Kindred Spirit
Whether the faculty would eventually hear about how he ruined Lustratio or not was beyond his control, so Lawrence preferred not to dwell on it. He’d cross that bridge when – if – the Rector summoned him with the intention of expelling him. However, he had great faith in Bastien’s ability to convince Felix to keep it all a secret. Apparently, hierarchy was strong at Veridien; according to Ali, the master of Lustratio – Lustratio Solis being the exact name of the ritual – was in possession of all the ceremony’s secrets, and no one would dare betray his decisions.
Fortunately for him, after the exertion imposed by the annual ritual of purification, there had been no lessons scheduled for four-year students, including him. The only activities had been lunch and a light early dinner. That meant that he could finally start exploring Lukas’s notebook.
First things first – privacy. Lawrence slid the lock in place and only after he made sure that no sudden visitors would intrude upon his space, he extracted his find from its secret place.
He wasn’t one to invest inanimate objects with the possibility to retain ghost residue from their owners, but he took the notebook to the desk with the required reverence. If he discovered between its pages details and clues that would make Lukas’s death less of a mystery, it didn’t matter. Even a pragmatist like himself had to admit that he was about to intrude upon another person’s most intimate thoughts without permission.
Investigating a fellow man’s murder wasn’t, after all, morbid curiosity, but moral obligation, Lawrence told himself as he mustered the courage to proceed.
The ordinary appearance of the notebook should have been odd seeing the inclination toward aesthetics here at Veridien. Marius Vassier had been correct to insist on augmenting his wardrobe and possessions, because while beauty was seen as part of the landscape, the lack of it could very well draw unnecessary attention.
Lukas must have been a pragmatist, just like him. There was no need for flourish where no one would see it.
Lawrence took a deep breath and opened the notebook. A highly detailed sketch covered the entire first page, something he hadn’t noticed when leafing through the notebook while pressed for time after discovering it in the late student’s empty room.
The strange thing was that he understood what he was staring at, or, better said, that he recognized what the sketch represented.
The white oak painting on the double doors that never opened and led nowhere, according to Ali. Although Lawrence hadn’t had the time to examine it closely, he could tell it had to be the same thing. There was no other symbol like it on the academy’s grounds.
Lukas’s sketch was incredibly detailed. A sure hand – one that obviously mastered the craft – had carefully drawn every branch and every leaf, every stripe in the bark. Lawrence was willing to bet that it was the most loyal rendition of the painting he’d seen on the mysterious doors.
Intrigued, he turned the page. The next two sheets of paper were covered in mathematical equations that made Lawrence scratch his head. Not simple math; a closer look confirmed that the symbols belonged to the field of geometry. Sines and cosines combined on the page, and not just once the scribbler had applied correction paste on top of a sequence to write over it. It seemed that Lukas had been calculating angles and such matters.
Did these calculations have anything to do with the drawing of the oak? Lawrence returned to the initial page. It was astonishingly exact to be considered simply artistic. Lukas must have been trying to figure out something important about the oak painting.
Would Ali tell him if there was such an oak present on the grounds? A real tree? Veridien was old, so it wasn’t impossible to have an old oak growing somewhere close. However, Lawrence doubted it; he had seen most of the place by now, and it would have been impossible to miss a giant oak.
Unless the old tree rose somewhere else and not on the land claimed by the academy. The mixed deciduous forests surrounding the academy made it possible, although not entirely plausible. Lawrence was no specialist when it came to trees, but he didn’t recall seeing a lot of oaks on his way here, and definitely not a white one.
He continued his explorations. He had been correct to assume that Lukas had used shorthand, and several pages were covered in neat curlicues and lines which he recognized. However, they made little to no sense, which had to mean that Lukas had been using a personal key.
A kindred spirit.
No surprises there. The late von Keller had had no intention to let anyone break into the thoughts he had compiled in that notebook. Lawrence had to admit that his curiosity was piqued beyond the limits of his investigation. Although, Lukas could have just been toying with the idea of making someone’s life difficult if they ever found his notebook.
