A Hyacinth for His Hideousness

by Tharah Meester

  Shamed and nervous, he tossed another swig of champagne down. He felt repugnant, desiring Hyacinth so much and not having himself under control. He’d done terrible things, and they constantly caught up with him and drove him ever more insane. He heaved a tremulous breath, and his chest became so constricted he felt his heart could barely continue beating.

  His mouth opened against his will: “Peculiar things have happened since this marriage. With me and around me and in general.” He spoke woozily, dammit, and knew he ought to keep his mouth shut! “He asked me if I like him. I said yes because it’s true, and by doing that, I…” He gasped for air, as though he’d lost his breath. His fingers grabbed for the balustrade and he closed his eyes. When he opened them, the city was still lying peacefully below his feet, divided by the river, which continued to follow its course in the dark as its waters rushed by loudly.

  “What, Gavrila? What is it?”

  “I’ll never touch him again,” he choked out and realised he was completely drunk. “How can I claim to like him when I force myself on him and pressure him like my damn father forced himself on my mother? I beat him because of an inanity! Can you imagine that? I violated and beat that gentle being! What kind of person am I?!“

  “Gavrila, you’ve never possessed anything so precious before and don’t know how to deal with it. You need to learn to chasten your temper and treat him well, then perhaps it’s not too late.” For once, Bartholomew seemed more like a strict father trying to moderate him than the casual acquaintance he actually was.

  Warm tears began to well in Vrila’s eyes. He seemed no longer capable of suppressing them. “God, what have I done?” Without taking leave of his host he rushed away.

  Behind him the glass door swung closed, and he ignored the curious stares directed at him as he hurried out of the ballroom. He had to be alone for a while to deal with all of his tormenting emotions.

  Hyacinth had said his entire life had been a tragedy, and it was clear to Vrila he’d contributed his share to that drama. That revelation drove a dagger into the middle of his chest. He could hardly breathe, becoming dizzy as he hurried to the bridge.

  He remembered bits and pieces of the conversation in Elwood.

  As if our ruffian knows what a gentle favour is…

  Well, if it has nothing to do with me, he does seem to know!

  The boy’s words resonated in his head, between his aching temples. He’d only ever been gruff to him. Gruff and abusive and … deserving the hatred expressed toward him.

  At last he reached the bridge and clutched the guardrail, squatted down and panted heavily before he could stand on his feet once more. He stared into the darkness where he sensed the spirit of his brother.

  Within his chest beat a cramped, aching clump, and everything in his stomach had become glowing-hot coals.

  “What have you done to me, you damn son of a bitch?! What have you turned me into?! Are you pleased with what you see, you filthy bastard…?” His voice broke with those final words, and he noticed tears stinging and burning his ice-cold cheeks. He pounded on the stone with his right fist until the skin tore and he felt warm blood oozing.

  For a short time, he remained silent and motionless until he finally found the strength to wipe his face dry and take a deep breath.

  “Vrila?” A soothing voice made him spin around.

  Hyacinth was standing only a few yards from him, wrinkling his forehead as if trying to interpret his facial expression.

  “How long have you been standing there?” Vrila choked out and feared he might have been overheard crying. His body was shaking like a leaf, and he had to force his legs to sustain the weight of his body.

  *

  “Long enough to wonder who you were speaking to,” Hyacinth replied warily so as not to further upset his agitated husband. But he had to know what was going on. His pulse was beating rapidly and painfully hard. What he’d seen made him fear – fear for Vrila.

  “I… said nothing.” Vrila shook his head violently, causing his long hair to swing back and forth over his shoulders.

  “You don’t have to deny it; I heard you. What did you mean by that? Who did you mean?” Carefully he took a stride toward Vrila who regarded him as if he were a ghost – a spectre who appeared to be a shadow of himself. He seemed desperate, confused and over-wrought – like a shy animal who’d been cornered. His eyes, unnaturally wide-open, reflected the moonlight. In a near panic, Hyacinth feared he might leap into the Meln, like Florin Genwood.

