The Sweet Tooth

by Margot Larson

  Mathieu tilted himself back to his side of the bed but was stilled by a hand grabbing his right calf, “you give up too easily,” the blonde said with a grin; eyes still closed.

  Mathieu returned to his position straddling Solomon’s waist, hands on Solomon’s chest, “I thought you were never going to wake up. You’ve missed a dose of your medicine.”

  “You have me pinned to the bed and all you can think about is my medicine?”

  “You need to take your medicine to get better and I’m pretty sure you could throw me off quite easily if you wanted too.”

  “Probably, if I was well. Right now I don’t think I could lift a cup of coffee.” But oh, how he wanted to flip them over, slot himself between Mathieu’s legs and do wonderful things to him. He reminded himself that Mathieu wanted to go slow. So, slow he would go.

  “Still achy?” Mathieu folded his arms across Solomon’s chest then laid his body down so his chin was resting on his hands.

  “Yes. Probably will be for a few more days. How are you feeling?” Solomon ran his hands through Mathieu’s matted yet still curly hair massaging the scalp lightly.

  “Better.”

  “Can you tell me what happened?” Solomon knew he had to tread carefully. He didn’t want Mathieu shutting him out again.

  Mathieu pouted, “I….don’t want too.” He turned his face into Solomon’s chest.

  “It’s okay. You’re safe here. I won’t let go.” Solomon stopped his massaging and wrapped his arms around the brunette as tightly as he could.

  Mathieu took a deep breath, “I heard Anders ask you if you had talked to me yet and then you started signaling for Adrian to leave.” Another deep breath, “I thought you were mad at me for inviting them over without telling you and I thought you were going to yell at me and then you would leave me.”

  Solomon felt Mathieu’s tears soaking into his shirt as the younger man trembled in his arms, “I was a little upset at first, Matt. I mean, I don’t want you to think that I would ever use you. You’ve done so much for me these last few days. I never would’ve asked you to do more especially just to satisfy Adrian’s ridiculous need to have his choice on brunch day.” Solomon felt the body on top of his relaxing so he went back to massaging. “How did you get Anders’ cell number, anyway?”

  “I got it from your phone yesterday when you fell asleep on the sofa after you talked to Adrian.” Mathieu stretched himself to give Solomon a kiss. “I like Anders, he’s nice. Adrian is very funny. And they liked my food.”

  “They liked you. I like you.”

  “I like you too.” The couple kissed again; this time with more passion but Solomon had to stop when Mathieu started to grind his hips down.

  “Mathieu, we can’t. I can’t. I want too. God, do I want too but I can’t. I’m still aching from the flu and my energy level is so low. I’m sorry.”

  Mathieu bit his bottom lip and said, “It’s alright. It’s just been so long since I’ve been with someone. I guess I got carried away.”

  Solomon chuckled, “You have my permission to get carried away when I’m feeling better. There is something else we need to talk about anyway.”

  Mathieu looked down quizzically, “What?”

  “I’d like you to tell me why you shut me out last Sunday.” Mathieu made a move to climb off but Solomon only let him get half way and held him tight with Mathieu’s head on his chest and their legs intertwined, “please Mathieu. I think it would help you.”

  Mathieu began trembling again as tears welled up in his eyes, “I told you. I’m a mess. I still think you deserve somebody better than me.”

  It was not going at all how Solomon had wanted and he grew afraid that if Mathieu kept down that road he’d get shut out again, “I don’t want anybody else so just stop it with all that. But what I meant was why couldn’t you just talk to me about it? Why did you shut me out?”

  Mathieu couldn’t answer until his sobbing was under control so Solomon just held him and continued to massage whatever part of the Irishman he could touch. When he calmed down a little and between sobs he said, “I….I….couldn’t…..I….didn’t want to have another attack.”

  “You think that because you had an attack in front of me because I suggested going outside that you’d have another if you saw me again.”

  Mathieu sobbed, “Yes.”

  “You had an attack today. Do you feel the same way?”

  “No. This time I did it to myself.”

