Florian (Augarten Book 4) Read online

  I was so worked up, it was a wonder I didn't trip on the sidewalk. How did people handle this, dating all the time?

  We found a small park by the river and settled on a bench to watch the sun set behind the trees.

  Before I even registered what was happening, Michel scooped one arm around my lower back and the other under my knees and slid me into his lap. I yelped in surprise and wrapped my arms around his shoulders.

  "How does a barista have muscles like this?"

  "I just finished Austrian mandatory military service," I answered.

  "Oh. We don't have conscription in France anymore."

  I smirked. "I know, Michel."

  "I like the way you say my name, more German-sounding than French," he said.

  "How I say Michel? In Austria, you'd be Michi."

  He paused, something unreadable in his eyes. "I was born in Brittany and grew up speaking two Celtic languages. The way you say my name reminds me of Wales, where I had a home and was loved, though I did not go by Michel back then."

  "Michi reminds you of that?"

  "Yes, the ch is almost Celtic," he replied. "Will you call me that from now on?"

  My heart hurt from the ache hidden in his tone, even though I did not know the full story. "Sure, Michi."

  "Florian…" Michel purred my name softly, caressing me everywhere under the cover of the falling darkness.

  "Yes?" I breathed, unable to think.

  "I can hear your heart pounding."

  "Yeah."

  He tucked his face against my neck.

  I hugged him tight, trying to stabilize and comfort him even though I was flustered and felt like my heart was running a marathon.

  Michi chuckled, sucking on my neck and sending shivers through me. I struggled to find words for what I wanted to say. "I think I'm attracted to intelligence."

  "Hm, at least I have that in spades. Learned intelligence, that is. I've read a lot…not sure what smarts I was actually born with."

  "Me, too. Michi…I'm sorry about my Faustian claim earlier. I have never loved someone like that, so I honestly don't know what I would do."

  Michi hooked his fingers under my chin and pulled me to meet his eyes. "Don't worry about that."

  "Have you ever been in love?"

  Michi hesitated. "I have. Just once. I was with someone for a long time."

  "How long?"

  "That's hard to say. Several years, but I was in love with him before that."

  "I'm not the rebound from that relationship, am I?"

  "No. He's been gone for three years."

  Gone?

  "Florian, relax. You're so tense."

  "Sorry…" How was I supposed to relax with this sweet torture? I was sitting right in his lap and couldn't believe he wasn't getting hard.

  I took several breaths with him. Michi purred in approval. "Good, Florian. Now, where to next?"

  The words flew out of my mouth before I could stop them. "How about my place?"

  Michel blinked. "And do what?"

  "You know," I said, my palms growing sweaty. "We could, well, kiss…and then see what happens?"

  Michel's eyes widened. "I was going to suggest gelato, but I'm a damn fool. Let's go with your idea."

  Blushing like crazy, I got out of his lap and took his hand as we rushed to the subway.

  Chapter Three

  The man could give a blowjob to save mankind. He blew me that night and then again in the morning. I kept telling him I wanted to reciprocate, but he never once got hard. He insisted he was happy watching me orgasm and cuddling afterwards.

  As I came down from the heavens, he held me close. "Florian."

  "Hm?"

  "Will you be my boyfriend?"

  A thrill raced through me and my breath stilled.

  Michi pulled up enough to look at me, watching with growing concern as I took longer and longer to answer.

  I pushed down hope, too scared of getting my expectations up only to find out I was being an idiot. "What sort of arrangement did you have in mind?"

  "Arrangement?" Michi scoffed, then when I didn't rescind my statement, he stroked my cheek and patted my hair. "Go exclusive with me, until you decide you don't want to be with me anymore. Give me a chance to prove I can be a good partner and give you what you need."

  I swallowed my nerves, recognizing this as an important moment that I should treasure, but I was so nervous it was more of a bittersweet agony. "So we'd…be a couple?"

  Michi smiled. "Yeah. I want to be your boyfriend. Let's be together."

  I snuggled close. "You're okay that I could never measure up to that man you loved for so long?"

