by J. L. Merrow
"Ah, yes. One of those times when youth is a definite disadvantage," Simon said sagely and then clamped his mouth shut, cringing inside. He sounded like he was a hundred and three.
Just past a house that proudly proclaimed itself to be the birthplace of Mozart's mother, they reached the Schiffstation, where the local ferries plied their trade from St. Gilgen to St. Wolfgang before chugging on to Strobl at the end of the lake. From there, Simon could see a succession of smaller jetties with signs offering small boats for hire.
Matt's friend turned out to work at the boat hire place farthest along the lake front. Simon bristled as the rangy, dark-haired young man threw him and Matt an all-too-knowing look before muttering something in local dialect too thick for Simon to catch. Matt laughed and gestured to Simon to follow the man along the pier to where a red-painted rowing boat bobbed. His jaw tense, Simon climbed into the boat and took firm possession of the oars.
* * * *
Matt had been expecting to be the one to do the actual rowing, but, to his surprise, Simon made straight for the oars and pulled away from the pier with a firm, even stroke that cut through the water with deceptive speed.
"Done this before, have you?" Matt asked.
Simon's face, which had been looking a bit grumpy--was he jealous of Rudi or something?--broke into a smile. It did weird things to Matt's stomach. What with that daft hat he was wearing and the way he'd acted last night, he reminded Matt of a kid who needed looking after. Which was dead stupid because he had to be at least ten years older than Matt. Didn't seem like it, somehow.
"I'm a member of Putney Town Intermediates." The oars didn't falter as Simon spoke. "We're not as competitive as the Seniors, but we win our fair share of races."
"Yeah? How'd you get into that?" Matt asked, after he'd mentally filled in the words, "Rowing Club" after all the cryptic stuff.
"Got bitten by the bug when I was up at university and rowed stroke for my college eight. We won our oars three years running."
Whatever that meant. He sounded pretty chuffed about it, so it must mean something good. "Where was that, then? Oxford?"
"The other place, actually. Cambridge. Although they do row at other universities, I believe."
"Bet your mum and dad were proud." Matt tried not to sound bitter. The way his own parents had just kicked him out of the house was like a half-healed scab he couldn't stop himself picking at--it still bloody hurt.
They were well away from St. Gilgen already, and almost at Fürberg, where there was a popular Gasthof. Bright yellow and white umbrellas dotted the shoreline, and the sound of people drinking and chatting drifted across the water to them. Simon looked out across the lake for a moment. "My mother died when I was ten. I've never even met my father. They weren't married."
"Bloody hell!" Matt couldn't help it; it just slipped out. "Sorry, but you just sound so posh and all. What did you do, take elocution lessons?" God, he was being an insensitive git, wasn't he? "Sorry about your mum, by the way."
That got Matt another faint smile. "Thank you. And I suppose I am quite posh. On my mother's side, at least." Simon's lips twisted, and his stroke faltered for a moment. "My grandparents disowned her when she fell pregnant with me and refused to have an abortion."
Matt sighed. "Shit. I thought I was bad off. My dad hasn't spoken to me since he walked in on me and this bloke--but at least he never actually wanted me dead. Far as I know, anyway." Not that he'd put it past the old bastard--no, he was being unfair. He hoped.
"Well, I like to think it wasn't anything personal," Simon said wryly. "Is that why you came to work abroad?"
"Sort of." Matt trailed a hand in the lake. After the heat of the sun burning through to his bones, the water felt icy cold on his fingers. "The bloke I was with, he said we should go to Berlin. Said there was a good scene there." He shrugged. Fuck, this conversation is turning heavy. "But it didn't work out with me and him, then I met Herr Meissner--he's the restaurant manager at the Königshof--and he offered me a job here."
Simon blinked. "Really? He seems so...stern. How on earth did you manage to..."
Matt had to laugh. "Not like that. Nah, he's a bit of a miserable git, but he's a decent sort, really. He's strict, yeah, but he doesn't stand for it if any of the guests try to take the piss--you know, hassle the waitresses, that kind of stuff. Heike had some trouble with this idiot on a conference, and Herr Meissner told the bastard where to go." The laughter died, and Matt gazed over at the looming cliff of the Falkenstein at his left, with its ten-foot inscription to some dead poet or other. "And look, I'm not really supposed to be doing this. I'll be in real shit if Herr Meissner finds out about me going out with you."
