by Andrew Grey
“Oma and Fabian are”—he swallowed—“talking loudly, and I was wondering if I could study here for a while. I have a big exam on Monday.” Jonathon could tell by the way he bit his lip that Hans was treading delicately around what was probably a full-blown fight between Fabian and his grandmother.
“Are they fighting?”
Hans nodded a few times. “I know that Fabian likes men, and that’s okay, I guess. But why do he and Oma have to yell all the time?”
Jonathon motioned Hans toward the other chair. “Would you like something to drink?”
“Can you make Apfelschorle? Its apple juice and some mineral water,” Hans went on to explain as he spread out his books on the table. Jonathon poured the juice and added some sparkling water to the glass before placing it on the table, and since it looked good, he made himself one as well.
“Your Oma and Fabian,” Jonathon started to explain as he pulled out the chair across from Hans, “have very different views on the way Fabian should live his life.”
“I know. Oma wants him to get married and have babies. She even invited one of her friend’s granddaughters over for dinner last night. She was pretty.” Hans smiled and colored a little. “But it only made Fabian angry, and he didn’t talk to her very much.” Hans took a drink from his glass. “Oma likes things the old-fashioned way, and I do as well, sometimes.” Hans turned his attention to his books, but Jonathon could tell he wasn’t really paying attention to them. “Will they ever stop fighting?”
“Maybe,” Jonathon answered. “I don’t know your Oma very well, but she loves you and Fabian very much, just like your mother does. And she ultimately wants him to be happy. Right now she thinks she knows best regarding what will make him happy. Fabian needs to show her as well as tell her that he knows what is best for him, and sometimes those talks aren’t easy and involve yelling.”
“Oh.” Hans went back to his books, and Jonathon got back up, going to the sink to clean up his dishes. Running the water, he handwashed the few dishes before letting them dry in the dish drainer.
“I am not bothering you?”
“No, Hans,” Jonathon answered as he wiped his hands. “I’m going to go upstairs and sit. You can stay here if you like or come up.” Hans closed his books and picked both them and his glass up from the table and followed Jonathon up the stairs. “What are you studying?” Jonathon asked as he sat on the sofa, picking his book up from the coffee table.
Hans showed him the book cover, but it meant nothing to him, since the title was in German. “Art history. It’s one of my favorite subjects.”
“And necessary if you want to be an art restorer.”
Hans nodded his agreement and returned his attention to his studies, while Jonathon opened his book and began to read with part of his attention tuned to the pages and part listening for Fabian’s footsteps outside.
Voices drifted through the walls, not loud enough to actually understand, but enough to know that something was definitely going on. Jonathon looked to Hans and saw him lift his head from his studies, biting his lower lip. Then the sound stopped and Jonathon found himself straining to hear, but there was nothing. Returning his attention to his book, Jonathon tried to concentrate but felt his earlier worries return.
The sound of the lift door and the crunch of tires told him that Hanna was home. He heard the car engine stop and footsteps on the gravel and finally the muffled sound of a door closing, then more voices, slightly louder, both most definitely female. “Come on.” Jonathon set down his book. “Let’s get out of here.”
Hans followed him down the stairs. “Where are we going?”
“The pastry shop around the corner is still open. Let’s get a bite and some coffee.” The wondering was getting to him, and Jonathon could tell it was affecting Hans even more. Grabbing his keys and wallet from the counter, Jonathon held the door for Hans before following him through the courtyard and out the gate.
They hurried down the sidewalk and had almost reached the corner when Hans stopped and turned around. “It’s Fabian.”
Jonathon waited, and Fabian hurriedly caught up with them. “Where are you going?” Fabian asked between breaths.
“To the coffee shop,” Hans answered. “We could hear you and Oma yelling through the walls, and then Mutti got home.” Hans let the implications hang in the air.
“I know.” Fabian ruffled his younger brother’s hair, and Hans squirmed away with a laugh. “I took your advice,” Fabian told Jonathon, “as you and half the neighborhood heard.” They continued walking, turning the corner. “It didn’t go well at first, but then she started to listen, at least to some things. When Mutti got home, the two of them went at it like cats and dogs. I’ve never seen Mutti so angry.”
