Man and Muse
by Laura Bryannan

Gwendal wondered at himself. Was it because of Anissina's neverending torture that his mind leaned in such directions? The master berates the man, the man beats his wife, the wife spanks her child and the child kicks the dog. Anissina experimented on him, so naturally his thoughts turned to...Gunter. Beautiful Gunter, his muse and model. Gwendal couldn't imagine any other looking as glorious in his creations than the luminous, silver-haired angel.

It had begun innocently enough. Bored with animal plushies, his creativity itched to explore new horizons and thus he endeavored to knit a sweater. Of course, this required an actual body to determine measurements, and who better to serve as dress dummy than the perfectly-proportioned, mother hen of the household?

Gunter demanded to try it on the moment it was finished. The wool was the softest money could buy, and he made the most appealing sounds as he fondled it, squealing, “Oh, Gwendal! It feels so wonderful against my skin. May I keep it? Please?” How could he resist? The daydreams that ensued after finding his first achievement so enthusiastically received were even more difficult to resist.

The creation Gwendal imagined next required the largest needles, and he was rewarded with wide eyes and pink cheeks as Gunter stripped to don the tunic, the chainmail effect of the loose stitches leaving little to the imagination. It was clear that such an outfit could not be seen outside Gwendal's chambers but Gunter accepted the invitation enthusiastically, and Gwendal was incredulous as fantasies he'd never dared take so far became manifest. Gunter efficiently removed his uniform and snuggled sinuously, the tickle of the feathery yarn luxurious against his skin.

Gwendal embraced the beautiful man, kissing him deeply as he carressed both the tunic and the body beneath. Unsure which pleased him more, he concluded it was the combination of the two that was so arousingly heady. Grinding, dancing, stroking expertly, neither wished to remove the soft, sensual barrier between them. When it was finally sullied, Gunter moaned in dismay but Gwendal laughed. “No matter. The next piece is almost complete and I must see you in it. Tomorrow night, perhaps?” The delightful spark in the angel's eyes assured him of more than he could have ever imagined.

The cedar chest hidden in the back of Gwendal's closet eventually contained costumes too numerous to mention, all resplendent and delicate as fairy's wings, but sized much larger than one would expect such fineries. If the family was aware of the nighttime fashion shows, they were too wise to tease, possibly content to see fewer frown lines on Gwendal's brow, and a calmer, more serene Gunter.

And, as for the infatuated pair, they agreed their matching thongs, lovingly knit with yarn so ethereal it sang the song of the spheres, were infinitely superior to even the Maou's!

end