by J. L. Merrow
If Simon hadn't seemed to care, Matt reckoned he could have handled it. Could have kept it all strictly business. But bloody hell, the misery on Simon's face last night--it hurt just remembering it. Despite his age, Simon seemed to have a sort of innocence about him. It made Matt want to do the right thing, God help him.
So when Simon asked, "Are we still on for tonight?" Matt just smiled and whispered, "Yeah, of course! Wouldn't miss it. Down by the lake after dinner, all right?"
* * * *
They met at the lakeside in what Simon had come to think of as "our spot"--a ridiculous notion, seeing as they'd met there precisely once before and it was one of the busiest areas in the village. But the trees lining the promenade were gaily familiar and seemed to lend an air of privacy. Simon's heart lifted to see Matt already there, waiting for him.
"You made it," he said unnecessarily.
"Yeah. Been here a while, actually--wasn't sure when you'd finish dinner."
"Oh, I'm sorry I kept you waiting--"
"No--I didn't mean it like that. I mean, I'm not complaining or anything." Matt turned to look across the lake for a moment and drew in a deep breath. "Sorry about last night. Herr Meissner was sniffing around, so I had to play it cool."
"Oh, yes, of course." Simon beamed. He'd known there hadn't been anything sinister about Matt's behavior. "I quite understand."
Matt was nodding. "Good, 'cause I was a bit worried, you know? That you might've thought I wasn't interested any more. Or something."
Simon adjusted his glasses. "Absolutely not. Have you, ah, had a good day?"
Matt shrugged. "Yeah, all right. Did a bit of laundry and nipped to the shops. How about you?"
"Oh, Mim insisted we take a taxi to Fuschl." It was a small, quiet village by the side of the next lake along. "We had lunch at Schloss Fuschl--you know, that castle hotel the other side of the lake from the village, where the German chancellors go for their holidays. Halfway through there was an enormous thunderstorm over the lake. It was rather spectacular--we were sitting outside, but they rolled out some enormous electric blinds to keep us dry. All very slickly done, and the forked lightning was like a private light show.
"The food was superb, of course." Simon suddenly felt a little awkward telling all this to Matt--lunch at Schloss Fuschl probably cost more than his week's wages. "Er, where shall we go?" he asked, hoping the answer would be somewhere private. He rather desperately needed to put his arms around Matt.
Matt seemed to consider. "You know the hotel has a private lakeside bathing area, don't you? No one ever goes there after dark. Or, you know, we could walk a little way into the forest," he suggested casually, as the customary twinkle returned to his eyes. "We might see an owl or something."
"I didn't realize you were a nature lover." Simon tried to sound sultry and sophisticated.
"Oh, yeah. I love seeing all the things that come out at night, don't you?" A faint shimmer of moonlight filtered through the trees to gleam off Matt's teeth as he grinned.
"Either sounds good. I see you brought refreshments," Simon added, nodding at the bottle of wine in Matt's hand.
Matt looked a bit embarrassed. "Oh, yeah, that. Nicked it from the hotel, but don't tell anyone."
"Well, if you get into any trouble, just say it was for me and you forgot to put it on the bill," Simon suggested. "Shall we go?"
As they walked back through the village, Simon frowned and cocked his head. For a moment, he'd thought he must be mistaken, but the faint tones of Mozart were, indeed, wafting toward them on the still night air, as if they'd wandered by chance into an old-fashioned musical. The crazy, light-headed feeling from when he'd stepped off the rowing boat returned with a vengeance, and he wished he could grab Matt by the hand and dance off with him toward the music.
"Do you hear that? How about a bit of culture before we go on?"
Matt didn't seem quite so affected by the magic of the moment. He shrugged. "Oh, right, there's the concert outside the Rathaus tonight, isn't there? We'll have to be careful; there'll probably be a lot of people from the hotel there."
Simon nodded impatiently. "I know, but I can't see any harm in us happening to have met in a public area. It'd only be natural to stop and chat, after all."
Matt looked dubious, but allowed Simon to lead the way. As they joined the crowd of people around the village square, a baritone voice rang out over the musicians. "Pa! Pa, Pa!" In the centre of the square, outside the gaily-painted Rathaus, a figure dressed in multicolored rags and feathers was calling mournfully.