“Not even the time you dyed your hair blue in the bathtub?” Hans chided with a wicked smile on his face.
Jonathon couldn’t hold back the laughter when Fabian blushed like a schoolgirl. “That was a long time ago. And yes, today was worse.”
Hans whistled as they reached the pastry shop, and Fabian held the doors open, touching Jonathon’s hand as he passed. Jonathon gave Fabian a quick smile before standing next to Hans, looking over the pastry case in wonder. “Get whatever you like,” Jonathon told Hans as the lady behind the counter spoke to him in German, and Jonathon turned to Fabian. “Order for me, please. I have no idea what anything is.”
Fabian nodded and placed the orders, and Jonathon paid at the register. They sat at one of the few empty tables and waited. “Do you think Mutti and Oma will be okay?” Hans asked.
“They’ll be fine,” Fabian said with a wink at Jonathon. “Mutti is just letting Oma know that we’re her children and that Oma cannot run all of our lives. Believe me, you will be happy for this day.”
The server brought their pastries and coffee, efficiently setting them on the table and leaving. Jonathon brought the cup to his lips, testing the coffee as Hans turned to Fabian, his fork in his hand.
“You and Jonathon bumsen?”
Jonathon might not have known much German, but that word he knew, and he barely managed to set his cup back on the saucer before coughing and choking.
Thankfully, Fabian spoke up, looking at Jonathon for reassurance. “No, we are not, Hans. We….” Fabian sighed, and Jonathon let him stumble as he decided what to tell his brother. “I have feelings for Jonathon that are deeper than just sex.” Jonathon watched as Fabian set down his cup and pushed his plate away. “I don’t know what Jonathon and I are right now.” The adorably pleading look on Fabian’s face went right to Jonathon’s heart. “But I do know it’s more than bumsen, to use your word.” Fabian grabbed his brother around the neck, applying his knuckles to the top of his head. “You shouldn’t be using that word anyway.”
“Hans,” Jonathon broke in, figuring he’d give Fabian a break, “your brother and I are exploring a relationship,” he explained, hoping he wasn’t wrong. And when he saw the smile on Fabian’s face, he knew he’d explained things correctly.
“But you are… aren’t you?” Hans asked wickedly as he shoveled in a mouthful of his cake.
“That is none of your business,” Jonathon answered levelly. “And you shouldn’t ask such questions.” He picked up his cup. “Would you like us asking about your virginity?” he added, taking a sip from his cup, winking at Fabian as Hans nearly choked to death.
They finished their cake and coffee without further drama and walked back to the house. Opening the gate, Jonathon found himself listening but hearing nothing. Hans walked toward the house. “Don’t forget your books,” Jonathon called, and Hans veered off, following them to the apartment, where he rushed upstairs, grabbing his books from the table before hurrying back down.
“Danke schön, Jonathon,” Hans called as he reached the door.
“Before you go,” Jonathon said as Hans reached for the door handle, “next Saturday, once you’re done with school, I was wondering if you’d like to go to the Prater to celebrate the end of sch
ool and your graduation to university.”
Hans’s grin told him everything he needed to know. “Yes, thank you,” Hans chimed as he hurried out the door, feet crunching on the gravel.
“You certainly made him happy,” Fabian said as arms slipped around Jonathon’s waist, and he felt Fabian’s chest press against his back, the arms tightening, drawing them closer. “Did you really mean what you said? Do you really want a relationship?”
Jonathon turned around. “I have to be honest—I don’t know what I want, but I definitely know what I don’t.” Jonathon looked toward the floor. “I know I’m not being very fair to you, but I need some time to work things through.”
“I think I understand, and yes, I can be patient.” Fabian softly kissed his neck. “But I meant what I said earlier.”
“I know you did.” Jonathon leaned closer, kissing Fabian oh-so-softly, feeling the warmth of Fabian’s lips as he felt a hand slide into his.
