A Hyacinth for His Hideousness

by Tharah Meester

  Indeed, he was odd, but was that reason enough to exclude him, as they all did – some subtly, some openly?

  Sergei and Murphy reported on the most recent corpses at the morgue. In the last few days, no one had met a violent death or bore any indication pointing to the secret society. It was apparent the two wanted to get what they’d seen off their chests. Hyacinth tried to ignore them because he preferred not to hear about any more tragedies.

  “So now, what are you going to do with that?” Bartholomew asked, smiling gently and gesturing toward the notebook.

  “Try to piece things together,” Hyacinth said in a non-committal tone. In reality, he planned to share his knowledge with Mr Wiplay. His mentor was frightfully smart and had, by contrast to Vrila, the necessary objectivity toward those horrible events. Perhaps the old man could help him along.

  Bartie leaned over and lowered his voice even more: “Then I hope your efforts will pay off. At least your dedication is commendable. Gavrila is proud of you for sure, hmm?”

  “Oh, I… wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Hyacinth replied uneasily, strongly doubting so. There wasn’t a whole lot about him one could be proud of.

  The old man beside him seemed to notice his despondency and began to speak some words of encouragement, but Vrila beat him to it.

  “What do you mean? Of course I am,” he interjected half growling, half struggling to sound gruff. He must have cocked his ears to overhear their conversation – although at the moment he was actually speaking with Perkovic.

  For a fraction of a second, their eyes met before they at once looked away from one another.

  That cost Bartholomew a good-natured laugh of obvious satisfaction, and Vrila then gave Sergei his undivided attention.

  By God, Hyacinth couldn’t listen to Perkovic and didn’t want to. Instead, he pored over his notes, unable however, to tie any of the threads together.

  By accident, one of his feet bumped against someone else’s, and he looked up to see whom he’d kicked lightly, but no one seemed to react. Had it only been a table leg? Probing, he ran the sole of his foot across the cool obstruction and nearly laughed out loud when Vrila cringed and at once studied him in apparent shock.

  It was like a challenge to rid himself of the despair he experienced thinking about possibly losing Vrila.

  Those stories made it clear to him how quickly people could lose someone important to them. Up until then, he’d never had anyone whose loss would have caused him pain. Now he had a husband and losing him would totally shatter him. An idea that briefly took his breath away and made him desire having Vrila near him even more ardently than after his husband’s failed attempt to kiss him. Now his longing was almost unbearable.

  Thus he prodded anew with his foot against Vrila’s and noticed his shoulders tense as well the muscles in his neck visibly tighten. With his toes he rubbed the top of Vrila’s foot then swept along his shin with the sole of his foot. It appeared to unnerve his husband. Vrila put a hand to his mouth to clear his throat then fixed a glare on him which clearly meant stop. However, the creases in his forehead undermined his authority because he looked utterly flustered rather than commanding. Flustered and perhaps just as intensely yearning.

  Sergei asked him a question which he answered curtly, stiffened his shoulders and stared off into space when Hyacinth began to use his other foot as well to caress his husband’s leg. Vrila reacted with a fleeting lick of his lips. It made an erotic impression on Hyacinth and intensified the tingling in his stomach.

  Was he mistaken, or was Vrila inching a bit closer to him?

  It seemed that way, for he sank back languidly in his chair and slid down somewhat to bring his leg closer to Hyacinth. So he liked it – what a sweet triumph… and what an exquisite view he offered! His cheeks had taken on a hint of colour, and his expression something unaccustomed in its softness. The longing for tenderness stood written on his face. On that face that suddenly no longer appeared grotesque. The outline of his nose was extraordinary and as attractive as it was unique. The way his jet-black hair framed his features gave him a suggestion of audacity and, at the same time, caused his distinctive face to look less severe.

  Hyacinth couldn’t help but gulp as he observed his husband and continued unabated to caress him under the table. He’d have gladly used his hands to stroke those long, slender legs, and he wanted to put his fingers on Vrila’s thighs. However, they sat too far from one another for him to be able to do so unnoticed by the others.

