Fin&Matt

by Charlie Winters

  “Why not?” I kissed his neck carefully as he pushed me back a few inches.

  “Because I told you. I’m not looking for a handout.”

  “It’s not a handout, Matt. Jesus.”

  I walked into the bathroom and adjusted the temperature in the shower before stepping in. The water was hot on my chest, running across my face as I closed my eyes tightly. Matt’s hands wrapped around my waist, startling me for a moment.

  “Honey,” he whispered.

  I took his hands and uncoiled them, moving a few inches away. “Don’t.”

  He pulled me back into his firm body and began a slow torture of tongue across the back of my neck. “Don’t what?” he mumbled between kisses.

  I tried to be strong. Put up a front. Hold my ground. Instead, I melted into him, craning my head back into the crook of his neck. “Just… never mind.”

  “Fin,” he responded, turning my body to face him. “Please. Say what’s in your head. You can tell me anything.”

  I covered my face with my hands, carefully soaping my skin, acting unaffected.

  “Hey. Listen to me.”

  I rinsed and opened my eyes. “What?”

  “You can’t do that. You can’t hide from me. If you do, it’s never gonna work.”

  My body froze. Of course it would never work. He was Matt DiFiore, a living god, and I was me. Finlay MacAuliffe. Twenty-two year old (incredibly naïve) gay, rich kid with an inferiority complex. It pained me to think about losing him, but I had to face facts. Matt would likely leave me when another man came along. A better man. A more assertive man.

  “You’re gorgeous when you’re pouting,” he teased. He took my lips in a hard, short kiss. “The truth is, I’m wondering when you’re going to turn around and realize that I’m some broke fuck with no prospects and send my ass packing.”

  I squeezed some soap into my hand and lathered his chest with it as we stared at one another. Shaking my head, I let out a slow smile. “Never.”

  “That’s what you say now.” He rinsed and turned the knobs off, handing me a towel.

  “So what happens at work?” I was afraid of the answer, yet I asked regardless.

  “What do you mean?”

  I ran my fingers through my tangled hair and turned to him. “About us. I mean, what happens?”

  “Well, I don’t know that I’m ready to hold hands in the lounge yet,” he teased. “But it’ll be fine. I’ll still see you when I see you. We’ll figure it out.”

  I’ll see you when I see you? We’ll figure it out?

  “Sounds good.”

  ♂♂

  “So,” Eden began, looking at Matt, “what’d you do this weekend?”

  He took a bite of his apple and glanced at me. “Nothing much. You?”

  I thought back to the two-and-a-half days we’d just spent together. Talking, kissing, eating, watching movies, sucking, fucking, rethinking everything…

  “’80s night at some dive bar downtown. It was pretty fun though. What about you, Fin?”

  I shook my head. “Nothing,” I whispered, repeating Matt’s earlier word.

  Nothing.

  “Oh, Matt,” she said, smacking her hands on the table. “I have a girl for you. She’s in my spin class. If I went the Sapphic route, I’d totally fuck her. You want her number?”

  He stood and smiled, placing the apple between his teeth as he zipped up his sweatshirt. “Nope,” he mumbled. “Not interested.”

  “That’s ‘cause you haven’t seen her.”

  Matt glanced over at me with a sly wink. “I don’t need to see her. I’ll see you guys later, alright?”

  I followed that walk all the way to the door. That perfect body was all mine.

  She stared at me for a moment too long. “What do you suppose that was all about?”

  I looked up at her. “What do you mean?”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “He doesn’t have a girlfriend. I checked around. Think he plays for your team?” she asked, nudging me with her elbow. “Maybe he has a boyfriend.”

  If only she knew.

  I stood, carefully trying to compose myself.

  Matt DiFiore was my boyfriend. My first boyfriend.

  ♂♂

  I sat at the piano, letting my fingers absorb the pressure of the day. Matt and I had remained invisible for the most part, but I couldn’t help but feel anxiety flush through my body every time we had seen each other. Every subtle touch, every word from his lips, every smile that he gave me was pure torture.

