Little Rose


Nadia and Sebastian had been lovers for five years. They lived in a small apartment in Montparnasse with a phonograph, a library, and no children. The couple lived symbiotically, on a routine that never grew boring, simply because of how idyllic and peaceful it was. Sebastian worked at home and made his living as a writer and freelance journalist, while Nadia left every morning at eleven to go to her rehearsal- she was a dancer. When Nadia worked, Sebastian would write and sometimes take an interlude to go to the grocer or perhaps go and get a haircut or some flowers for his lover. Nadia would arrive home in her tutu, never bothering to change from whatever costume she wore at the moment- to her lover’s arms, holding her- his soft lips kissing her as they would whisper “I love you.”

The two would eat a quiet dinner and converse about their day before reading the paper or poetry to each other in the evening. Sometimes, Nadia would play the baby grand that occupied most of their living room. Once, she and Sebastian had made love on top of it, her feet hitting the keys as she came in a dissonance that matched the chaos of her body.

Some nights, not every night, after the lovers went to bed, Sebastian would wrap his arms around Nadia and whisper in her ear before kissing down her back and caressing her between her legs. She would roll over to face him and give him a look reserved only for him. Upon taking this cue, they would make love bathed in the Parisian moonlight. Afterward, they would fall asleep in the each other’s arms, often when he was still inside of her.

One day, when Nadia was at work, Sebastian decided make himself some tea, and upon realizing that they were out of milk, he begrudgingly slipped on his shoes and headed out to the corner store to buy some. The streets of Montparnasse were animated with light and color and the aura of love that Paris herself is so famous for. Sebastian caught his reflection in the mirror and smiled at himself, lost in the beauty of life. He was an attractive man, with a girlish face, black hair, and blue eyes. His body was slender and toned, his legs long and lean; his hands were delicate and soft.

As he wandered his way into the grocery store, another person bumped into him. Muttering his apologies, Sebastian continued down the aisle a ways before taking a clandestine look at the person who had brushed by him. Upon seeing the man, perhaps a tad older than Sebastian’s thirty years, the writer’s heart leaped into his throat. The man was beautiful, if a man could be such.

His green eyes shone with intelligence as he peered around him for whatever he sought, his face was enigmatic and handsome like the protagonists from film noir movies, his hair hung just above his shoulders, caressing them even- it was black like Sebastian’s but lighter. He wore a black and white striped shirt and black denim jeans with a slender gaziantep escortlar leg.

Catching his breath and deciding himself foolhardy, Sebastian returned to his shopping, temporarily forgetting about the strange man only to be reminded of him when he stepped in line behind the writer at the checkout.

“Sorry about running into you like that,” he addressed Sebastian, startling him. A hint of crimson touched his olive skin.

“You don’t need to apologize. I’m fine,” he said, his heart beating in his chest. He begged the cashier in his mind to move faster.

“No really- let me at least treat you to tea.”

Why did this man want to talk to him, Sebastian pondered, giving the man a decidedly dubious stare. The man shook his head sheepishly.

“Fine, fine,” he surrendered, catching Sebastian off guard. “I’m new here, and I wanted to find a few friends and whatnot, and my running into you seemed the perfect opportunity to introduce myself. I’m Fabian Beaulieu.” Fabian offered his hand to Sebastian, who shook it tepidly.

“Sebastian Levine,” he answered. Fabian smiled at him. “How about that tea, then?”

Begrudgingly, Sebastian allowed himself to be treated, his sense of wariness toward the man diminishing by the second. He seemed a good-natured person, this Fabian. He enjoyed art and classical music (as did Sebastian) and had a certain passion for the theatre.

“How ironic, monsieur,” Sebastian paused to finish off his tea- “that you enjoy the theatre. My lover is a dancer.”

“Your lover?” Fabian seemed oddly interested in this, and the sense of wariness crept up on the writer once more. “Yes…” he murmured, before opening his wallet to show him a picture of himself and Nadia at Normandy. Nadia was smiling in the picture, her heart-shaped face alight with joy, her blonde hair up in chopsticks as it always was, her slender dancer’s body leaned against Sebastian.

“She’s lovely,” remarked Fabian, his eyes portraying his sudden rise in intrigue. “How long have you two been together?”

“Five years.”

“Oh wonderful. Are you planning to marry her?”

Sebastian blushed. “I haven’t the money for the ring. Diamonds are very expensive.”

“Oh, I could help you,” smiled Fabian almost coquettishly. The writer looked at him, astonished.

“How?” he asked with more incredulity than was necessary.

“My father is a jeweler. Perhaps I could get you some sort of discount.”

“That would be most kind of you, monsieur,” said Sebastian with joy, “but what about you? What will you get in return?”

“Why don’t we go to your place and discuss terms?” smiled Fabian, and Sebastian, too bewildered, did not notice the cunning in those verdant eyes.

Sebastian and Fabian sat at the former’s round kitchen table drinking tea and eating cookies that one of Nadia’s coworkers had baked.

“Sebastian, huh,” said Fabian offhandedly. “Like San Sebastiano in the Louvre. Or is it not the Louvre…pierced with arrows begging for God. A deep image, really.”