  The prospect of more intimacy later excited him inwardly, and he attempted to express this longing with each of his movements. He braced an elbow on the table and cupped his head in a hand then sank even lower in his chair. When he explored the hollow of Vrila’s knee, the latter emitted a suppressed moan.

  “You seem to be distracted, Gavrii, if not exhausted. Are you alright?” Sergei enquired with evident concern.

  Hyacinth bit his lower lip to suppress a grin while Vrila tried with all his might to shrug indifferently and shake his head. “Nothing wrong with me,” he managed to say curtly.

  Once more he issued a warning glare at Hyacinth, but didn’t pull away from him. An unmistakable proof that he was merely self-conscious and didn’t really want him to stop. That was good, because he also didn’t want to stop. He wanted to feel Vrila, and if the others still wanted to remain, then they should do so, but they wouldn’t keep him from being close to his husband.

  A few days ago, who’d have thought he would have ever wanted that?

  Now he desired that one thing most of all in the world, and with such passion beyond anything he believed he could feel.

  Vrila massaged a temple and, for a moment, closed his eyes. His narrow lips stood slightly open, and the tip of Hyacinth’s tongue thrust forward as he imagined how it would be to lick this thin slit.

  Good Lord, he sat at a table filled with people who had experienced and told of gruesome events, and sensed his trousers becoming too tight. Heavens, something here was getting out of control, and he had no intention of rowing backwards! No, instead he wanted to continue seeing how Vrila was getting weak in the knees from his touches. He liked it, and it made him hotter than the thought of his soldier – to him it was as if a miracle were happening!

  Openly nervous, Vrila wiped his mouth and briefly bit the knuckles of his fingers. Hell and damnation; that man was as aroused as he…

  So as not to risk overtaxing his – apparently overstrained – husband, from that point on he did nothing further than to warm and delicately stroke his feet. Paying no attention to the people around them, they exchanged lengthy gazes that certainly didn’t ignore the heat between them, but mostly signalled their affection for one another.

  Vrila’s eyelids had lowered somewhat, creating a milder expression. All at once he seemed so vulnerable, so transformed. Perhaps those emotions had overcome Vrila as unexpectedly as they had Hyacinth.

  *

  After he’d closed the door behind Sergei, the last guest to leave, Vrila turned to Hyacinth with a lurch: “Why did you do that?”

  Hyacinth’s pulse quickened, and his eyes turned downward while, with an effort to appear casual, he leaned on the kitchen counter – though inside he felt not the least bit relaxed. Between them rose a passion that he’d kindled. “Because I wanted to.”

  Vrila, still standing at the door, rubbed his neck with a hand. “And why are you writing such lunacy in your stupid notebook?”

  “My notebook isn’t stupid,” he retorted defiantly and crossed his arms over his chest then immediately dropped them again so as not to appear defensive, but rather welcoming, toward his husband. “And what I wrote isn’t lunacy, but the truth. Pardon me if it makes you so ill-at-ease because I want to kiss you. I couldn’t foresee that.”

  Vrila stared at him, eyes wide open, drew a deep breath then tore at the hair falling wildly over his forehead – how seductive.

  Hyacinth knew he should make the first move, should show Vrila he des
ired him. However, he couldn’t; he was too fearful. Instead, he licked his lips and hoped Vrila would dare take the first step – previously he’d even been able to, so why the hesitation now?

  “Oh, please, will you finally kiss me!”

  Only when Vrila flinched did Hyacinth realise that he’d spoken those words aloud. At the same moment when he flushed a bright red, Vrila overcame the distance between them. He grabbed and yanked him to his chest which Hyacinth bumped against with a gasp and stared directly into two dark eyes before Vrila kissed him directly on the mouth. Hallelujah!

  His body felt like it was suddenly going up in flames, and the moment their lips touched seemed totally magical – as though he’d waited his whole life for nothing other than that kiss, as though that tenderness were the fulfilment of all his wishes and longings, the meaning of his existence.

