Chapter 5: Unspoken Tensions
The attic room held the afternoon sun like a secret, dust motes dancing in the warm, slanted light that fell across the rumpled bed. Matthew let out a contented sigh, the sound barely audible over the soundtrack of the film playing on his laptop. His head rested on Karel’s chest, the steady heartbeat beneath his ear a more compelling rhythm than any dialogue. The scent of Karel’s skin—soap, a hint of kitchen herbs from his shift, something uniquely warm—was the only perfume he needed. He traced idle patterns on Karel’s stomach, feeling the muscle twitch beneath his fingertips.
“This is the worst heist movie I have ever seen,” Karel murmured, his voice a pleasant rumble against Matthew’s cheek. “The security guard is clearly in love with the art curator.”
“It’s about the aesthetic, not the plot,” Matthew argued, smiling. “Look at the lighting in that gallery.”
“The lighting is stupid. You could hide an elephant in those shadows.”
Two weeks. It felt like both a lifetime and a single, perfect breath. The hidden terrace, the terrible wine, the kiss that had tasted of river mist and possibility—it had become a foundation. With Karel, there was no dissection of every word, no walking on eggshells woven from Billy’s old criticisms. There was just this: easy silence, lighter laughter, a patient curiosity about each other that felt like exploration, not interrogation. Matthew felt settled in his own skin in a way he’d forgotten was possible. Guarded doors inside him had begun to creak open, not with a dramatic flourish, but quietly, allowing the light in.
“I’m parched,” Karel said, giving Matthew’s shoulder a gentle squeeze before sliding out from under him. The cool air rushed to fill the space where his body heat had been. Matthew propped himself up on an elbow, watching as Karel stood, stretched—a vivid, real silhouette against the floral wallpaper—and pulled on his black boxer-briefs. He padded barefoot toward the bedroom door, his footsteps soft on the worn floorboards.
“Don’t get lost,” Matthew called after him.
“In this shoebox? I would have to try very hard.”
The apartment was silent save for the muffled movie sounds. Matthew sank back into the pillow, pulling Karel’s side of the duvet over himself. He stared at the half-unpacked suitcase in the corner, a dormant relic. Billy who? he thought, and for the first time, it didn’t feel like a forced mantra. It felt like a simple, fading fact.
In the kitchen, Karel found a glass and turned on the tap, letting the water run cold. The main door to the apartment clicked open.
Jake walked in, dumping his gym bag by the coat stand. He froze when he saw Karel. His eyes did a quick, involuntary sweep: the bare torso, the tattoos snaking down a forearm, the underwear, the fact that this stranger was in his kitchen, pouring water at 4 PM on a Wednesday.
“Oh,” Jake said. He forced a smile, the charismatic one he used on his students. It didn’t reach his eyes. “Hey. You must be… a friend of Matthew’s.”
Karel turned off the tap and leaned against the counter, taking a slow drink. He nodded, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Karel. You are Jake.”
“Yeah.” Jake’s gaze flicked toward the hallway leading to the bedrooms. “Matthew around?”
“He is watching a terrible movie.” Karel’s tone was neutral, pleasant.
“Right.” Jake moved to the fridge, pulling it open more forcefully than necessary. He stared inside without seeing anything. The air thickened. “So, you two met… out?”
“At the restaurant. I spilled wine on his shoes. It was very romantic.” Karel said it dryly, watching Jake.
Jake shut the fridge. He crossed his arms, a posture that looked casual but felt defensive. “Cool. He’s a great guy. We’ve gotten pretty close since he moved in.”
The subtext hung between them, cheap and obvious. I was here first.
“He speaks highly of you,” Karel offered, which was mostly true. Matthew had mentioned a friendly, helpful flatmate. He hadn’t mentioned the intensity of Jake’s gaze, which was currently trying to drill a hole through the wall into Matthew’s room.
“Good.” Jake’s jaw tightened. He looked like he wanted to say more, to mark his territory in some way, but all he managed was a stiff, “Well. Don’t let me keep you from your… movie.”
“The water was the mission,” Karel said, pushing off the counter. He gave Jake a small, unreadable nod. “Nice to meet you, Jake.”
“Yeah. You too.”
Karel walked back down the hall, feeling Jake’s eyes on his back until he turned the corner.
In the bedroom, Matthew had paused the film. “Everything okay?” he asked as Karel slid back into bed, handing him the glass. “I heard voices.”
Karel took a sip of water, then passed the glass to Matthew. “I met your flatmate. Jake.”