  His lips on the back of my neck announced his arrival as I fumbled the piece. “What are you doing?” I whispered.

  He leaned close and spoke softly into my ear. “Saying hello. I missed you today.” The understated scent of my cologne wafted off of his neck as I breathed him in.

  “Matt,” I responded, standing with the hope of getting distance. “You can’t do that. We’re at work.”

  “I locked the door,” he returned. He moved closer, brushing his body against mine. “Everyone’s gone home anyway.”

  “You should go.” I ran my hand nervously through my hair as I backed away once more.

  “Can I come over?” He reached for my hand, rubbing his thumb over mine.

  “I need to go see my dad.” I let him hold my hand for a few seconds, but my eyes never left the closed door.

  “Right now?” he asked. He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to my lips.

  I swallowed thickly and cleared my throat. “Yeah. I’ve got some stuff to tell him.”

  “Did I do something wrong? You’re being – I don’t know – distant.”

  I turned my head away from the door and met his gaze. “You’re the one who said you didn’t want to hold hands in the lounge… you didn’t want anyone to know about us, so what happened? Why are you all of the sudden wanting to kiss me? We could be reprimanded,” I reminded him.

  “I thought you said Gallo knew.”

  “Yeah,” I barked. “Gallo knows about me. He doesn’t know about us.”

  “So let’s tell him,” he whispered, brushing his lips to my neck.

  I backed up a few inches, pushing on his chest. “You want to tell him? Why? I need this job.”

  “Do you?” he asked. “Fin, you don’t even need to work.”

  “Yes, I do, Matt. I didn’t go to fucking college so that I could live off of my trust fund.” I collected my bag and headed toward the door.

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” he called. “Please, Fin. Stop.”

  “What?” I said, turning toward him.

  “I don’t want to fight with you,” he whispered. “Ever.”

  “Fighting’s inevitable,” I responded. “I like fighting.” An involuntary smile spread across my lips.

  “You’re good at it.” He moved close and cupped both hands to the sides of my neck, leaning in to press his lips to mine. “But right now, I just want to go to your apartment and make up.”

  I rolled my eyes. “A five-second disagreement doesn’t call for makeup sex. Besides,” I kept my voice low, “I’m too sore.”

  He kissed a trail over my neck, stopping just below my ear. “I could kiss it and make it better.”

  My body tingled with the promise, shuddering at his words. “My dad, remember?” I reminded.

  “Can I see you after?”

  “Matt… maybe we should take a night off.” I didn’t want a night off. I didn’t want to be without him for one second.

  He smiled and backed away for a second, lazily moving the zipper of his sweatshirt up and down. “I don’t think so. You can’t get rid of me that soon. Text me when you’re on your way home. I’ll meet you there.”

  My mouth opened in protest, but no words came out. I simply nodded my head as he turned for the door.

  “Oh, and Fin?” He turned back for a moment and put the hood up, his blue eyes peeking out.

  “Hmm?”

  “I thought about you all day.”

  ♂♂

&n
bsp; “Finlay,” my dad nearly shouted. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”

  “Can I talk to you?”

  He turned off the television and stood, gesturing to his office. Once seated behind his desk, he tipped back in the chair with a smile. “Got something on your mind?”

  His diminishing Irish accent was barely noticeable anymore, but showed itself from time to time. It was there in that moment, searching me for candor.

  “I don’t know what to do,” I admitted.

  “About?” He fiddled with one of the handles of his desk, his eyes never leaving mine. “Matt?”

  I nodded. “I love him, Dad. Is that possible? To love someone after such a short period of time? I’m afraid I’m going to push him away.”

  “Does he seem nervous about the whole thing?”

  “That’s the thing,” I admitted. “He doesn’t. I’m pushing him away, I think. I’m afraid if I don’t, he’ll leave me.”

  He smiled gently, absently twirling a pen in his fingers. “Has he given you any reason to think that?”

