Seth by Nero Seal
During the following three days,Arnold Alby called twice. Once, to inform Seth that the last shipment of neodymium glass had arrived and the construction would be finished in time. The second call was to invite Seth to the launch party happening in two weeks. And just like that, Seth returned to his daily routine and glass blowing.
Seth’s hand, once again, needed constant attention. To avoid disturbing the newly growing skin, he had to wear a glove at all times. Ignaz agreed to stay longer and found the glass sculpting process fascinating. More often than not, he sat in the basement, watching Seth work. When he was in high spirits, like today, he climbed on a workbench with his knees tugged to his chest and read a book aloud. At moments like these, Seth wished time would stop.
Even now, twirling a glowing mass of molten glass on the blowpipe, he couldn’t suppress a dreamy smile as he listened to the calming voice reading a fantasy book. He couldn’t remember the title and barely paid attention to the plot. What he didn’t miss were the clutching fingers around the hardcover, hastened words when the plot entered another twist, and audible swallowing probably caused by dry air. Seth’s mind blanked as he submerged into a meditative trance.
At some point, Ignaz stopped reading. A longing to hear him again shook Seth out of his daze. He lifted his chin.
“How did you learn to do it? Aren’t you an architect? It’s like magic.”
Seth glanced at the refined thread of glass with rose-like thorns. It flared with reflected fire.
“From my dad. Glassblowing was his hobby.” Seth put the piece of barbed wire in the kiln and beckoned the boy with his hand. An uncertain smile stretched Ignaz’s lips. He lowered one foot, then the other. The book flopped down on the workbench. Seth looked up and down the metal rack. Finding the pile of spare clothing, he grabbed the heavy leather boots and a linen shirt from the lower shelf, then offered them to Ignaz.
The blond wavered before grabbing the pile with both hands. Impatiently, as if fearing Seth would change his mind, he shoved his feet into the few sizes too-big shoes.
Leaving him to struggle with the shirt, Seth removed the remaining glass from the furnace and poured in a new portion of clear silica sand.
When he faced Ignaz again, the boy tried to roll up the too-long sleeves. Seth stepped closer and helped adjust the length, then squatted down and laced his boots.
“What’s next?” Ignaz mouthed, watching Seth with owlish eyes. The thirst splashing inside his eyes sucked on Seth’s soul.
“You stir.” Seth straightened, shrugged, and offered Ignaz a blowpipe.
They waited in silence for the sand to melt. When a white glow settled in the chunk of molten glass, Seth wrapped his arms around Ignaz’s shoulders. Their fingers linked. Clasped with four hands, the blowpipe rotated, twirling the glass. Ignaz tensed, then relaxed. He leaned back, delegating his weight to Seth. His muscles slackened as he let Seth lead him through the process of creation.
Seth’s head lightened; heart speeding up as elation filled his soul. Like in a dance, his hands slipped along Ignaz’s arms, and he couldn’t stop looking at his partner’s face while guiding him through the song that lasted until the glass hardened.
Without any resistance, Ignaz let him lead. His head bumped against Seth’s shoulder as he kept just enough strength in his arms to follow his directions. Was this how he’d submitted to his former master? Beautifully. Fully. Trustingly. At that moment, more than anything, Seth wanted to see his submission. To accept whatever Seth gave with gratitude.
Leading Ignaz’s body, he twisted and tugged glass without looking at the lump because he couldn’t tear his gaze away from Ignaz’s face, glowing brighter than glass. At that moment, a very calm thought touched his mind. He is the one. He has to be.
“What do you want to create?” Seth’s face brushed against the side of Ignaz’s head, and the deep, hazy aroma of his own shampoo washed over him. Yes, he must be the one.
“Can it be anything?”
“Anything.”
“Then a bird?”
“Why a bird?” Seth asked, keeping the rod in Ignaz’s hands in constant motion.
“They can fly. They take off and never look back. It’s like starting a new life, don’t you think?”
Seth scowled at the odd thought, but his hands moved, guiding Ignaz toward the stand with colored sand. He’d never considered glassblowing erotic, but as he colored and molded the glass with Ignaz’s hands, he thought that, in a way, it resembled passionate sex.