He was joined by a soprano. "Pa! Pa, Pa!" A buxom young lady in similar garb started to thread her way through the crowd toward him.
"This is culture?" Matt whispered in Simon's ear, as the two continued "Pa!"-ing at one another.
Simon smiled. "Hush, philistine, and listen. This is from Mozart's opera, Die Zauberflöte. The Magic Flute," he added, guessing Matt's pragmatic knowledge of German might not extend to opera titles.
"You know, I'm pretty good at playing the magic flute myself--"
"Shh!" Simon dug his elbow in Matt's ribs in mock annoyance. He'd always loved this part of the opera and to be able to share it with Matt was an unexpected delight. The singers continued their stuttering duet as Papagena ballet-stepped her way to Papageno.
"So what's it all about?" Matt hissed, rubbing his side in a pointed fashion.
"The man in the feathers--that's Papageno--was feeling suicidal from loneliness, but is overjoyed now he's found someone to love--Papagena," Simon whispered back.
Matt frowned, apparently concentrating on trying to make out the words, now the singers had got into the "Mann und Weib" part of the duet. "They...want to have lots of kids? Not wasting any time, are they? They've only just met!"
"Sometimes..." Simon hesitated. "Sometimes you just know when you've met someone you want to be with." His heart pounded painfully in his chest.
Matt's head turned toward Simon. He seemed to frown, but he didn't say anything.
Damn it all to hell. "Or--or so I'm told," Simon hedged desperately.
"Right," Matt said.
Simon couldn't be certain above the music, but he thought Matt sounded a little hoarse. Was that good? Or bad? Or did he just need a cough sweet?
They watched together as the singers finished their duet with a kiss. Simon felt a pang of sudden regret and stifled it as fast as he could. Enjoy what you have, he told himself sternly. "Shall we go?" he whispered to Matt as the crowd broke into applause.
"Don't you want to stay for the rest of it?"
"No, I--I think I'd rather go."
Matt looked at him for a moment, then nodded, and led Simon away from the crowds, while the little orchestra struck up the overture to Figaro. They walked down a couple of short lanes bordered by meadows, the music fading as they left it behind, and emerged at a gate with a board on it prohibiting entry to all who were not guests of the Hotel Königshof. Matt pushed it open.
The light from the day had completely gone by now, and Simon was glad of the streetlamp behind them, illuminating stone steps leading down from the gate. The bathing area proved to be rather more than the patch of grass by the lake Simon had been expecting. The steps ended at a wooden building. Beyond, Simon could just make out the edge of a sort of small pier, very like the jetty they'd visited yesterday.
Simon's heart seemed to melt a little as he remembered. "Matt, I--"
"Got your room key?" Matt interrupted. "We'll need it to unlock the door."
Thwarted, Simon handed over the key. Matt turned it in the lock and then they were through to the other side. There were changing rooms and a large wooden platform over the lake. The sun loungers had been neatly packed away by the last guests to use the bathing area--Germans, Simon supposed--but there were piles of clean towels in the changing rooms and Matt grabbed a couple to lay down on the decking. He didn't turn on any lights, but the moonlight and the faint beams of the streetlamps gave them enough light to see by. Matt's blo
nd curls were like a silvery halo around his head.
Simon drew in a deep breath, but whatever he'd been about to say was lost as he was grabbed and kissed. "We haven't even opened the wine yet," he protested, laughing.
"Don't need wine. Just need you." Matt moaned, grinding himself up against Simon.
Simon found himself hard pressed to think of an argument and allowed Matt to pull him down onto the improvised nest of towels. It was surprisingly comfortable.
"What do you want to do tonight?" Matt asked, his hands pulling feverishly at Simon's shirt.
Simon struggled to get his scattered thoughts in order. "I don't know. Did you have anything particular in mind?" he hedged. Would Matt want the same thing he did?
"Want to fuck you," Matt said. "Can I?"
Simon's cock grew painfully hard. "That sounds good," he croaked out, lying back on the towels.