  “No,” I said in defeat. “He hasn’t done anything. He says he loves me too. He said it first, actually.”

  He let out a short laugh. “So what are you doing here, Finny?”

  “I’ve never been in love before. I’m fucking petrified. I needed some advice. I needed the river or something.”

  “The answers aren’t down at that river, boy. They’re with that man.” The accent was back, luring me into the past to the father who sang “I See the Moon” to me in Gaelic. “Do you trust him?”

  I ducked my head, my chin resting against my chest. “Yes, which is probably why I’m fucked.”

  “Look at me.”

  I lifted my head to meet his eyes as he leaned into the desk, hands splayed close to the edge. “What?” I mumbled.

  “When he was here, he couldn’t take his eyes off of you. He looks at you the same way I looked at your mum. She was the flightiest woman I’d ever met, but I wanted her like I’d never wanted anything else in the world. Do you feel that way about your Matthew?”

  I could feel the tears welling behind my lids. Looking down again, I gave him a short nod. “He wants to tell Gallo.”

  “Your boss?” He sat up straight in his chair. “Do you see that going well, Finlay?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. He knows about me.”

  “Not everyone is as understanding as your mum and me, you know. You may think you know this Gallo, but you wouldn’t want to lose your new job over your private life, would you? Not to mention Matt’s. From what you told us, he needs the money.”

  “I told him it was a bad idea.”

  “I never said it was a bad idea. I just said that not everyone understands this lifestyle.” He blew out a long breath. “I apologize, son. I know it’s not a lifestyle. That was the wrong word, so I hope you’ll forgive me. What I mean is that people can be cruel.”

  I thought back to every slur I’d ever heard and shuddered visibly.

  Faggot. Fairy. Queer. Gay boy.

  “I know,” I whispered. “I wish things were different.”

  “They will be. Give people time. You’re an amazing man. You aren’t defined by your sexuality, you know.”

  “To them, I am. They find out I’m gay and everything changes.”

  He scratched his silver hair thoughtfully. “Have you been mistreated at work?”

  I shook my head. “No, I just mean that the male teachers there are standoffish with me. I mean, not with Matt, but that’s because no one knows about him.”

  “No one knows about him?” he repeated.

  “No. He feels like it would be a bad idea since he coaches the boys. Parents… I don’t know. You know how people are. Once they find out you’re gay, they automatically assume you’re a pedophile as well.” I shrugged. “I’m not sure how those two things automatically go hand-in-hand, but, like you said, people are cruel.”

  “I see,” he responded.

  “What?” I asked.

  “How do you think this relationship is going to work, son? I’m just worried that perhaps Matt won’t ever be able to be honest. I just want to make sure that you’re prepared to date a man who will hide you. Do you want to be hidden?”

  “That’s just it though. He doesn’t want to, I don’t think. He wants to tell Gallo which means that everyone will know. I don’t want him to lose his job and I’m scared to death about everything when it comes to him. He gets up to go to the bathroom and I’m afraid he’s gonna leave, Dad.” My tears fell hot onto my cheeks as I quickly pushed them away with my fingertips.

  “I can’t answer this for you, honey. What I can tell you is that I love you and if he’s worth fighting for, fight for him. Tell Gallo if you think it’s best. I just want to prepare you for the possibility that things may not turn out the way you want them to. But the question should be does it matter? At the end, will you still love him?”

  “Yeah… yes, of course.”

  My father reached across the desk and squeezed my hand. “Then perhaps you have your answer.”

  ♂♂

  The doorbell rang just after eight. I quickly checked my hair in the mirror and (not so casually) walked to the door. “Hi,” I whispered.

  Matt was freshly showered, his normally wild hair damp and pushed back off of his face. A snug red flannel shirt stretched across his chest, the hem barely skimming the zipper of his fitted jeans.

  “Wow,” he said. “You look amazing.”

  I closed the door behind him and turned the deadbolt. Looking down at my plain white t-shirt and back up at him, I responded, “You have low standards.”

