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 the 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 himself 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.”