Not All Chocolate and Cuckoo Clocks

by Rebecca Cohen

  He wished he’d stayed the night at Steffen’s; maybe then he could’ve found a way to keep them both in bed and ignore the early start. But Steffen had been adamant, and it was probably because he thought Mark might try to avoid leaving, using any method of persuasion available to him. But Mark knew Steffen was too much of a Basler to miss his sacred Morgenstreich. He really hoped the whole Fasnacht thing would live up to the hype, but even if it wasn’t as spectacular as Steffen made out, at least he’d been able to take a couple of days off work after the Monday public holiday, during which he intended to spend as much time with Steffen as possible.

  Steffen was waiting for him as he stepped out of the apartment block. He stole a quick kiss; Steffen’s lips were cold. “This better be worth it.”

  Steffen held out a bronze badge. “Trust me. Now put this on.”

  Mark took it and peered at the design of stylized clowns. He saw Steffen had one pinned to the lapel of his coat. “What is it?”

  “A Plakette. It is the carnival badge. If you do not want to be covered in confetti, remember to always have it on during Fasnacht—otherwise the Waggis will consider you fair game.”

  “Another strange Swiss thing. I should have known there were lots of customs. Who else would have a carnival when it’s bloody freezing?”

  “You cannot level that only at the Swiss. The Germans are equally preposterous.”

  They fell into step as they walked down the hill toward Marktplatz. “But don’t tell me, Basel is oldest and the best, and its remarkable conception is laid down in the annals of time for other—less fortunate—cities to look upon and wish they had it too.”

  Steffen shoved him playfully. “It’s very old. But the exact reasons why it started were lost in the 1356 earthquake. There are many theories, but beyond chasing away the winter and the Protestant church’s meddling, everything else is supposition.”

  “I’m aghast. I expected better care—I was led to believe your countrymen were meticulous recordkeepers.”

  They reached the bottom of the hill and hit a wall of people. Even though he’d seen the excitement shine through the eyes of Steffen and his local colleagues at any mention of Fasnacht in the last few weeks, he truly hadn’t expected the crowds that greeted them. “Jesus!”

  “I warned you,” Steffen said. “Fasnacht is serious business. Now stay close, and I will take you to one of the best places to watch Morgenstreich unfold.”

  “With all these people, we’re not going to see anything.”

  “Have faith. It is all a matter of position.”

  The streetlights had been dimmed. Mark expected there to be more light, considering the amount of people, but it wasn’t completely dark. Steffen pressed on, snaking through the crowds. Mark followed closely, which took considerable effort, given the way everyone was packed together. Several times Steffen veered in a different direction until he suddenly stopped and pulled Mark next to him. They were a few rows back from the pavement edge, standing opposite the Rathaus.

  “We should have arrived earlier if we wanted a chance to be right at the front, but you will see well enough from here, and then I will treat you to a breakfast of Mehlsuppe.”

  “Mehlsuppe? Some sort of soup?”

  “Flour soup,” said Steffen, glancing at his watch.

  “Isn’t that basically gravy?”

  “As if you are a food connoisseur,” Steffen drawled. “Maybe you would be happier with a Zwiebelwähe.”

  The first bell stuck 4:00 a.m., and Basel was plunged into darkness. After an initial cheer, the crowd descended into faint mutterings, and despite being surrounded by hundreds of people, Mark couldn’t shake the slightly ethereal feel of the place, which was only heightened as the sound of piccolos and a soft thrum of drums floated across the crowd. The first of the groups entered the square, marching slowly, six figures standing shoulder to shoulder, carrying a large canvas lantern. Its bright colors glowed in the darkness and had German sentences written down the side, which Mark couldn’t translate, and it depicted a scene of a pig gorging on cheese about to be eaten by a large furry animal. Only when they got closer did he see the marchers were wearing simple matching costumes in a silky white material and expressionless white masks, but it was too dark to make out more details. He nudged Steffen. “What’s that lantern about?”