  His heart thundered in his chest, and everything in his stomach was agreeably jumbled. Impetuously, he wrapped his arms around Vrila’s neck, pressed him even more tightly to himself and felt his hard erection through the material of his trousers which caused his abdomen to constrict. Their lips grasped wildly for each other, and when they tasted one another with their tongues, he unintentionally moaned into his husband’s hot mouth. Oh God, that was good!

  And it became even better when Vrila put his left hand on the nape of Hyacinth’s head as he let his right one remain on his back and urged him into the bedroom. Hyacinth’s excitement and arousal intensified to the point of assuming alarming dimensions.

  *

  Completely bleary from his husband’s unexpected submission, Vrila shoved him onto the bed to lie down on him – almost to plunge onto him like a hungry beast… His fingers trembled as he opened Hyacinth’s shirt to touch the tender skin hotly encompassing his muscles. While doing so, he didn’t allow their lips to separate. His tongue reached deeper into the young man’s mouth, and Hyacinth seemed to like it. The faint moans which he emitted, tantalizing and erotic, had their effect on him and his throbbing cock desiring to thrust itself into Hyacinth’s tight opening. He’d already possessed him twice before, but now it would be different, because the young man desired him just as much. Only, why? No, he didn’t want to wonder about that, didn’t want to question it…

  His heart was racing because of the kiss, the nearness, the willingness of his enchanting husband who’d turned his head.

  Hyacinth loosened his belt for him, and together, arms and legs entangled, they somehow managed to remove their trousers. He heard the fabric slide to the floor and the belt buckles strike the floorboards. Slender fingers worked in feverish haste on his shirt, pulling it half-way over his shoulders.

  If he now withdrew from Hyacinth’s tender lips, the young man would see his scars – a further blemish that would possibly repulse him. An unpleasant blow struck him in the pit of his stomach and he was happy his perfect beloved was keeping his eyes closed.

  Hyacinth slung his legs around Vrila’s waist to press him to himself. The sensation of flesh against flesh nearly drove him out of his mind. His manhood pressed against Hyacinth’s hard erection, and he reflexively rubbed himself on it. He became lightheaded with desire and impatience. He changed his position, pressed his cock between his husband’s firm buttocks and also groaned when Hyacinth did. To be wanted was something highly intoxicating, atomising to the senses.

  With his left hand he reached into a drawer for the small bottle of oil which – before the young man had entered his life – he’d only used to satisfy himself. To remove the cork and cover his fingers with the liquid, he had to withdraw from Hyacinth. A strange sense of regret seized him as soon as their mouths let go of one another – to kiss this man brought him such a sense of bliss he’d never experienced before.

  From the corner of his eyes, he saw how the young man wrinkled his brow slightly as he examined Vrila’s flayed upper body. Gunshot wounds, burn marks and whiplash scars… all of those caused his pale skin to appear completely white in many places and stood out for not healing properly, thus unavoidably attracting attention to them. He was ashamed of each one, although he could do nothing about how they deformed him. The war and his brother had been merciless. Vrila hadn’t deserved any of those wounds, hadn’t brought them on himself, but had received them nevertheless as eternal reminders of a past he couldn’t erase.

  With effort he tried to ignore Hyacinth’s enquiring, perhaps even disgusted look, but he felt his arousal dwindle and make room for another emotion. His boiling self-loathing which he’d been able to suppress – in Hyacinth’s arms – for a short while.

  He moistened his fingertips and shoved them between the young man’s bottom cheeks. With his touches he caused Hyacinth to moan once more. He still wanted it. As their eyes met, Vrila recognised the lust in his husband’s, but something else was also there. Something that unsettled him because he couldn’t name it.

  At once he was seized by the cool grasp of compulsion to achieve, understanding that this time something was expected of him. He needed to be good, needed to satisfy his lad and restrain himself until he had given Hyacinth pleasure. During the first times when he’d taken possession of his husband, all that hadn’t been of importance. But now it was, and suddenly he experienced a terrible fear of failure.

  The circumstance that he wanted to impress Hyacinth was only an additional log on the fire of his anxiety.

  Although I have nothing against you being as quick about it as yesterday. His memory of those words did nothing to help him, rather contributed to his manhood deciding not to co-operate any longer.

