CHAPTER TWO
Syrup und Sachertorte

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"And this one is made with the very best dark Swiss chocolate, blended with vanilla and the slightest hint of chili, then melded to perfection within my own trademark cinnamon-spiced choux pastry."

Matthew's eyes closed just briefly as he tasted the next bite-sized delicacy from the tray laid before him. The lovely accountant sat on a tall stool opposite Francis at the counter, his tie undone and his briefcase forgotten beside him. Francis could only smile in delight, almost letting a small sigh escape his lips. He could watch Matthew taste his delectable creations all day. At this stage, he was intending to do just that. For almost a week now Matthew had been coming to his patisserie every morning, brightening Francis' day just as it began, giving him something to look forward to every night. Francis had asked Matthew about his work at first, but it quickly became obvious that the accountant did not wish to speak of it. So instead they spoke of their homes, of music and art, of food and sport and travel. And the more Francis found out, the more he realised he wanted to know. Of course, he was ridiculously attracted to Matthew. How could he not be – he was gorgeous, and his hair was fabulous. But Francis also wanted to talk to him, hear how he was, hear how he thought… he did not just want to sleep with him. He wanted to do that too, of course, so badly it was painful. Which really made him wonder why he hadn't even broached the subject yet. After all, it had been a week - anyone else and Francis would have slept with them and forgotten them by now. It struck Francis that this was the longest relationship he had ever been in, and it was not even a relationship.

It was now Friday afternoon and to Francis' utter joy, Matthew had stopped in on his way home from work. The smell of baking bread wafted from the kitchen, the voice of the divine Miss Piaf flowed from the speakers, and the golden afternoon seemed to stretch on forever. A few customers came and went, but Francis' entire focus was on the charming young man before him.

"Oh," said Matthew after swallowing the chocolate pastry. He laughed softly, shaking his head in amazement. "How do you do this, Francis? Just when I think I have tasted the most delicious thing ever created, you present me with something better!"

Francis knew he was the best pastry chef to ever come out of Paris, but hearing these compliments from Matthew somehow meant more than the thousands he had received before. He shrugged modestly and gave Matthew a tiny, teasing smile. "My dear, it is now my goal in life to keep surprising you."

Matthew smirked, gazing up through lowered lashes. "A goal I believe you will have no trouble accomplishing."

Francis felt his heart thump a few swift, heavy beats in his chest. He was never quite certain if Matthew meant to be seductive when he spoke like that, when he looked at him like that; but the mystery just made him even more appealing. Francis hadn't had this much fun flirting in years. "I am flattered by your faith in me."

"Well honestly, Francis," Matthew continued, sitting straighter and brushing the sugar lightly from his hands. "You're a magician!"

Francis placed a hand to his chest and gave a tiny bow. "And you are too charmingly kind."

"What I really want to know is how you are not the size of a house!" Matthew looked down at himself critically. "One week visiting your patisserie and I am certain I have gained ten pounds."

Francis scoffed. The man could sell gym memberships. Wide shoulders, narrow waist, slender with what looked like the perfect amount of muscle beneath that suit… Francis let his eyes wander. "Nonsense, you are flawless. And it is all about moderation, no? Besides, I like a man with a little… softness to him."

Matthew reddened, but laughed at the same time. "Well, uh, I suppose that's a good thing. Much more of this and I'll turn into a pastry myself."

Francis grinned delightedly. "Then I would have to eat you, darling." Matthew really did walk into these things, sometimes. "And I am sure you would be delicious." Matthew rolled his eyes mockingly, but his cheeks were still that delicious shade of red. A hot, wild flutter pulsed through Francis' veins. Time to see just how far he could push. "I have been working on something special today." Francis spoke slyly, leaning forward across the counter.

"Oh?" asked Matthew interestedly, his blue eyes bright and intrigued behind his charming wire glasses.

"These," Francis gestured over a row of miniature crepes on the tray before him, "Are made with a very special secret ingredient."

Matthew glanced down then up with slightly narrowed eyes and parted lips. "Do tell me more, monsieur."

Francis leant closer to Matthew and lowered his voice. "A great chef never gives away his secrets."

Matthew leant in also, until their noses almost touched and Francis could smell his hair. "What if I promise to never tell a soul?" he whispered.

