Beer und Pretzels.
After a long, lazy breakfast, a perfect three course lunch, and a simply divine afternoon tea of verbena cupcakes, lemon tea, and lavender crème brûlée, Matthew was beginning to seriously consider a few things. The first was never eating again. The second was joining a gym. The third was leaping over the patisserie counter, grabbing Francis by the collar, and kissing the tempting, gorgeous, positively delicious baker harder than he'd ever been kissed before. Matthew brushed his hair from his heated forehead, a little flushed at the thought. All day he'd been fighting these indecent, blush-inducing mental images - all day he'd been losing. Since that intense, knee-weakening, downright lustful kiss the night before, Matthew hadn't been able to stop thinking of Francis in an even more stimulating manner than usual. That single kiss had promised so much more. This entire, perfect Saturday had promised so much more. The glances, the touches, the very brief kisses across the counter; Francis' voice smooth and teasing, his eyes light and sparkling, his fingers lingering gently on Matthew's lips...
"You had better head home soon, my dear."
Matthew blinked sharply, startled at the intrusion on his increasingly inflaming thoughts. "Huh? Home?"
Francis leant casually on the counter, his lips turned in a tiny smirk. He had a smudge of flour under his eye – Matthew thought it was too adorable to wipe away. "Yes, but only briefly. To change for Gilbert's party. Unless you wish to go as you are, covered in flour and chocolate..." Francis winked. "Either way, darling, you'll be fabulous."
Matthew looked down at the mess covering his shirt – the result of a failed baking attempt that had ended in a minor food fight - and felt his shoulders slump. Of course, the blasted party. He suppressed a groan, trying not to acknowledge his disappointment at the reminder. Matthew did not want to go out and share Francis tonight. He did not want to mingle with people he did not know and who would probably forget his name in five minutes. No, Matthew wanted to stay here in this warm, magical patisserie, wanted to smile and wink and brush hands; wanted to touch Francis and kiss him and press against him and maybe even...
"Mathieu? Mon cher?"
Matthew raised his wandering eyes to Francis' knowingly amused gaze. He immediately cleared his throat and ducked his head. "Um, yes. Of course, that's right."
Francis furrowed his brow, concerned. "You don't exactly sound thrilled."
Matthew gave a small shrug. "To be honest, I'm a little nervous."
Francis' expression turned confused. "What do you possibly have to be nervous about? You've already met half the guests already."
Matthew paused. True, he had already met Francis' closest friends – yet that somehow made him even more anxious. They were nice, sure, but also loud and a little overbearing and Matthew was never very good with people, let alone used to their attention, and... "Well... what if they don't like me?"
Francis' look of confusion turned to one of disbelief. "What utter nonsense, they'll adore you – how could they possibly not? Now stop thinking such ridiculous things, dress in something suitably tight and gorgeous, and just be your adorable, charming, fabulous self."
Matthew couldn't hold back a short burst of self-critical laugher. How had he managed to find the one person in the world who could possibly think of him as charming and fabulous? And why, when Francis said it, did Matthew almost believe him? "All right, darling." Matthew flicked his hair sarcastically. "I'll head home, doll myself up, and await your chariot."
Francis laughed brightly and reached for Matthew's hand, entwining their fingers across the counter. "If only I did have a chariot for mon prince. Will a taxi do?"
Matthew tried to sigh in mock exasperation. But the touch of Francis' hand sent a tingling shiver over his skin, and he was a little worried the sound came out more like a moan. Before he could embarrass himself further, Matthew drew back his hand, stood, and headed for the door. "Well then, I'll await your taxi. And they say romance is dead..."
Francis' bright laughter followed Matthew out the door and into the warm evening air. Oh, if only they could continue this perfect day alone and see where it led... Matthew sighed to himself, and silently cursed Gilbert for having the most terribly timed birthday in history.
.
Gilbert and Roderich's house was large, open, and spectacular. Matthew looked around, taking it all in, stunned and impressed. Guests filled the central entertaining room: mingling on the vast, polished floor, spread across the dark, elegant furniture, playing on a huge, lamp-lit billiard table. A long wooden bar ran along the wall, covered in a myriad of brightly-coloured bottles and glasses, while some sort of intolerable German heavy metal blasted from invisible speakers. On one side of the room a beautifully intricate staircase led to the upper floor, and on the other, wide glass doors led to a grassed entertaining area outside. The place looked like something from an architectural magazine, but it also had the most eclectic decorating style Matthew had ever seen. A bizarre sculpture of a beer bottle sat beside a gleaming grand piano in the corner; an intricately framed medieval music fragment hung next to a poster of Bert and Ernie.
"Wow," said Matthew softly, pressing close to Francis as other guests mingled around them, all in widely varied styles of dress and stages of intoxication. "What do Gilbert and Roderich do again?"
Francis leant closer to be heard properly over the blasting music. "Gilbert blows things up, and Roderich is a concert pianist."
Matthew glanced at Francis inquisitively. "Blows things up?"
"Demolition. Roderich is a very successful composer, as well as a performer, and he, uh..." Francis gestured around the stunning room. "... keeps Gilbert in the lifestyle to which he has become accustomed."
Matthew raised an eyebrow. A demolition worker and a composer... "So one creates for a living, and one destroys."
"How very poetic, darling!" Francis smiled brightly, sending Matthew's heart soaring. "That describes how they met, actually. Gilbert was in charge of a project to destroy an old heritage concert hall in town; Roderich was in charge of a campaign to save it. I am sure you can imagine, they did not get along very well when first meeting."
Matthew was immediately fascinated. "Gosh! How did they get together then? What happened to the hall? And how..." Matthew was abruptly interrupted as a small group pushed past, knocking him heavily into Francis as they went. Francis reached out to steady him and, almost unthinkingly, Matthew grasped his hand. He suddenly felt completely out of place, and smiled apologetically. "Sorry. I'm not very good with crowds."
Francis squeezed Matthew's hand. "You're perfect, darling."
Matthew felt warmth spread at Francis' words and from his touch, flushing up his neck and across his cheeks. He laughed nervously. "Sorry, um... what was I asking? Oh yes... about Gilbert and Roderich..."
Francis waved a hand. "That is a story for another time. Right now, I think we need a drink."
Matthew had to agree – it was getting far too hot in here. Francis led him to the bar and pressed a bottle of some unpronounceable German beer into his hand, which Matthew immediately gulped far too quickly. Francis started to pour a glass of wine, only to be unexpectedly accosted by a white-haired blur. The red wine spilt onto the bar as Francis spun around quickly. "Mon Dieu, Gilbert, tell me you are not drunk already!"