  “Mathieu, you know you can’t help it, right? It’s not your fault.”

  “It is my fault. I’m damaged.”

  “It’s not your fault. You can’t help what happens to you. You don’t have any control. It’s not like you want to have panic attacks, right?”

  “No,” Mathieu sniffled.

  Solomon wished he could take all of Mathieu’s pain away, “Can I ask you something?”

  “I guess.”

  “Have you been to a doctor about your disorder?”

  “Yes, a couple, in the beginning.”

  “They couldn’t help you?”

  “No. One of them sent me to the hospital and had all kinds of test run on me; on my brain and my heart. He had me fill out questionnaires and assessment forms. He kept saying that I couldn’t have panic attacks because they mostly happen to women and that there must be something else wrong with me. The second doctor wanted to try hypnosis because she was sure there was something in my childhood I was repressing. Another one I went to gave me drugs to take but they made me feel empty and numb. I couldn’t feel anything; not happy or sad or mad or excited; I felt nothing. So I stopped taking them then I had another attack.”

  Solomon felt like crying himself as his heart broke for the scared, younger Mathieu, “So you stopped going to the doctor?”

  “Yes. I couldn’t get near the door without panicking and running back into my flat.” Mathieu had begun to breathe heavier.

  “Are you willing to try another doctor?”

  Mathieu moaned, pulled his hand from Solomon’s chest and placed it on his head, “Solomon.”

  “It’s alright, you’re safe. I’ve got you. You still have your job. You’re lucky there.” Solomon changed the subject before another attack set in.

  “My boss is very understanding. She has a few artists working from home so it wasn’t a problem to just let me work from home too.” Mathieu began to calm down since the talk had turned from his disorder to his work.

  Both men were silent for a while lost in their own thoughts. Solomon thought about how he could get Mathieu to open up more without causing him to have another attack or pull away again and Mathieu about wanting to open up but being afraid to have another attack or drive Solomon away. They both thought about falling in love. “Solomon, can I ask you a question?”

  “Of course. You can ask me anything.”

  “What do you want for dinner?”

  CHAPTER 9

  It was late and Solomon was exhausted by the time he returned to his flat after his first day back at work. The only thing he wanted to do was crawl into his bed. He hadn’t make any plans with Mathieu for the night because he wasn’t sure when he’d be home; thinking that he may have to work late to catch up with his accounts properly. He was just about to walk into his bedroom when he thought he heard tentative tapping on his door. Solomon peered through the peephole and saw Mathieu standing sheepishly in the hall holding a baking dish. Solomon opened the door and let the Irishman inside.

  “I made lobster mac and cheese if you want to share with me. I just need to heat it up.” Mathieu held out the covered dish but he could see the fatigue on the shorter man’s face and in his posture. He brought the dish back to hold it against his chest, “I can…” but stopped himself then started again, “do you want…,” he finished with “we can have it tomorrow if you want. You look beat.”

  Solomon felt so bad and he’d normally suck it up and tell a friend to stay but tonight he was just too done in, “I’m sorry, Mathieu
. Definitely tomorrow though, okay?”

  Mathieu tried not to frown but he couldn’t help it and Solomon thought he should’ve just sucked it up. Solomon walked his friend to the door and turned his face up to meet Mathieu in a kiss. They said their ‘see ya tomorrows’ and Solomon closed the door. He didn’t make it back to his bedroom before there was more tapping on his door.

  “I’m so sorry, Solomon. I forgot my keys and can’t get into my flat. I don’t have my phone either so I can’t call the landlord to come and open it for me. Can I use your phone? I’m sorry for bothering you. I know you’re tired. I’m sorry.” Mathieu looked so pitiful with his apologizing Solomon couldn’t help but smile.

  “How about this?” Solomon asked “Are your kitchen sliders locked?”

  “No they’re open. You’re not thinking about what I think you’re thinking about are you?”

  “Sure why not? You need to get home. I need to get to bed. I’ll just hop over the rail, open the sliders and open the door for you. Easy as pie and you won’t have to wait for the landlord.” Solomon made a move towards his kitchen but a low moan from Mathieu stopped him.