Francis had to bite back a groan of desire. He was used to this feeling of intrigue and attraction. What he was not used to was this overwhelming swelling in his chest when Matthew smiled, this intense wave of heat that spread through him when Matthew blinked slowly. Francis clenched his hand, digging his nails into his palm. "Well," he said, forcing himself to smile smoothly, "If it's a promise…"

Matthew raised a hand in a oath-taking gesture. "Scout's honour."

Francis pulled back sharply and gasped in horror. "Please tell me you weren't a boy scout, darling."

Matthew gazed back at him evenly, impassive and serious. "Of course I was. That is where I acquired my impressive knowledge of knot tying. And where I learnt never to take candy from strangers."

Francis raised an eyebrow deviously. "Knots, hmm? And..." He looked pointedly down at the tray of pastries. "Candy?"

Matthew's lips twitched upwards ever so subtly. "I never said I was a good scout."

Francis suddenly felt far too hot for this cold autumn day – he had the immediate urge to fan himself. He chuckled softly. "Well, now I really don't know if I can trust you with my secrets."

Matthew waved a hand. "I swear to you, I'm a vault. Your naughty little secrets are safe with me, Francis." Then he winked, and Francis nearly bit his tongue in half. Oh, this was too much. The way Matthew blushed just slightly at Francis' bold flirtations, but never backed down or looked away. The way he knew just how to respond to keep Francis intrigued and on his toes. Matthew still had a straightforward sort of innocence about him, but he was no bashful submissive. Francis was finding Matthew's unique blend of sweet and snark intoxicating.

Francis sighed dramatically and spread his hands in defeat. "Very well, you win." He reached down slowly, picked up one of the miniature rolled crepes, then lifted it delicately. Matthew's eyes followed his fingers the entire time. Francis smirked. "Maple syrup, my darling."

Matthew's mouth fell open and his wide blue eyes shot up to meet Francis'. "Oh," he breathed, his shoulders tensing, his bottom lip catching between his teeth. His chest heaved as he took a deep breath; his eyes darkened as they fell back down to the crepe. Francis felt his veins burn beneath his skin. "Oh," said Matthew again, his cheeks still blushing red. "Maple syrup?"

Francis could feel his grin growing feral. But God, when Matthew breathed and sighed and blushed like that, how could he control himself? "Your favourite, wasn't it?" he asked teasingly.

"Yes." Matthew responded too quickly. Francis could see his feet twisting beneath the glass counter.

Francis silently congratulated himself. He had just found the secret ingredient to immediately turn the tables in his favour. "Would you like…" he let the sentence trail into anticipative silence.

Matthew gasped, soft and expectant. "Yes! Let me try, please…"

The way Matthew said 'please' shot straight to certain parts of Francis' body, hot and fierce and craving. A week suddenly felt like a very, very long time. "Well, of course you may try." He made as though to pass the crepe to Matthew, who leant forward expectantly until Francis suddenly stopped and drew back. He just smiled pleasantly when Matthew furrowed his brows. "Tell me, Mathieu. What are you planning to do with yourself this weekend?"

Matthew looked cravingly at the crepe between Francis' fingers, but then met Francis' teasing gaze steadily. His eyes immediately narrowed. "Not much. I still have a few boxes I haven't unpacked."

Francis had to give Matthew credit. His breath was still a little fast, but once he knew Francis' game, he seemed determined not to lose it. "No, no, no my dear," Francis winked. "I have a better idea. What do you think of... oh, but what am I doing. Here. Try this first." Francis held the crepe before Matthew's lips. Matthew eyed it warily, even after his earlier display.

"Why?"

Francis forced himself not to laugh with delight. "Because then you will not be able to say no!"

Matthew raised his eyebrows. "Well. I'll have to test that."

Matthew's lips were so soft, so warm against Francis' fingers. Francis again clenched his other hand and bit his lip to hold back a moan. He felt the briefest touch of Matthew's tongue on his fingertip and it shot through him like an electric shock. Matthew's eyes fluttered shut, then opened slowly, then met Francis' with a dark, burning intensity.

The bell above the door jingled cheerfully and a loud voice resounded through the shop. "Where's my cake?"

Matthew shot backwards and quickly covered his mouth with his hand. Francis groaned inwardly. Why, why, why? Of all times... Introducing Matthew to his overly confident, unbearably loud, and stubbornly narcissistic German best friend was not part of Francis' plan of seduction.