"It's only a boat trip," Simon objected. He still had pink cheeks, but it could have been due to the heat. The sun was blistering, and he'd been rowing for a good twenty minutes. Sweat was beading his forehead and beginning to darken patches of the loose cotton shirt he was wearing.
"Herr Meissner wouldn't reckon it was only a boat trip." Matt let a hint of a challenge into his voice.
Simon shipped the oars, straightening his back and wiping his forehead with the back of one hand. "And would Herr Meissner be right?" His serious brown eyes looked straight at Matt.
Matt smiled. Now they were talking his language. "Trust me," he said, leaning forward to place a hand casually on Simon's knee. "It's never just a boat trip. Now, are you going to let me have a go on those oars?"
They swapped places, Matt deciding regretfully not to take advantage of the opportunity for a bit more physical contact. Sod's law, if he tried anything, Simon would jump a mile and they'd both end up in the water. Which, at a later stage of the relationship and somewhere more private, might be fun, but not here, not now. Matt didn't want to scare the bloke off.
"This your first time in Austria?" he asked as he pulled on the oars.
"Not quite--Mim took me to Vienna for the New Year's concert once. But it's my first time here at the lakes," Simon said with a smile.
Matt supposed you had to admire someone who could speak so easily about his wife to the man he was planning to cheat on her with. Although, come to think of it, Matt didn't feel a whole lot of admiration. God, it was easy to forget Simon was married, since he really didn't seem the sort to take advantage of someone like that.
Not like Matt. "S'pose she's taken you all over the world, has she?" It came out a bit bitter, but Simon didn't seem to notice.
"She's been very good to me," he said, with what seemed like real fondness in his voice. "But what about you?"
"What?" Was he asking if Matt had ever had someone like that? Never for more than a week or two, more's the pity.
"I mean, have you confined your travels to the German-speaking world?" Simon winced. "Sorry. I sound a bit pompous sometimes, don't I?"
"Nah," Matt said, although it had crossed his mind. "Or if you do, it suits you," he added without thinking. "Shit--I didn't mean that."
Simon laughed. "It's all right. I know my own shortcomings. Too much time spent with crusty old lawyers, I'm afraid."
Lawyers? Was that the wife making sure he wouldn't get any money if he left her? Sometimes Matt thought he and Simon were speaking two different languages. With relief, Matt remembered the original question. "I've pretty much only lived in Germany and Austria. At least I can speak the language a bit now. Never learned any at school--we just did French, and I was always crap at that." Matt managed a smile. "How about you? Are you a bit of a cunning linguist?"
Bloody hell, it was easy to make Simon blush.
"I speak French and German, if that's what you're referring to. And I can read Italian, although I'm not very good at speaking it." Simon shrugged. "We used to ski in Switzerland every year, so I was exposed to those languages from an early age."
Matt was beginning to suspect that, while Simon's mum might have been a single mother, she hadn't exactly been living in a council flat on benefits.
"How are we for time, by the way?" Simon
asked.
Matt stilled the oars and checked his watch. It was later than he'd thought. "Better be getting back," he said regretfully and, picking up the oars again, turned the boat.
* * * *
Simon enjoyed the feeling of light-headedness that stepping off the boat gave him and couldn't seem to stop smiling as he paid Matt's friendly boatman. How ridiculous to have seen the young man as in any way a threat! He quite obviously wasn't Matt's type. Far too young and...uncultured. Matt was clearly after more than just sex. He wanted someone he could have a conversation with, someone with whom he had something in common. After all, if he was willing to risk his job for this relationship...
"Going straight back to the hotel?" Matt asked.
"I--ah, yes, I think so." Simon gave a good-natured sigh. "I should probably see how Mim's getting on."
"Yeah. 'Course."