  “You can’t…outside….over the…nonononono. Not over…outside,” Mathieu’s head was spinning; sweat had already beaded up on his forehead, he closed his eyes and tried to calm himself. “Nonononono. I…I can’t…b…b...breathe…can’t.” The Irishman took several stunted breaths. He felt tightness in his chest and cramping in his abs; he doubled over in pain as a wave of nausea washed over him. He felt something pulling at the baking dish in his hands but he couldn’t let go. Mathieu trembled; he tried to call out for Solomon but he couldn’t make a sound.

  Solomon took the baking dish from Mathieu’s hand just as the brunette swooned and dropped to the floor. ‘Wow’, he thought, ‘that was a bad one and it’s all my fault’.

  When Mathieu woke up he was in the same position he was in after the time he and Solomon had had brunch, lying on the floor with his head in Solomon’s lap. “Oh, no,” he’s so embarrassed to be in this position again he couldn’t help the tears that fell from his eyes. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. I just wanted to have dinner. I’m so sorry.” He couldn’t get up because his energy level was close to zero after a severe attack like that which took his breath away and he couldn’t look Solomon in the eye and see the disappointment or pity he knew must be there.

  “Hey, hey, no crying,” Solomon rubbed little circles over Mathieu’s heart. “You’re safe. It’s okay. I’m the one who should be apologizing. It was insensitive of me to even suggest doing that. I’m so sorry, Mathieu. I didn’t think about how it would affect you.” Solomon wiped Mathieu’s face with a towel blotting away sweat and tears. “Do you want sit up?”

  Mathieu nodded and Solomon helped him sit up, back to chest. Solomon wrapped his arms around the sobbing Irishman and pressed kisses into the brown curls. “Please stop crying. You’re okay. I’m sorry. Please don’t cry.”

  “I need to lie down. Can you call the landlord? Please.” Mathieu could feel what remained of his energy draining away.

  “Come on, I’ll help you.” Mathieu shifted forward and Solomon wrapped his arms around the brunette’s chest and lifted him to his feet. “Put your arm around my shoulders.” Solomon held Mathieu around the waist with his right arm and his left hand held Mathieu’s left hand which was around his shoulders.

  Mathieu figured Solomon would help him to the sofa; instead he was led into the bedroom. “Nononononono, Solomon, I can’t. You can’t.”

  “Hush now. You know I have a huge bed. There’s plenty of room. I don’t mind sharing with you.” He sat Mathieu down on the bed and removed his shoes. “I know you won’t be comfortable sleeping in your jeans but I don’t want to make you more uncomfortable by assuming anything. Do you want me to help you take them off?”

  The Irishman let out a little whine but nodded. “Lay back on the bed,” Solomon instructed. Mathieu flopped back onto the bed and felt Solomon unhook the button and unzip his jeans. “Can you raise your hips for me?” Mathieu let the tears fall again; he had no more energy and couldn’t even help himself get undressed. He felt the bed dip next to him and Solomon’s hand on his chest, “Hey, please don’t cry. Please. I’ll help you, okay?” Solomon used his thumb to wipe the tears away. Solomon crawled off the bed and pulled down the blankets on Mathieu’s side, he then took the brunette’s hands to help him sit up. “I’m gonna stand you up. I know you’re tired but it will only be for a second while I slip your jeans down. On three,” Solomon hooked his arms under Mathieu’s, “one, two, three, up. Put your hands on me to balance yourself.” Mathieu held lightly to Solomon’s shoulders as he shoved the jeans down as far as he could without making Mathieu loose his balance. “Okay, now you can sit back down.” The blonde let the brunette sit on the bed then bent over to remove the jeans from around knees and ankles. Solomon guided Mathieu’s head down onto the pillows then helped get his legs under the covers. By the time Solomon brought the covers to Mathieu’s chest the brunette was asleep.