  He pulled me close, wrapping one large hand around my waist. “You are, one hundred percent, my exact type. Everything about you. Never doubt that.” He dropped his duffle to the ground with a thump and pressed his mouth to mine, nearly scorching me with his active tongue.

  I returned the kiss, wrapping both arms around his neck and grinding my hips against his. When we pulled away, my pants were nearly bursting at the seams, dying to be released from their constraints. Instead of acting on my instincts, I headed toward the kitchen. “I was just going to make some food. Are you hungry? I don’t have much… I didn’t have time to shop, but there’s a little market downstairs. I could—”

  “Let’s go somewhere. We’ll sit down… have a proper date.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I want to show you off,” he said softly.

  Not five minutes later, we were nuzzled in the corner of a small, dark tapas restaurant, studying the menu by faint candlelight.

  “Albondigas, you think?” Matt asked. “Or maybe empanadillas?”

  I smiled, suddenly feeling shy. “I don’t know. You pick.”

  He sat assuredly, leaning against the back of the booth, both hands linked behind his head. “Let’s get both. And maybe some of those boquerones. I love those, don’t you?”

  “I don’t know what they are,” I admitted.

  “Come on… you’re a man of means. You should know all of this stuff.”

  I gave him a hard stare and lowered my eyes back to the menu. “I wish you would stop saying things like that. It doesn’t feel good.”

  “What? That you have money?”

  “Yes.” I cleared my throat. “I don’t want to be reminded of that. I don’t want you to see me that way.”

  “I don’t,” he said. “I was merely surprised that you hadn’t had a certain food. I figured you’d been to a lot of dinners over the years.”

  I looked around the small space. “I’ve never been here.”

  “But you have had Spanish food at some point, have you not?”

  “In Spain,” I returned.

  He smiled softly. “I’m sorry. I promise to try to be more sensitive when it comes to your bank account.”

  I stuck my tongue out at him playfully.

  “How long were you there?” he asked.

  “In Spain?”

 
He nodded, taking a sip of his sangria.

  “Um… two weeks, I think. I was in high school. My mom wanted to see the Magic Fountain of Montjuic. She was convinced that if we sat next to it long enough, we would have good luck.”

  “Did you?”

  I smiled. “I don’t know. I guess. My dad was sort of there on business at the time. He got the contract he was vying for. Of course, she was assured that it was the fountain. Honestly, I didn’t think it was much different than the Bellagio.” I shrugged my shoulders. “Same concept. Music and a light show for tourists.”

  The server approached, brandishing a wide smile for Matt. “What can I get you?”

  Matt reached across the table for my hand. He rubbed his thumb against mine before responding, “Fin? Albondigas?”

  “Sure.”

  “Okay, we’ll have the albondigas, the empanadillas, and the boquerones.”

  “Good choice,” the man said, lingering a few seconds too long while chewing on his bottom lip. “I’ll put those in.”

  His body was slender and tall, baring odd similarities to mine. When he strode away, there was a definite swagger intended just for Matt. I followed his near-prance all the way into the kitchen before turning back to my date. Matt was smiling, tipping the glass of burgundy liquid to his lips.

  “What’s happening in there, MacAuliffe?”

  “That man was so… bold.”

  “You jealous?” he asked.

  “No,” I lied. “I just can’t believe he acted like that. He had to know we were on a date.”

  “I don’t want him,” he whispered, leaning across the table for a soft kiss. “I want you.”

  I clasped the collar of his flannel shirt lightly and let my lips idle against his. Part of me was waiting for Matt’s admirer to get an eyeful (that’s my man!); the other part just couldn’t stand to be apart from him for one more second. His tongue brushed mine briefly before slowly exiting the embrace.

  “You taste good,” he commented. “Like peaches.”

  I swirled my glass of white sangria in my palm, carefully biting a peach off of the top. I chewed it casually; making sure my eyes never left his. “Thank you.”