They walked up the hill in easy silence. St. Gilgen looked absurdly pretty in the sunlight. With its traditional architecture it resembled something dreamt up by Disney--a concoction of gaily painted cuckoo clocks, with the odd gingerbread cottage thrown in for variety.
Simon remembered the touch of Matt's hand on his knee. "When do you next have time off?" he asked before he could lose his nerve.
"Oh, I only do meal times usually. I'm just covering for one of the other lads on the bar this afternoon. So any time in between, really." Matt shook his blond mop back from his face. "And I get a night off, day after tomorrow. Fancy doing something then?"
Two days away? That seemed like a long time. Simon was only here for a week.
"Or, you know, sooner?" Matt asked with a grin.
It seemed Simon's expression had given him away.
"Perhaps tomorrow, then?" Simon said tentatively.
"Sounds good to me," Matt said--and then, without warning, he grabbed Simon's hand and dragged him from the path. Simon found himself in the pitch black of a low barn a little way down the hill from the hotel's staff hostel. It was half-filled with firewood and no doubt crawling with insects.
"What are we doing in here?" Simon tried not to think about the spiders.
"This," Matt said, and kissed him.
Matt's lips were warm, tasting of sunshine and fresh mountain air with a trace of spearmint chewing gum. Soft at first, they firmed as the kiss deepened. They weren't the only thing getting harder. Simon felt light-headed once more as his blood rushed south. Matt was an inch or so taller, and Simon felt enveloped, overwhelmed by the younger man. It was a heady feeling, and he gasped into Matt's mouth.
Matt backed off a bit, laughing. He seemed the pure embodiment of joy. Eyes adjusting to the darkness, Simon could just make out the gleam of his teeth.
"Like that, do you? Think you're going to like this even more."
Struggling to find the words to ask what "this" might be, Simon gasped again as Matt swung him around and up against the far wall of the woodshed. The bark on the rough wooden wall scratched his back through the thin cotton of his shirt, and the scent of pine was strong. Simon stared unseeing toward the sunlit path as Matt dropped to a kneeling position and wrenched open his trousers.
"S-someone could come by!" he managed to stutter.
"They won't see us," Matt's voice said confidently into Simon's groin. Simon could feel his breath--even the vibrations of his voice. "It's way too dark in here."
"But--" was all Simon managed before Matt reached into his boxers and took hold of his achingly hard, sensitive cock. It was a better silencer than any gag, leaving only a whimper to escape Simon's lips.
Then Matt plunged his mouth down over the head of Simon's cock, and oh, dear God... This was heaven, Simon decided. The rowing boat must have sunk, and he was now in heaven. Matt's tongue was doing things so delightful they surely couldn't be a sin, and one hand was blessing Simon's balls with the sweetest of caresses. Simon stared straight ahead, the bright light outside their little refuge making psychedelic patterns on his retinas--until a vision appeared that, even now, he couldn't ignore.
It was Mim. Walking up the path with a gaggle of ladies of a certain age, meaning they all looked around twenty years older than Mim, but undoubtedly weren't.
Just as it had done that mortifying time when, aged twelve, he'd been interrupted by Mim during his first daring attempt at masturbation, Simon's erection deflated so fast he was surprised it hadn't ended up inside him. He was vaguely aware of Matt's mouth retreating from his nether regions.
"What?" Matt asked, sounding a bit hurt.
"Shh!" Simon hissed frantically. "It's Mim!"
From two feet down, there came a deep sigh. Simon realized he'd been wrong in his previous assumption.
Quite clearly, he was now in hell.
* * * *
Half an hour later, Matt toweled his hair dry from the shower, then pulled on his work clothes. He wasn't sure what to do and he didn't much like the feeling. After the fiasco in the woodshed, he hadn't been able to persuade Simon to have another go. They'd parted a bit awkwardly, and he wasn't certain they were still on for tomorrow. Trust that bloody wife of his to turn up right at the wrong moment. The old hag probably had Simon chipped or something, poor bastard.
Why the hell was he with her, anyway? Despite the glasses, he wasn't bad looking and he was good company, too. He could do way better than her.
Shaking his head, Matt took a last check in the mirror and headed off to man the bar.