“Come with me.” Fabian led him up both sets of stairs to the bedroom. “You mean much more to me than just sex,” Fabian said softly, “and I’ll give you all the time you need, I promise. But right now there’s something I’d like you to do for me.” Fabian led him to the bed, lying down before pulling Jonathon next to him, arms holding him tight.
“So if you didn’t bring me up here for bumsen”—Fabian chuckled lightly in his ear—“then what did you bring me here for?” Jonathon stroked his hand over the soft fabric covering Fabian’s chest.
“I want you to tell me about your Greg,” Fabian answered softly. “I know he was your first true love and that you were together for a long time, but I really want to know what he was like.”
“Fabian.” Jonathon felt his chest clench. “Do you know what you’re asking?” he asked as Fabian shifted them on the bed so Jonathan was lying on his back with Fabian resting on his side, watching him with eyes as warm as hot chocolate.
“Yes. I’m asking you to give up a small piece of his memory.” Fabian’s eyes implored him, and Jonathon felt himself still as he tried to decide not if he should do what Fabian asked, but if he actually could.
“I’m not sure where to start,” Jonathon answered softly as he stared up at Fabian. It felt weird to think about telling Fabian about Greg. He’d been trying his best not to compare Fabian to Greg, and in his mind, he’d sort of compartmentalized the two in some ways, keeping Greg’s memories separate from the ones with Fabian.
“How did you meet?” Fabian smoothed his hand over Jonathon’s cheek.
Jonathon closed his eyes, and he couldn’t help smiling. “I’d been teaching a few years, and it was parents’ night at the school. Once a year, they had an open house where parents could meet the teachers and see the classrooms. I was already teaching third grade, and Greg’s oldest son had just started kindergarten. He had no reason to come to my classroom, but he wandered through, carrying the cutest little girl in his arms. Jeana was about two at the time.” Jonathon stopped for a second, the memory so strong it threatened to overpower him, almost as fresh as if it had happened yesterday. Forcing his eyes open, he looked at Fabian, regrounding himself in the present. “He was tall and broad, a few years younger than I am now, but he didn’t look it. I can remember just the first start of gray in his hair, which I remember wanting to reach out and touch. He was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen, and he remained that way until he died.”
“Did you know he was gay?” Fabian asked softly, touching Jonathon’s hair right above the ears.
“The minute I saw him, there was no doubt in my mind. But I didn’t approach him other than to show him around the classroom and talk to him about the beautiful child he was carrying. The first time I saw him smile was when we talked about his children.” Jonathon did his best to mimic that smile, and he felt Fabian kiss him softly as a reward for his efforts. “The second time was when he left my classroom and I said I hoped I’d see him again soon, and I did. About a week later, he stopped in at the school to make a donation to one of the never-ending fund drives and asked me to lunch. I had to turn him down because I couldn’t leave school grounds, but then he asked me to dinner.” Jonathon shifted on the bed, running his hand along the skin of Fabian’s arm. “I couldn’t believe he could ever be interested in me, but there was one thing about Greg—he knew what he wanted. I know Doreen was pregnant when she and Greg married, and I always wondered if she didn’t engineer it somehow.”
“How long were you together while he was married?”
“We weren’t. We had dinner together almost every night and even kissed a few times.” Jonathon smiled as he remembered the heady feeling of those first kisses, so filled with excitement and promise. “Greg filed for divorce shortly after we met, but we never got physical until the separation became legal and he’d moved out of the house.” Jonathon had no intention of going into those details. “Doreen always blamed me for stealing her husband, but I never did. Of Greg’s three children, only Jeana will have anything to do with me. Their mother spent much of her time over the years venting her venom about me and Greg to those kids, even though Greg did his best by those kids and her.”
“It sounds as though Greg really loved you.” Fabian’s voice held the slightest hint of jealousy.