The two spoke further about payment plans and personal favors, Fabian gesticulating with his tanned hands, Sebastian remaining in poignant stillness. Eventually, Sebastian bade Fabian farewell, promising to communicate with him further. Just as the writer was about to shut the door, Fabian put his foot in it, pulled Sebastian out with him, and kissed him- his hands pinioning the writer’s to the now closed apartment door. Out of pure shock, Sebastian let Fabian kiss him, thought of how different his lips were from Nadia’s. How he loved the taste of mint and ginger from the tea on them. Subconsciously, he lapped it up. Fabian pulled back and smiled at Sebastian whose face seemed paralyzed- lost in time.

“Au revoir, San Sebastiano,” whispered Fabian before he made his way down the hall to leave the poor writer in his confusion.

Sebastian didn’t feel repulsed at all.

That night, he made love to Nadia twice- immersing himself in her presence.

When Sebastian went down for breakfast the following morning, he was shocked to see Fabian sitting at his table, Nadia chatting animatedly with him about dancing. She smiled broadly upon her lover’s entrance and kissed him on the cheek.

“This man came down to see you. He said something about a business deal, and I thought it might be important so I let him stay for a bit. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to wake you up,” said Nadia, a faint blush on her pale cheeks.

“Get-” he was about to shout “OUT” to Fabian, when he saw Nadia, her happiness, how much he wanted to marry her, and little he could afford the ring. He felt as if he had to bear it.

“Get- get me a cup of coffee, will you love?” he offered to Nadia, to his chagrin. Nadia poured him a mug, and together they sat down and ate the raspberry crepes that Nadia had made last night. Sebastian filled with dread as he saw Nadia to her car- he watched longingly as she drove off into Montparnasse’s chaos on her way to work.

“She’s beautiful, Seb,” remarked Fabian, a Machiavellian grin plastered across his face.

“Keep your hands off of her,” muttered Sebastian gruffly. “And don’t call me Seb.”

Fabian shrugged. Fair enough.

The jeweler’s son made regular routines to the Levine household, eventually becoming such good friends with both Nadia and Sebastian that even the latter forgot about the circumstances ending their first meeting. Nothing of the like ever happened again until one night, when Fabian had been staying later than usual.

The trio played cards at the kitchen table, laughing animatedly over an anecdote Sebastian was telling, until when the writer was mid-sentence, Fabian leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. Sebastian felt his body go hot with pleasure, and in panic, he looked at Fabian who smiled.

“What did you do?” the writer growled. Nadia appeared blissfully at peace with the whole situation.

“Your tea,” Fabian smiled.

“What’s in it?” Sebastian tried to ask with anger, but the feeling of sick heat permeated his veins mellowed him out.

“An aphrodisiac,” the jeweler’s son answered casually. “Let’s have some fun shall we?”

“No way in Hel-“

“Sebastian,” Nadia’s soft voice ceased the writer’s rage. “Let’s be adventurous. Under the circumstances, okay?”

Weak with fear and betrayal, Sebastian allowed himself to give in, and he led both his lover and his friend up into the bedroom.

“May I kiss him,” Fabian asked Nadia, who nodded her assent. She sat on the bed, mesmerized. Slowly, Fabian pressed his lips to Sebastian’s. Sebastian under the circumstances moaned- every little touch sent heat straight to his groin. Nadia sighed with pleasure as one of the straps of her dress fell to the side. Fabian left Sebastian, whose anger had subsided to arousal, to push Nadia’s other dress strap down, and eventually the dress. Heat pooled between her legs as she felt Fabian’s hand caress her breast. Sebastian sat on the bed behind her, his hand reaching around to rub her clitoris, causing loud moans to erupt from the usually shy Nadia.

The two men touched and teased her; stroked her; caressed her body, which was slick with sweat. Her essence dripped onto the bedspread, Sebastian parting her legs to lick at it. Fabian took Sebastian’s penis into his mouth and sucked it, stroking his own all the while. When Fabian stood up, their arousals brushed together, causing a collective moan. The two men thrust against each other in an act of frottage, Nadia whining, masturbating as she watched. After, she sucked both of their lengths at the same time. The men took turns with her (Fabian wore a condom)- Sebastian inside her, she would suck Fabian’s cock, moaning into his length, driving him mad. Fabian would enter her from behind, and she would be blindfolded by the other’s hands, leaving her to guess who was really inside of her. Her cries permeated their senses, drove them mad. She came multiple times, her essence running down her legs. She was on top of Sebastian, riding his cock moaning his name when he finally came- harder than he had ever come before. She cried and came after, her third time. Spent, Sebastian pulled out of her, and Fabian took over, ramming her hard, roughly, hitting that special spot inside a woman over and over until he came, and only after did she let loose her fourth and final orgasm.

The day after, Fabian was gone, and on Sebastian’s nightstand, was a little black box and a slip of paper with the jeweler’s name on it. Two weeks later, Sebastian proposed to Nadia by putting the ring on her finger when she was asleep. She forgot that night with Fabian, and so did he. Their lives went on.

They never saw Fabian again.

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