When they relocated to the marver1, not a sliver of space separated them, only two layers of clothes. Their fingers interlinked around the tongs and formed a long body with a curved chest. They worked in tandem, using shears and tongs to form and cut the glass, which developed a brownish hue as it cooled.
Seth added chunks of glass to form the head and wings. Working through another pair of hands was harder than he expected. His gaze, as if spellbound, time after time strayed to Ignaz. The bird turned out far from perfect. It had bubbles in it from poor stirring, and the color didn’t blend evenly, but still, Seth felt the soul in it. Ignaz seemed to see it too. His eyes widened, lips parted, and a pure, spiritual expression overtook his pale face. His darkness dispersed, and for the first time, Seth managed to see his soul untainted. In the depth of his eyes, the unbounded sea splashed, and Seth’s desert thrived in it, quenching its thirst. For the first time in months, he felt alive, whole, healing.
“Seth, this is so pretty…”
The tongs clanged against the metal bench after Seth separated the figurine from the blowpipe. The deep-brown scythe-like wings and a short, forked tail glittered with golden sparks. The streamlined form of its head merged into the pale throat. The bird held its wings wide open as it sat on his gloved hand.
Seth kept silent, watching Ignaz marvel at the figurine. When Ignaz spoke again, his voice rang with awe. “Can I keep it?”
Can I keep you? Seth thought, sharing the craving. “Sure. Whatever you want.”
Ignaz turned in his hands, leaving an empty spot on his chest. His gaze washed over Seth, and his expression darkened. “Seth…”
“Um?”
More than anything, Seth wanted to lean closer and kiss Ignaz. Plump and pink, his lips looked soft. The tip of Ignaz’s tongue escaped his mouth and outlined the rim, leaving a glistening trail behind. Seth’s chest constricted with need, and holding back became impossible. He inched forward a fraction when a low whisper thrust him back into cruel reality.
“Don’t look at me like this.”
Seth swallowed his thickening saliva and smirked, hiding in the darkness of his lowered lashes. When he opened his eyes again, he managed a fake smile. “Are you hungry? Let’s go upstairs. The glass needs to cool down anyway.”
He turned the furnace off, put the bird in the kiln, and strolled toward the stairs.
* * *
Since the day they parted,Gustavo watched Seth’s life without enthusiasm and with declining interest. He saw how Seth burned his clothes without giving a second look to the business card he’d given him, and this simple observation made him realize how little space he occupied in Seth’s mind. His pride ached. The voice of reason kept telling him that it didn’t matter because Seth would never enter his life and bedroom in any sense, but his possessive instinct didn’t want to let go of the idea of adding Seth to his collection.
The longer he watched Seth sink into his relationship with Ignaz, the more lacking his own love life looked. A couple of weeks of muddled acquaintance he’d observed on the screen made more sense to him than the year he’d spent with Hans. The feelings Seth displayed seemed genuine, and Gustavo already noticed the first sparks of returned affection lighting up Ignaz’s face when he watched Seth from afar.
To spare himself from the anguish of jealousy, Gustavo fast-forwarded most of the footage, but on the third day, when Seth drove the boy to work, his interest recurred. With his breath held back, he watched Seth return home, descend into the basement, and unlock the hidden door. Gustavo had already seen him entering the chamber, but the camera’s range was too short and didn’t cover even a sliver of space inside. Not giving it much thought, he’d labeled the room a storage closet, but now he wasn’t sure.
The low clanging of metal drifted from the speakers. When Seth left the room, ultraviolet light leaked out from the door. He re-entered the room forty-five minutes later, carrying a small oven. The light died, and the metal clanged again.
Seth spent all that day in the basement. He lowered the elevator platform and quickly assembled a massive metal frame, supported by a few flat weights. Four fist-thick chains were secured with massive carabiners to the top and side bars. At first, Gustavo didn’t understand what purpose they served, but then the magic began.
Seth didn’t use any references as he fused glass together with a hand torch and more molten chunks. Deformed pieces that had no particular form joined together seamlessly, gaining shape and dimension. The colors deepened, textures bled out, forming a sinuous knot of muscles that resembled a heart.
