by J. L. Merrow
Despite the extra weight dragging on arms that felt as limp as the noodles in yesterday's soup, Simon tried to hang on and keep them from slipping under the water. But when Matt breathed out the words, "Fuck, that was amazing," in his ear, it was all too much. Simon let go with one arm, twisted around and kissed Matt feverishly. It was bliss--for all of the five seconds it took before they sank like twin stones.
* * * *
Matt broke the surface laughing, relieved to see Simon was doing the same. "That was fucking marvelous!" He pushed back his wet hair.
Simon's chocolate brown eyes were smiling at him, looking cute and vulnerable without their glasses. "I can't believe we just did that," he said, still laughing. "I can honestly say that's the first time I've ever had sex with fish."
"What, at your age?" Matt grinned. "What have you been doing with your life?"
"Cheeky young whippersnapper." Simon flipped some water at him, and Matt splashed back, until it turned into a full-scale battle that was probably scaring the fins off the fishes.
"No more," Simon begged eventually. "I give in. You win."
"Yeah?" Matt leered at him. "I'll be expecting a prize."
"You'll have to wait for that. I'm absolutely cream crackered," Simon confessed.
"Cockney rhyming slang? Are you taking the piss? There're penalties for that." Matt enjoyed the view as Simon pulled himself up onto the jetty, muscles clearly defined on his wiry frame.
Matt hauled himself out of the water to join Simon where he lay on the wooden planks, chest heaving in a way that did weird things to Matt's insides.
"Give me half an hour or so, and you can do anything you like with me," Simon said, smiling over at him.
"I might hold you to that." Matt grinned, but inside he was almost glad he'd have to go back to work soon. He was struggling with a daft urge to roll over and cuddle the bloke next to him, and it was confusing the hell out of him.
"I suppose you'll be going to university in the autumn?" Simon asked out of the blue.
"Who, me?" Startled, Matt laughed. "I wish. Nah, I left school without two GCSEs to rub together."
There was a silence. Great, Matt thought. Tell the bloke you're thick as pig shit, why don't you? Simon would probably piss off and go looking for someone with a brain cell now.
"So will you be staying here, then?" Simon asked.
Matt couldn't read anything from his tone. "Season here ends in September. There won't be any work for me at the hotel until the skiing starts up around Christmas."
"So what will you do?"
"Herr Meissner reckoned he might be able to find me something."
"He seems to take a keen interest in your welfare."
Christ, was the bloke jealous or something? "Yeah, well, what about you and Mrs. Lavoisier?"
"Oh, Mim doesn't work. Her parents and her last husband between them left her very well provided for. I'll be back to the grind, though," Simon added, like he didn't want Matt to think he was one of the idle rich or something.
"Yeah? She okay with that?"
"Oh, absolutely. Mim's got quite old-fashioned ideas in many ways. She always says a man needs an occupation. And honestly, I wouldn't have it any other way. It's quite important to me that I make my own money and don't rely on hers. Mim's done quite enough for me already."
Matt threw an arm over his eyes. The sun was bloody bright today. He didn't answer. What the bloody hell was there to say?
* * * *
He jumped when, after they'd baked in the sun for a while, a warm hand found his and squeezed gently. "I suppose you'll have to be getting back to the hotel soon," Simon said, with a hint of a sigh.
"Yeah," was all Matt could come up with.
"I've had a fantastic time," Simon said, sitting up and reaching for his glasses. They were the sort that went dark in the sun, and Matt was briefly pissed off with them for cutting off his view of Simon's eyes. "Thank you for a wonderful morning."
It had been wonderful. It'd been bloody wonderful, and now it was over and Simon was going back to that cow of a wife of his. "Yeah. Me, too," Matt choked out. "But you can't keep Mrs. Lavoisier waiting."
"Mim? Oh, I doubt she'll be worried," Simon said like it was the easiest thing in the world. "She's probably far too busy charming all the other hotel guests to even notice I'm gone."
Matt reached for his T-shirt and pulled it over his head, not trusting himself to say anything else.