“Oh.” Matthew’s expression shifted, a flicker of the old, guarded uncertainty returning. “Was he… nice?”
Karel considered his words. He pulled Matthew back against him, the solid contact a deliberate comfort. “He was very interested in how close we are.”
Matthew stiffened. “What does that mean?”
“It means he stood in the kitchen and tried to measure me with his eyes. He told me you two had gotten ‘pretty close.’” Karel mimicked Jake’s tone, not unkindly, but with accuracy.
A hot-cold flush washed over Matthew. The confusion was instantaneous, a tangled knot. Jake’s effortless charm, the beers on the couch, the lingering looks that never quite led anywhere—it had been easy to dismiss as a silly crush, a distraction from the healing Karel offered. But this? This territorial, barely-veiled jealousy from his ostensibly straight flatmate?
“I don’t understand him,” Matthew said, his voice quiet against Karel’s skin. “He’s always with some woman, or talking about women. He never…”
“Never what?” Karel’s hand was steady on his back.
“Never made a move. Never gave a real signal. Just this… persistent, friendly warmth that felt like it could be more. But it’s probably just him. Just how he is.” Even as he said it, the explanation felt flimsy.
“Perhaps,” Karel said. He didn’t offer empty reassurance. He just held him, his patience a silent question.
Matthew focused on the feel of Karel’s arm around him, the steady in-and-out of his breathing. The solid, present reality of him. The man who actually showed up. Who didn’t play games in kitchens. He thought of the hidden terrace, of feeling ready. He would not let Jake’s confusing vibe poison this. He made a choice, turning his head to press a kiss just below Karel’s collarbone.
“The movie is still terrible,” Matthew murmured, reaching for the laptop.
“The worst,” Karel agreed, his fingers beginning to gently comb through Matthew’s hair.
But as the film resumed, Matthew’s eyes stayed unfocused on the screen. His mind was in the kitchen, replaying the encounter Karel described, listening for the echo of a slamming fridge door, and wondering, with a fresh, sharp curiosity, what in the world Jake thought he was doing.
His mind was in the kitchen, replaying the encounter Karel described, listening for the echo of a slamming fridge door, and wondering, with a fresh, sharp curiosity, what in the world Jake thought he was doing. That jagged thought needed to be buried, now, under something real and present. He focused on the salt-and-pepper dusting of hair on Karel’s chest, the rise and fall of it. Matthew shifted, pushing himself up, and began planting soft, deliberate kisses on the warm skin over Karel’s sternum. He traced the line of a collarbone with his tongue, then moved lower, licking slow, wet circles around one nipple, then the other, feeling it tighten into a hard peak against his lips.
He felt the stiffening bulge in Karel’s boxer-briefs press against his thigh, a firm, insistent heat. Matthew palmed it through the fabric, a soft groan escaping Karel’s throat. “So,” Matthew whispered, his breath hot on the damp skin, “you ready for round two?” His own voice sounded raw, wanting to drown out the ghost of Jake’s misplaced jealousy in pure, physical sensation.
In one fluid motion, Karel rolled them, his weight solid and welcome as he pinned Matthew to the mattress. He swallowed Matthew’s gasp with a deep, claiming kiss, his tongue exploring Matthew’s mouth with a hunger that felt like an answer. His hips ground down, the friction of their cocks trapped between them sending a lightning bolt straight to Matthew’s gut. They kissed like that for a long time, a tangle of tongues and quiet, desperate sounds, until Karel broke away, breathing hard. He looked down, his eyes dark. “We still haven’t,” he said, the words a low rasp. “You and me. I haven’t been inside you.”
The air left Matthew’s lungs. A cold knot, familiar and sour, coiled in his stomach. Billy’s voice, sharp and impatient, echoed in a dark corner of his memory. Just relax, for fuck’s sake. You’re so fucking tight. It’s like you don’t even want me. It had been less about connection and more about possession, a rough, hurried transaction that left him feeling sore and small. “I know,” Matthew said, his voice barely audible. “It’s just… it hasn’t been good for me. Before.”
“Billy.” Karel said the name not as a question, but as a simple, grim fact. Matthew nodded. Karel brushed a thumb over Matthew’s lower lip. “I don’t want to be him. I want it to be you and me. I want to show you it can feel good.” His hand slid down Matthew’s stomach, dipping beneath the waistband of his briefs to wrap around his hardening length. “Can I try? Just my fingers. We stop whenever you say.”