He could hear Matt's breath becoming ragged as he tore at the fastenings to Simon's trousers and the gulp of surprise as the zip pulled down and Simon' cock sprang free, unencumbered by underpants.
"Didn't--didn't know you went commando," Matt said hoarsely.
"Sometimes." Simon tried to make it sound like it was the sort of thing he did often, rather than a wild impulse that had made the walk down to meet Matt something of a torture, his paranoia insisting every person he passed could tell just by looking at him that he wasn't wearing any underwear.
"I like it," Matt said, his voice muffled as--oh, God--he plunged his mouth over Simon's cock.
Simon groaned. Oh, yes. He rather liked it, too. "Don't stop," he begged--and groaned again when Matt promptly did so. "Tease," he gasped out.
"Oh, I'm only just getting started." Matt's voice was a low rumble that seemed to resonate through Simon's cock. Matt started licking and nipping at its sensitive length, driving Simon wild with sensation. Then he began to work his way back up Simon's stomach, up to his chest.
When their eyes were once more level, Matt paused for a moment, on his hands and knees, looking at Simon, his face unreadable. With unexpected tenderness, he took off Simon's glasses, folded them, and placed them carefully to one side.
Then, as Simon blinked up at Matt, it was as if the gloves came off. Simon's mouth was claimed in a fierce kiss that took his breath away. A hand tore at his shirt, but Simon couldn't concentrate on that as Matt's tongue was stabbing into his mouth, mapping him out and taking possession. Simon scrabbled at Matt's T-shirt, pushing it up to get at the smooth, tanned flesh that seemed to carry the warmth of the sun with it.
Matt's still-clothed groin ground against Simon's erection as he bit and sucked at the sensitive flesh of Simon's face and neck. Simon's hands proved too uncoordinated to undo Matt's shorts so, with a growl, Matt straddled Simon and ripped the shorts open himself. He lay back on top of Simon without pushing them down, his cock straining at the cotton of his briefs, its heat searing Simon through the thin fabric.
"Please," Simon whispered, and Matt paused in what he was doing to push down shorts and briefs, then moved aside to strip off his clothes.
Simon took the chance to kick off his loafers and rid himself of his trousers likewise.
"God, you're gorgeous," Matt whispered.
Simon wondered if Matt could see his blush in the moonlight. "Bet you say that to all the boys," he joked, surprised to see a muscle tense in Matt's jaw in response.
"Not any more," Matt said cryptically.
Simon didn't get a chance to ask him what he meant, as, by the time the words had penetrated his brain, Matt was upon him once more. Matt's hands felt rough on his skin, and Simon writhed under their ministrations, gasping as lips and teeth found his nipples. He couldn't stop himself pushing up against Matt, desperate for more.
He got it. Matt pushed off him and settled back on his knees, fumbling in the pockets of his discarded shorts and bringing out a couple of foil packets. Just the sight of them made Simon shiver. He watched, mesmerized, as Matt put on a condom and slicked himself up, then bent forward once more.
"Okay?" Matt asked gruffly.
"God, yes," Simon whispered. He let Matt push his legs back, exposing him, and whimpered as he felt slippery fingers breach him.
Matt's smile was more like a snarl as he crooked his finger, hitting Simon's prostate. "Like that?"
"More," Simon begged.
With bewildering speed, Matt pulled out his fingers and lined himself up at Simon's entrance. His face serious, he started to push in.
It hurt at first--it had been an embarrassingly long time since Simon had done this--but the pain soon eased, leaving only an aching pleasure and a dizzying sense of connection. Simon could feel Matt was trying to hold back, trying not to hurt him, and the warmth of that feeling soothed away any residual pain. He grabbed Matt's buttocks, trying to urge him deeper. "More," he repeated, and Matt gave a low groan and started to slam into him.
Matt's fingers gripped Simon's legs like a vise, as if he wanted to be absolutely certain Simon knew he was going nowhere until Matt allowed it. Simon felt possessed, taken, consumed. Yes, he wanted to say. I'm yours.