"Are you busy tonight, after you've finished dinner service?" Simon asked, catching Matt by surprise.
"I--hell, it's gala night tonight. Goes on forever and I'll be knackered by the end."
"I don't envy you that job," Simon said. "Still, you get tomorrow night off, don't you?"
"Yeah," Matt found himself saying.
"Maybe...maybe we could meet up? I'll have to go down to dinner with Mim, of course, but after that?"
"Yeah, okay."
"Great!" Simon pulled on his trousers and jammed that stupid floppy hat of his back on his head, grinning away.
Matt wasn't sure why the sight of it sent a jagged pain darting through his chest. It wasn't like it made the guy look sexy or anything--in fact, he looked like a vicar on his summer hols. "Come on, I need to get going," he said, scrambling up the slope to the lake path.
It was a relief to get back on the Honda and feel its solid, comforting weight between his thighs. At least the Honda never let him down--and more than that, it was his ticket to freedom. He could go anywhere he wanted, any time he wanted to--just open up the throttle and eat up some road. Matt revved the engine and felt the warmth of Simon's arms around him. Don't get used to it, he told himself, even as he melted back into Simon's embrace.
He had a nasty feeling it was already too late.
Matt stopped at the outskirts of the village to let Simon off the bike. It'd have been too risky to take him all the way back to the hotel.
"Do you see a lot of blokes in England?" Matt asked after Simon got off the bike and pulled off his helmet. It came out a bit abrupt, but hopefully Simon wouldn't notice, seeing as Matt still had his helmet on. The wind was getting up a bit, and it felt cold on his back now Simon wasn't there to warm him.
Simon adjusted his glasses--they'd skewed a bit when he took off his helmet. "Not many, really. I...I was with someone for several years--Brian. We met at university. When we split up...I didn't want to see anyone for a long time after that." He smiled. "I don't know what I'd have done without Mim. She really helped me through it."
Matt smiled back, although the pain in his chest was back with a vengeance. God, he was being stupid. He'd seen how Simon was with Mim--and the way he'd just spoken about her had confirmed it. Simon might screw around a bit, but he loved her. Whatever weird kind of fucked-up relationship they had going on, there wasn't room left for Matt in Simon's life.
Matt needed to stop being so daft and start looking after number one. He was risking his job for this little fling--it was only fair he should get something in return. Right now, before he lost his nerve. He yanked off his helmet decisively. "Look, I don't like to ask," he began. God's honest truth, as far as it went. The words felt like someone was pulling his guts out. "But I'm a bit short this month. Just had to spring for new tires for the Honda and they don't come cheap. I was wondering if you could lend me a few quid to tide me over until pay day."
"Oh! Yes, of course," Simon said, looking politely surprised. "How much do you need?"
"Couple of hundred euros should do it," Matt said, not quite able to look him in the eye.
"Not a problem," Simon said. He pulled out his wallet and peeled off several notes.
Probably plenty more where they came from, Matt thought with a twinge of jealousy.
"Here you are--there's three hundred. Will that do?"
"Thanks. Listen, I'd better head off. I'll see you at dinner, okay?" Without waiting for an answer, Matt jammed his helmet on and eased the Honda back onto the road.
* * * *
> Gala dinner night in the Königshof turned out to mean champagne cocktails to kick off and an extra couple of courses to struggle through, on top of the five normally served. Simon would be the size of a whale by the end of the holiday if he weren't careful. Mim, of course, simply picked at everything and waved several courses away untouched, while insisting Simon eat the lot "to keep his strength up."
More than once, Simon felt like telling her it didn't look like he'd be testing his stamina any time soon. Matt hadn't glanced his way once and seemed to spend the entire evening laughing and joking with the other guests and one of the waitresses, a sweet-faced, slightly plump blonde girl in a tight dirndl. Although, to be fair, the restaurant manager was a constant, glowering presence, which Simon supposed must be keeping Matt on his toes. It couldn't be much fun working for a man like that. Odd that Matt always spoke so well of him.
"Now, how are you doing for money, darling?" Mim asked, clutching at her designer handbag. "Because I brought reams of travelers' checks, so if you need any more just let me know."