For the first time, Jonathon felt tears threaten, but he stopped himself and smiled instead. “He did.” Jonathon smoothed a hand along Fabian’s cheek, as though he were trying to caress away the unnecessary emotion. “Greg was always a very busy man, but he never forgot a birthday or anniversary, and he told me he loved me every single day. He was honorable, loving, and generous to a fault.” Jonathon reached to the nightstand, picking up the photograph and handing it to Fabian. “For the longest time, I thought he was the only person who’d ever loved me.” Jonathon touched the photograph with a finger. “But I’m coming to realize that I’ve been loved in more ways than I realized. Jeana, even when her mother tried to turn her against both Greg and me, still loved me and showed it.”
“Of course you were loved. You said your parents were killed, but they must have loved you.”
Jonathon nodded his head against the pillow. “And I found out today that Father Joda loved me as well.” Jonathon went on to tell Fabian about the call from the hospital and how Johan’s death had prompted him to call Father Joda, as well as the revelations that call had brought about.
“See,” Fabian beamed. “Of course you were loved. I can’t imagine anyone getting to know you and not loving you.” Fabian leaned closer, capturing his mouth in a kiss that surprised Jonathon with its loving softness. Jonathon slipped his arms around Fabian’s neck, deepening the kiss. “Do you ever imagine that it’s Greg you’re kissing instead of me?”
“No, I’ve never done that. When I’m with you, I know it’s you,” Jonathon said as he pulled Fabian back down on top of him, curling their legs together as he held Fabian close, losing himself in the kisses and touches as their desire quickly escalated from a slow simmer to a fast boil. Clothes disappeared and hands slid across warm skin, touching, caressing, lips kissing, tongues tasting. Soft gasps and murmurs of pleasure drifted on the breeze that blew in through the open windows, the night air fresh and cooling, caressing their skin as it followed the flow of warm, exploring hands. Jonathon arched into Fabian’s hands, eyes clouding with desire as he heard soft music float on the breeze. Without thought, they moved to the accompaniment, their bodies flowing and hearts stirring, their lovemaking moving to the flowing melody of the waltz.
Chapter 8
JONATHON woke to something that was starting to become very familiar, too familiar—Fabian pressed tight against him, arms encircling his waist, holding him tight, like Fabian wasn’t going to let him go. They never started out this way, each of them preferring to fall asleep separately, but during the night, they both seemed to search the other out, curling close in the darkness. For over a week, Fabian had spent most nights in his bed, and while Jonathon knew he still had a month before he had to leave, he also alr
eady knew he was going to miss the man sleeping next to him. At first, he’d stupidly thought it was just the company and that his ardor for Fabian would lessen over time, but it hadn’t. In less than a month, Jonathon had somehow, with more luck than he figured one person deserved, fallen in love again. Closing his eyes against the morning sunshine, he could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears, and he tried to steady himself by taking slow, deep breaths.
“You know, Johnny,” Fabian rumbled in his sleep-filled voice, “if you’d stop thinking so hard, you could sleep a little more.” A hairy chest wriggled a little against his back, and he felt Fabian’s hips move against his, a more than ample shaft sliding along his butt.
“It doesn’t feel as though part of you wants to sleep,” Jonathon said with a smile as he slipped his hand back between their bodies, fingers winding around the shaft in question, earning a soft moan and a nip on his shoulder just as the alarm on the nightstand began its morning chirp.
“Why did you set that thing?” Fabian groused, thrusting into Jonathon’s hand when he tightened his grip.
“Because in a few days, you’ll need to get used to getting up to go to work, and it’s Saturday, remember? I promised to take your brother to the Prater.” Jonathon rolled over, nudging a leg between Fabian’s, their hips lining up. “This is a big step for him. The last few weeks before he starts university and begins to really take charge of his own life.”
“I know,” Fabian said, and Jonathon saw him look over his shoulder. “But it’s only eight o’clock. He’s not expecting us until eleven.”
“Yes. That gives us an hour to get cleaned up and dressed, and two hours for….” Jonathon leaned forward, capturing one of Fabian’s lips between his, tugging lightly as he slid his cock along Fabian’s, and got a deep groan in response.
“I like the way you think,” Fabian replied as Jonathon rolled him onto his back, pressing the younger man against the mattress. “And it just keeps getting better and better.” Fabian returned the kisses, hands stroking down Jonathon’s back.