  “I didn’t mean to beat you!” Vrila exclaimed, and there was no denying that the incident weighed heavily on him – more so than on Hyacinth.

  “I forgave you; I already told you.” He made an effort to produce a gentle smile.

  “But it’s unforgivable. Just as much as… as what I also did to you.”

  Contrary to his intention Hyacinth turned red at absolutely the worst moment. “Don’t give it another thought.”

  “I forced you to sleep with me! And I’m not supposed to give it another thought?!”

  “You didn’t force me. You asked me and I didn’t say no.”

  “I took advantage of your being completely exhausted. I knew you didn’t want it! Naturally you didn’t want it, but I did it anyway! Despite that I laid claim to your body for my benefit and caused you pain!”

  “You didn’t! You were very careful with me!”

  Vrila forced a dismal laugh. “What a noble gentleman I must be! I was careful when I raped you!”

  “You didn’t, and yes, you were careful! I’m happy that you were my first one, because if someone had deflowered me on the street, it would have caused me more pain than you ever did!”

  Vrila looked thunderstruck. No, he looked more like he’d suffered a stroke. “Your first one?“

  Awkwardly affected, Hyacinth crossed his arms over his chest. “Yes, you were my first one. On the street I never did anything more than use my hand and my mouth.” He was nauseated by the thought.

  Vrila clapped his hands over his face, and his shoulders trembled from the long, deep breath he took. “No. No… what have I done? Why didn’t you tell me, I would have…?” For an instant he revealed a despaired expression, turned away and stared off into the distance.

  “Yes, that certainly wouldn’t have been humiliating to me,” Hyacinth bit back and tried to affect a self-parody of his own voice: “Before you, Sir, no one has ever shoved his dick up my arse.”

  “Hyacinth!” Vrila seemed shocked by those words, and his ashen cheeks took on a tinge of pink which Hyacinth would have considered amusing under different circumstances.

  “Why are we standing here discussing this nonsense? It’s already happened, so why don’t we just let it be?”

  “I’m sorry. I’ll... not come near you again.”

  Hyacinth was anything but happy about that promise. Anger overtook him. A strange emotion welled up inside him when he imagined Vrila satisfying his desires in a strange bed or in some side street. “So? Do you want to be looking around on the street for rent boys? That would be just like you! We’re married to one another and, dammit, we will satisfy our desires with one another, do you understand?” he demanded in an imperious tone – an intonation he’d never before employed so earnestly. However, there was this agony deep inside him. It was definitely not jealousy. No, it was rather a peculiar form of avarice. He had never before possessed something and now that he called a husband his own, by Hell, he’d see to it that he wouldn’t lose him.

  ”Hyacinth, the champagne must have gone to your head.”

  “I haven’t touched the stuff, my Lord,” he responded in a stroppy tone and clenched his teeth since he still hadn’t received a reply. “Vrila, I’ll make life hell for you if you ever betray me, do you hear? If you don’t want any trouble, then you’ll have to be satisfied with me.”

  At last Vrila’s confusion gave way to fury. “But that’s not the problem! You talk as though I’d have no desire for you! And yet…” He in
terrupted himself, as if understanding he’d already said too much.

  He’d spoken of desire for him, not of desire in general. Hyacinth’s pulse pounded a few beats faster. His husband wanted him – not just anyone, just him. That realisation put him in a state of turmoil.

  “And yet, what?” he prodded more calmly but elicited no response.

  Silence reigned for a short time until he broke it: “You’ll just have to make more of an effort, Sir, to help me get some enjoyment out of it.” Hyacinth’s voice was unusually raw, and he tried with all his strength to conceal his embarrassment.

  Vrila could no longer bear up under his gaze and looked as if a shiver would pass through his body. He shuddered a little and only briefly. “What are you saying? Are you actually listening to yourself? Have you gone crazy?”

  “What horrifies you so much? That I demand it should also be about me sometimes when we share the bed?”