He returned to the detailed sketch of the old oak. Slowly, he traced a few lines with his fingers over the drawing, while pondering on what to do next. Attempting to break Lukas’s code could take days or more, and at least one clue was needed so he could start unraveling the meaning behind those carefully scribbled notes.
A technique he sometimes employed when dealing with a difficult problem was to look at the issue from a different angle. So he closed the notebook and turned it with its face down. When he opened it from the other end, a picture fell from between its pages.
Lawrence picked it up. Lukas with Bastien, shirtless, their arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders, smiling for the camera. They were somewhere with a lot of sun, most likely vacationing during summer in a place that was probably too expensive for Lawrence to even tell its location on a map.
Bastien truly looked happy. Although Lawrence had seen him smiling, it wasn’t the same. It was strange to see his now-familiar face in that picture. It gave something inside his chest a little squeeze, and Lawrence didn’t know what to do about it, so he ignored it.
If Lukas kept that picture, it had to be proof of his feelings toward the Hawthorne heir. Lawrence turned it, to see if any date and place were written on its back and did a double take when he read the only word there.
Lies???
Three question marks. That seemed a bit excessive for Lukas’s otherwise cool, steady hand.
And two lines cutting underneath to emphasize the question. What could that mean? Had Bastien lied to Lukas about something? It seemed such an odd word to associate with what seemed like a pleasant, cherished memory.
Lawrence looked at the picture again, this time closely. Could it be that he was now interpreting it based on the ominous word written on the back? Bastien was smiling with all his mouth and eyes. But in Lukas’s countenance, now that Lawrence brought the picture closer, there was restraint, a tightness in how the corners of his mouth refused to go all the way up for a complete smile. And his eyes didn’t look at the camera. They were sliding sideways, as if they needed to keep the other person in the picture in their sight. At first glance, it was easy to dismiss that kind of look as if belonging to someone in love.
Somehow, that didn’t seem to be the case. Lawrence leaned back in his chair and placed his linked hands over his head, pressing down his wool-like hair. Bastien was right to comment on it. It was just too much, and he should cut it soon.
A demanding knock on the door sprung him into action. He placed the picture back inside the notebook and in two steps he was at the wall, carefully tucking it underneath the paneling. With one hand, he pressed the panel down so that it didn’t appear too loose in time, eliciting the personnel’s interest – and determine a need for repairs.
The knocking repeated, this time with more authority.
“Just a moment,” Lawrence said loudly. Anyone asked, he’d been taking a nap. In passing, he pulled down the blanket so that his bed would look slept in.
He didn’t stifle a groan when he came face to face with Bastien. “What are you doing here?” he asked directly.
It was only then that he noticed that his visitor came bearing gifts. Bastien, carrying the thing in his arms, entered.
“Where would you like this?”
It was a heater, and Lawrence couldn’t say he was surprised. What reason could Lukas have had not to trust his boyfriend?
“Did you steal this from your room to bring it here?” he asked, gesturing at Bastien to leave his gift in the middle of the room for now.
“Steal is a strong word, and I’ll have you know that I don’t indulge in thievery. However, I do enjoy sleeping naked, and as much as I prefer to take advantage of your body heat, I think it’s best to have some basic comfort while we’re sleeping.”
“Your room is much larger and definitely more beautiful. Why do you keep coming here?”
Bastien grinned. The alpine sun had tanned the heights of his cheeks and his nose, causing a few freckles to appear. The so-called imperfections only made him more attractive, much to Lawrence’s helplessness.
“I thought it would be fairly obvious. My room doesn’t have you in it,” Bastien said in his most playful tone.
Lawrence searched his face. His smile did reach his eyes, but there was a glint in them, something that was fighting against--
“Were you sleeping?” Bastien interrupted his train of thought and went directly to the bed. “I guess not,” he added, after touching the sheets for a moment.
