Hanschen has left, gone to Hilda's to get the burns treated. Make yourselves comfortable. ~Gustave. Ilse and Moritz couldn't help but laugh at the note stuck in the door. The laughter subsided as they walked into the empty house. Without Gustave and Hanschen, the place was oddly quiet and boring. And considerably bigger, too. Hanschen had clearly trashed the place before he left; it was a huge mess.
"Hey, Gustave probably won't be back till morning." Ilse said excitedly. "Do you miss sleeping on a real bed?" Moritz perked up at this; he had grown to miss stretching his long legs out at night. "Come on, Gustave's bed is huge!" As she scrambled up the stairs in front of him, Moritz couldn't help but feel a sense of dread. Could he handle sleeping in a bed with Ilse? He could barely handle sleeping in the same room with her, him on the floor and her on the sofa. Countless times he had stirred awake to see her sleeping peacefully in the moonlight...he didn't sleep those nights, with his heart popping out of his chest and the parts between his legs feeling oddly tingly. But the prospect of having a full mattress under his back was too much for him to pass up. He had never been upstairs in Gustave's house before; Gustave was very protective of his studio, and Moritz never had reason to go up there. It wasn't all that special, but as he saw the door to the studio, a childish sense of curiosity overcame him.
"Why can't we ever see his paintings?" he asked as he walked into Gustave's bedroom.
"He thinks if anyone sees them before they are complete, they will be 'tainted'." Ilse's voice drifted from the closet. "You go ahead and change, I'm changing in here." The curiosity about the studio vanished. He'd always made sure he'd been ready for bed before Ilse and up before she was, so he wouldn't see her in her slip. That was torture, because it clung to her body so perfectly and it was so white against her rosy skin, and her bare legs...oh hell. He proceeded to strip off his clothes as fast as possible, unaware that a bright hazel eye was peering through a hole in the door where the knob used to be. Wow, he's not in shape but he's so slender...Ilse thought mistily. I love how pale and tall he looks with his shirt off. Her heart palpitated in her chest. Why didn't she ever feel this way around Gustave, or Johan? She slowly swung the door open as Moritz sat down on the bed, facing the opposite wall. He jumped a little at the door shutting, but did not turn around. His ignorance was starting to bug her.
"Aren't you going to say goodnight to me?" Ilse said, irritation lacing her voice.
"Um...goodnight." he said nervously, slipping under the covers like a frightened kitten. She was fed up with this bullshit. She climbed over him, entrapping his slender body under her. She grabbed the covers and threw them off his face. He stared at her in her light pink slip, almost blending into her skin. "Um, Ilse..." he croaked, averting his eyes, "W-what...?" She was looming over him like a scary angel.
"Look at me, Moritz Stiefel." she said firmly, like a mother to a guilty child. His brown eyes immediately looked into her hazel ones. His pupils were quivering, fighting not to look at her breasts.
"I-I-Ilse..." he stuttered, "I-I-I-I can't do..." Before he could finish, Ilse had swooped down and stopped his mouth with hers. For a moment, their lips hung suspended in air. Moritz felt a warm, flooding feeling rush from his lips to his entire body, a feeling that he had been wanting for so long. But it started to flicker out like a candle. No, he couldn't lose it. He pressed his lips further into Ilse's, and suddenly her tongue was snaking around his mouth. It caught him off-guard, and his mouth clamped shut. "Ilse...I have no idea what I'm doing." he blurted out before he could stop himself. "I don't—"
"Moritz...shut up." From the look on his face, she was surprised he didn't say 'Yes ma'am'. "You don't know much, but I know a lot. You do what feels right, what you want to do...and I'll do the rest." She sat back, resting on his legs. She spread her arms out. "Come on, Moritz. Just don't think. What do you want to do to me?" He didn't need telling twice. Was that all that held him back, just permission? Well, he had it, and his twitching hands flew to her breasts. They were so soft and firm, and instantly they were pressed into his chest as she pounced on him like a cat. This time his tongue put up a good battle against hers, and he felt her small, smooth hands go up the back of his neck and into his hair. His own hands were around her waist, skimming her curves and down her back. And they were both gone.