Page 16 of Farkas: Gothika
“No,” Lee said quickly. “I’d… rather you stayed.”
Vincent looked delighted. “But you must not work—not today.” He seemed to think for a moment, and then his face brightened. “What if I read to you?”
Lee blinked. “Read?”
“I’ve been told I have a pleasant voice, and it is nice to share a story with someone. And not too strenuous.”
Of all the odd turns Lee’s existence had taken lately, for some reason this seemed the oddest. Yet it also appealed. “Nobody’s read to me since I was very young. And that was only the Bible.”
Vincent laughed. “I can assure you I will not be reading from that. Just one moment, please.” He hurried away. This time he left the door open, and Lee heard him shuffling around in the drawing room. When he returned, he held a book with a very worn leather binding.
“This is perfect,” he said. “Nothing too heavy for us tonight and nothing too modern, I think.” He sat on the edge of the mattress again and stroked the book fondly.
Lee couldn’t make out the title from his angle. “What is it?”
“Der abenteuerliche Simplicissimus Teutsch. Do you know it? No, I can see you do not. It was one of the first novels in German. An adventure tale.”
“You speak German?” Lee wasn’t surprised at that.
“I speak many languages. Will this book do?”
Lee nodded. If he had ever read any fiction in German, he couldn’t remember it. Just the Bible and prayer books. Sometimes his mother had asked him to read aloud the letters she’d received from her sister.
Vincent started reading about a peasant boy taken in by a hermit and eventually conscripted into the army. The language was very old-fashioned, but Lee followed most of it, and anyway Vincent’s voice was pleasant no matter what he was saying. After a while he paused to pour Lee another glass of wine. While Lee drank, Vincent removed his loafers and socks and rearranged himself so that he sat alongside Lee, over the covers, his back propped by several thick pillows.
Lee finished the wine and set the glass aside. Then he rearranged his own pillows and rolled onto his side so he could watch Vincent. Judging from Vincent’s expression, this made him happy.
If Lee allowed all his concerns to fade away for the moment, he was in an enviable position. Well fed, excused from his daily—or nightly—labors, wrapped under soft blankets on a thick mattress in a sumptuous room. The gaslights were more romantic than electricity. He was as utterly comfortable as a person could be, and a wealthy and strikingly handsome man reclined beside him, reading a story.
Ever since Lee had been extremely young, he’d been… nervous. Worried about whether there would be enough food, because there often wasn’t, especially during the Depression. Worried about whether his family would be able to pay the rent, whether the children and teachers at school would think him stupid, whether he would survive the war, whether he would manage to succeed in college and law school, whether he would land a job with a good law firm, whether he would make partner. A lengthy chain of disquiet that he always expected to end when he achieved the next goal. But it never did.
And underneath all of it, of course, was a deeper apprehension that someone would find out that he was queer. Which was bad enough; but at the same time, he also feared spending the entirety of his life alone and unloved.
Setting aside all of those burdens, even for an hour or two, was an enormous relief despite his confusion over his situation. And what if he could set them aside permanently? He had the distinct impression that Vincent could offer him that, yet he was certain that he would have to pay a great price.
“Do you find the tale distressing?” Vincent asked.
“No. Sorry. Just thinking.”
“Thinking is a good activity in its proper time and place. But I think sometimes it should be set aside for feeling.”
“Feeling,” Lee echoed dreamily. And then, very deliberately, he reached up and stroked Vincent’s face.
What happened next wasn’t at all dreamlike, occurring very much as a result of Lee’s free will. He was sure of that at the time and also later, when that night came back to him with perfect clarity. He wanted to touch Vincent—yearned for it, in fact—and when Vincent smiled, set the book aside, and kissed the back of Lee’s hand, Lee wanted that as well.
He sat up, not caring that the blankets fell away, and they kissed. It was a hard, sharp kiss that tasted of wine and salt and iron. Vincent almost immediately became quite demanding, and Lee acquiesced with a grateful sigh.
When Vincent broke the kiss, he grinned fiercely. He leapt to his feet, stood with his legs slightly apart and his arms spread, and tilted his head. “Undress me,” he commanded.
Lee was already naked and not at all self-conscious. He scrambled off the mattress and began to unbutton Vincent’s shirt. His hands didn’t tremble; his breaths came steadily. Vincent wore no undershirt, and Lee took his time slowly revealing pale hairless skin, inch by inch.
Beneath the shirt, Vincent had hard muscles. Lee was surprised how soft and chilly his skin was. His nipples formed tiny brown peaks.
They stood close together for a few moments, Vincent softly petting Lee’s hair. Although Lee was objectively a couple of inches taller, he felt as if he were looking up at Vincent. Far in the depths of the dark eyes, a red spark glowed.
“You are quite beautiful,” Vincent whispered.
“I’m not.”