  God, could anything worse happen to a man when he was at it in bed with his husband? He had the hottest, most attractive man in the entire city under his sheets and didn’t possess the stability to take care of his needs?!

  And when this fair and beautiful young man looked at his hideous, grotesque face, and Vrila saw the expectation there, it became clear he couldn’t do this. He was utterly unable to!

  Without saying a word, he took flight, which made his defeat even more shameful, and left behind the last remnants of his self-esteem in shards.

  Chapter 11

  Exhausted and humiliated, Hyacinth climbed out of bed the following morning.

  Vrila had closed himself up in the bathroom, and Hyacinth hadn’t been courageous enough to knock on the door and ask him to discuss the problem. What could he have said? Every word would have been the wrong one anyway. On top of that, he feared the problem was due to himself. That he’d done something to displease his husband.

  After putting on his clothes, he stepped into the living room. The door to the bath was still shut, however he noticed the blanket was no longer lying on the sofa. So, Vrila must have come out at some point and retrieved it. Had the man actually slept in the bathtub?! Hell, he was acting like a child!

  Tentatively, he knocked on the door because he had to try. “Vrila, I… good morning. Will you let me in? I’d like to brush my teeth.“ He added a subdued please and felt his cheeks flush because he had to address his husband after the previous night.

  There was no response, both disappointing and infuriating to him. Wasn’t he at least worth a reply?

  “Gavrila, stop being so ridiculous!” he exclaimed without having considered what he was saying. “Answer me, dammit!” He drummed his fists a few times against the wood but continued to be ignored. It hurt to be treated in such a dismissive manner. Hurt terribly. He hid it behind his anger and gave the door one powerful kick. “Thanks a lot for acting like an arsehole! I’ve probably deserved it!” With that, he turned around, yanked his overcoat off the hook and left the house.

  Outside, he hid behind the nearest corner and let his face be cooled by snowflakes melting on his skin. The air was bitingly cold and made his lungs and throat ache. He sucked it in with one tremulous breath and rumpled his hair.

  What had he done to deserve that?!

  A soft grunt sounded from him, and he suppressed the self-pity he didn’t want to feel. He
coughed and opened the door to Mr Wiplay’s refuge. The bell rang to announce him.

  “Good morning, dear boy!” the old man called from upstairs, but Hyacinth couldn’t reply. He took the stairs in silence and saw that his teacher had made himself comfortable in front of a fire blazing in the hearth.

  Still mute, he took a seat on the rug. Staring into the flames, he let himself be scrutinised and wondered whether he wanted to talk about his troubled spirits.

  “Hyacinth, you’re pale, and your face is quite wet. Have you been crying?”

  “That’s just the snow. There’s nothing wrong with me. I was hoping you might take a look at my notes. Concerning the secret society.”

  “Wouldn’t you like to tell me what’s tormenting you so? Together we could certainly find a solution,” the old man said and took the notebook, let it rest on his lap und awaited a reply.

  Without a glance at the man, Hyacinth crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head. “I’d rather find out whether you see any connections that I don’t.”

  Mr Wiplay sighed lightly; he cleared his throat behind a hand before opening the book. “Well, if that’s what you prefer.”

  It was quiet for a while since his mentor had to concentrate on his scrawled and incorrect handwriting. Under ordinary circumstances, Hyacinth would have been ashamed of his chicken scratch, but now it left him unaffected.

  “Pierce Fletcher seems to praise his wife to the heavens,” Wiplay finally muttered and lowered his eyes pensively.

  Hyacinth told him about the paranoia that affected the man and how lost he appeared to be without his wife.

  “Hmm, yet I’ve heard several times that theirs wasn’t the best possible relationship,” the old man recollected.

  “Really?” That didn’t coincide at all with Fletcher’s assertions.

  “I’m no longer positive about what I heard, but she allegedly once knocked the stuffing out of him in the middle of Market Square so badly he hid under the brim of his hat and ran home.” He laughed softly then pursed his lips. “How much our memories are romanticised by what we saw at one time in a person.”