  “Each year the Fasnacht Committee sets a theme, and every Clique—group,” Steffen corrected himself, “interprets it in their own way. Often using a local political issue. This is probably about EU or trade relations. At least half of them will be.”

  “They’ll march around like this for how long?”

  “Until daybreak. Thankfully the Cortège starts later, giving us the chance to grab a few hours of sleep.”

  The next Clique carried a lantern depicting a very unflattering picture of the US president, and the one behind was in the shape of a coffin with Integrität written across it. Most of the lanterns depicted something Mark didn’t recognize, but Steffen pointed out the more interesting ones. He was surprised how mundane some of the topics were. “Why would anyone go to the effort to make such an intricate lantern about parking problems?” he asked as a lantern with traffic cones and a red-faced policeman passed by.

  “Never underestimate how upset some people can get over something you might think trivial,” Steffen said. “A friend of mine is in a Clique that dedicated their whole Fasnacht to the increase in the price of root vegetables a few years back.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “You have to be very committed to carrots to do that.”

  Steffen laughed. “Are you frozen to the bone yet?”

  “I reckon I’m so cold I’d try the gravy soup.” The procession was fascinating, and Steffen had been right that Mark had never seen anything like it, but after over an hour of watching in the biting cold, his feet were like blocks of ice.

  “Then you are lucky that I have booked us a table at Kohlmanns for breakfast. Then you can take me back to your place, and we can warm up properly.”

  He hadn’t planned on inviting Steffen to his place, not wanting to show him the cramped quarters he was living in, especially when compared to Steffen’s spacious apartment. “Can’t we go to yours?”

  “With the crowds it will take forever, and the trams are not running through the center. I am not expecting a palace, Mark.”

  “Then you won’t be disappointed.”

  It took nearly half an hour to weave through the crowds to Barfüsserplatz, which would usually only take a couple of minutes. He’d never seen so many people. Every step forward seemed to be accompanied with a “tut mir leid” or a “je suis désolé,” and he was relieved to finally step through the doors of the restaurant Steffen had booked.

  He was hit by a very welcome wall of warmth, and they were quickly shown to their table by a harried-looking woman who still had a wide smile. Before he knew it, he was gently defrosting while cradling a glass of excellent red wine, waiting for his onion tart and flour soup to arrive.

  “How did you manage to get seats in here?” asked Mark as he stared around the packed restaurant.

  “I have connections.”

  “Still, I bet it wasn’t easy.”

  Steffen wrinkled his nose. “I have had the reservation for several months. Mark, I should say that I was not sure who would be my companion when I booked the table, but I usually do something like this with someone. It is one of my Fasnacht traditions.”

  Mark had no issue with Steffen’s admission. He was more surprised by the awkwardness. Come to think of it, he was touched he’d been invited. He wasn’t one of Steffen’s lifelong friends, and even if his tradition was to take his shag du jour, he didn’t have to bring Mark. “Thank you for inviting me.”

  “Thank you for coming. I do not want you to think I bring a different lover here every year.”

  “Who you invite is your business. I’m grateful that this year you thought to ask me. Who’d you take last
year?”

  “Amelia. Before that my oldest brother, and the year before my sister.”

  Mark loved that he’d been invited, but it was difficult not to read more into it. He was falling for Steffen, and a small nugget of hope blossomed within him that it might not be one-sided. “I’m honored.”

  Steffen reached over and stroked the back of his hand. “I like spending time with you. We are better matched than I had imagined.” Mark got the impression that Steffen had more to say, but disappointedly, he was cut off by the arrival of their Zwiebelwähe and two bowls of murky brown liquid that looked a lot like gravy.

  To be fair, the Mehlsuppe didn’t taste too bad, but it was obviously traditional peasant food, and as far as he was concerned, the peasants could keep it. The onion tart was good, and the wine even better.

  “I take it you were not so fond of the Mehlsuppe?” said Steffen, pointing at the half-finished soup.

  “It’s okay. Not something I’d want to have more than once a year. A bit like sprouts at Christmas.”