Matthew searched Karel’s face—the patience there, the absence of demand. It was the opposite of everything he remembered. He let out a shaky breath. “Okay. Yeah. Okay.”
Karel kissed him again, softer this time, as his hand began a slow, steady stroke. He reached for the lube on the nightstand, the click of the cap loud in the quiet room. Matthew felt the cool, slick drip against his hole and flinched instinctively. “Shhh,” Karel soothed, kissing his neck, his hand never stopping its rhythm on Matthew’s cock. The pressure of a single fingertip pressed against him, gentle, insistent, and then pushed slowly inside.
It was a strange, full sensation. Matthew held his breath. Karel crooned, “Breathe, lásko. Just breathe.” He worked the finger in and out with a torturously slow cadence, the pad of it brushing against something inside that made Matthew’s hips twitch. A soft, broken sound escaped him. “Good?” Karel murmured. All Matthew could do was nod, his fingers digging into Karel’s bicep.
Then a second finger, joining the first, stretching him wider. The burn was brief, replaced by a deeper, probing pressure as Karel scissored them gently, all while his other hand jacked Matthew’s cock with perfect, filthy friction. “Fuck, Karel,” Matthew gasped, his head thrashing back into the pillow. The dual sensations—the intimate penetration and the rough tug on his dick—collided, short-circuiting his fear. Pleasure, pure and startling, began to uncoil his spine. He was panting, meeting the thrust of Karel’s fingers, chasing the feeling building low in his belly.
“That’s it,” Karel growled, curling his fingers just so. “Come on. Let go for me.” His thumb swiped over the leaking head of Matthew’s cock.
It was too much. The climax ripped through Matthew without warning, a white-hot seizure of nerve endings. He cried out, back arching off the bed as he came, stripes of hot cum painting his stomach and chest in violent pulses. He shuddered through it, utterly spent, the world hazy at its edges.
Karel carefully withdrew his fingers, bringing them to his own mouth to taste. He looked wrecked, his cock straining obscenely against his underwear. “Turn over,” he said, his voice thick.
Dazed and pliant, Matthew rolled onto his stomach. He heard the rustle of fabric as Karel shoved his own underwear down. The sound of slick, fast strokes filled the room. Karel’s free hand ran over the curve of Matthew’s ass, a possessive, admiring caress. “You have a gorgeous fucking ass,” Karel breathed, his pace increasing. “Watching it take my fingers… fuck.” His breathing hitched, turned ragged. “I’m going to come all over it.”
Matthew buried his face in the pillow, the obscene promise sending a fresh, weak throb through his spent cock. He felt the first hot splash hit his skin, then another, a series of wet, claiming stripes across his cheeks and lower back. Karel groaned, long and low, his body trembling as he finished.
For a moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing. Then Karel left, returning with a warm, damp cloth. He cleaned Matthew with a tenderness that felt immense, wiping away the evidence of their intimacy before tending to himself. He slid into bed and gathered Matthew against him, skin to skin, the scent of sex and sweat hanging in the sunlit air.
Matthew nuzzled into the hollow of Karel’s throat, the last tremors of his body subsiding. The memory of Billy was a distant, muted thing, overwritten by the careful hands that now held him. “Next time,” Matthew whispered into Karel’s skin, the words a vow, a surrender, and a reclaiming all at once. “Next time, I want you to fuck me.”
Karel tightened his arms around him, pressing a kiss to his hair. No words were needed. The afternoon light deepened to gold, then to blue twilight, and they drifted off to sleep holding each other, the world beyond the attic walls forgotten.
The afternoon light deepened to gold, then to blue twilight, and they drifted off to sleep holding each other, the world beyond the attic walls forgotten.
A harsh, digital chirping sawed through the deep quiet. Karel groaned, his arm tightening around Matthew for a second before he disentangled himself, fumbling for his phone on the floor. The screen’s glow lit the worry on his face. “I have to go,” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep. “Closing shift.”
Matthew watched him move through the dim room, a silent outline gathering clothes. There was a new intimacy in the routine of it—Karel stepping into his jeans, finding a sock under the desk. Matthew switched on the bedside lamp, its weak light painting the scene in soft sepia. He pulled on his own t-shirt and shorts, the fabric smelling of skin and laundered cotton.
“I’ll walk you out,” Matthew said.
At the apartment’s front door, they lingered. Karel cupped Matthew’s face, his thumbs stroking his cheekbones. “Tonight was good,” he said, simpler and more profound than any elaborate declaration.
