After the late October night had fallen, large torches were lit in the Lake Geneva waterfront park across the Quai du Mont-Blanc from the Hotel Beau-Rivage Genève in Geneva, Switzerland, to light up the street performers who had taken over the park to entertain those on the terrace of the hotel. There were wandering minstrels, acrobats, a man on stilts, more than one accordion player dueling it out, and a particularly handsome young juggler in tight britches and a billowy white cotton peasant's shirt. The juggler caught the attention of a dark-haired, tall, slender, patrician man in his thirties equally as handsome as the much younger street juggler. The man, rising from a table on the terrace and coming to the balustrade to observe the street performers was dressed all in black silk and was protected against the gathering chill of the dark evening by a full black cape.
The man was carrying a black cane capped with a silver lion's head, which he raised, pointed at the young juggler, and urged the young man forward. He held gold coins in his other hand, which glittered in the light of the torches. Even from here, the juggler, the Swiss-national Julian, could tell that it was more money than he could earn in a fortnight on the streets of Geneva in performing as a juggler and selling himself to men. Julian crossed the street to stand below the raised terrace. The tall, dark man, cloaked in black let two of the coins drop. Julian snatched them out of the air. The man showed him more coins but held them in his hand.
"I am Ricardo, the man said, in passable German. Are you hungry, young man?"
"I am always hungry, Sire," Julian answered, flashing a smile. "Do you have a hunger to—that I could assuage for the rest of those coins in your hand?" Julian was accustomed to approaches like this in the men of wealth who showed interest in his juggling. He well knew it wasn't the juggling they really were interested in. For gold coins he was more than willing to assuage their need and desire.
"I have not supped yet," Ricardo said. "I do not like eating alone but I do like eating in my own rooms. Would you like—to earn these other coins—to sup with me in my hotel rooms here."
"I would be honored, Sire," Julian answered. There was nothing strange in Julian's experience with this approach to an assignation.
"You would be more than honored, young man," Ricardo said. "You have two coins there. Not enough to juggle. Here is another. Juggle them for me." He dropped another gold coin, which Julian snatched out of the air and juggled with the other two. "What would you do for the rest of these coins?" the man asked.
"Whatever you desired," Julian answered.
"I desire much," the man said, flipping another gold coin, which, smiling, Julian deftly melded into the stream of coins he was keeping in the air.
* * * *
The hotel room was dark, lit only by two small guttering candles on the dresser, the light of which reflected off the French doors out onto the hotel balcony of the Beau-Rivage Genève looking out over the midnight blue, lapping waves of Lake Geneva. The weather was unseasonably warm this last day of October, and the people of the city had taken to the streets in celebration, festivities that extended late into the night and provided a background of end-of-season gaiety beyond the French doors of the hotel room. The bed was in shadows. The mirror over the dresser was covered in black crepe, giving the impression that the room's occupant was in mourning.
The room would appear, on first observation, to be empty, but it wasn't empty. Low moans and groans were coming from the bed, the lower part of which was covered by a black cape, only able to be discerned in the darkness of the room because it was moving, undulating; what it covered was rising and falling. Hands of spread arms moved out from underneath the cape high on the bed. They grasped at the bedspread, sinking into the silken material, clutching at it, the fingers of the hands flexing in rhythmic open and closing. Two other hands emerged from the top of the black cape, hands of steel closing over the wrists of the smaller grasping hands, pulling the arms back underneath the undulating cape. Sounds of deep moaning and of humming were emanating from under the cape.
Julian's clothes—the tight britches, the cotton peasant's shirt, and his undergarments, along with his shoes and stockings, were bunched on the carpet on the foot of the bed. His naked feet dangled just above the carpet, peeking out of the bottom hem of the spread black silk cape. His toes were scrounging up and releasing to the same cadence as the fingers of his hands, both gauged to his moans and groans.
Under the covering of the cape, Ricardo, fully dressed, was covering the young street juggler, Julian belly down on the bed. Ricardo was fully dressed other than his shirt being flared open to provide the feel of his slightly hirsute chest on the smooth naked back of the young man and the fly of his trousers unbuttoned to accommodate the release of his cock which was buried up the young man's anal passage, pumping Julian to the cadence setting the bunching of the young man's fingers, the scrunching of his toes, and the release of his moans produced by the thrusts of the man's cock.
Julian was accustomed to being taken by a man, but rarely as fully or sensually as this man was devouring him.
Ricardo's booted feet were planted in the carpet at the foot of the bed, providing leverage for his thrusts. He nuzzled his face into the hollow of Julian's neck and kissed and licked him there, coaxing the young man to tilt his head and stretch the side of his throat to the older man's lips and teeth.
"
Mierda
. Fuck," Ricardo muttered, letting out his breath as he heard a rap on the hotel room door.
"This is the concierge. You have a carriage waiting down at the entrance, Vizconde dela Fontayne. You asked us to inform you when it had arrived."