  "Robert passed away, but he would be very happy to see me with you, Florian."

  I hugged him tight. "I'm sorry to hear that, Michi. And yes, I'll be your boyfriend. You can be with me, and I will hold you when you miss him."

  He gave a small sigh and sank into the hug. "You're so sweet. I think that's a great idea."

  That warmed me through. "Good."

  At work, once Klaus and Michel arrived, I couldn't keep cool. I set Klaus' mélange on the counter while he furrowed his bushy brows. "Now, Florian Schwarz, what's got you red as a beet, my boy? Are you feeling well?"

  "Nothing!" I squeaked and just about dropped the milk.

  Michel's soda-bottle owl eyes flicked to me and his message was clear: you'll give us away!

  Klaus looked back and forth between us. "What gives? My two favorite people are off-kilter today. Besides my wife, of course. She's my actual favorite, but she's doing just fine, unlike you both."

  "Kein Problem, Klaus," I rushed to say. "Don't worry about it."

  "Sorry Klaus," Michel mumbled, back to his timid self.

  "You know where to find me if you need more caffeine," I chirped.

  Klaus saluted with his mélange and took Michel by the arm. "Count on it."

  Then after the morning rush, Klaus showed up and planted his feet, crossing his arms. "Florian, you've been keeping secrets from me. I thought we were close."

  Michi set his mug on the counter. "He figured it out."

  Michi had run home to change before work, and his cobalt blue button-down was doing things to my insides.

  Klaus' eyes widened. "So it's true. Michel, if you break Florian's heart, I'll break your…everything else."

  "I understand."

  I rushed to the espresso machine to hide my blush. "Another mélange, Klaus?"

  That night, I went over to Michel's place once he got home from work. He answered with an eager smile, his bright green eyes twinkling with anticipation. "You made it. Come in."

  His place was tiny and full of old, musty books, but the air felt surprisingly fresh. It somehow smelled like old paper and yet felt completely washed and new, like a forest after a good spring rain. Where there was no over-burdened bookshelf, stacks of books rose dangerously high and towered precariously. If Paris ever had an earthquake, the emergency responders wouldn't find Michi for days.

  That Saturday I woke in Michel's bed surrounded by stacks of books. The space next to me was cold. By the soft light coming through the window, it had to be a bit past dawn.

  A monotone humming sounded in the next room. Michi was speaking somewhere in the apartment but I couldn't make it out, so I curled up and simply listened. Footsteps, more speaking, then humming, a long pause, and then footsteps again. He must be doing some kind of meditation. The only correlation that readily came to mind was the "om" chanting of the Tibetans.

  I got dressed and peeked in the living room.

  Michi knelt at a wooden altar I had not noticed the day before. He wore dark blue robes that splayed out around the him. Wide sleeves fell back to his elbows, his arms propped on the altar, hands raised in supplication at nothing. His face was pressed into the cradle of his arms, soft whispers swallowed up by the insulating books everywhere.

  Suddenly he hitched a breath in, every muscle drawn tight as a cord. I jumped as if stung, t
hen found my wits and dashed down the hallway to the bathroom. I took a long moment to school my breath, giving my heartbeat time to calm down. Had he noticed me watching? Was he angry? What was all that?

  Michi cleared his throat loudly and made some deliberate clanging in the kitchen. Steeling my nerves, I opened the door and stepped quietly down the hallway. When I passed the living room, the wooden altar was nowhere to be seen. The smell of coffee drifted from the kitchen.

  I made it to the entryway of the kitchen and Michi had his back to me. He wasn't wearing the robe anymore, just a long-sleeved t-shirt and loose pants, barefoot. He played it casual, washing something at the sink, but I sensed when he noticed me there. It was as though the clean air in the apartment fostered extra sensory perception of some kind.

  Michi turned off the water and dried his hands on a dish towel, turning to face me with stress clearly written on his face. "Sorry about that, Florian. I didn't mean to scare you."

