps even 5’9. Broad across the shoulders and chest, tattoos running up and down his arms and a few on his legs, from what he had seen of his body when in the ring. He was muscular and well built, strong and bulky. Owen found himself wondering what was in Luca’s briefs. Was it thick like the rest of his body? Long? Short? Average? The thoughts made his cock pulse in his slacks, which begged the next question, was Luca gay?
Yes, Owen believed he was, even if the young man had yet to confirm it to himself. He remembered what it was like to be young and not know. He had spent many nights tossing and turning, unable to sleep, asking himself all these questions, stripping his soul bare, questing to find inner truth and peace. Of course, now Owen was full of pride and wouldn’t change anything about himself, but in his late teens and early twenties, it had been touch and go for a while.
Luca found something oddly familiar and comforting in the presence of the older man. He seemed to be almost like a mentor figure; quietly guiding and helping. He found that his life story fell from his mouth, without him really being aware of what happened, until he had finished speaking.
To listen to Luca speak, it was rather a formulaic story. Parents not giving a damn, kids taken away to live with other family members, shitty high school experiences, confusing feelings in regards to parents and role models.
“I’m just glad I found sport rather than hard drugs,” Luca observed. “It could have gone either way.”
“You are rather a candid young man, you speak very truthfully. You are very erudite."
“Yeah,” replied Luca. “People seem surprised that I can string proper sentences together. The stereotype of the dumb boxer or the athlete who can’t use his brain is still around. It pisses me off, when people judge based off face value and what they see immediately in front of them. I don’t like being judged or people making assumptions about me that are wrong.” He was getting heated up now. His handsome face had gone red; lines were etched into his forehead, his breathing pattern was irregular. He was very genuinely frustrated.
“I imagine for people in the public eye, this is worse,” Owen said to Luca, not knowing how to placate the young man.
He was rather an inconsistent young man. He was a mystery to Owen. One minute happy and at peace, the next his mood had swung in the opposite direction and he was agitated and annoyed. He was an anomaly, and Owen rather enjoyed that about Luca.
Luca stood and drained his glass, once more placing it back down hard on the bar. He checked the digital clock on the back wall, with it’s large, flashing fluorescent green numbers. It fit in well with the modern lines and design of the place; minimalistic, monotone, digital. 'Goodbye analog!' Luca thought sardonically.
He looked around at the room of drunk, falling down people. He resented all this, he really did. And now he had to go home. Home. He hated his home. It was too big, too flashy and grandiose, not him at all. It was almost a clone of this place, on a somewhat smaller scale. 'Home,' he thought with a sigh. And yet, it wasn't home at all, it was merely a house.
“I need to get home,” announced Luca. Owen sensed something there. Luca seemed unhappy at the mention of that place. “It was nice to meet you, Owen,” Luca said, holding out his hand. Owen took it, firm in his grip and shook.
“You don’t like home?” Owen asked quickly.
A flash of anger crossed Luca’s face at the overconfidence of the question as if Owen would deign to know, but then his face softened, once again showcasing how quickly Luca, and indeed his moods, changed.
“My home is lonely,” he admitted. “My home seems to haunt me. How pathetic is that? Big boxer man scared of his own house?” Luca smirked at the humor of the situation.
“Not pathetic at all,” Owen replied. Luca had the feeling Owen was only telling him this because it was what he wanted to hear, but he accepted it anyway. Truth be told it was the tune in Luca’s head that haunted him the most. He was afraid that if he was alone, rattling around in that big ol’ house of his by himself, that the tune would get louder and haunt him. It unnerved him now, that he continued to hear this piece of music, and yet he couldn’t place it, didn’t know where he had heard it. It was growing ominous in his mind.
“May I be presumptuous?” Owen asked Luca. Luca nodded. “Would you like to stay the night at my apartment? There is a guest room.”
Luca considered the proposal. Frankly, the thought of going home tonight and being alone frightened him. He accepted Owen’s offer.
“Would you like to go now? We can wait if you’d like, stay longer at your party?”
“This is not my party,” Luca replied. “This was never for me. It may seem it, to an outsider, but this is not in my honor, it’s for my manager. It’s a self-congratulatory thing. A, ‘well done for picking the best horse’ celebration. This is all in his honor, it’s for him.”
“Okay, leaving now it is,” Owen confirmed.
Silence.
Nothing was said between the men sitting in the back of the cab. The driver, a skinny black man wearing a newsboy cap had the radio on low, blaring old blues tunes. Luca appreciated the music and the distraction. At the last turn before Owen’s street, the driver looked in his rearview mirror and said, “Hey, you’re that boxer kid ain’t ya?”
“No,” said Luca. “I’m not.”
The driver narrowed his eyes in the mirror, not believing him, but he didn’t press the matter. The taxi rolled to a stop outside Owen’s building. It was an old, purpose-built art deco block that was still strong in its 1920s presence. As Luca scooched across the seat to get out of the car, the driver piped up again. “You sure you ain’t that boxing kid? Koz you look awful like him.” Luca got out, and the taxi pulled away, the lights fading in the cool night air.