"Gilbert!" cried Francis with sarcastic delight and genuine frustration. "Perfect timing as always."

Gilbert barrelled through the shop, grabbing a cupcake as he went. "Yeah, yeah, I'm here for my party cake and it had better be amazing."

"I thought the party was a surprise." Francis addressed the sentence to Roderich, who followed resignedly behind the practically bouncing German.

"You know what he's like." Roderich snatched the cupcake from Gilbert's hand and glared at him warningly.

Francis knew exactly. The slightest hint someone was doing something for his birthday, and Gilbert would have pushed and pried and wheedled and whined until he found out every last detail. Gilbert grinned smugly. "You can't hide anything from me, suckers."

"Antonio told him," said Roderich simply.

Francis rolled his eyes. Of course Antonio told him. "Why am I not surprised. Regardless, Gilbert, you are early, mon ami."

"What are you talking about, it's nearly six! You'd better have my sachertorte ready or I…" Gilbert broke off, staring at Matthew as though he had only just noticed him. His expression turned briefly blank before his lips spread in a delighted, wicked grin. "Let me guess. You chose the éclair."

Matthew turned red. Francis gritted his teeth. Roderich thumped Gilbert on the shoulder.

"Ow! What? That's spousal abuse right there, I could file a lawsuit..."

"I must apologise," said Roderich, smiling at Matthew, polite and dignified as ever. "Gilbert's social intelligence never progressed beyond a fourth grade level."

"Roderich, Gilbert!" said Francis loudly, interrupting before Gilbert could come out with something inappropriately vulgar. "This is Matthew. A friend of mine. We were busy." Francis spat the word at Gilbert, who just wagged his eyebrows.

"I'm pleased to meet you," said Matthew softly. Francis' chest swelled a little and his spine tingled as he watched Matthew get hesitantly to his feet. This shyness that showed through occasionally was too enthralling. And to think only moments ago those softly smiling lips had been against Francis' fingers...

Roderich took Matthew's hand in a polite handshake. "Likewise." Roderich's manners were, as always, impeccable. Francis never was quite sure just what the refined Austrian saw in Gilbert, who was now leaning against the counter and eyeing Matthew up and down.

"So, Matt, tell me. How long did it take mon ami Francis?"

Matthew looked puzzled. "How long?"

"Yeah, you know." Gilbert pointed to the infamous éclairs under the glass counter. "To get from one of those in your mouth to…"

Francis grasped Gilbert by the collar, hauled him forward, and hissed in his ear. "One more word and I swear I will tell Roderich about that lap dance in New York last month."

Gilbert narrowed his eyes. "Well played, sir." When Francis released him, Gilbert cleared his throat and straightened his collar. "Get me my damn cake."

Francis smirked triumphantly. "One moment, good sir." Francis walked out the back, hearing Roderich behind him.

"What was that, Gilbert?"

"Nothing! Is it hot in here? So, Matt, what do you do? Let me guess, investment banker. Hey, are those maple syrup crepes?"

Francis retrieved his brilliant sachertorte from the kitchen, then arrived back at the counter to find Gilbert helping himself to the crepes and Roderich asking Matthew politely about his work. Francis was just about to rescue Matthew from a topic he knew the accountant hated, when Gilbert reached over and dragged him down the counter. "What the hell is going on here?" Gilbert hissed. "Have you even asked Mr Studly Accountant out yet?"

Francis did not want to explain this now, and not like this. He knew his friends would not understand, and would think this attraction was just the same as all the others. "Look, I've only known him a few days."

Gilbert looked at Francis blankly. "Are you joking? A few days? Last week you picked up in a men's room."

Francis' glanced worriedly over at Matthew. "Shh, keep it down!"

"We were supposed to see a movie!" Gilbert spoke far too loudly. "Then you duck into the bathroom for two minutes and the next thing I know you're taking some guy home!"

"Look, that wasn't exactly how..."

"I had to watch it on my own! Do you know how dodgy that looks, a grown man watching 'Puss in Boots' on his own? I thought someone was gonna call the police!"

"Merde, Gilbert, will you just…"

"Man, all I'm saying, is that if you can pick up in the time it takes to piss then a few days is like a long term relationship."

Francis glared. Gilbert stared back. "Are you done?" asked Francis finally. "You do know you are incredibly crass, don't you, my dear?"