  "I didn't mean to interrupt your prayers." That was what he was doing, right? Yet nowhere in the apartment was there a crucifix or an image of Mary. Having an altar designed to point a worshipper at something, yet setting it out amidst a cacophony of disorganized bookshelves, didn't make sense.

  Michi scratched the back of his head. "Yeah. I'm… pretty spiritual, actually. I meditate and pray every day."

  "So you're Catholic?"

  "No, are you?"

  That threw me. "Not really. I'm more agnostic these days. It's hard to get on board with a religion that doesn't like gay men, you know?"

  Michi smiled. "Sure. Maybe they'll come around. There's plenty of gay Catholics out there, but I feel you."

  I moved into his embrace and lay my head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around me and exhaled a sigh, the tension seeping out of him, like holding me was a relief.

  "Who were you praying to?"

  Michi's heartbeat thumped lightly in his neck. "Michael."

  "The saint?"

  "Yes, the archangel."

  I stepped back to look him in the eye. "You say you're not Catholic, but you pray to an angel?"

  "Yes," Michi answered plainly. "Many angels will still listen even if you leave your religion."

  I had never thought of it like that. "Okay."

  He patted my shoulders. "Sorry to startle you. How about I pour us some coffee, first things first? Then we can discuss breakfast."

  I nodded and left the kitchen, then turned and went straight into the living room and scanned the bookshelves. For the ones that had titles printed on the spines, I could read either the French, or make a stab at the older French and the Latin. By the time Michi came into the living room carrying two small cups of espresso, my blood was pumping.

  I jammed my thumb at his bookshelf, betrayal oozing from my pores. "You're some kind of witch. This stuff is all about magic and the occult. Why didn't you tell me? You'd let someone unsuspecting into your apartment?"

  Michi froze as if I'd slapped him. His hands trembled as he set the espresso cups on the low table in front of the couch. "I don't practice everything in those books."

  "Bullshit." With my anxiety revved up, the only thing keeping me from full-on panic was the betrayal fueling my rage. What had he been chanting while I was asleep? Was he summoning some fucking demon?

  Michi held his hands out, attempting to placate me. "Give me a chance to explain, Florian. Let me start from the beginning."

  I crossed my arms. "Do it now."

  Michi took a long, calming breath. "Do you believe in souls?"

  "Sure, whatever."

  "Okay, that's a start. Do you believe in etheric energy, like Chinese chi or Japanese ki? The spirit that moves throughout the body, the life force, per se."

  I shrugged. "Assume that I do. Keep going."

  Michi nodded. "The magic I practice is based on breathing and meditation that cleanses my life force in healthy ways. The whole point is to improve the self, using the idea that each person has a higher soul that reincarnates from life to life, and the lower soul is closed off in the human brain. Everything that lives has a life force, so humans can direct such intention toward wisdom and self-improvement. It's things like that, all guided by prayer with an angel…"

  "And curses?"

  He shook his head urgently. "No curses. No cauldrons filled with blood, nothing you've ever seen in a movie. Nothing that could be considered black magic. I swear, Florian."

  I flopped on the couch with a huff and dragged my hands through my hair. "This is a lot to process at once."

  His voice was soft, mature. "I understand. I will give you as much time and space as you need, and will answer any questions you have."

  I spent Sunday in my apartment thinking, my thoughts running around in confused circles, never getting anywhere, and so Monday morning, I chanced it and dashed to the library shelves looking for a book. It took me a few moments to locate and return with it: Meditations by Marcus Aurelius. I'd been thinking about my anger regarding ownership of the shop in Vienna, then my stress over Michel's very involved spirituality, so I planned to read one of the founding source texts of Stoicism. Maybe this could help me get an idea of how to deal with my situation and not be ruled by my emotions, to turn things around.

  "Epiktetus."

  "Ah!"

  The book flew in the air and thankfully landed on the counter instead of the floor.

  Klaus reached across the counter and grabbed my shoulders, shaking in silent laughter. "Easy, Florian. I am not Krampus."

  I righted the book, checking to make sure my fiasco hadn't bent any pages. "You would make a terrifying Krampus, Klaus."