Someone else could play the investigator, too. But to what end? Lawrence fiddled with the heater, trying to find a proper place for it. He couldn’t allow himself to be ungrateful; the nights were already chilly, and winter came sooner rather than later so high up in the mountains. For now, he could and would accept Bastien’s gifts. Nonetheless, he had to wonder: at what point would they turn poisonous?
No, he couldn’t think that way. Bastien was a suspect in the von Kellers’ eyes, but they were hardly the best people to establish the truth about their son’s death. Marius Vassier hadn’t been keen on the theory – actually, he’d been as ambivalent as possible, and his uncle had told him to observe.
Although none of those recommendations included ogling Bastien Hawthorne who was, once more, quick to shed his clothes and stretch naked on Lawrence’s bed, like a cat in need of claiming new territory.
He had a wonderful body. Lawrence would’ve liked to stare at him for a while, maybe even try his hand at a bit of painting. He needed to remind himself, of course, that he was absolutely incapable of drawing anything that could be considered remotely artistic.
“Will you join me already?” Bastien arched his back, displaying his ass at a perfect angle that had Lawrence mesmerized and unable to talk for the next two seconds.
He shook his head to dispel the effect the beautiful man in his bed had on his speech abilities. “Will this become a habit?” he asked.
“Yes, if I can help it,” Bastien replied, wiggling his ass a little and laughing. “Am I intruding? Do you enjoy your solitude, Bear?”
Lawrence preferred not to answer. To be fair – and honest – he liked his solitude less since his arrival at Veridien. As much as he was here to investigate the student body, and especially their uncrowned king, he felt himself drawn to them – not only to Bastien. Even the lessons were different from what he was used to, and he enjoyed himself a lot more than he’d expected.
“Did you drag the heater across the courtyard, all by yourself?” he asked.
Bastien pouted. His bottom lip jutted out, proving, once more, too distracting for Lawrence. “You’ve got it into your head that I’m this impossibly spoiled individual, who’d never lift a sock off the ground. Well, Anton helped me, if you need to know so badly.”
Lawrence felt the need to roll his eyes. “Is the entire Golden Circle privy of everything you do? Including the most intimate things?”
Bastien angled his head, a naughty smile curling his lips. “I don’t kiss and tell, Lawrence. Also, I must remind you that, contrary to the fact that only earlier today you put yourself in a perilous situation, you demanded that I kissed you. Which I did, despite my better judgment. Under duress, if I may add.”
Now that was a good point, and it was a difficult one to debate.
“Since I saved your life,” Bastien continued, “I claim this bed. And you.”
“Don’t you find your price a little steep?” Lawrence argued.
Bastien giggled, giddy with Lawrence’s reactions, for reasons only he knew. “Not at all. And I am spoiled, so you are not off the mark.”
“All right, so your friends are used to your sudden, irresponsible choices. Herr Becker, on the other hand--”
“Ugh, don’t bring up that old prune. Yes, he can be a problem, but there are advantages to having the faculty walk around you on eggshells. He won’t tighten the discipline noose around my neck for a while. And I plan on using my freedom for as long as I can.”
It was true that the housemaster hadn’t shown an iron hand so far, at least not toward him, but Lawrence believed that Herr Becker was, most likely, not so keen about climbing the steep steps to the monk cell the new transfer occupied.
“He might look for you in your room, and once he discovers that you aren’t there, he might not be so gracious,” he warned Bastien.
His bed usurper rolled on one side, offering Lawrence an unimpeded view of his manhood, half awake and leaning low.
“Since people tend to be particular about such things, I must ask,” Bastien said. “Are you a giver or a taker?”
To emphasize what his question was about, Bastien made a ring with his fingers at the base of his cock and shook it playfully.
“I wouldn’t know,” Lawrence replied. “I don’t… indulge. Usually.”
“Indulge,” Bastien repeated the word. “Do you indulge with women?”