"Psh, you sound like Roderich. The way I see it there's only three possible explanations here." Gilbert ticked off his fingers. "One; you don't like him. Two; he doesn't like you. Three…" Gilbert grinned. Merde, he could be so obnoxious with that disgusting grin. "You really like him."

So maybe his friends would understand after all. Francis shrugged in an attempt at nonchalance. "And what if I do?"

Gilbert's eyes lit up in that familiar, worryingly evil way. "Ohhhh. Well, well." He grinned again before racing back down the counter. He sidled up beside Matthew and leant in far too close. "Matt, my friend. I'm not sure if Francis has told you yet, though I don't know why he wouldn't, but there is an awesome party planned for tomorrow night to celebrate the momentous and world-changing occasion of my birth into the world twenty-eight years ago. You will, of course, be attending."

Matthew looked a little bewildered. "I will?"

"You will. Shindigs at Chez Beilschmidt tend to get a little wild, so bring a change of pants." Francis slapped his hand to his forehead as Gilbert continued. "As for presents, I'm partial to silk trousers, seventeenth century carved smoking pipes, and custom My Little Ponies..."

"Please don't bring a thing," interrupted Roderich.

"Aw, nah, at least get me some socks or something..."

"Feel free to ignore him, everyone else does." Roderich kicked Gilbert in the shin, somehow managing to do it elegantly. "But Francis must have invited you. We will see you there, of course?"

"Well, uh," Matthew glanced at Francis just briefly. "That sounds great, but… Francis hasn't actually invited me."

Francis gulped as both Gilbert and Roderich glared at him. Gilbert shook his head in disgust. "You tactless French bastard."

"ME tactless? My dear, coming from you, that is richer than your beautifully crafted sachertorte. Besides, you interrupted me before I had the chance."

"No more of these excuses. I am embarrassed for you, Francis. I thought you were good at this sort of thing, you've had enough practice..." Gilbert's verbal attack turned into an incoherent shout when Roderich again kicked him in the shin. "Damn it, man, will you stop physically attacking me today!"

Roderich swiftly and gracefully took the cake box from the counter before guiding Gilbert insistently to the door. "We must be leaving. Thank you for the cake, Francis. It was lovely to meet you, Matthew, and I do hope to see you tomorrow evening."

Gilbert glared at Francis, wide-eyed and intense, even as Roderich dragged him by the collar. He pointed two fingers at Francis, then at Matthew. "Man up, bro."

The door slammed shut behind them and Francis let out a deep breath. Matthew looked slightly overwhelmed.

"I do apologise," said Francis, annoyed at the interruption but flashing a charming smile. "It is usually best to be introduced to Gilbert slowly. Or not at all."

Matthew shook his head and straightened his tie awkwardly. "No, I should be the one to apologise. When I said you hadn't invited me, I did not mean to sound like... like I expected you to, or..."

"You didn't?"

Matthew looked crestfallen for a moment before covering it with a blank expression. "I'm sorry, I did not mean to put you on the spot." Francis mentally kicked himself - Matthew must have misunderstood. "I thought..." Matthew persevered, "I mean, they must have thought there was something between us. Oh, and that crepe was incredible, by the way."

Francis held back a giggle. "I know it was."

"Whatever you were going to ask me before we were interrupted, the answer would have been yes."

And now Matthew was utterly adorable again. Francis felt his heart jump, and knew he couldn't play around and ignore the point any longer. "Is that so? I'm glad to hear it, because I am afraid we now have a dilemma."

Matthew's eyes brightened hopefully, but his expression remained unsure. "We do?"

Francis leant his arms on the counter and lowered his head, his eyes narrowing and his lips turning in a familiar manner of seduction. "I can not possibly let our first date be to my obnoxious friend's birthday party."

Matthew's hope-filled eyes widened and he tilted his head inquisitively. "Date?"

"Yes, my dear, which leaves us with only one night to rectify this situation, and one possible option. Have dinner with me. This evening."

Matthew blinked silently a few times before a slow, shy smile spread across his face. He brushed his hair back and shrugged in an obvious attempt to look nonchalant. "Sure. Why not."

Francis felt his cheeks turn warm at the captivating smile. If there had been any doubt Matthew was interested in taking this further, it had just been utterly crushed. "Wonderful, darling! And I know the perfect place. Tell me... do you like Italian food?"