If the outside of Owen’s building reflected a long-gone era than the interior did even more so. Everywhere were clean, crisp straight lines and geometrics. The artwork and posters reflected the decadence of the roaring twenties, as did the furniture and general feel of the place. It was sophisticated and showy, but not ostentatious and over done. It was a well put together room.
“Would you like a drink?” asked Owen. “I have white wine in the fridge, and I do believe there is apricot brandy somewhere, along with scotch.”
“Scotch, please,” Luca replied, settling into a deep leather couch. Before him on the wall was a large nude portrait of a raven-haired 1920s woman, wearing nothing but a jeweled and feathered band around her head. She was a svelte figure; small, almost flat tits and a small, plump ass. She was a gem.
“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Owen asked, coming back into the room and handing Luca his glass of scotch. “A friend found her at a deceased estate. Apparently, she’d been sitting in the attic collecting dust. Frances has her home now,” Owen said proudly.
“The name suits her.”
“It does rather, doesn’t it?” Owen smiled. Still standing, he took a generous sip of scotch and walked toward the stereo in the corner of the room, which looked shockingly modern and out of place in its environment. “Do you like music?”
“I do, although sometimes I find that it can infect me.”
“That is the beauty of music, my boy. It creeps into us and finds our souls.” He fiddled around for a moment, his back turned to Luca. By the time he sat down in an armchair that was a smaller replica of what Luca was lounging on, the music had come over the speakers.
It was a melodious tune, soft and beautiful. It was light and airy, it floated in the space of the living room. 'My God,' Luca thought. 'This is it. This is the song.' Quickly in his mind, the notes rewound themselves and he was matching the tune he was hearing aloud for the first time.
“What is this song?” he asked, his throat feeling suddenly dry.
“It’s a piece of music by Vaughan Williams called The Lark Ascending.”
'The Lark Ascending,' he thought. He smiled whimsically as if he had discovered a secret. He was happy. For the first time in a long time, he was properly happy and he did not know why. He could not explain this sudden onslaught of emotion, but he was touched by something. Something made sense within him that he couldn’t explain.
It was a majestic piece of music, that grew louder, coming to a peak and then softening again until it was almost nothing. It slowly built up again and grew bolder once more, as if experiencing a rebirth.
The two men sat in silence until the piece of music had played out. Owen turned to Luca, placing his glass next to the book on the small, square coffee table. “Do you know this piece?”
“No,” Luca admitted. “But when I was in the ring I heard it. I couldn’t get it out of my head, it was all I could hear. Now I can hear it for real, out loud.”
Owen smiled. “No wonder it seemed to me like you were floating if you were hearing this."
Another piece of music came on, but Luca did not recognize it and had it not heard it before, in his head or otherwise.
“What’s your story?” Luca asked.
“My story?”
“Yeah, your background. Your origin story. I told you mine, what’s yours?” explained Luca.
Owen considered this question. He crossed and re-crossed his legs, right over left, left over right, finally settling with them flat in front of him. “Well, the short version is, my mother died when I was a child, my father kicked me out of the family home when I was seventeen for having a homosexual relationship with another student. I worked shitty, menial jobs to put myself through business school. I got beat up so bad by the boss’ son one day for being ‘a gay’ that I did a stint in hospital. I’ve been a confirmed bachelor for nearly twenty years, and I prefer short term or somewhat casual sexual encounters.”
Luca was dumbstruck at the brief story. To try and ease the tension, Owen asked if Luca minded if he smoked. When Luca shook his head no, Owen added, “It’s a dirty habit I know, but I picked it up in high school and have been smoking on and off since then.”
Luca ran a hand through his short blonde hair, in awe of the story he’d just heard. This made Owen laugh. “You’re still surprised?”
“Ah, yeah, yeah I am.” Quickly and seriously, Owen asked Luca how long he had known he was gay. He had done this to try and gauge a reaction from the young man. See how his temperament would change. “Woah, woah,” Luca said quickly, raising his hands in front of him. “I’m not……..” he trailed off. His hands flopped down on his thighs and he sat back in his chair heavily. “I’m not…..” he repeated in a small voice. 'Am I? Surely not……'
His breathing changed, became heavier and labored. He couldn’t be gay. It wasn’t possible. Or was it? It seemed to make some sense. He liked women, admired them for their endless beauty and bodies. All women were beautiful. But a man? A man's body? Suddenly he found himself craving something. He stood up violently and paced back and forth. Owen stood and walked around to where Luca was. Standing in front of him, face to face, he could see in Luca’s blue eyes that he had rattled him. He took Luca’s hand and squeezed.
Luca looked down to their connected hands, and then back up at Owen. Something inside Luca ticked over. Owen leaned in and kissed Luca, softly at first, just to test the waters. When Luca did not pull away, he increased the intensity of the kiss. This time Luca did pull away and back off.
“What the hell?” he angrily accused.