“Seldom, but regularly,” Lawrence replied and turned to stare at the spines of his books, as if they were able to help him with his current predicament.
“What a cynical answer,” Bastien remarked, without hiding his surprise. “What about me? You seem to have no qualms about kissing me. And I am a man.”
“A beautiful man,” Lawrence said, his eyes reading title after title without understanding a thing.
“Is that all? Any beautiful man would do?” Bastien continued his interrogation.
“Not many have chosen to kiss me so far,” Lawrence replied.
“Ah, so it is all about opportunity meeting a desirable candidate. I see,” Bastien concluded.
“I suppose.”
Bastien burst into laughter. “You are genuinely amusing, Bear. Tell me. Is it difficult to be so serious about everything all the time?”
Lawrence shrugged. “I’m not the right person to ask. I’ve always been this way.” He gave up on trying to make sense of the books on his dismal bookshelf.
“That’s sad,” Bastien commented.
Lawrence turned to stare at his visitor, but there were no signs on Bastien’s face indicating that he was making fun of his unwilling host. Instead, he had a tender look in his eyes that made Lawrence’s chest melt too easily.
“It’s not,” he replied. “I’d rather be myself than strive to be someone else.”
Bastien quirked an eyebrow. “Hmm, it sounds to me like you’ve got a rebellious streak in you. Don’t let the faculty know.” The last words were said in a hushed whisper, while Bastien leaned forward.
That sounded terribly familiar. Ah, of course. Professor Moreau had warned him of something similar.
“You are hardly the right person to lecture me on it,” Lawrence reminded the attractive vagabond in his bed.
Bastien smirked and rolled onto his belly, swinging his legs, crossed at the ankles. Lawrence had seen him doing the same thing before, and just like the previous time, he couldn’t help staring at the elegant arch of his foot.
He sighed and walked to the bed. As much as he’d love to send Bastien packing, his visitor was at least partially correct about saving his life. Seeing how he’d also brought a heater, he must have saved Lawrence of even more nuisances, such as catching a cold. Normally, he was as healthy as an ox, and the mountain air didn’t favor illness of such a sort, but he didn’t want to bet on it. For his investigation to be a success, he needed to stay sickness-free.
Ankles, as a general rule, had never fascinated him until now. So, under Bastien’s watchful, yet playful gaze, he took hold of one shapely leg and held it gingerly.
“Your soles,” he remarked. They were crisscrossed by small cuts, too superficial to hurt, but there to mar the perfection in beauty that was Bastien.
Bastien laughed as if Lawrence was tickling him. “Do you live under the impression that yours look any better? We marched barefooted across uneven ground for most of our day, remember?”
Lawrence lifted one foot to look at it. The fine cut across his ankle was still there. He remembered that very well. The warning.
“We should be grateful that there were no accidents,” Bastien chatted away happily. “Last year, a piece of glass this big,” he turned to show Lawrence what he meant by holding his thumb and forefinger apart, “cut through someone’s vein or something serious like that. There was so much blood, and we were all in a state, because Felix, doomsayer that he is, convinced us all that our fellow student would end up losing so much blood that he would die.”
“What happened?” Lawrence asked, caught in the conversation, while still holding Bastien’s ankle.
“A helicopter came to take him away if you can believe it. No one truly commented on it, but rumor has it that he wasn’t in mortal danger at any time. A bit of iodine and a bandage would have done just as well as the doctors who treated his wound.”
“Is he still here, at the Academy?” Lawrence had questions about Lustratio Solis. It seemed to involve, at least at the same time, students from the same year.
“Yes, he is that tall, freckled guy. Do you know who I mean? He sneezes all the time. His name is--”
Lawrence tuned out for a moment. He didn’t care about that student; the musical cadence of Bastien’s voice lulled him into a strange state. Without his realizing it, the rhythm alone of how Bastien formed words was enough to hypnotize him.
