Not All Chocolate and Cuckoo Clocks

by Rebecca Cohen

  “For some reason, I didn’t think you’d like this sort of place,” Mark said to Steffen, sipping his beer. “I thought you be one for an upscale private lounge or a pricey restaurant.”

  “This place is not far from that. But I do tend to prefer somewhere a little quieter, where I can sit back and relax more. Nikola, my cousin”—Steffen pointed to the young man, and Mark felt like a complete lowlife for doubting him—“wanted to have a few drinks together after the meal. I like it in here, but I feel a bit too much on display.”

  “Only because you’re a prize peacock. But you could attract attention in a black hole.”

  “I will take that as a compliment, whether you meant it as one or not.”

  It was all too easy to pretend to be Steffen’s boyfriend, although he’d scaled back how he would usually act. Less touching, innuendo kept to a minimum, not wanting to step over the line they had drawn for themselves.

  Nikola was getting restless. “Who is up for a club?”

  “I’ll be up for that,” said Carl. “Don’t get the chance as often these days—and it’ll be even rarer once the baby arrives.”

  Mark had no interest in heading to a club. He would be much happier slipping into his pajamas and settling down with a book than shaking his arse on a dance floor. “I’ll leave you to it. I’m not feeling a club tonight.”

  Carl looked disappointed. “Come on, Mark. You’re not that old.”

  “Old enough not to succumb to peer pressure, thank you very much.”

  Carl shrugged. “Suit yourself. I’m sure our new friends will see me right. You can enjoy your jealousy when I tell you all about it on Monday.”

  Steffen leaned in close. “Will you come home with me tonight?”

  Those pajamas were suddenly a lot less appealing. “Not going to make sure your cousin behaves herself?”

  “I gave up trying to do that when she was fourteen.”

  MARK STRETCHED as he woke up in Steffen’s comfortable bed. He rolled over and reached out to check the time but knocked his watch off the side of the bed. “Shit.”

  “You are so graceful. I wonder why the ballet has not called on you for your services.”

  “Ha, ha. Fuck you.”

  “On recent evidence, it has most definitely been the other way around.”

  He resisted the urge to stick out his tongue at Steffen and leaned over the edge to retrieve his watch. Somehow it had fallen through the crack in the slightly open drawer in the bedside table. Mark pulled it open, and his eyes widened at the selection of sex toys he found. Several dildos in different sizes, a collection of butt plugs, a few items he had no clue of what they were, and a pile of scarves, which he imagined, in context with the rest of the drawer’s contents, were used as restraints. “Bloody hell. How many have you got in there?”

  Steffen rolled over and pressed up against him, peering over his shoulder. “You have found my fun drawer. See anything that you would like to use?”

  Mark spotted his watch—resting across a cock ring—grabbed it, and slammed the drawer shut. Looking at the things in that drawer was a damning indictment of how vanilla his sex life had been. The idea of using toys didn’t bother him, and although he’d never really used them in the past, he wouldn’t mind a spot of experimentation. However, any excitement that he might have at the thought was tempered by the knowledge that everything in that drawer would have been used with someone else. He was being a jealous prick again.

  “Not really my thing,” he said, although it came out as a squeak.

  “No? I could not persuade you?” Steffen pressed a kiss to his shoulder.

  He wanted Steffen to drop the subject. “I’m not that keen on having a dildo up my arse that’s been up someone else’s.”

  Steffen huffed, although it sounded amused, not annoyed, and rolled away. “Most of the toys there have been used for self-pleasure.”

  “That does surprise me. I thought you’d have used them with some of your previous playmates.”

  “I am an extremely busy man. Sometimes I do not have the time or the energy to hunt for playmates, as you call them.”

  Mark knew Steffen worked hard, but he’d come to the conclusion that Steffen played hard, and once again he felt a bit of an arsehole, making assumptions. It wasn’t Steffen’s fault Mark had turned into a boring git with jealous tendencies. “But I know you’ve had a lot of lovers. I suppose we’ve never really talked about our sexual history.”