  Steffen laughed. “Good job Fasnacht comes but once a year.”

  “That’s not just because of the soup—the city would look like some postapocalyptic wasteland if it were to happen more than once a year.”

  “You have not even seen the Cortège yet, but you may have a point.” Steffen finished his wine and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Are you ready?”

  Mark knocked back the last of his wine. “Yeah. I could do with a nap. That’s what you had in mind, wasn’t it?”

  “Eventually.”

  They settled the bill and left. Daybreak meant the crowds had thinned considerably now that Morgenstreich was over. Mark turned to head back the way they’d come, but Steffen caught his elbow. “You still do not know your way around this city. This way is quicker.”

  “To be fair, I’ve only been here six weeks.”

  “You do not have much longer to learn,” said Steffen, and Mark was sure he heard a hint of resignation in his voice.

  He didn’t argue, not wanting to ruin his good mood by thinking he was already halfway through his stay in Basel. Instead he let Steffen guide him over the road and into the streets behind the shops, and he soon recognized where he was. It was definitely quicker, and they were back at his apartment in no time. He let them into the sleek white entrance hall, and they took the lift to his floor. The communal areas were nice enough, but he knew when he opened the door to his apartment he would be apologizing for the lack of space.

  “In you come. Try not to breathe too much. There’s not enough space.” Mark took off his coat and threw it over a chair.

  Steffen looked like he was trying to find something positive to say, but he gave up. “I stay in bigger hotel rooms than this.”

  Mark toed off his shoes and pushed them under the desk so no one would trip over them in the limited space. “I didn’t pick it, and I suppose the company only has a certain budget.”

  “I guess so. But Mark, you should tell them this might be acceptable for a week or two, but for three months it is too small. They should treat you better.”

  “You own your own company. I’m just a project manager—I’m pretty sure if I make too much fuss they’d send me home.”

  Steffen removed his coat. “You are very well respected in the office. I hear what people say about you. I think you could easily push for something better.”

  “I’m only in Basel for a few more weeks, and it’s not like I’ve been spending every night here.”

  “Then I suggest you spend even more time at mine.” Steffen gestured at the bed. “That is not a proper-sized bed for one full-size man, let alone two.”

  “Oh come on, at least it’s not a single, and I did try and warn you—”

  Steffen silenced him with a kiss. “I must be extra skillful, given the limitations I have to work with. But if I damage my back from sleeping curled up like a Bretzel, you will have to massage me better.”

  “Is that so? You could always sod off home.”

  Steffen pushed him back onto the bed. “Neither of us wants that. Tell me you have lube and condoms?”

  Mark might not have wanted to bring Steffen here, but given his job, he wasn’t the type not to be prepared for the eventuality. He grabbed an unopened box of condoms and tube of lube from the bedside table and, using his teeth, removed the cellophane wrapping from the box. Steffen stripped methodically, Mark’s mouth going dry as he looked up to see him completely naked, looming above him, cock hard, balls heavy.

  “You have too many clothes on.”

  Mark didn’t need telling twice, and he pulled off his jumper and T-shirt and shoved off his jeans, boxers, and socks, then lay back on the bed, arms and legs splayed. “Better?”

  “Perfect.”

  Steffen climbed over him, covering his body, and the feel of warm skin made his already hard cock throb with need. He wanted it quick and dirty. Both of them had been awake early, and he wanted to have Steffen bury himself deep inside him and then curl up together for a few hours.

  Steffen must’ve had a similar plan. He kissed and licked his way down Mark’s torso, mouthing and humming happily at Mark’s hip bone as he worked two lubed fingers into him. Mark let the world bleed away and enjoyed Steffen’s ministrations as he worked him open with one hand and slowly stroked Mark’s cock with the other. His back arched in response, and he bit down on his lip to stop himself moaning too loudly.

  Steffen removed his fingers, Mark unhappy at the loss, but he spread his thighs even wider as Steffen slipped on a condom. Steffen leaned over him, Mark pulling him closer, and they exchanged a deep kiss. Mark, desperate for Steffen to be inside him, ground their hips together. “Fuck me.”

