Sparky

5.
Robin had the greatest week of his life so far, spending every day and night with Grizzly. The man had to get up at four at night, six nights in a row, but he would come back at nine, with breakfast. Robin loved being spoiled like that. At the end of the week, he knew he could easily get used to such a life.
They didn't go out, spending every minute together like a newly wed couple, and they never answered the phone or opened email boxes. Locked away from the outer world, it was them and them alone.

Nick's annoyance grew with the day. Steve and Max were lovers, for as long as he remembered, but Robin and he were single. Eternal bachelors, they used to joke. They were friends since high school, and used to hang out together. They'd watched more porn movies together than Nick could count. And now Robin had a lover, and they didn't see each other again. So much for blood brothers.

Angrily chucking the groceries in bags, Nick thought about the power of love, and he hated it. Blinded by hatred, he didn't notice how another bag was filled for him. Not until he realized the cart was neatly stacked and ready.

“I could do with a ride,” said Angel, nodding at his own cart. “I came by public transport. How about it, lady?”

“Nice try.” Nick turned towards the exit, and pushed the cart outside without looking behind.

“I'm serious. Is that your car? Quite big, isn't it?”

Nick opened the hatch. Before he could lift the first bag in, Angel did it for him. The cart emptied quickly. And Angel's. “Would you mind?” Nick snapped, eyes flashing angrily.

“Not at all,” smirked Angel. “I live close to that pub. It will be no trouble for you.”

Without a word, Nick took the large shades from his head and put them on. He opened the doors, and climbed behind the wheel. Angel climbed in the passenger seat, buckling up. Still silent, Nick began to drive. Sure, he could simply refuse, and put up a good fight or something. He was annoyed enough. But secretly, he liked the company. Even from a dangerous looking man like Angel.

As he drove into town, he had to stop for a traffic light. The electric window opened quietly. Angel smelled musky, and Nick needed fresh air. Beside the car, a motorcycle stopped. A policeman glanced inside, looking at Nick, and spotting Angel.

“Is everything alright, miss?”

Nick's jaw dropped. “Mister,” he hissed, trying to lower his voice to a masculine growl. The policeman's mouth formed a shocked 'o'. “And yes, everything is alright. Thank you for your concern.”

“No problem... sir.” When the traffic light changed, he quickly drove off, leaving Nick muttering behind.

Angel chuckled softly. “Told you you look like a lady...”

“Shut up! I don't look like a lady, dammit. Shit, you men have no idea about fashion and design. Idiots.” Angel's laughing didn't quite help. Still muttering, Nick drove further.

“You should have a small beard or something,” said Angel after a moment. “A thin mustache and beard, if you know what I mean. Without makeup, of course. And maybe black clothes... Lose the powder colors. They don't suit you.”

“What do you know, Angel? This is fashionable. Why don't you shut up? You're called Angel, for Heaven's sake...”

“It's short for Angelo,” shrugged Angel. He made himself more comfortable, still looking at Nick's face.

“Why, was the extra 'o' too much for a man like Grizzly? Shit. And don't look at me like that. What are you doing?”

“Trying to picture you with that beard. It would look great, you know. Would you trust me with a shaving knife?”

“What?” Nick nearly missed a turn as he stared at the man. “I wouldn't trust you with anything!”

“I'm good, you know... I learned the trade in prison. Any idea how privileged you are when you're allowed to study for barber in a prison?”

Nick suddenly saw it in his mind; Angel handling a shaving knife on other prisoners. He couldn't believe it was possible. “You're joking,” he muttered.

“Well, I wasn't allowed to have a real knife, of course... But I read about it a lot. There are books about barbering, did you know that?”

“I'm surprised,” said Nick. “That you can read,” he added nastily.

“You'll be surprised more often, about me.” Angel didn't seem to be offended. “So how about it? You don't shave for a week, and next weekend I'll give you a nicely shaped beard. Take a right turn here. There's my house. Will you be alright, with your groceries?”

“Yes.” Nick parked in front of a neat, small detached house with a garden.

“Good. Then I'll see you next weekend. I'll contact you through Sparky. Thank you for the ride, Nix. Give me a minute to unload, okay?”

Nick was barely able to move, as his head was spinning. Then he realized what he'd just arranged, and he wanted to protest. He was too late, though. Angel closed his front door, and left him behind. Taking a few deep breaths, he tried to calm his beating heart, so he would be able to drive again.
He now knew where the man lived. That knowledge somehow elated him...