  He turned around to see Steffen lying on his back with his arm thrown over his face. “Do you want an absolute number, as that might take some time, or will you be satisfied with many?”

  “I wasn’t asking for a number.” He didn’t need to know, and his unwarranted jealousy from the night before and over the toys needed to stop. They’d never said anything about not being with other people, and on reflection that was an oversight. As much as he might deny it, even though this was a casual relationship, he didn’t like the idea of Steffen sleeping with other people.

  Steffen turned to face him. “Then what are you asking?”

  Mark leaned against the headboard, staring at the ceiling. He decided to be honest. Knowing where he stood meant he wouldn’t constantly obsess about it. “When we joined you and your friends last night, I saw you talking to Nikola, and before I knew he was your cousin, I was jealous—okay. You did say at one point it wasn’t a problem me not liking certain things because there are always others who would.”

  “Mark, I am not seeing anyone else at the moment. And it is not just because I am busy.” Steffen moved closer and placed a hand on Mark’s thigh. “I am enjoying spending this time with you, and I had not even considered seeing someone else while you are in Basel.”

  The words made his heart stutter in relief, but he still asked, “Even though I might not want to do something you want to?”

  “Oh, Mark, you must not think so little of yourself. Why you believe you are not enough to keep me interested, I have no idea.”

  Past experience, Mark thought bitterly to himself. “You mentioned other people.”

  “Only after you did!”

  Mark supposed Steffen had a point. He sighed. “I’ve been called selfish by more than one partner, so I suppose there must be something in it.”

  “You are not the only one to be accused of that. Just because you do not want to do what someone else wants to do, or you will not or cannot do something at a certain time, does not make you selfish. I suspect you’ve always tried but it was not enough.”

  “You may be right. Although I could’ve tried harder.”

  Steffen squeezed his thigh. “It would never have been enough. Those that constantly ask will only ask for more.”

  It was nice to hear the words, but at the same time, knowing that nothing would progress with Steffen beyond what they already had made them bittersweet. They seemed so well matched, physically and in personality. Steffen’s directness wasn’t overbearing, maybe a bit disconcerting when he’d first encountered it, but now he was used to his manner. He liked that if he asked a question he would get an honest answer, as long as he was prepared either not to like what he heard or have to provide an answer in reply.

  Steffen wrapped an arm about Mark’s middle, and Mark let himself be pulled back down the bed and into a deep kiss. He told his brain to shut up and melted into the kiss, determined to enjoy the moment.

  Chapter Eight

  STEFFEN LOVED the buildup to Fasnacht. The city seemed to buzz with anticipation. Cafés and restaurants began to hang their lanterns, and shop windows filled with designs of Waggis and the parades that made the spring carnival special. The bakeries were already producing the traditional breads and cakes, and he couldn’t resist buying a couple on his way home. He munched happily on a Fastenwähe, the flavor of the caraway seeds sprinkled over the wheel-shaped bread bursting across his tongue and sending him back in time to his childhood, when this was his regular afterschool treat.

  He would be glad once t
he winter nights were behind them, but for now he made his way home in the dark, grateful for decent street lighting and that the weather had been slightly warmer the last few days. The breeze across the river had him burrowing into his scarf and wishing he hadn’t left his hat on the kitchen counter that morning. He wished the river Fähri was running so he could enjoy the ride as the little boat glided effortlessly across the river, attached to the overhead cable that let it take advantage of the Rhine’s current. But he was too late; the Fähri didn’t run after 5:00 p.m. at this time of year, and he doubted even if it were still light that the boat would be in operation, thanks to the choppy high waters, swelled by the heavy rain of the preceding week. He wondered if Mark had ever taken the boat and mentally added catching a Fähri across the Rhine to the list of things he wanted Mark to experience while in Basel.