When the sickle moon clawed up into the sky and anchored its flank behind the lifted garage door, right above the opening in the ceiling, Seth glanced at his watch. He turned the furnace off, showered, changed into jeans and a shirt, and drove to fetch Ignaz from work.
Even after Seth left, Gustavo sat in the dark, watching the glass heart glint in the night. Pieces of transparent barbed wire lay around, and a hole gaped in the middle of the sculpture, but Gustavo already knew what this heart was supposed to contain.
The door creaked open, a click sounded, and light blazed through the darkness, blinding him for a second. Gustavo blinked the burn off before meeting squished together brows. Arms folded over his chest; Hans rested his back against the wall. He didn’t say a word, but his expression spoke volumes. Today, he wore a plain black shirt and tight-fitting pants that nearly ripped over his hips. He didn’t flirt, smile, or attempt to talk; he just looked at Gustavo with eyes full of reproach.
Gustavo got up. “You could have picked up at least once.”
“If you wanted to see me, you could have come to the Uni. It’s not as if I melted into thin air.”
“I figured you needed space.” Slowly, like a snake cornering its prey, Gustavo slunk toward the door. “You look good.”
Finger reaching up, Gustavo tried to catch a stray curl of straw hair, but Hans slapped his hand away. “No thanks to you.”
Gustavo’s blood warmed like it always did when Hans resisted him. He leaned closer, framing the blond head with his forearms. “Is that so?”
Hans’ hand darted forward and pushed his chest. “I didn’t come for this.”
“Then why did you come?” When the boy didn’t answer, Gustavo pinned him to the wall. His hips rocked, brushing his full-blooded erection against Hans’ hip.
“I got a job in Milan.”
“Modeling?”
“Yes.”
“Haven’t I told you to leave this idea?”
“I don’t care what you said.”
“Is that so? And here I was thinking you came so I could stop you from leaving. Am I wrong?” His palms skidded down the wall, fingers grabbed Hans’ shirt and ripped it. Buttons scattered across the floor. Hans swallowed, licked his lips, and lust hooded his eyes. He rolled his head backward, providing his neck for Gustavo’s biting kisses.
* * *
The following daysdrowned in unbearable heat and happiness. Seth thought that with every minute spent together, his relationship with Ignaz progressed. The boy didn’t shy away from his touch anymore, and the number of open smiles he showered Seth with grew as if obeying the rule of arithmetic progression. Still, now and then, Seth spotted guilt lurking behind Ignaz’s too quickly averted gazes, hands hidden in pockets, and poorly controlled quivering of his chin, but there was nothing he could do about it.
Another call from Albert Alby informed him that the tip of SkyBlade was completed and that the building successfully passed the architectural committee and could be opened whenever they were ready.
With the sculpture nearly finished, Seth’s list of urgent tasks melted. His priorities switched. Walter Fischer’s phone migrated into the lead box in the basement as he dedicated his attention to Ignaz and Justin’s heart.
On the fifth day of curing the plastinated heart, when it was time to remove the organ from the oven and assemble the chamber of the soul, Seth descended into the basement. He locked the door and didn’t leave until the final piece of glass took its place in the puzzle.
When the heat detectors on the walls beeped and flashed red, and his watch buzzed, informing him it was dinner time, he left the basement and hurried to the kitchen. His chest expanded, anticipating another beautiful evening, and deflated as he found the kitchen deserted.
It took ten minutes to rush through the chain of doors, opening one after another, until he finally found Ignaz in his studio. Shirtless and with a rattan cane in one hand, he settled his feverish gaze on Seth. “I need you to hurt me. Truly hurt me.”
And just like that, Seth’s happiness evaporated.
* * *
Pale skin contrastedwith the black leather of the St. Andrew’s cross as Ignaz shifted from foot to foot. His fingers fumbled over the cross’ rings in a search for a better grip. Today, no chains restricted his movements. Seth didn’t want to carry the scene too far as the dense desperation in the air held the bitter tang of regret.
Seth lifted the cane, and another strike broke the already battered skin on Ignaz’s back. The first stream of blood trickled down his skin.