*

'I heard you don't shave this week!' Nick read the text message on his cellphone, groaning quietly. He scratched his chin –beards itched. 'Going to get a sexy George Michael beard, aren't you? I want pics!'

'Shouldn't you give your attention to that lover of yours?' he typed back. 'Yes, I'll have a small beard next weekend. Who told you?' As if he didn't know.

'I spoke to Angel. I'm glad you like him!'

Nick uttered a frustrated cry as he read it, and he couldn't reply for a while. Eventually, he took his phone again, to answer. 'He's an idiot,' he typed. 'I don't like him. At all. Remember that!'
“Shit. They're all idiots, nowadays,” he muttered to himself, switching his phone off completely. Skillfully avoiding his mirror –it didn't only itch, it looked appalling as well– he went to his kitchen to make a pot of tea.
Hours later, he switched on his phone to type another message. 'Tell Angel where to go next Saturday.' He quickly sent it, before he could change his mind. His heart was racing as he threw the phone on the sofa. The man would come to his place... Oh gods.
He really had to tidy up.

Nick was a very stylish man. He was twenty-five, and worked at a highly respected interior design studio. His work reflected in his own apartment, where everything was either pure white or perfect black. The stuccoed walls were bare except for one major, modern painting, made by a well-known artist. It was his portrait, but you would only know if Nick would tell. It gave color to his otherwise colorless lounge. The apartment was large, airy, and everything but cozy. And it was spotlessly clean.

The modest doorbell rang through the whole apartment. Nick almost had a heart attack. Well, this was it. He would have a beard that afternoon. And a smelly, grubby, tattooed ex-criminal would shape it for him. He took his time to get to the door.

“Angel... Welcome.” He waited for the man to enter, briefly glancing at the grubby boots. He didn't want to ask him to take them off, but...

“Oh... White floor. Oh dear. Lucky my sock are clean and have no holes, then.” Angel dropped his bag, and bent down to unzip his worn motorcycle boots. “Do you have something to hang my coat on...?”

“Yes...” Nick pointed at the stand. “Over there...?”

Angel looked at it for a moment, keeping his heavy leather coat on a finger. “Nah. I'll leave it here, on the floor,” he concluded.

“But...” Nick shook his head, choosing not to argue. “Come inside, then. Would you like tea... I mean coffee?”

“Coffee, yeah. Nice. You probably know my sentiments about tea.”

“Yes, yes. It's for ladies. Take a seat, please. I'll be right with you.” Nick quickly walked into his open kitchen, to make coffee. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Angel looking around. He awaited the verdict with beating heart.

“See?” said Angel as Nick joined him in the lounge. “Black suits you. You have no powdery colors in your interior, so why would you wear it?”

Nick didn't answer to that. “Do you like my place?” he asked, quite surprised.

“Hell no, of course not,” laughed Angel. “It lacks fun and personality. Where's the clutter? The keepsakes? I can't read anything from this, other than you're colorless and boring.”

Opening and closing his mouth, Nick digested the insult. His anger rose slowly to his cheeks, and he narrowed his eyes. “You're an utter asshole, Angelo...” he said slowly.

“Yeah. But you should know I don't give a shit about what you say about me.” Angel stepped up to Nick, and harshly took his chin between his thumb and index finger. “Nice growth, Nix. I can make something really nice... I'll unpack my bag while you pour the coffee. That chair will do.”

Nick wanted to say something very nasty, but instead he gasped, as the man slapped his butt on his way to the dinner table. He quickly went to get the coffee.

Angel unpacked his bag on the table, neatly placing shaving gear on a large strip of what looked like an old sheet. He spread another old sheet on the floor, placing a chair in the middle, and unfolded a barber cape. “Ready when you are. I use foam from a can... Neater and easier. Do you have a sensitive skin?”

“I...” Nick liked to think so, but he hadn't. “No,” he said truthfully. “I have an easy skin.”

“Good! We'll use this one, then. Coffee?”

Nick quickly handed over the cup. “No sugar and milk, I presume?”

“Correct,” grinned the man. “See, you get the idea already. Sit down, Nix. Let me take a good look at you.”

Nick sipped his coffee, put the cup on the table, and sat down. He felt uneasy under the long, hard stare, but managed to stay put.

