A/N: Nothing that you wouldn't find in the show. Homophobia. Sweet ending. C/M
As far as the public is concerned Matthew is married to his work. He's an important community member. He's a Superintendent. He works long hours, he's never home, he's never met the right woman.
Matthew has self control. He has spent his whole life developing it. He controls himself to a t. He doesn't take lovers. He doesn't collect pictures, and he certainly never frequents clubs. He spends time at the station, then he goes home. Sometimes he shops, where he always buys the same things. He gets his hair cut the same every time. He attends shootings of his favourite show, if he wants to treat himself. It could never be said that Matthew Lawson didn't know control.
What helped, probably, was that he was disgusted with himself. He'd had normal parents. A normal sister who married a normal man and had a normal, if determined daughter. For the most part, he was normal. He worked hard, he did the things police men did, he was suitably disgusted by the idea of doing it, and yet, and yet.
Men have always been the object of his desires. Since his teenage years, before he really understood. Back when he would feel less shame and more intrigue. He thought about lips and bodies and pressing needs. He doesn't anymore. In his early twenties, he became more determined to get rid of it. He had tried. He took a woman into his bed, and humiliated himself. Once was not enough, he took another two, and failed them as well.
He's accepted his fate. He was a loner as a child, by necessity over anything else. The army had been a tiny moment of safety for him. He traded hands with the occasional man, but never any more. They never seemed to be able to tell his disposition. Which was all the better. He told them he had a girlfriend back home waiting lonely and longing for him. He hasn't seen any of them since. None of them reach out to him.
These days, however, he controls himself. He limits his time thinking of men to the late hours of the night, with the lights off and his sheets pulled up. No one could say that Matthew Lawson had no self control. Not anymore. Or ever.
Until Charlie Davis arrived in Ballarat.
The first thing that he noticed, was probably the first thing anyone noticed about Charlie Davis. He was beautiful. His face is soft and round, with soft blue eyes that seem to be composed of valleys and rivers. Because his face was soft, most people, Matthew included, thought Charlie Davis would also be soft. This is untrue. Charlie Davis is brittle, and he is practically wearing a choke collar from Melbourne. They pull and he bites. He bites hard.
Lucien returns about a week into what he expected to be a short stay for Charlie. True to form, however, he blows everything Matthew hopes for out of the water. Charlie calms, marginally, and he very carefully opens his icy demeanor to the rest of the world revealing himself to be smart, if nothing else.
For a short while, things are okay. Charlie is unaware that Matthew thinks he is beautiful. It gets harder when he sees Charlie without his shirt on. He was meant to be cleaning the cars, and Ned soaked him to the marrow. His chest is a soft waxen expanse, dotted with charming moles and freckles. He's slightly muscled and full of the life and light that young men are full of. Matthew has watched himself decay over the years. Muscles aren't so tight, his skin is no longer smooth. Charlie has long fingers, thin and spidery, laced with veins. He can't help but to imagine them creeping up along his skin, carefully feeling his scars and his freckles. It's unfair, really. He's spent his life learning how to control himself, but Charlie Davis with his boyish charm and soft face seems to have broken down every single defense at his disposal.
But this was, at least a little, okay. Charlie Davis was a distant dream, not actually tangible past the occasional shoulder touch. But then he notices something more. Charlie looks at him. Which is not usual, you do tend to look at who you're speaking to, but Charlie looks at him the way he would expect a young man to look at perhaps a pretty girl. It's disconcerting. He's not used to being looked at like that with such…reverence. Desire, even. Even as young man he was no ones object of affection, not really. He'd never seen himself as exceptionally handsome, just different looking. If one of them was attractive, it was Charlie. But, he supposed, if nothing came of it, it was alright for Charlie to have his fantasies.
Charlie one afternoon, arrives for his shift carrying a large bag. He passes it to Matthew.
"It's a stew." He says, by way of clarification.
"Did Jean make this?"
"No…I made it." Matthew had not known Charlie could cook. In fact, he hardly knows Charlie at all.
"Thank you."
"It's uh. Fine." He walks off, looking distinctly red.
Matthew ponders, for the first time, why he won't broach Charlie. The first is obvious; they're both men and that's illegal. Secondly he's Charlie's superior. He wouldn't date him if he was a girl, so why would it be different now? Lastly, Charlie is just scraping thirty five. Matthew is approaching sixty faster than he would have liked. He imagined he was little more than a passing interest for Charlie, there's no other reason he can think of for why an attractive young man would be interested in him. That didn't make the wanting any less.
By accepting the meal, he supposed that he had damned himself. It's easier to pretend there's nothing wrong with you, if you ignore it. By admitting it, by taking the casserole dish, the hunger he's pushed down his whole life nips at his stomach acid.
He lay in bed that night, stomach full and more comfortable then he has been in months, knowing that Charlie will move on, and that he should just appreciate the nice gesture. -It was an excellent stew. Matthew has been cooking for himself since he was about eighteen and had never mastered, or had the desire to master anything more than meat and three veg. Charlie, somehow, made food that tasted like a home cooked meal his parents may serve to him. It's really not fair. But Charlie had had such a nice smile when he accepted the food.
From then on out, once a week, Charlie would bring him a meal. Usually something he'd cooked. Matthew doesn't really know what to make of it. But his eyes are still as expressive as ever and he is still wanting. It hurts him, sometimes, knowing that he has to crush this poor boys heart. But maybe they can continue, for just a little while longer.
Jean and Lucien are in Melbourne, and Charlie is on his couch. Matthew is still in shocked he invited Charlie over here. But they have to talk. He sits across from him, dust dances in the air, and the light makes his eyes all the bluer. He is so beautiful.
"I think we need to talk, Charlie."
"About what?"
"You bringing me food."
"If you didn't want me to, then you could have just said no." He defends, "I just thought that you work long hours, it might be nice to not have-" Matthew silences him with a hand.
"I see the way you look at me. I'm not blind." Charlie's face goes red alarmingly fast.
"I'm sorry." He stumbles out, "I'm so sorry, I didn't want to make you mad, or anything I just…" He stumbles over himself, not sure how to defend himself. Matthew put a careful hand on his knee, just close enough to be friendly, but nothing more.
"I know. I do." He said, coughing up half a smile for him. Long pause. "I'm going to tell you something that I expect you to take to your grave." Charlie's left eyebrow flicks. "I would be lying if I told you I wasn't interested." He feels like a weight has lifted from his chest, and he can take a full breath of oxygen for the first time in years.
"Really?"
"Mmmm. But we can't."
"Why can't we?"
"Because it's not right. I'm your boss. I'm ten years older than you. I'm a man." Charlie looks heart broken, but he swallows it quickly.
"Can I ask you something?" Matthew nods. "Can I – That is to say, would you let me, kiss you?"
"Kiss me?" He asked, surprised. Charlie nodded, earnest.
"I've…Thought about it a lot."
"Have you just?"
"Well…." He said, awkwardly.
He could, they were alone and there was no chance of interruption. It may be the first and last time he ever kisses a man. It might give Charlie something good. But he knows how hard it will be to let him go, if they kiss. He can feel it deep in his bones.
"Yes." Charlie's face lights up. He reaches out with one long, thin hand to touch the side of Matthew's face. His fingers are icy cold. He swallows, and then comes in for the kiss.
Matthew Lawson has always been in control, but once their lips touch, sweet and warm, he knows he has lost.