“It was.” Matthew leaned into the touch. “It really was.”
Their goodbye kiss was slow, a promise of continuation, tasting of sleep and shared salt. Then Karel was gone, his footsteps echoing down the stairwell. Matthew stood in the quiet hallway for a moment, the ghost of the kiss still on his lips, before turning toward the kitchen.
The overhead light was on, harsh and fluorescent. Jake sat at the small table, his back to the window, Matthew’s open laptop glowing before him. He didn’t look up. The cursor blinked on a blank document. The air felt charged, thick with a silence that had been listening.
A cold trickle, like the drip of the lube bottle, traced Matthew’s spine. How long had he been out here? The walls in this old building were thin; the attic wasn’t a vault. Had he heard the muffled cries, the bedframe’s faint complaint, the long, quiet aftermath? Matthew shoved the thought down, a flicker of heat rising to his cheeks that was part embarrassment, part defiance.
“Hey,” Matthew said, his voice sounding overly loud.
Jake finally looked up. His expression was unreadable, a careful blank. “Hey. Hope you don’t mind. My battery died.” He gestured to the laptop.
“No, it’s fine.” Matthew moved to the fridge, needing something to do. He pulled out two beers, the bottles clinking together. He set one on the table near Jake.
“Thanks.” Jake took a long swig, his eyes studying Matthew. “So. Karel seems… solid.”
There it was. The careful probing. “He is.”
“Where’s he from again?”
“He’s Czech. Local. You met him.”
“Right.” Jake nodded slowly, as if filing the information. “And he’s a… waiter?”
The emphasis on the word was slight but unmistakable. Matthew felt his shoulders tighten. “He works at U Bílého lva. He’s also studying archival preservation at the university.” The defense was automatic, sharp.
Jake held up a hand, a placating gesture. “Hey, no judgment. Just making conversation. Seems a bit older, is all.”
“He’s twenty-eight. It’s not a mystery.” Matthew’s grip tightened on his bottle. This was the kitchen interrogation Karel had mentioned, just dressed in fake-casual clothes. “Why the third degree, Jake?”
Jake looked down, running a finger through the condensation on his bottle. The blank mask slipped, revealing something tired and frustrated underneath. “I’m sorry. That came out wrong. I’m not… interrogating. I’m just…” He sighed, a ragged sound. “I miss you, man. We used to hang out all the time. Watch dumb movies, bitch about work. Now you’re just… gone. With him.”
The anger in Matthew fizzled, replaced by a sudden, guilty recognition. It was true. Since the terrace, since the bones of his life had begun knitting themselves into a new, steadier shape around Karel, he’d let the easy rhythm with Jake fall away. He’d been so focused on building something new that he’d neglected what he’d thought was solid.
“You’re right,” Matthew said, the fight leaving him. He pulled out a chair and sat. “I haven’t been around. This thing with Karel… it’s been intense. In a good way. But it doesn’t mean I checked out of our friendship.”
“It kinda felt like it.” Jake offered a weak smile. “I’m happy for you, Matt. Really. I just… miss my friend.”
“I’m still here.” Matthew took a drink, the beer cool and bitter. “And for the record, he is good enough. He’s kind, and he’s patient, and he makes me feel like I’m not a project to be fixed.”
Jake flinched almost imperceptibly at that. “Billy really did a number on you, huh?”
“Yeah. But that’s done.” Matthew meant it. The suitcase in the corner of his mind was finally, truly closed. “So, what’s new with you? Any spectacular dating disasters lately?”
The tension broke. Jake launched into a story about a woman from his language class who’d tried to explain Czech grammar using interpretive dance. Matthew laughed, a real, unguarded sound. They fell back into the old pattern, the easy volley of jokes and complaints. They finished their beers and opened two more, the empty bottles lining up like sentinels on the table.
Hours later, stomach aching from laughter, Matthew thought maybe this was all it ever needed to be. This simple, uncomplicated affection. He had Karel for the deep, quiet currents, the transformative intimacy. He could have Jake for this: the reliable shore of friendship, solid and familiar. The two could exist separately, each nourishing a different part of him. The confused pull he’d once felt toward Jake seemed now like a mirage, born from loneliness and proximity. It had dissolved in the clear, sustaining light of what was real.
It was a good thought. A clean one. He clung to it as they said goodnight, as he walked back to his attic room that still held the scent of Karel on the pillows. He clung to it, ignoring the smaller, more persistent voice that wondered why Jake’s eyes had looked so utterly lost when he’d laughed.