  “Always my pleasure. You are delectable.”

  Steffen didn’t dawdle, and a few moments later, Mark had his head thrown back as Steffen filled him. He was already close, and Steffen’s steady, faultless thrusts brought him maddeningly closer. The sweet spot inside him radiated with pleasure, and he shouted out his release as Steffen fucked him thoroughly, playing his body perfectly until they were both sated.

  Steffen cleaned them up. Mark, too blissed-out to care if he was a bit sticky, claimed his spot on Steffen’s chest, his eyelids drooping in response to his sleep deprivation and a truly excellent orgasm. Steffen pressed a kiss to his head, and as his eyes closed, Mark thought he heard Steffen whisper, “Mein Schatz.”

  Chapter Ten

  “FUCK! WHAT is that bloody racket?” Mark sat up at the noise making his apartment vibrate. He noticed, but didn’t care, that he’d drooled on Steffen’s chest. His head was woozy, which was unfair since he’d only had one glass of wine, and he instead blamed his cotton wool halo on having to get up at arse o’clock. “Bring back the piccolos. At least they didn’t include drums and tubas.”

  Steffen cracked open an eye, then stretched. “Sounds like the Cortège has started. What time is it?”

  Mark rubbed the sleep from his eyes and stared blearily at his watch. “Just after one thirty.” They’d slept for nearly six hours; so much for Steffen griping about his bed. “Are you going to be annoyed you didn’t see the start?”

  “It is not like Morgenstreich. The Cortège will be marching around for hours, plenty of time to drink some prosecco and eat Kalbsbratwurst.”

  “Right. I’m going to grab a shower. Make some coffee? There’s a kettle in the kitchenette.”

  One good thing about the apartment was the shower’s water pressure. True, the shower itself was only a half-sized bath, but it didn’t take away its fabulousness. Mark didn’t want to leave Steffen alone for too long, so he washed quickly and got out, then wrapped a towel around his waist as he left the compact bathroom, the door opening into the kitchenette, which really was a little lobby that the owners of the apartment had gotten creative with.

  Steffen, still naked, was scowling, holding up a sachet of coffee provided by housekeeping. “I am not drinking this.”

  “I know you th
ink you’re slumming even if you’re drinking Nespresso, so bog standard Nescafé is not going to cut it, but some of us just need a shot of caffeine as a kick start, and this does the trick.”

  “I would rather drink rainwater than this shit.”

  “Don’t fucking drink it, then. There’s some tea in the cupboard if that doesn’t offend your sensibilities.” Mark grabbed a towel from his closest. “Go take a shower.”

  Steffen snatched the towel. “We can get something decent to drink while we are out.”

  Mark shook his head, made himself a cup of terrible coffee and Steffen a cup of tea, and got dressed.

  Steffen emerged. “Sorry, Mark. I was being—what do you call it?—a snob.”

  “It’s all right. You work hard to have the best things money can buy. I guess you’ve earned the right to get a bit sniffy over a brand of coffee.”

  “I work hard, yes, and I come from a rich and well-connected family, but it is good for me to remember that not everyone has my opportunities.” Steffen stroked Mark’s cheek as he walked past and began to dress.

  “I’d hardly call drinking freeze-dried coffee a true hardship on the grand scale of things.”

  Steffen laughed. “That was not what I meant. I could remember to be less of an obnoxious Arsch mit Ohren.”

  “We can all benefit from that from time to time.” He shoved his feet into his shoes. “Come on, I want to see the Cortège.”

  “Bring a few things with you. I meant what I said about you being welcome at mine.”

  Mark hesitated. He was already too attached to Steffen, but he didn’t want to waste any chance to spend time with him. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, completely. Even if this place was bigger, it’s so close to the parade you will never get any sleep.”

  “Okay. But you better not disparage my coffee-making skills again.” He grabbed a rucksack and a selection of clothes to see him through the next couple of days, including a shirt and a pair of trousers for when he went back to work later in the week.