“You don't have to blush, you know...” smirked Angel. “My interest in you is purely professional.”

Somehow, those words hurt more than anything the man had said, so far. Nick averted his eyes, trying to hide his feelings, and to stop himself from blushing even more. He didn't look up, not even when he felt the callus hand on his cheek. The fact it felt remarkably good didn't make it any better. Angel's soft chuckle made it worse.

“You're a vain, spoiled dandy, Nix... Sit still. I'll soap your chin.”

Nick sat perfectly still through the whole process, only moving his head when the man told him to. The scary, big knife slid ever so gently over his skin. After the first few strokes it wasn't as frightful anymore. Angel took his time, taking close looks to see if he caught all the hair, and then a step back to see if it was perfectly symmetrical.

“Perfect.” He cleaned Nick's chin, removed the sheet, and leaned down. He pecked a soft kiss on Nick's lips. “That's for trusting me, Nixy...”

Stunned, Nick could only blink. He couldn't even place a remark about the pet name. When Angel pushed him at the shoulder, he stood up, and walked to the dressing mirror in the hall. It wasn't him, looking back. This was a whole different man, with a sexy beard and incredible sparkling eyes.

“Nice, huh?” Angel's tattooed head emerged next to Nick's, looking at his reflexion. “Tell me you like it.”

“I like it... I like it a lot. Great job...” Even from close by, Nick couldn't find anything to complain about. “Thank you very much. Now... How do I maintain this?”

“I'll come by every morning to shave you, of course,” laughed Angel. He slapped Nick's butt again. “Kidding. You can easily maintain this shape. It's not complicated... Do you shave wet or dry? Never mind,” he said quickly. “Stupid question. Dry, hm? Wet will be too messy for your spotless bathroom. Still, this requires a knife. I'll give you a good set.”

“Great...” Nick turned away from the mirror when he saw his own blush. “So... Let's finish our coffee. I'll uhm... I'll help you tidy up.” Now this was finished, he wanted the man to leave soon.

“Give me your phone,” said Angel, as they walked back to the lounge. “Sparky wanted pictures. You can send them to him.”

“His name is Robin,” sighed Nick, hardly convincingly. “He hasn't showed his face for a whole week. When did you see him?”

“A few days ago,” shrugged Angel. “They managed to drag themselves away from bed, I guess. They didn't manage to keep their hands off each other, though... I must say, they put up a nice show at the pub. Stand over there...”

“Ugh... Spare me the details.” Nick stood at the window, looking outside while Angel made a few photos of him. “Done? That will be enough for that lovebird.”

Angel offered the cellphone, but didn't let go when Nick took it. Instead, he pulled him closer. “You're not handsome when you're jealous, Nixy. It makes your eyes dark underneath. Be happy for him. One day you might feel just like him.”

“When pigs fly, yes. Let go, Angel.”

“Sooner than that, Nixy... As soon as you realize you need more than Gucci to satisfy your needs.” He yanked on the phone, and grabbed Nick's neck firmly in his other hand. “You know what you really want, if you look deeply into your soul...”

“Get. Out.” Nick struggled against the grip on his neck. “Get out, Angel. Right now.”

“Of course... I wouldn't want to stay with an uptight fake fairy like you. Just remember, Nixy...” Nick couldn't pull his head back, and their lips briefly met. “Remember where you can find me, when you realize you need a good, hard fuck, with a real man. See you around, Nix...”

Nick fell against the wall when Angel let go of his hold, and didn't move as the man began to clear up. He stared at the broad back, the faded jeans, and at the tattoos. He tried to picture the man naked, and on top of him. To his own horror, the image appeared easily. “Sorry,” he said under his breath.

Angel finished tidying up, leaving a set of shaving gear on the table. He turned around. “I'll be back at seven,” he announced. “Dress in black. No makeup. We're going out for dinner.”

“What...?”

“You heard me. It's a posh place, so you'll like it. We'll take a taxi. Be ready.”

Nick followed into the hall, watching the man pulling on his boots and jacket. “Angel...?”

“Found an excuse? Be quick and make it good, then.” He already opened the door, looking over his shoulder. “Too late. See you at seven.”

As the door shut with a bang, Nick flinched. Dinner with that criminal...? Was this for real? He had to be dreaming. He just had to. This couldn't really be happening.

Oh, dear. Did he have black clothes?