  Mark had arranged to meet him at home, and Steffen didn’t want to be late. He debated catching a tram, but by the time he diverted to the nearest tram route, he’d be just as quick walking, and truthfully, he wouldn’t mind the exercise, having been in meetings for most of the day. He pressed on, spotting Mark’s familiar figure ahead of him as he approached his apartment block. Mark looked like he was about to ring his bell when Steffen greeted him. “Perfect timing.”

  Mark jerked around. “Jesus, Steffen, you’re one sneaky bugger.”

  Steffen laughed. He’d always liked the English use of bugger; something that could be very rude if used in a different way was often turned into a backhanded term of endearment. “Nice to see you too. Let’s get inside.”

  “I’m starving. I missed lunch again, and Carl ate the last doughnut before I got the chance to have one.”

  Steffen handed him the paper bag that contained the other Fastenwähe. “Have this. It will sate you until I have cooked.”

  Mark followed him inside, and Steffen was pleased to hear a satisfied groan as Mark bit into the Fastenwähe. “My God, it might be the hunger talking, but this is amazing.”

  “It is a specialty of Fasnacht.”

  “Then maybe you are right about this spring carnival being so good if everything is like this.”

  “You will see for yourself on Monday morning.”

  Mark huffed. “I’ve been trying not to think about the inhumanly early start. It better be worth it.”

  “It will be,” Steffen assured him. Based on the time they’d spent together in the last couple of weeks, he was convinced Mark would love Fasnacht, or at least never have experienced anything like it.

  “Well, I will definitely be seeking out more of these bready lovelies to fill the gap of lunch.”

  Steffen shook his head. “You should not be skipping lunch. It will not help your concentration level.”

  “I know. I do have emergency cereal bars in my desk. It’s enough to stop me wanting to gnaw my own leg off, but then I’m proper ravenous after work.”

  Giselle, who Steffen had assigned to the project Mark was working on, had told him earlier that afternoon that Mark had impressed her by being able to steer the project away from a situation that could’ve escalated badly—a good skill for any project manager, so he doubted Mark’s work was suffering. He’d been strangely proud to hear it, but couldn’t really rationalize his reaction. They traveled up in the lift, and Steffen let them into the apartment. “Then you should make sure you have a decent dinner in the evening.”

  “That’s why I’m here,” Mark said, elbowing Steffen playfully. “I’ve only got a double hot plate for cooking, and my usual culinary skills at home don’t extend much further than reading the instructions on the packet and then placing a ready meal in an oven—if I’m feeling adventurous I might have some frozen veg.”

  “I am amazed you have survived this long.”

  Steffen hung up their coats and, once shoes had been kicked off, led the way into the living area, where Mark took up residence at the kitchen counter. “I can cook, you know. I just can’t be arsed when it’s just me,” Mark said, and accepted a glass of wine.

  Steffen retrieved the ingredients for a stir-fry from the fridge and set about chopping vegetables. “I suppose I can understand that. But I find the act of cooking very therapeutic. You follow the instructions, deviate if you think you can improve the end result, and then you have produced something yourself.”

  Mark peered at him over the rim of his wineglass, and Steffen thought he was being analyzed. He was right.

  “But it’s more than that for you, isn’t it? I bet it’s also a control thing. If you cook for yourself, then you have full oversight of the ingredients.”

  “Is that so?”

  Mark shrugged. “You have to admit, being in control is a big thing for you.”

  “I can hardly deny it.” He’d always had a tendency to want to be his own master. It wasn’t a matter of being dominant over people, but his need to be in control of himself and his immediate situation had increased over the years.

  “It’s not a bad thing, Steffen. You know what you prefer and you stick to it.” Mark sipped his wine. “I mean, think about it. In bed I always got the impression you’d not be very inclined to bottom. Not that it’s an issue,” he added quickly.

  “I will have you know that I do not have a problem with being fucked. You’ve seen my toy collection.”

