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Sebastian - the story
🕑 Added 2020-09-06 20:41:06 +0000 UTCEdward Talbot is one of those Hollywood guys that you’ve never heard of, the kind of guy who makes everything happen. His name never appears in bright lights or the credits at the end of the film or in the Oscars ceremony but his unseen influence is everywhere. He’s a fixer, a sorter-out of problems, a finder of solutions, a creative genius who prefers to stay in the shadows or in his villa on the Hollywood Hills. You have a problem? Edward Talbot can make it go away.
In that villa is usually a brilliant-but-misunderstood young actor, just waiting for the right audition to recognise his undeniable talents while he serves burgers at the local McDonald’s. That actor is always male, always young, always handsome with a body shaped by a mis-spent youth in the gym. Such a man was young Sebastian; a Nordic god with the most perfect body Edward had ever seen, no body fat but little talent outside the bedroom. Claimed to be twenty-one but then they all do. Edward can never remember his last name but he does remember their nights of passion that had become fewer and fewer. But it was when Edward discovered Sebastian’s stock of little blue pills that he realised that, when passion comes out of a box of Viagra, it’s really all over.
He had no illusions about his attractiveness to his lovers. In his youth he’d been quite the hunk but now he was older than his lovers; a lot older...more like their fathers’ age. He knew that he now wasn’t the most attractive man in the world but he could pay for the best. That John Lennon had it right; money can’t buy you love. Edward had given up on partners years before but still recalled the joy of passion shared, the pleasure in giving pleasure, the frisson in seeing a new lover naked and ready for action, the kisses and cuddles in the cool of the night. The rage and the infidelities. But all that was in the past. Edward had tried having sex with men his own age but he’d hated it. Now, he knew that he had become an emotional leper, incapable of receiving love because it wasn’t there; in the blank eyes of his lovers all that was there was a love of his bank balance and the comforts that a villa in the Hills can provide.
Edward had one interest outside work and bed; he loved old movies and the whole 1930s movie shtick. He’d been born in the wrong time; he should have been a Cecil B. ‘I’m ready for my close up now, Mr de Mille...’ Wonderful movies, such artistry, great stories, lighting, scenery, an art of story-telling that had been lost in an age of computer generated scenes and slick video. Film, that was the heart of it; celluloid. Light on film, developed and illuminated to reveal a different world to get lost in for ninety minutes.
Of course, modern technology has its uses.
_________________________________
Sebastian was up and showered when Edward left for the office. He seemed sad today. It must be terrible to be old. He waved him off and sat down by the pool. Soon bored, he stripped for the sun and started exercising; he’d go to the gym later although there was a great gym in the basement, air conditioned as well. There was a downside though; there was no one else there. That was the great thing about the gym downtown; lots of beautiful guys looking for other beautiful guys. There were a lot of beautiful guys in LA.
He did some one-armed press-ups, his specialty because it gave him such a boner whenever he did them naked, he loved the feel of the head of his cock on the cool marble around the pool.
A sound of tyres on gravel in the drive. A car, no...a pickup. Fuck. A delivery boy? Maybe a cute one. Oh no....an oik in an overall with a toolbox. Damn! Then he remembered that Edward had arranged for a Mr Fixit to sort out the leak in the kitchen. He looked at him again. Actually, he could sort out my plumbing any time, he thought.
Underneath that baggy overall was a body of iron with shoulders and no shirt....the works. On top of it was a cute face, dark, young, a little uncertain of himself. Glasses. Above that was a dreadful cap. That had to go.
‘Sorry to disturb you, Sir...’
Time to make out that he was irritated by this new and rather shapely presence. ‘Yes? What do you want?’
‘I’m Dean. Your father...er...Mr Talbot asked me to....’ He hesitated, his eyes locked onto Sebastian’s erection.
‘Yes...?’ said Sebastian in sweet innocence.
‘Oh, sorry, Sir....the kitchen. The leak...the stiffnut...the stiff....oh fuck...’
‘Do you like stiff things?’
The young man got down on his knees to worship Sebastian’s cock. ‘Ones like this...Oh yes...’