  “I’m horrified by how graciously you’re treating me after everything I did to you!” Vrila appeared to have the urge to run away again.

  Hyacinth clasped his arm, holding him in place – Vrila stopped so abruptly they nearly collided. “Where are you running off to now?”

  Only then, when they were so close, did he perceive tears in Vrila’s dark eyes. He became aware of how deeply Vrila felt the self-accusations, fuelling his unnecessary self-hatred.

  “Come here.” He muttered and tried to put an arm around Vrila’s waist.

  “Don’t! I haven’t earned this!” Vrila attempted to wriggle from Hyacinth’s grasp. “I don’t deserve you.”

  He now understood why Vrila had refused his gentle kiss back then in the streets. He thought himself undeserving. Oh Heavens, the heart pounding in his chest caused him pain!

  “Let me decide whom I give my devotion to.” With those words he hugged Vrila regardless of his protests and his own fear of a further rebuff.

  To his astonishment, Vrila didn’t turn him away, but rather drew him, with a weak gasp, so firmly into his arms that it hurt – in a remarkably beautiful way, causing him to close his eyes and let himself fall. Once more, Vrila took him into his arms in such a protective embrace it gave him goosebumps. So this is what security felt like, even though the strange prickling in his stomach didn’t quite seem to fit in.

  An extraordinary mixture of relief and a sense of secureness descended on him. The strife had been overcome, and he hoped no more of that intensity would ensue. It had disturbed and shamed him to speak of such matters. In addition, it frightened him to see Vrila so drained. Vrila of all people… his cold husband with the heart of stone.

  What a lot of nonsense. Only foolish people who didn’t know him could entertain such notions. Hyacinth knew better. He knew what kind of person really stood behind that abrasive façade.

  Carefully, long, slender fingers reached into his locks, and such unanticipated affection brought a smile to his face.

  Vrila was as cool as ever, hardly any warmth emanated from him, but it no longer disturbed him and it could not at all terrify him as it had during the first instances of bodily contact.

  “If you have nothing against it, I’d like to go home. I can’t stand those fine ladies and gentlemen,” he stated, leaning on Vrila’s shoulder and thinking about the old woman who had earlier addressed him quite shamelessly…

  Curious, he had watched Vrila and Bartie withdraw to the terrace. He’d wanted to know badly what the two of them had to discuss. Did it concern the case they were trying to solve?

  Without any good reason whatsoever, he craned his neck as if he could then overhear their discussion outside. Well, at least he could see his husband tense up and grasp the balustrade. Was it their disagreement which still stoked his bad mood?

  Minutes passed at a tortuously slow tempo, and he wondered whether Vrila would tell him later what Bartie had wanted. And whether he’d be honest with him or choose to hide something.

  Without warning, one of the elderly ladies approached him and flashed a pitying smile at him. “Has His Hideousness molested you, young man?”

  A few men sitting at a table playing cards turned to him with smirks on their faces and seemed highly interested in that filth.

  However, Hyacinth was so shocked he didn’t know how to respond.

  Regrettably, this gave the old woman an opportunity to continue: “If he harasses you again, you only need to mention his long nose. Usually you can chase him off with a remark about it and shield yourself from hearing him say another word. That’s how we keep our distance from him. Isn’t that so, Amos?”

  The fine lords snickered. One of them – in his mid-thirties with thick eyeglasses and thinning hair – nodded in agreement. “Yes, he then presses his lips together so tightly that you can’t see them, tucks his tail then takes to his heels.”

  Again, laughter rang out, the sound distressing to Hyacinth’s ears.

  Vrila wasn’t repulsive, rather this crack-brained gossip was! These arseholes were repulsive, not his husband!

  Just then, from the corner of an eye, he saw Vrila leave the ballroom as if fleeing. Had he perhaps overheard the mocking remarks and was now offended?

  No, as a rule he ignored such drivel. What was it then?

  Hyacinth regained his composure and started to run after him.