  Solomon kissed the sleeping Irishman on the forehead then got himself ready for bed but since it was still early he grabbed the book he was reading from his nightstand and went to sit in the living room. After reading a few chapters he put the book down and fired up his lap top. He googled ‘psychiatrists in London’. Solomon opened several websites but didn’t see what he was looking for. He added ‘panic attacks’ to the search. Most of the websites offered information or were for support groups. He found a few doctors and jotted down their names and telephone numbers. He also made a note of two London schools for psychiatrists thinking that one of them may be able to guide him in the right direction.

  The next time he looked at the clock it was after 11. After a trip to the bathroom he crept into the bedroom. Mathieu was in the same position he had left him in. Solomon carefully crawled onto the bed and became the big spoon once again. He listened to the slow intake and exhale of Mathieu’s breathing mixed with the gentle pit-pat of the spring rain on the bedroom window and let it lull him to sleep.

  ***

  When Solomon woke the next morning he had a sleeping Irishman’s head on his shoulder. He leaned over and placed his lips to the curly hair before trying to slip out of the bed. He thought he had been successful until he felt fingers lightly touch his shoulder. The blonde laid back down, “good morning.”

  “Morning,” Mathieu leaned over for a kiss but Solomon pulled away.

  “Morning breath,” Solomon held his hand over his mouth.

  “Don’t care,” Mathieu replied as he leaned over a little farther.

  ‘Why the hell not….’ Solomon leaned into the kiss. He felt Mathieu trying to deepen the kiss but he pulled away again, “I thought you wanted to take it slow.”

  “I’m sorry,” Mathieu blushed. “I just wanted you to know…I mean…I wanted to thank you for what you did for me.” He lay back down on the bed and threw an arm over his eyes and thought, ‘I don’t do anything but embarrass myself in front of him’.

  “Hey there,” Solomon tried to pry the arm from off Mathieu’s face, when he was unable to do so he tried to tickle it off by digging his fingers into the brunette’s sides.

  The brunette giggled and tried to roll away but he was held in place by Solomon’s strong hands, “stop...stop…I’m sorry…please, stop.” He tried to push Solomon off but wound up being straddled by the strong man.

  Solomon took hold of the squirming Irishman’s wrists and pinned them to the bed, “there’s no reason to be sorry and if you want to thank me just say ‘thank you’. I don’t need for you to thank me like that, at least not until you’re really ready.” Solomon winked and climbed off the bed. “I have to get ready for work. My phone is there on the dresser if you want to call the landlord; even then you’re welcome to stay as long as you want. Got it?”

  “Got it. Thank you.” Mathieu lay in the bed until he heard the water start for Solomon’s shower. He got Solomon’s pho
ne and left a voice mail for the landlord. He found his jeans folded on the chair next to the bed, pulled them on and went to explore the apartment. When he entered the kitchen he spotted the dish of lobster macaroni on the counter and frowned, ‘so much for that’, he thought as he emptied the food into Solomon’s trash can. After the dish was washed and left to dry in the rack he removed the bin liner from the trash can and tied it off, placing the bag by the front door. He returned to the kitchen and found a box of liners underneath the sink; he put a fresh one into the can. Mathieu looked into the fridge with the thought of making the blonde breakfast but except for a few bottles of beer, coffee creamer and two suspicious looking things wrapped in plastic the fridge was empty.

  “I haven’t gone shopping in a while,” surprising the other with his proximity. “Oh, sorry. Did you hurt yourself?”

  Mathieu yelped in alarm, “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

  “I said sorry. Did you hurt yourself though? It looked like you hit your head. Do you need me to kiss it all better?” Solomon stepped into the kitchen and right up to Mathieu.

  “You want to kiss it better? Where would you start?” golden-brown eyes met sparkling blue.

  Solomon caressed Mathieu’s left cheek, “I’d start here,” he lightly trailed down to the jaw line with the backs of his fingers, “then here,” his fingertips moved down to Mathieu’s collarbone, “then here”. He curled his fingers and moved to the other side, “then here,” the backs of fingers stroked the right cheek, “then here,” he thumbed over the Irishman’s lips, “then here.”