___________________________________
Edward sat in his meeting and glanced at his phone. It had a live feed from the security cameras in the house. He frowned, snapped his phone shut and said, standing up, ‘Sorry, I have something urgent to attend to. Please carry on without me.’
Edward had a problem to fix.
____________________________________
‘So, it’s a screen test?’ asked Alfredo.
Alfredo Bertorelli was an Italian expat who had found his nest in the Steinway Studio. He and Edward shared a lot of secrets; secrets about each other that ensured that each kept the other close but not too close and that made their teamwork something like perfection.
‘Yes,’ said Edward. ‘For a remake of ‘Das Martyrium des heiligen Sebastian’....the 1984 Petr Weigl film, music by Debussy. In English.’
‘Ah, real arthouse stuff. For real?’
Edward grinned. ‘Of course for real. Come facemmo del Conte Palmieri...’
Alfredo was an afficionado of Puccini and knew well what he meant by the reference. Tosca. The final betrayal by Scarpia. ‘What’s the actor’s name?’
‘Sebastian, of course.’ He smiled to himself. ‘Who else?’
_________________________________________
Sebastian was elated at the news. A screen test! Finally! It was too good to be true; words to learn, lights, cameras, action. He memorised his lines. Two scenes, one of dialogue with Augustus, the other, the finale, where he is stripped naked, tied to a tree and executed by his fellow archers on the order of the Emperor. The final scene had few words but the scene with Augustus would need real acting.
Augustus: I elevated you to a god...you are like a god to me....I have taken you to my heart...god of my soul...Sebastian, I love you...
Sebastian: I...I’m...grateful for all you’ve done for me, Sir, of course I am...but there is only one God...and I am...his servant.
Augustus: Then you reject my gifts, my love?
Sebastian is silent and looks at the ground.
Augustus (holding back tears): What about our love...when our hearts beat as one...our nights breathing the same air? Does that mean nothing to you?
Sebastian: I love you, Sir...but...I love God more...
Augustus (suddenly angry): God? GOD? Really? Well, we’ll see about that. Does God like being fucked? Huh? You accursed Christians...I’ll see you all dead!
Sebastian (calmly): Death is the end of suffering; not an ending but a beginning. It is like being let out of prison, Sir.
Augustus (barely controlled rage): Then you will find out for yourself. The ranks of my army are full of pretty boys like you. Guards! Take him away! Archers! I want to see his beautiful face contorted in pain...I want his heavenly body to look like a porcupine...tomorrow...at dawn.’
Sebastian understands what will happen tomorrow.
Phew! Heavy stuff.
_________________________________________
Of course he had to show his gratitude to Edward the only way he knew how. Sex that night was rough; Edward liked it like that and he was a good fucker. He never got fucked. Sebastian had tried to be playful but Edward had something in him that wanted to humiliate, dominate and hurt. He’d never understood that. He was a kind man on the surface but there was something of the night about him when he was aroused. Sebastian tried to think of the future to take him out of the present. His ears felt hot. He gritted his teeth and his little blue friend did the rest.
When Edward had spent his load he collapsed back on the bed.
‘You not cumming?’
‘Nah. Too tired.’
‘You’re usually so full of cum...’
‘Thinking about my big day...’
_______________________________________________
The screen test was on an old set in the desert with a few gnarled olive trees here and there.
Sebastian had made his way to the office and been driven to the distant lot by Mr Bertorelli who seemed a nice enough old guy. There was a small team already there with cameras, sound and a make-up artiste who fussed over his face whilst he thought: ‘it’s not my face they’ll be looking at, bitch!’
He was fitted with a Roman archer’s outfit for his scene with the Emperor and tried to get into character.
‘Sebastian...’ a voice over his shoulder. He spun round. It was Edward in Roman costume.
‘Edward...I didn’t expect...’
‘You didn’t expect your Emperor?’ Sebastian got it. Edward was in character and bowed his head. ‘My lord.’
The cameras started rolling. Edward started the dialogue. Impromptu. He got the message.
Sebastian remembered his lines and put as much feeling into them as he could. It went well, he thought. Edward helped by expressing his sadness with realism; he’d actually make a great actor.