  He chuckled. "It's a pity my wife and I didn't have kids. Spooking them every Christmas would've been my favorite part. But I am content to have two adoptive gay sons, though one of them is a hopelessly awkward librarian."

  It took me a second to realize he was referring to Michel and me. I clutched the book in my hands, holding it close like it was something precious. Klaus had known me scarcely two months. That he would say something so kind…suddenly my chest ached that he wasn't my father, and I wished he were.

  Klaus leaned over and glanced at the book, oblivious to my distress. "The Stoics are always a good choice, though I prefer Epiktetus myself." He plucked the book from my hands and checked the inside title page. "Oh, wait Florian. There's a better German translation. I will bring it."

  "Sure, thanks."

  He took the book and walked off, leaving me empty-handed.

  I swept and mopped the floor, embarrassed I'd nearly dropped a book on all the sticky milk spills.

  "Florian."

  Michi beelined toward me. He swept right around the counter and grabbed me by the elbows, his expression concerned. "Are you okay? Why are you reading about the Stoics?"

  "Jesus, can't I do anything without my two mother hens clucking over me?"

  He laughed and kissed me on the forehead, then seemed to realize he was at work and released me, stepping back around the counter with a blush. "Sorry. We could talk about Meditations if you wanted. Is this your first time reading it?"

  "Other than excerpts in school."

  "Wonderful. I'm a huge fan. Stoicism is what got me through Robert's passing. Their methods helped me acknowledge and understand my feelings enough to let time do the healing."

  "God, honey…" Now I was wishing I could hold him, but we were still at work. Then I lowered my voice even further. "I'm…I'm going to be okay with your religion, eventually. I just am not a fan of organized religion because they tend to ignore or actively shun and erase the gay experience."

  Michel's eyes softened, his whole demeanor changing. "It's not a religion, for one thing. I pray to an archangel, and to a pantheon of nature-based gods I learned about in Welsh myths. The magic I do is to help me be a better person, to learn the lessons I need to learn."

  I nodded, processing that.

  Michel smiled. "Anyway, I'll let you get back to it. See you later."

/>   "Later."

  At some point during the lunch rush Klaus must have swung by, because I found a book next to the flowerpot with a note:

  This is the better translation. From Mother Hen #1

  The university realized halfway through the semester that I wasn't enrolled and kicked me out of student housing. Michel took the afternoon off to help move my suitcases to his apartment. His exact response had been, "Good. Come stay with me and I'll start looking for a larger place."

  Michi crossed his arms and leaned back against his kitchen counter. "So, I don't know how to put this, but you can be king of this place. The realm is yours."

  That threw me. "What?"

  He shrugged. "You like to have control, right? I don't mind if you run things the way you want to around here. You can already manage your own business, after all, and you've been more than understanding about my…eccentricities."

  "Michi…" I couldn't believe he was sincere. No one would just turn their place over to a lover at the drop of a hat, especially since we had only been together a short time.

  "I mean it," he said softly. "Plus…you're really caring. I like when you take care of me."

  Tears burned my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. "I might tidy things up a bit to open a corner for my suitcases."

  "Sounds good." He kissed me on his way to the door. "I need to swing back by work to grab some things. I'll see about getting my key copied."

  "See you soon."

  The door shut and I could finally breathe. My boyfriend had read me like a book: I did feel better being given permission to make this place a shared apartment, instead of trying to squeeze in around the sides.

  Even though I was tired after the shock of finding myself without a room when I came home from my shift, I rolled up my sleeves and got to work. As suspected, doing something constructive energized me and served as better therapy than stewing over getting kicked out of my place. I cleaned and tidied everything without changing too much, so Michel could still find his things in their general vicinity. It was twilight when he came back.

  Michi unloaded his shoulder bag and a stack of books right there in the doorway, then toed his shoes off and took a cursory tour of the apartment. He came to where I sat on the living room couch and knelt between my legs. "I didn't mean you had to clean the whole place, Flor."