* * * *
"Most of the other English guests have been coming here for years, darling. They all know each other terribly well." Mim seemed to have spent the day absorbing a stream of gossip about their fellow tourists and appeared determined to tell him the lot before dinner.
Simon tried to remember to smile and nod at all the right places.
"A little too well, in some cases--the Cromptons and the Frobishers were such good friends, or so I'm told, but then this year Mr. Crompton turned up with Mrs. Frobisher, and not a sign of their other halves..."
Simon's thoughts were all on the day's excursion--and its aftermath. Matt must have been correct in his assumption they were invisible from the path, as Mim made no mention of having seen him. Mim, being Mim, would have milked it for weeks if she'd caught him en flagrante. Simon was torn between mortification at the way things had ended in the woodshed and a desperate eagerness for them to start again. There had just been something about Matt's devil-may-care attitude...it'd fired up his blood like nothing he'd ever known before.
To his horror, Simon realized he was growing hard at the recollection and a bulge was rapidly becoming visible in the front of his trousers. Don't look down. Don't look down, he thought furiously at Mim as they went into the dining room.
As if she'd heard, she turned to look him in the eye. "Darling, are you all right? Whatever is the matter? Not having some of your tummy trouble, are you? I told you to bring some diarrhea tablets--"
"Nothing's the matter!" Simon snapped, his face growing hot as Matt came to greet them, barely concealing a smirk. Simon almost died of embarrassment whilst his nether regions, being apparently without shame, attempted to give Matt a friendly wave. Any minute now the whole restaurant would be looking and pointing.
As luck would have it, an elderly German lady, whom Simon had earlier been unfortunate enough to witness sun-bathing in a bikini three sizes too small, waddled past, taking care of the problem in short order. Simon could have kissed her, although not without entirely losing his appetite for dinner.
"Would you like to dine outside again?" Matt asked politely. He seemed to have no problems meeting Simon's eyes.
Was it really just Simon's perception of him, or had the tan on Matt's face deepened since they'd last met, scant hours ago? His hair, too, seemed even blonder and more tousled than Simon remembered. Of course, what those denim shorts covered would still be milky white... Simon swallowed and tried to think of kissing the German lady.
With tongues.
"Simon?" Mim's voice was a tad sharp. "Darling, w
hat on earth is wrong with you tonight? Come along...we're going out on the terrace."
Simon gave himself a mental shake and let her lead him outside, where Matt was already setting up their table.
"Now, darling, tell me what you got up to this afternoon." Mim sat, elegant as always, as Simon pushed in her chair. He was grateful for the brief period of grace it gave him to school his features as he walked around the table to face her.
"Oh, I just took a rowing boat out on the lake. It was rather nice."
Mim's expression went curiously blank, and he realized she was attempting to frown. "All alone? Darling, it's not healthy for a young man to spend as much time alone as you do. I worry you'll end up as one of those strange people who hang around city centers and mutter to themselves."
"Mim!" Mortified, Simon looked around frantically, heaving a sigh of relief when he saw Matt was out of earshot, attending to another table. As he looked across at the young waiter, their eyes met, and Simon's stomach performed strange feats of acrobatics.
Matt gave a slow smile and sauntered their way. "Can I get you any drinks?"
Simon pushed his glasses up his nose. "Shall we have a bottle of wine, Mim?"
"Oh, I think so, darling. You choose."
"The Veltliner, sir?" Matt suggested, his tone suspiciously bland.
Simon's eyes narrowed. "I think we'll go French tonight. The Pinot Grigio, please."
"A wise choice, sir." Matt nodded and moved away.
"Were you two flirting?" Mim asked, her tone amused. "It'll all end in tears, you mark my words."
"We were not flirting!" Simon shook out his napkin and laid it on his now thankfully quiescent lap. "And anyway, thousands of people have holiday romances every year. Most of them with waiters, I expect. Why can't I?"
Mim sighed. "Darling, you're not thousands of people. I know you--you're far too easily hurt." She reached across the table to put a hand on his arm. "I remember when you split up with Brian--you were miserable for months."
"For heaven's sake, that was years ago! I was barely out of university."