Stop me… Seth closed his eyes. Please, stop me.
“More!” Ignaz demanded. “Harder.”
Seth obeyed without any enthusiasm. For him, pain and pleasure had always walked hand in hand. He got off watching his partners drift into subspace, dissolving into the morphine-like euphoria. Seth didn’t know how subspace felt; nevertheless, he had always enjoyed the experience, as it made his own blood spark.
If Ignaz didn’t seek subspace, Seth couldn’t see a single reason to torture him. This didn’t feel right, didn’t bring him joy. If anything, it swamped his soul in bitterness and regret.
“More!” The annoyed voice, coming from the St. Andrew’s cross, informed Seth that whatever Ignaz tried to reach had slipped out of his grasp again. Several times the boy drifted into another reality, but he quickly returned, losing his concentration.
“Ignaz…” Seth sighed. His hand felt heavy and refused to lift. “It’s enough.”
“No. The deal was until I can’t stand anymore,” an angry roar mixed with the words.
Seth observed the bleeding cut. Usually, Ignaz’s blood coagulated nearly instantly, closing the wound. Now, the stream thickened. Seth wondered if there was a swollen blood vessel he’d bruised before and had formed a hematoma he’d failed to notice.
“You are bleeding too much.” His low, hoarse voice sounded exhausted.
“Don’t talk.”
“You’re probably low on iron. It’s not safe.”
“I said don’t talk!” Ignaz growled and slammed his palms against the leather. His shoulders rolled, and his head lowered. “I need more. This isn’t enough.”
Seth looked at his hands. Once again, he felt like a mere tool in Ignaz’s game. He didn’t know where Ignaz’s mind drifted during their sessions, but staying behind alone didn’t bring him anything. Their sessions resembled a punishment, where Seth took the role of executioner. That was the last role he wanted to wear with Ignaz.
“No.”
“Why?” Ignaz let go of the rings, turned his drenched face to him. “Why? We are the same. You need this as much as I do. I see it in your eyes. Go ahead, hurt me.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I said so.” Seth strained his throat. His vocal cords spasmed.
“Hurt me,” Ignaz demanded. His eyes widened, pupils blown, and he constantly swallowed. “Hurt me.”
“No.”
With unsteady feet, Ignaz staggered to Seth and grabbed his wrist. “You don’t understand. I need this.”
“You need to rest.” Seth tried to reason, but angry palms slammed into his chest, knocked some air out of his lungs.
“No!” Ignaz yelled. For the first time, Seth saw anger in his face. It was such a desperate expression that it didn’t provoke counter-aggression, only an acute realization that even if Ignaz was the one, Seth was probably too late.
“Red!” Seth’s mouth twitched as he used the most common safeword. He stepped back, wincing.
Ignaz paled. “Why?”
Holding both ends of the rattan cane, Seth broke it against his knee, and tossed the splinters aside. It felt like the end when Seth said, “I don’t know what you are using me for, but I don’t enjoy it. Find someone else.”
He turned on his heel and tried to leave the room, but Ignaz’s fingers caught his elbow.
He faced the boy. Blue fevered eyes glinted on the pale face as Ignaz asked again, “Why? I don’t understand.”
“I don’t want to be the reason for your pain. I want to be the reason for your pleasure.” Seth’s brows drew together as he swallowed the sour taste in his mouth. On an impulse, he bent forward and brushed his lips against Ignaz’s.
When he pulled away, Ignaz stumbled back, mouth twisting in pure horror. “I’m sorry, Seth.”
Seth closed his eyes. Rejection stung. It always had, but he was long used to it. Tearing his lips apart, he still managed to keep his voice neutral. “Go to your room. I’ll come and treat your back in a moment.” When Ignaz didn’t move, Seth added, “Don’t worry. I promise you; my hopes are down.”
* * *
They hadn’t exchangeda word since the incident in the basement. Right after treating Ignaz’s back, Seth retired into his studio and didn’t leave once. Judging by the hollow feeling in his chest and the silence falling over the villa, Ignaz had left, and Seth didn’t want to go out and confirm the suspicion. His mind blanked the way it always did when he was tired. He knew he should sleep, but after what had happened, his possible dreams scared him. He knew the desert would rage again, the god’s carbuncles would reopen and ooze ichor, and there would be no sign of Ignaz.
