Nikolai

I'm letting the warm water rinse over my body. Even though I've been qualified a while now, Master François hasn't even suggested I need to leave his house, but I'm beginning to feel guilty at taking advantage of his hospitality. Maybe it's time to stop hiding, but I'm nervous of the reaction. I think back to that fateful day, listening where I shouldn't be.

"What do you mean, a letter?" My mother was screeching, which is fairly usual.

"I don't know, my darling, it just arrived in today's post." My father's American accent is still strong, despite his perfect grasp of the Belarussian language. He is a linguist, after all.

"Another child? That bitch got pregnant?!" She was really furious, getting shriller with each word.

"My precious, I had no idea, I promise."

"Is the letter from her?"

"I don't think so. Unless it's taken her over twenty years and she's just found me. It just says it's from an interested party. And that I should bring him here to live with us."

"Well that's never fucking happening." I gasped at that, on the other side of my father's study door. My mother never swears.

I wasn't sure listening was the best idea, but I needed to know what they were talking about. Someone being pregnant? And twenty years ago? I'm twenty.

"Father. What's going on?" My father just rolled his eyes in my mother's direction and handed me a letter and a photograph. I scanned the letter, suggesting that the young man in the photograph, Ellis, is my father's son. Saying that he is a musical prodigy studying at a Conservatory in New York and that he should be bringing pride to the family name here in Minsk. The letter also mentioned that he was living in a state of ultimate sin and needed to be saved.

"So he's the same age as me?" My father just shrugged his shoulders sheepishly. I couldn't be surprised; my father has many weaknesses, and those of the flesh are the least of them, one explanation for why he's still with my mother after all these years; a woman who could give a screaming harpy a run for its money. And my mother's explanation for putting up with it? She adores him. And she hates both him and herself for it.

"Just get out of your father's study, faggot," she wasn't letting up on her shrieking any time soon. And I was used to that kind of language from her, ever since I had come out to my family two years earlier. The fact that I hadn't been thrown out of my family home was only down to my father strangely developing a backbone about me staying – the only thing he ever had.

The idea that I had a brother my own age appealed for some reason. I used to be close to my younger brother, who's eighteen now, but when I came out our relationship became strained when my mother suddenly started treating him like the Anointed One and me like the spawn of Satan. It makes me sad how a relationship can be destroyed by someone from outside, and maybe one day we'll pull back from that. I suppose I took the first step by getting myself out of the toxic environment of that house when I followed the urge to come find this other son of my father.

I wasn't going to ask permission; I knew my parents wouldn't sanction me coming and, as a student I didn't have much money. But I had a little put aside. Enough for a ticket, as luckily my father had always kept our passports up to date, and a little left over. But my enthusiasm to leap at this piece of the unknown had blindsided me to reality. The volume of people in such a small space, the sheer cost of everything, the unfriendliness.

It had only taken a few days to realize this wouldn't be the simple task I had envisioned. I'd left the filthy hotel I'd originally checked into, reasoning that the small amount of money I had would be better spent on food than those kind of living conditions. It had been short-term, and only stopped by that strange force of serendipity, but living on the streets wasn't something I had any desire to repeat, and maybe that's what's holding me back from revealing the truth to Ellis and Master François. That, and the fact that I really don't know how Ellis would take the information. He doesn't seem to talk about family, so what if he doesn't even know his real father is out there? Maybe he thinks someone else was his father; maybe his mother is a saint and he's vitriolic about the man who abandoned her.

While I'm trying to think that through, something strange is happening. I didn't expect this at all when I agreed to be trained by Master François. That was a means to an end – doing something out of the ordinary just until I was ready to speak to Ellis – but I've found myself embracing this lucky position I've found myself in. Master François has continued to hint that I might want to have some experiences with other Doms so I can prepare myself for a contract, but I have still been avoiding that. The only one I feel comfortable working with is Landon, and luckily he's asked me several times since I was certified.

I did a scene with him on Friday at the club, where he tied me up and teased me for a long time, before bringing me to incredible pleasure, but I think my favorite time was Sunday evening. I'd suggested we could meet at the club; the first time I'd been the one to make the suggestion, and I was worried he'd think me inappropriate. But instead, he'd invited me to visit his own apartment and said he would cook a meal for me. The idea had been to visit the club afterward, but instead, we'd somehow ended up in his bedroom, and what I'd experienced there had been some of the most intense sensations since this journey began, despite the lack of toys and ropes.