"Oh, I'm fine for now, I think," Simon assured her, automatically pulling out his wallet and rifling through the notes. "I've still got over two hundred euros."
"Only two hundred? Darling, what on earth have you been spending them on?" Mim leaned forward greedily.
Simon adjusted his glasses. "Oh, I, ah, lent young Matt a few hundred. Just until he gets paid."
There was silence. Simon made patterns in the breadcrumbs on the tablecloth, until he couldn't stand it any longer and looked up.
Mim's face was expressionless, of course, but Simon thought he could detect both disapproval and compassion.
"Darling, do you even know when his payday is?" she asked gently.
Simon's dinner seemed to shift uneasily in his stomach. "Well, no, but..." He rallied. "I'm sure Matt fully intends to pay me back. You know, if and when he can. And really, it's no different from tipping, is it?"
"I suppose his service has been extraordinarily good." Mim's tone threatened to desiccate the entire Austrian Lake District. She stood. "Darling, you're a grown man, and I wouldn't presume to tell you how to run your life. Just--please be careful, darling." She kissed him softly on the cheek and swept out, drawing admiring and somewhat wistful glances from most of the married men there.
Simon was left with an over-full stomach and only his misgivings for company. At the time, he hadn't thought anything of it when Matt had asked him for money--but the more he brooded on it, the less Simon liked it. Had he made a complete idiot of himself?
He'd have felt a lot better about things if Matt hadn't been behaving as if he'd forgotten Simon had ever existed. Tired and depressed, Simon downed his drink and left, walking directly from the balcony through the hotel grounds, past the pool and onto the path that led down to St. Gilgen below.
The scents of the evening greeted him as he wandered through the village: beer and fried food, which, coming after his gargantuan meal, made Simon feel rather nauseous. Underneath these robust smells was the heavy perfume of the flowers that graced the window boxes of hotels and private houses alike. Everywhere was busy, full of tourists laughing and chatting in twos, threes, fours or even larger parties.
Feeling like the only single person in the place, Simon fled their jollity to make his way along the pretty lakeside footpath that was signposted to Fürberg. Partway around the lake, he found a bench and sat down on it to gaze across the water. The lights on the Zwölferhorn marked the location of Gasthofs on the way to and at the summit of the mountain. Were they still busy at this hour? If so, it was doubtless just with the locals, as all the tourists would have returned to their hotels for the evening meal. Simon found himself imagining boisterous parochial scenes involving gargantuan steins of beer.
Perhaps Matt would head off to one of them later. Drinks all round, on Simon.
Kicking morosely at the stones on the path--to hell with the damage to his new suede loafers--Simon turned and headed back to the hotel.
* * * *
Matt watched Simon leave the dining room with a weird mix of regret and relief churning in his gut. Herr Meissner had been prowling around all evening, so Matt had been avoiding eye contact with Simon. Despite the weird open marriage thing, Simon was a bit of an innocent, and Matt had been worried the bloke might give the game away. He had a feeling Simon might have taken it personally, though.
Matt knew it shouldn't bother him--he had what he'd wanted, didn't he? A bit of fun and a bit of cash to tide him over if the promised job didn't show up at the end of the season. Matt was done relying on other people to do what they said they would. He'd learned that the hard way.
And for fuck's sake, wasn't Simon old enough, rich enough and posh enough to look out for himself? Not to mention sodding well married enough. But there had just been something about the slump of Simon's shoulders as he'd walked out--and he hadn't been going up to the wife, either. Matt wondered where the hell he had gone.
"Matt? Table six has no water." At Herr Meissner's sharp bark, Matt sighed. Then he plastered on his best smile and sped off to save the guests from dying of thirst. He didn't have time to be mooning over some bloke who'd forget him in an instant when he got back to England.
Simon came back again about an hour later. He took his hands out of his pockets as he came in through the door from the terrace, but his head was down low and he didn't even look in Matt's direction as he trudged through the restaurant to the stairs.
