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It had been almost two months since they had moved to New York. After ten wet, miserable months in Midbury, it felt like a dream. Maurice had been thoroughly sick of the place. Everything had been positively dreary, from the people and the weather to the cluttered home he had shared with George and his late wife.
Not so in New York, where there was always something interesting going on and the sun actually shone from time to time. Better yet, he thought as he sat up in bed blinking in the early morning light, there was no Mrs. Sebastien to contend with; only George, whose sleepy form was currently curled around a pillow next to him.
Maurice took a moment to admire George’s figure. His dark hair, free from its usual products, fell over his forehead and gave him the appearance of a much younger man. Maurice swept a curl away and smiled as George wrinkled his nose at the ticklish sensation and yawned. He loved watching him like this. He looked relaxed and peaceful, and for a moment Maurice was reminded of the young student he had met in Vienna, long before the events that had forced them to flee to the States.
“Morning. What are you staring at?” came a sleepy voice.
“You.”
George blinked slowly in the light. “I would have thought you would be tired of looking at me by now.”
“I’m not sure I ever could,” Maurice smiled.
It was true; there was something striking about George’s angular face, his aquiline nose and hazel eyes that made it difficult to draw one’s gaze away from him. And while he undoubtedly cut a handsome figure in his pressed suits while he went about his daily business, it was in those early hours—when he wore nothing but their rumpled bedsheets—that Maurice found him most irresistible.
George returned his smile and twisted around to look at the alarm clock on the nightstand. It was earlier than usual, but he nonetheless sat up, the bedsheet sliding down to his waist, revealing a well-defined chest. Maurice gave him an appreciative once-over and leaned forward to meet his lips. He felt, more than heard, George groan into his mouth as he deepened the kiss. Maurice could feel the heat rising in him, but before he could move in closer, George pulled away with a chuckle.
“Was last night not enough?”
Maurice shivered pleasantly as he remembered what he and George had gotten up to just hours before. “After Midbury, I should think we have a lot for which to make up.”
Something flickered in George’s eyes at the mention of Midbury. But it was gone in a flash, and Maurice dismissed it. “It wasn’t all that bad, darling,” George drawled, leaning in to peck his lips.
“For you, perhaps. I was the one sleeping alone in that drafty room while you cozied up with Ida.”
He tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice. He knew, of course, that the marriage had been nothing but a farce, a necessary evil in order to achieve their plans. But it had forced Maurice to pretend he was nothing more than a friend to George, for even if Ida Sebastien had been too naive to suspect anything, they could not take any chances.
He had wondered, occasionally, if George’s assurances that he felt nothing but distaste toward his wife were as honest as he claimed them to be. He was a good actor; he had to be, if he wanted their schemes to succeed. But sometimes it had felt as if it was him, not Ida, who was being fooled.
It was ridiculous, of course. Ida was dead, and George was with him. All was as it should be. Better, even, for George had not mentioned any plans to marry since they had moved to New York.
“Oh, my darling, you must know it brought me no joy. There were nights I could not sleep, thinking of how lonely you must have been. I’m glad all that’s behind us now.”
Maurice pushed his misgivings to the back of his mind as George pushed him down into the mattress and dipped his head to mouth at his neck. He moaned and arched into George’s touch as he felt his deft fingers caressing his bare hip beneath the bedsheets.
***
“Must you work today?” Maurice asked, his voice rising in a whine. He was still lying in bed, feeling pleasantly wrung out. He wiped the aftermath of their activities off his skin with the bedsheet.
George chuckled as he buttoned up his shirt. He had just come from the shower, and his hair hung damp over his forehead.
“One of us must. This apartment doesn’t pay itself, you know.”
“Surely, Ida’s money—”
“Don’t be so shortsighted, Maurice,” George cut dryly. “If we aren’t careful, it won’t last us.” He glanced at Maurice through the mirror. “You wouldn’t want us forced into another marriage, now, would you?”
Maurice hummed as George bent over to pick up the tie he had dropped on the floor. Now that was a sight he would never tire of! “No, I suppose not. Still, it seems a pity to spend such a lovely day in an office.”
“I agree. I would much rather spend it in bed with you. But I won’t be at the office all day, at least. One of my patients invited me to a charity bazaar this afternoon.”
“Oh? And is she pretty, this patient of yours?”
George smiled. “Not particularly. She’s married, anyhow. But she has a sister who seems to be an interesting case.”
“Is that so?”
He must have sounded sharper than he intended, for George’s smile vanished. “Psychologically interesting, yes. Don’t be silly, Maurice. This is merely work.”
“But I’m certain she’s rich, also?”
“How else will she pay for my services?”
“How else indeed,” Maurice ground out through clenched teeth. The warm glow he had been feeling had deserted him, leaving him with an unpleasant gnawing sensation in the pit of his stomach.
“Jealousy doesn’t suit you, darling. How many years have we been together now? Have I ever abandoned you for a woman?”
Twice, he wanted to say. “Of course not.”
“There you have it. They couldn’t compare to you, anyhow. There are just some things that a woman cannot provide…” George finished knotting his tie and straightened his jacket before turning back to his lover. He was smiling again, but there was still a hint of coldness in his eyes. “I will see you tonight. Perhaps we can go out for dinner.”
Maurice looked up at him, once again struck by how handsome he was as he finished combing his hair. He knew he had upset George, and was beginning to regret it. He wasn’t being fair; it wasn’t as if George chased women out of desire for them. Women—and marriage—were merely a means to an end, an easy and relatively risk-free way to replenish a dwindling bank account. How could Maurice hold it against him when he knew George was doing it all to secure their future together?
“I’m sorry,” he said meekly. “My behavior was uncalled for.”
“Nonsense. It’s already forgotten.” George gave him a quick peck on the lips and stepped through the door, looking once more the part of the suave, handsome and understanding Dr. Sebastien that patients trusted with their problems. Maurice wondered if any of them ever suspected the darkness he hid within.
He reached for a cigarette and remained in bed a while longer. He was now thoroughly convinced he had behaved like an ass, ruining what should have been a lovely morning. He would have to make it up to George. He stood up and wrapped himself in the soiled bedsheet to grab a coffee before dressing for the day and planning his apology. The apartment looked a little bare, he thought; perhaps some flowers would brighten their rooms.