When Matt reached for his cock Simon abdicated all remaining vestiges of control. He felt deliriously free, a creature of pure sensation, owned by the glorious young man pounding into him. When he felt his orgasm build, Simon suddenly understood why it was called a little death. He wasn't sure he could survive the intensity of it all--at the very least, it must change him forever. He cried out helplessly, hips jerking as he spilled himself over his stomach, over Matt's hand.
As the last shocks surged through Simon's body, Matt renewed his onslaught--then stiffened and grunted. He threw back his head, the cords of his neck casting shadows in the moonlight, while Simon stared up at him, marveling at his beauty. Then, breathing hard, he pulled out, leaving Simon bereft for a moment before Matt's sweaty body collapsed down beside and half on top of him.
They didn't speak. His face strangely tight in a way that made him think of Mim, Simon clasped his lover to his chest, stroking Matt's unruly curls as he gazed upwards at the stars that shone so brightly here. "This has been the best night of my life," he murmured.
The bottle of wine remained untouched. In a moment of whimsy, Simon sent it floating out upon the waters of the lake, there to meet whatever fate destiny might have in store for it.
Simon had a wonderful feeling he might be falling in love.
* * * *
Matt lay in bed listening to the rain that hammered on his window and the sharp cracks of thunder. They were separated from flashes of lightning by only a split second. He felt like banging his head against the wall of his room, but given the reaction to his attempt last night, he didn't think it'd be worth the aggro. Why the bloody hell had he done that? Let himself believe, even for just one night, that what he and Simon were doing actually meant something?
They'd lain there afterward, down by the lake, and for once Matt hadn't wanted it ever to end. He'd wanted to stay there all night, just holding Simon. Protecting him from all the Brians of the world who were stupid enough and blind enough to take his gentle heart and stomp it into the ground.
He'd let himself forget Simon would be buggering off with his bloody wife in a couple of days.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. It went against everything he'd learned over the last couple of years--bloody hard years they'd been, too, at times.
Matt had a horrible feeling he might be falling in love.
* * * *
The next day, Simon stood once more on his balcony, gazing across the lake. It was much cooler this morning, the sky bedecked with clouds. Several of them, more ponderous than the others--the hippopotamuses of the sky--had sunk low until they rested languidly halfway down the pine-covered mountains to either side. There had been a storm after he'd wandered dreamily back to the hotel the previous evening--well, night, really; it'd been long after midnight by the time they'd returned. They'd been lucky not to get drenched.
The summit of the Zwölfe
rhorn was hidden from view, although Simon could see the gaily-painted cable cars nonetheless making their steadfast way into the unknown and miraculously returning unscathed from their adventure. A particularly threatening cloud shielded the peak of the Schafberg from sight. Simon could imagine how it would feel to be up there--damp, cold, swathed in grayness, visibility down to a few feet at most. It would be all too easy to take a step too far and plunge to a messy death on the slopes below.
Shaking his head to rid it of these morbid thoughts, Simon dragged his gaze lower. The grass of the hotel lawn was glistening and fresh from the previous night's rain, and the crickets were once again proving they'd taken to heart the advice that if you only knew one song, you should sing it loud and long. Birds were chirping brightly, and the colors of the flowers that hung from every balcony in this area had never seemed so intense.
Even as he watched the scene, the light brightened and the clouds parted to reveal optimistic patches of azure. Simon felt his spirits lift. All he had to do was talk to Matt. Ask him to come back to England. Simon could offer to put him up until he found a job, give him a loan, whatever. The important thing was that they'd be together.
On his way down to breakfast, Simon made sure to stop at reception and ask them to add a bottle of Veltliner to his bill.
* * * *
Heike was waiting by the door when Matt turned up for breakfast service. "Herr Meissner wants to see you," she whispered. "What have you done?"
Matt's blood ran cold. "What, me? Nothing." Shit. Did the manager find out about that bottle of wine? If one of the other lads had grassed him up he'd bloody kill them. "Where is he, then?"
"In the office."
Oh, hell. That didn't sound good. Matt thought about pretending he hadn't got the message, but decided he might as well get the bollocking over and done with. Squaring his shoulders, he headed up the stairs.
Herr Meissner took off his reading glasses as Matt entered the office. He looked like he was frowning, but then, he always looked like that, didn't he?