He shook his head. “But we did have an accident.”
Bastien gave him a hard took. “Are you joking, Lawrence? That didn’t happen. You’d do better not to blab about it to anyone who wasn’t there. There is only so much my influence can buy you.”
Lawrence nodded solemnly. “Just out of curiosity, what would have happened if Felix decided to take matters to the Rector?”
“Well, not one single good thing. As much as we all love having you here--”
“Easy there. Ask Anton how much he loves having me here,” Lawrence said.
Bastien pouted. “We all love having you here,” he insisted. “But you’re a transfer. And as much as it pains me to bring this up, since I consider it bad taste, you do not have the name or the means to save you. The Rector would have easily decided to expel you.”
“Doesn’t that seem a tad excessive?” Lawrence asked. He truly needed to be more careful from now on. Risking his investigation so easily would bring things to an early end.
“Excessive is a word that has yet to leave our dear Rector’s mouth. He believes in discipline without the possibility of reeducation. Prevention is better than the cure and all that. Whoever doesn’t understand that is free to leave.”
“Or forced to leave, more likely,” Lawrence said, sobered by Bastien’s direct warning.
“Yes, that. So,” Bastien said, slowly rolling onto his back and resting his calves on Lawrence’s thighs, “it appears that I saved you not once, but twice. How do you plan to repay me?”
As astonishing and out of place as that could be, Lawrence did have a few options in mind, and they were all of the compromising kind.
“What would you like?” he asked in a gruff voice that made Bastien’s eyes grow wide. “I’m sorry if I come across as too blunt. It is my usual manner.”
“Blunt doesn’t cover it. You’re so big and strong. Tell me, Bear. Do you scare people often?”
Lawrence shook his head. “Not really, no. Contrary to what your belief might be, this big frame of mine brought me more nuisance than you could picture. My classmates often made fun of the large clumsy bull--”
Bastien moved so quickly that Lawrence didn’t have time to react. One moment, he was lying on his back, the next he was in Lawrence’s lap, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and pressing his lips against his mouth.
If that was an attempt to comfort him, it worked quite well. Bastien’s reaction wasn’t what startled Lawrence, but his inability to shut up about things that didn’t matter to the Hawthorne heir and should never interest him. Like with Ali, it seemed that he couldn’t stop yapping his mouth about personal matters.
“You’re not a large clumsy bull, Bear,” Bastien said tenderly. He caressed Lawrence’s jawline slowly, making him aware of his five o’clock shadow. Lukas had seemed so put together, impeccable, at least according to what Lawrence had seen of him. Foolishly, he wondered whether Bastien preferred that clean look to the untamed animal his new toy appeared to be.
His hands refused to stay still. He ended up wrapping them around Bastien’s waist, letting his fingers drop over the curve of his smaller back.
“Would you mind terribly,” Bastien whispered against his lips, “if I showed you how it’s done?”
“What?” Lawrence mumbled.
Bastien smiled and sank lower, between his legs. Looking up from there, he looked like temptation incarnate. Lawrence was certain the sound of his own heartbeat had to be so loud, like heavy iron bells striking the hour.
“May I touch you?” Bastien asked, his voice tender and kind, his hand on Lawrence’s thigh, hovering close to his now aching cock.
Lawrence heard his voice, strange and rough. “Yes.”
His approval was met with a smile. Then Bastien’s hand wrapped around his cock, as clothed as it was, and squeezed it in the most delicious way.
TBC
Author's note: Thank you for reading!
@Derek - that is correct - it could have been a warning - if we're thinking symbols, but Lawrence is not the kind to let his guard down. of course, when it comes to Bastien... it starts being a different thing!
@DavidB - thanks a lot! The battle between right and wrong is only starting for Lawrence - he will be pulled in different directions, and not always being 'right' will be the right thing to say or do.
@Geoffrey Fox - I'm afraid I intended it that way! I can only promise that by the end of the story, the mystery will be all out in the open.
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