* * * * *

Here I am now, on a regular Tuesday, outside the hospital he works at, with a packed pastrami on rye; his favorite sandwich, made by Leeanna, Master François' housekeeper, suddenly second guessing what I'd originally thought would be a nice, friendly gesture. But what if he thinks it's strange? Is it borderline creepy to remember a passing comment from someone that they take lunch at one o'clock and just turn up uninvited? Oh no; I just realized he hasn't even told me if his colleagues know he's gay, and even if they do, I look more like a rent boy than an appropriate lunch partner for a successful and intelligent doctor.

I have dressed more smartly than usual, simple black pants and a pale blue button down – both courtesy of Ellis, who didn't say anything in judgement when I told him I wanted to take lunch to Landon, just grinned widely while shuffling through his wardrobe. But even with the smarter clothes, I'm conscious I'm in desperate need of a haircut, my dirty-blond locks starting to curl around my ears, and of the large tattoo climbing my neck, that is in no way hidden by the collar of the shirt. Neither are the patterns and colors that snake down to the back of my wrists and hands. I love my tattoos; each one represents something incredibly meaningful to me; but I started to get them done when I was only seventeen, and it's possible, if I'd waited, I wouldn't have had ones that couldn't be hidden. I'm just thankful that my friend, who is now a fully qualified tattoo artist, has always been a very talented guy, even when he was sixteen and using me as a blank canvas for his work.

"Nikki?" I'm broken out of my reverie by that deep, husky voice, and have to stop my initial response of dropping to my knees. I don't think Ellis or his pants would thank me.

"Sir, hello," I whimper, really worried about what his reaction will be.

"Are you here to see me? And please, there's no need to call me Sir outside of the club." He had told me that on Sunday, but it had felt a bit too nerve-wracking while we were having dinner, and I'd just avoided it by not using any honorific or his name. He hadn't seemed to mind Sir in the bedroom.

"I know you're busy. I thought you might like a sandwich." I vaguely wave the brown bag in his direction.

"That's kind, Nikki. Have you eaten?" I haven't; Leeanna made a lunch for me too, which is tucked away in my bag. Landon smiles warmly at me, and I feel my rapidly beating heart slow down to a more normal pace.

"I haven't. It's a nice day, would you have time to walk to the park with me?"

"I'd like that." And my fluttering heart is replaced by something far sweeter.

The cold sun is bright and the sky is clear; a perfect winter afternoon, though I'm glad Ellis leant me a smart pea coat to wear, when we sit on a wooden bench to eat.

"This is delicious, Nikki, thank you."

"Ah, well, it was Leeanna that made them," I admit.

"I'm not surprised, she does everything in that house," he chuckles. "How long do you think you'll stay there?"

"Uh, I'm not sure. Master François hasn't suggested I need to leave. But I have been thinking of it. I'll need a job though, so I should start looking." I have done some hours in the club, because apparently that's normal when they've trained you – thankfully only as a waiter: Master François asked Dae to be a dancer in the nightclub downstairs and I wouldn't have liked that, at all – but it isn't a long-term prospect for me.

"Did you work before?"

"Only in a bar. I was at college, but I left part way through my course."

"What were you studying?"

"Art history," I blush, because my mother hated that I chose that course, telling me it was worthless, just like me, and no surprise for 'someone like me'.

"Did you love it?" Landon is looking at me perceptively, and I feel like he wants to know everything.

"I did."

"Yet you left part way through..." I just mumble a non-response, not yet ready to admit the truth.

When I look up I'm surprised to see Landon on his phone, speaking quietly.

"Christian will find you a job," he announces when the call finishes. "He has a lot of contacts in the art world. And maybe you could consider going to college again?"

"Maybe," I concede, "when I've saved some money. Thank you, Sir."

"Nikki...don't call me Sir now." There's an unnatural brightness to his eyes.

"I'm sorry, I'm just used to it now."

"Yes, I suppose you are."