  Before that, however, he addressed the malicious individuals in a raw, forcibly firm voice:

  “Mr Ardenovic is my husband, and if I ever hear any of you dare speak of him in this manner again, I’ll make each one of you regret it.”

  *

  In self-conscious silence they’d let go of each other and headed home. Both were equally quiet while they climbed into bed and turned away from one another. Except for a muted good-night wish, not another word passed between them.

  Though Hyacinth chewed on his lower lip. Drowsiness threatened to overtake him, but he tried to fight it, knowing his husband wouldn’t sleep. For loyalty’s sake, something inside him wanted to remain awake, but clearly that would be idiotic. It would have helped no one. He’d do much better well-rested and lucid so he could find a solution to the problem.

  His thoughts returned to the earlier conversation about lovemaking, and he remembered he’d promised Vrila, in a manner of speaking, to submit to him without resistance. A hot shudder ran down his back.

  Furthermore, he’d insisted that Vrila be more concerned for Hyacinth’s needs. Almighty God, what all had he said out there?

  And how would Vrila react once he’d thought it over? Would he change at all? Or would things remain the way they’d been before?

  Disconcerted, he pulled the covers up to his chin.

  He didn’t know how true lust felt – at least not when someone meant the kind requiring two human beings.

  He honestly doubted Vrila could demonstrate anything of the sort. His husband wasn’t the cold bastard he pretended to be, but despite his sensitivity, he wasn’t a man to display such passionate emotions.

  Well, perhaps – and hopefully – he was mistaken about that, but he was at least certain Vrila couldn’t outwardly express such sentiments.

  With a quiet yawn, he closed his eyes and in the darkness, a familiar image flashed through his mind. Vrila, pale, hair black, dressed in black garments, seated on a red chair… There was something dreamlike, something magical about it. All day long he’d repeatedly recalled this scene to memory, not ever knowing once and for all what he could make of it, how he could classify it, why it seemed so remarkably familiar and what it reminded him of.

  The contrasts, the colours – he knew these colours, but where from? Why did this image captivate him so much when it never would have made such an impression on an ordinary person?

  Weariness threatened to draw him into a different world, but he resisted, wishing to solve the riddle first.

  Suddenly it was clear to him what the image recalled.

  That… thrilling fantasy he’d nourished for a while and which had prevented him from getting close t
o anyone.

  The face of a man, pale in the moonlight, his jet-black hair barely contrasting with the night-blue sky, but shimmering like a raven’s wings in the light of a lantern and… the uniform of a soldier. The jacket red with golden embellishments, his white trousers tucked into knee-high boots.

  Involuntarily he licked his lips. He didn’t know why this vision affected him so strongly, and he knew even less about its origin.

  After all, there was no red military uniform in either the Empire or the Stakreich or anywhere else on the continent. Beyond that, he couldn’t remember when he’d ever met a soldier.

  Still, the strange unknown figure often haunted his dreams at night and during the day, whispered affectionate words into his ear and carried him home – for whatever reason, since his own legs were perfectly healthy.

  What an insane apparition! If he weren’t so miserably tired, he’d shake his head at himself and roll his eyes.

  How interesting he was too weak for that, but his manhood could stiffen as though expecting some special attentions.

  Thoughts about his military prince always aroused him. That fantasy was the only passion he knew.

  He’d have to see if his husband would ever teach him a few additional types.

  *

  For an eternity he’d been staring at Hyacinth lying on his back, his face turned toward him, a gentle smile on his lips. He was beautiful to the point of driving him mad. His slender chest rose and fell with each breath. The covers had slipped down to his flat abdomen, revealing his upper body, since he’d fallen asleep without a nightshirt on. His lashes cast shadows on his cheeks that Vrila would have gladly touched with his lips. His features were well-proportioned, his skin flawless, his curls wildly dishevelled and silky.

  Vrila swallowed and extended his fingers to trace the curvature of his mouth. Hyacinth moaned in his sleep, causing him to withdraw. His heart was already racing, but now its rhythm increased even more. He wondered how much it could stand… His hard masculinity throbbed painfully with each beat.