  “True, but you’re the one in control of the toys, aren’t you?”

  He might have stabbed a piece of chicken a little harder than needed. “I have seen, firsthand, that you know you can still be in control and have a cock up your arse.”

  “But not everyone thinks that way.”

  The conversation had taken an unexpected direction, and Steffen hadn’t meant to sound so defensive. Mark was staring pensively at his wineglass, and Steffen wanted to know what was running through his head.

  “When I fuck someone, I want it to be enjoyable for my partner.”

  Mark nodded. “Same here. We all do things to make other people happy, but I’m not talking about that. I went from being free and easy to wanting more stability. Unfortunately I don’t think I’ve been too successful. Instead I’ve had more than one boyfriend use sex as a bargaining tool. Kyle, in particular, used sex to get his own way. Y’know, to get me to change my mind he’d bring up having done something to please me, even though I hadn’t thought that the case when we’d been in bed. Looking back, I was an idiot to put up with it, but, well, young love is particularly stupid.”

  Mark’s experience sounded close to his own, and he had sworn after Peter he would never let himself get into the same situation again. “You are not the only one to have dated someone not right for them.” He hesitated before continuing, momentarily unsure how much he wanted to share with Mark, but Mark had been open with him. “It took me a long time to recover from my last boyfriend. Some of my friends would say I have yet to.”

  Mark set his glass down on the counter. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, Steffen. But if it would help in any way, I’m willing to listen.”

  He wanted Mark to know. He’d missed this side of a relationship, having someone to confide in. “His name was Peter. I met him a few years after returning to Switzerland after my PhD. Everything was great at first. People thought we were a perfect couple—my mother still makes hopeful noises that we might get back together. But after wasting five years, that will not be the case.”

  “Charming, was he?”

  “Absolutely.” Steffen loosened the grip on the knife he was holding and carefully set it down. “I should have heard the alarm bells ringing earlier. Even though we were together five years, he had no interest in us living together. I caught him fucking someone else, and I found out that was not the first time by a long way.”

  Mark slid off his chair and joined Steffen on the other side of the counter. He pulled Steffen into a hug, and Steffen went willingly. “He’s an arsehole. I’m sure you know that you’re better off without him.”

  Holding Mark felt so good, and so did letting himsel
f be comforted over something that should have been a distant memory. Mark wasn’t judging him or telling him to move on and get over it, and that had more restorative powers than any of the drinking sessions his friends had arranged for him to drown his sorrows. He’d spent three years fucking whoever was willing, but now he wanted more. He was so fucked. This fling with Mark was not meant to be permanent. It was supposed to be the final phase of moving on after Peter, a stepping-stone to being in the right place to find a partner. That partner wasn’t meant to be Mark, nor could he be, not when Mark would be returning home to the UK.

  He had half-heartedly tried to put some distance between them, but his resolve had dissipated when he’d seen Mark in Noohn. He had to admit that he had fallen for Mark, and he was going to have to deal with a bruised heart when Mark left for good, but for now he would try to enjoy every moment he could.

  Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to check the frequency of flights between London and Basel, just to confirm that the distance was too great to consider a long-distance relationship. That would put an end to this madness once and for all.

  Mark stepped back, but Steffen had no intention of letting go. He brushed his lips against Mark’s. “Let me feed you. Then we can go to bed and demonstrate repeatedly that whichever position you’re in, control is something shared. And there will be no talk of owing anybody anything.”

  Chapter Nine

  MARK CRACKED open an eye as the shrill beeping dragged him unwillingly from his sleep. The blurry red numbers on the alarm clock told him it was 3:00 a.m. Jesus, had he really agreed to this? Steffen was a persuasive bastard if he could get Mark out from under a warm duvet at three in the morning. He flailed out an arm and switched off the alarm, silencing his tormentor, and somehow managed to find the switch to the light to stop himself from crawling under the covers and going back to sleep.