‘OK Alfredo?’
‘Si, excellency. We got it on three cameras and the sound is good as well. We’ll check in the caravan but it looks good to me.’
‘Then, shall we continue while we’re in the mood?’
‘Yes, of course.’ He called on the guys playing the archers then started filming again.
Sebastian knew to stay in character; if he did a good job this could be the start of a great career and this part was unscripted so he knew that they would all be improvising. Let’s keep it real. The cameras were rolling.
The three archers ran up to Sebastian and knocked him to the ground. He was stunned; they were hurting him...he thought that actors pulled their punches but not these guys. In seconds, he had been stripped of his armour and was naked, being dragged to one of the trees.
Tied to the tree, he tried to recall what Bertorelli had told him; ‘...when you see the archer release the bowstring, flinch as if you’ve been hit in different parts of your body.’
The archers and crew withdrew to a distance and he was alone to struggle against the ropes binding him to the tree trunk. The sunlight dappled through the leaves caressing his body and a light breeze gave some relief in the heat of the morning. He writhed against his bonds, it would look good for the camera.
He saw the archer with the hairy chest raise his bow and it was over in a flash; he jolted almost automatically; a natural reaction of a natural actor really getting into the part. Then he felt a searing pain in his thigh...the blood trickling down his leg. The pain grew more intense and he glanced down to see the shaft of an arrow embedded in his thigh, quivering as he shook. He gasped but before he could cry out, there was another jolt; this time in his arm. Fuck! What are they doing? He called out to Edward but couldn’t see him.
‘Edward. They’re going to kill me! This isn’t what we agreed!’
He heard a rustle behind him. ‘Do you love me?’ It was Edward’s voice. Sebastian hesitated as another arrow hit him.
‘Yes...of course....’ he gasped through the spasms of pain.
‘Liar,’ spat Edward. End of conversation.
Sebastian lost count as one arrow after another tore into his body, piercing skin, penetrating muscle, glancing off bone and finally resting to kill him slowly but silently in his trembling heaving body. Through agonizing pain and tear-filled eyes he saw Edward amongst the archers, saw him draw the bowstring and the final arrow powered into his chest so fast that he barely saw it.
___________________________________________
Edward welcomed his new guest.
‘Dean! Welcome to my humble home. I hope you like it here.’
‘Thanks, Mr Talbot.’
‘Edward, please. Drink?’
‘Please.’
Edward fetched Dean a beer.
‘Your son away today, Mr...er...Edward?’
Edward smiled. ‘Yes, back at college. I’ll miss him. It will be nice to have some company.’
___________________________________
While Dean was settling into the guest suite, Edward let himself into the purple room; a room for which there was only one key. No one else, not cleaners, not lovers, no one, was allowed in. The room was bare apart from an armchair in the centre and paintings around the wall; not paintings exactly, film posters. He unwrapped the latest addition and admired it. The film was entitled Sebastian XII. It had been his most lucrative so far. Once edited and spliced with the footage taken from the other cameras it had been an artistic masterpiece, especially the apotheosis, when poor Sebastian’s body was taken down from the tree. He had been so beautiful. Edward had managed real tears. That little film had made over a million dollars from his clientele around the world. He looked at all of the other Sebastians...so many...each so beautiful in his own way.
Well, if a man wants to live in the Hills, he does what he has to do.
THE END
Comments
Homoeros
Thanks! I really enjoyed doing this one. It's not often I write my own story but this one needed a narrative to feed the images.
I wondered how you would modernize the Sebastian narrative while still including a very old-fashioned execution method. There have been many artistic suggestions that the cruel demise of the original Sebastian was due as much to jealous, lustful anger or resentment over the unavailability of the young Adonis, as it was to religion or military discipline. The contemporary narrative you have created capitalizes on that theme while retaining clear tributes to the original story and to subsequent articulations of it in performance and art. The fraught intergenerational relationship between Sebastian and Edward echoes a longstanding dilemma for every era since the historical Sebastian was shafted to death on his tree. Thanks for your thoughtful and diligent work on this very enjoyable story.