“Luca, there is nothing to be ashamed of or embarrassed about,” said Owen, quickly speaking. Luca stormed out of the lounge and into the guest bedroom. He tried to shut the door on Owen, but the older man was too quick, and they were both in there.
“Why’d you bring me back here? So you can live out some fucked up fantasy of older and younger, hmmmm? Play the role of some fucked up mentor or guidance counselor to me?” Luca was angry now, furious. He was red in the face, his eyes shiny and glazed over.
“That is not true, Luca, and you know it,” Owen shouted back. He went and sat down on the edge of the large Queen bed. His face softened, and then his voice. “I’ve been where you are, Luca. I know what it’s like to be haunted by thoughts and feelings. There was once a time where I was scared of the dark because, in the dark, there was no telling where my mind would go or what I could possibly think or confirm to myself. You not wanting to go home is the same. That house haunts you.”
Luca sat down next to Owen, placing a large, muscular hand on his thigh.
“I’m proud of who I am, Luca. Being gay does not define me, it doesn’t define anyone. I’m still the same person. People are people, no matter what they identify as. I’d still be an asshole if I was straight. Heck, we’re all assholes, straight or gay,” Owen chuckled and smiled.
Luca rubbed his hand up and down Owen’s thigh. Tentatively, they both leaned in slowly for a kiss. This time it was a kiss of hunger and passion, as both of them fought for control. Owen’s tongue was the first to enter Luca’s mouth as they started madly undressing each other. Hands worked quickly as shirts were untucked, glasses taken off and pants were unbuttoned.
With Owen laying on top of a now naked Luca, his mouth found its way down to his cock, which was thick and semi-erect. Skilfully, Owen sucked and licked until he was at his full majesty, then he bobbed his head up and down on Luca’s tool.
Luca’s body relaxed and turned to mush as he lay down and let Owen suck him off. It felt different than when any woman had done this to him. Well, if Luca closed his eyes and concentrated really hard, it was a woman doing this. Owen’s mouth felt like a woman’s, but it was the occasional scratching of stubble and his soul patch, that reminded Luca of Owen being down there. Besides, Owen was far more skilled than any woman.
Perhaps it was because Owen himself had the same parts as Luca and knew what penises liked that he had masterfully bought Luca up to fully erect and was sucking and rimming him with expert precision, his tongue swirling around the tight little hole, pressing at it and teasing it. Luca was laying back and moaning loudly, feeling as weightless as when he had nearly been knocked out earlier.
It was Owen’s tongue gliding up his balls, and then his shaft, that bought Luca back to earth. He opened his eyes and stared at the coffered ceiling. “I….want,” Luca moaned.
Owen raised his head but kept a firm grip around Luca’s erection with his right hand. “What?” he asked.
“I….want to….fuck you.”
Owen smiled. “Won’t be a tick,” he said, getting up and sauntering gleefully from the room. He returned not even a minute later with some condoms and extra lubricant. He sat next to Luca’s naked form on the edge of the bed and rolled the condom down his length. He stood and lubed his own ready and willing asshole, as well as applying some more to the condom. Climbing aboard and straddling Luca, he slowly lowered himself.
It was like nothing that Luca had ever felt before. Owen’s asshole was hot and tight, the lubricant making it easier to slide in. From this angle, with Owen on top, Luca got a good look at his cock. It was longer than his own, but also thinner. The head was engorged, filled with blood and red. As Owen moved himself up and down on top of Luca, his cock bobbed in an almost comical fashion.
The greasy slipperiness of the lubricant made it easier for Luca to fuck Owen’s back door. The friction was incredible, and both men were moaning and groaning loudly. Luca could no longer hear the music in his head. It was gone. The notes had floated out of his mind. His only focus now was fucking Owen.
So fuck him he did. Luca gave him everything he had. Grabbing onto Owen’s hips, he drove his cock deep inside his asshole, his big balls slapping against his ass cheeks. Owen had grabbed a hold of his own cock and was jacking himself, feeling his balls contract and then loosen somewhat, only to get tight again.
It happened quicker than either of them expected. Luca announced his cumming, pushing himself balls deep into Owen, who came as well when he felt Luca letting go inside him. Owen came thick streams on Luca’s chest, the ropes of cum landing in dark gold chest hair.
Slowly, Owen sat up and Luca’s cock slid from his ass and landed with a wet plop against his stomach. The condom was rolled off and disposed of in the small trash can in the guest bathroom.
“You’ll learn to last longer,” Owen announced as he came back into the room and smiled at Luca laying naked on his bed. They cuddled up together in bed, Luca resting his head on Owen’s chest. “You know I can’t offer you more than what we just had.”
“I know,” replied Luca. Already he felt a part of him mourning that he couldn’t have a long term relationship with this man. In some ways though, it would be good for Luca too.
They dozed, contented and happy in the afterglow of their sex, the distant sounds of late night traffic bouncing off the outside of the glass windows, a street lamp faintly illuminating the dark outside.