He lowered into his reclining chair and rested back, looking up at the curved flank of the moon hanging behind the window. He blinked, blinked again, and a heavy dream swept over him.
The desert layflat around his hooves, silver and black in the deadened light of the moon. The sandy dunes, as if flirting with the myriads of stars forming the grayish curve of the Milky Way, twinkled. Set turned on his hoof, as a sense of someone’s presence touched the back of his mind. His teeth bared, hair bristled on the back of his head, and a low growl escaped his torn throat. But as soon as he faced the blue eyes, that even in the night looked like deep water, his aggression melted.
Ignaz lay by his feet, shivering. He’d scooped a pile of sand to use as a pillow. His knees were tugged to his chest. The night dew sparked in his hair as cold prickled his skin.
If Set’s muzzle were capable of expressions, he would be smiling. He lowered on a knee and extended his palms forward. Threads of sand, rising from the ground, formed a blanket and covered the boy. Ignaz stopped shivering, and the god promised the only thing he did best.
“I’ll destroy everyone who ever hurt you. No pain will ever touch your soul, no sorrow. I give you the word of Set.”
He took the boy’s hand in his clawed palms, and with a long tongue, he licked the inner side of Ignaz’s wrist, healing the old scars crisscrossing the thin, transparent skin.
Seth emerged from sleepinto the slender fingers framing his cheeks. The stolen touch that explored his face retreated, and Seth instantly missed the skin-to-skin contact. Ignaz sucked in a loud breath and stumbled away, dressed in only a linen shirt. “I didn’t mean to…”
Am I still dreaming?Seth looked around, then habitually touched his face, tracing the same spots the boy had been exploring a second ago.
Ignaz licked his lips, swallowed, and his slim fingers reached to his collar. With a mortified expression, he unfastened the top button.
“What are you doing?” Seth rasped, barely hearing his voice behind the violent drumming of his suddenly too awake heart.
“I…” Mental turmoil jerked Ignaz’s cheek, and he drew a half-circle in the air with his chin. His fingers tangled in the fabric. The shirt parted on his chest as he finally undid the buttons. The linen fabric slipped off his shoulders and folded around his feet.
Every cell in Seth’s body froze, paralyzed. Once again, he looked at the light hair triangle and the soft, gentle curve of Ignaz’s cock hanging over the hairless balls. Nude, Ignaz was breathtaking.
Slowly, unwillingly, Seth raised his eyes. Pink with embarrassment, Ignaz looked young, almost too young. Seth cleared his throat, not trusting his voice before he asked, “What’s happening?”
“The way you look at me makes me feel guilty because I like it.” Ignaz dropped his chin. Seth bent forward, picked up the linen shirt, and got up from his chair. He rounded Ignaz and set the garment back on his shoulders.
“It’s okay. I understand,” Seth lied; he didn’t understand a thing. Right now, Ignaz was an enigma, and his emotions couldn't be more alien to Seth. He didn’t know what guilt felt like. It was just another elusive word for him, along with pain and temperature. Something he couldn’t comprehend. But he certainly didn’t want to accept a sacrifice driven by it. “You don’t need to do this.”
“No, you don’t understand.” Ignaz turned, a familiar thirst glowing behind his pupils. “For the last two years, pain was the only thing that helped me cope with the constant guilt and loneliness. I promised myself that I would never date or have sex with anyone again, at least not willingly. But the way you look at me makes me want things.”
Ignaz’s eyes welled with tears. Seth smiled, finally understanding.
“I am the worst. I don’t deserve this.” Ignaz shifted, and the shirt once again slipped on the floor. “But I still want it.”
With a hesitant hand, he reached Seth’s shirt and unfastened the top button. Seth shut his eyes, concentrating on the gentle touch. His smile grew wider as a new sprout of hope broke through the dry soil of his desert.
Without thinking, he stepped into Ignaz, scooped him off his feet, and carried him into the bedroom.