Matt felt like he'd kicked a puppy. He'd have to sort it all out tomorrow, explain to Simon he'd only been covering their backs--but they hadn't sorted anything out about tomorrow, had they? Hadn't made any arrangements as to when and where to meet. And he wasn't supposed to be working breakfast tomorrow--he had the whole day off.
Shit.
He wouldn't be able to leave the dining room for another couple of hours or more--way too late to go knocking on Simon's door, which would be a bloody stupid risk to take in any case. Herr Meissner would have his bollocks for breakfast if he got caught hanging around the hotel when he wasn't working.
Matt thought furiously. "Hey, Heike?"
Heike looked up from a tray full of desserts she was rearranging on the buffet. Her eyes were tired and her face shiny from all the running around she'd been doing. "Ja?"
"You're supposed to be on breakfast tomorrow, aren't you? How d'you fancy a lie-in? I'll cover for you."
"You will do that? I eat your hand!" She frowned. "That is right, or?"
"Or," Matt said vaguely, his mind on what he was going to say tomorrow.
* * * *
Simon woke up early next morning. He'd gone to bed convinced he'd be tossing and turning all night, but had in fact slept remarkably well. Moreover, he seemed to have come to a decision in his sleep. He dressed quickly, and whistled as he bounded down the stairs and sauntered into the dining room.
Registering surprise with her expression was a little beyond Mim's talents these days, but the way she paused, coffee cup halfway to her lips, was eloquent enough.
"'Morning, Mim," Simon sang out.
She set her cup down on its saucer. "You're up early this morning, darling. And if I might add, quite disgustingly chipper with it."
"I do seem to be rather cheerful, don't I?" Simon agreed, beaming at her. She looked away with a mild shudder. "I've come to a decision," he continued. "I need to start living in the moment a bit more. Stop wasting time obsessing over little details." Like, say, the odd few hundred euros here or there, or whether or not Matt might be taking advantage of him.
It was irrelevant. This was just a little holiday fling, and he'd soon get over it once he got home.
"How marvelous, darling. And yet, strangely exhausting." Mim took the unprecedented step of taking a bite out of the second half of her customary slice of dry toast. Then, no doubt realizing what she'd done, she put the rest back on her plate and covered it with her napkin in a decisive move. "Knock on my door when you come up. I feel in the
mood for a little excursion--unless you already have plans?"
"Oh, no," Simon assured her. "I shall be at your disposal."
Simon's resolution not to take things to heart stood firm as a rock until the moment he saw Matt, whereupon it did a very good impersonation of a pumice stone under pressure. Matt seemed...tired. Of course, he'd had a particularly long dinner service the night before. Shouldn't he be having a morning off? It was outrageous, the way that martinet of a restaurant manager was taking advantage of the staff. Simon's heart went out to Matt--forced to work such long hours for what was no doubt minimal pay.
He'd been an idiot, Simon decided. Of course, Matt might need a loan from time to time. It had no bearing whatsoever on how Matt felt about him. About them. In fact, it was probably a good sign. Matt trusted Simon enough to be in his debt. It was a good sign. A very good sign. Matt felt the same way he did, and might very well be persuaded to...say, come back to England after his job here had finished.
His spirits once again lifting, Simon waited at the table, then, when Matt didn't come over, sidled up to him at the coffee machine. Pretending to be fetching a cup of some herbal tea or other, Simon asked in a low voice, "Are we still on for tonight?"
* * * *
Matt was feeling like yesterday's leftovers--claggy, wilted and unfit for human consumption. He'd had a terrible night. He'd kept getting these urges to go bang on Simon's door until the bloke woke up and then tell him all kinds of stuff. Like, how many men he'd slept with, which was more than he could count, and how many he'd done for free, which he could easily count on the fingers of one foot -- none. All right, maybe that was an exaggeration, but still. Oh, and by the way, would Simon mind leaving his rich wife and taking Matt away from all this?
He'd actually got up at around three A.M. and started banging his head against the wall, but it had hurt like buggery and anyway, the bloke in the next room had banged back and yelled at him in German to shut the fuck up.