DOWN WITH THE DYNASTY [boyxboy]

CHAPTER SIX - MATTHEW

CHAPTER SIX
MATTHEW

There was a predicament that Matthew had not verbalised.

The word for it, he did not know, but he had feelings for James, feelings that surpassed friendship. He knew it, for the first time, when they danced together at the wake. The lyrics and beat of the song still burned in his ears, and he had added it to his playlist. He wanted to dance with him all night.

It was something about him that day, his hair wetted to the purple-blackness of twilight, his skin radiant as though, contained within it, was starlight. The eyes are what he still saw when he closed his, all smouldering and daring with their elf-green hue. He was majestic.

And the fact he had those thoughts were the least of his concerns.

Though he had never liked or slept with a boy prior, it did not faze him much. He also knew that his parents would not care either, for they had their own idiosyncratic set of beliefs, and had a quite flippant attitude to sex and sexuality.

The problem was that homosexuality was unknown territory to him, and liking a girl and telling her was a whole lot different to someone of the same sex. The chances of reciprocated feelings with a boy were going to be less likely, and so, fearful, decided he would not tell James.

Compounding to his list of concerns was his father, whom he was on his way to meet, at a café in Chelsea. Patroclus had made sure it would have to be fairly swift since, right afterwards, he was due at some important shareholder meeting.

Naturally, Matthew was intimidated by him (though he might not admit it) — a strange characteristic that was present almost universally. A boy would look up to his father, and he would be revered in his mind, but also a source of fear manifested in various mediums: what if the boy does not make him proud? what if all the hopes and dreams the father had for his boy are dashed, and he becomes disappointed and disenfranchised with his offspring?

The father-son relationship was complicated, more so than any other, Matthew believed. Perhaps it was the combination of egos.

His heart was clanging like church-bells. How had James even talked him into doing this?

He looked out the window. Today was unsettled, at best. There were bouts of warm sun, and longer bouts of a slate-grey soup whirling in the sky. The trees had been stripped of their flesh and were skeletal, a stark reminder of the winter ahead. The temperature was pleasant enough, however.

"You look like you're shitting yourself," Mauricio, his driver, said. His accent still retained that rolling effect, the only sign that he was not a native Londoner. "Did you get into trouble again?"

"Haven't you heard?" Matthew said, mustering up a grin. "I'm a good boy now."

"Matthew Steigend by nature is not a good boy," Mauricio said, laughing in that contagious, knowing way of his. "I don't believe it for a second. And what is this good boy act for? A girl, maybe?"

A boy, actually. But he nodded, and they pulled up to the café, an established favourite of Matthew's. He hoped that what happened next would not sour all the good times he had in there, growing up. He thanked Mauricio, got out, and took a few breaths.

The café was bustling, and there was a waiting-list to obtain a table, which was not uncommon on week days. Patroclus, more than likely, paid the waiter to fast track the list. He never liked to wait — for anything.

It was air-conditioned, and he felt like food in a refrigerator. The decor was very much woody and rustic, which created a very intimate ambiance — the opposite of those commercialised chain cafés that had been emerging like the plague all over the city. There was care and thought put into it, and it had a soul of its own.

Matthew had no need to ask the waiter which table his father was seated at, because Patroclus' unscrupulous eyes were giving him a Medusa glare. The table was the closest one to the door, as though reminding him that he could leave at any second.

"Father," Matthew said, and took off his blazer, hanging it on the back of the chair. He cleared his throat and sat down, resting his elbows on the table. He noted his father had laid out his personal phone, work phone, notepad, and wallet down neatly in a line. "How are you?"

Patroclus' features softened, and the hard angles of his face seemed blunted. A shadow of hair had emerged across his jaw. "I am good. Today's been hectic, but I am managing. Matthew, I have to say — I was surprised when you asked me to meet you. I cannot recall you ever doing that before."

"That was why I asked," he said. "Partially, anyway. How is business?"

"Business is booming. We have had an annualised growth of twenty-seven percent the last year. I would be happy to show you the graphs and balance sheets sometime, if you like. It would be wise for you to start taking an interest in it now."

"I would like that," Matthew nodded. "Perhaps you can help me pick some stocks to invest some money into. Tesla seems very interesting. I think that could be a wise investment to make."

"Elon is a visionary," Patroclus said, smiling. "Shareholder meetings are always interesting at Tesla. Anyway, let's save that discussion for another time. What did you want to see me for?"

"There have been a few times when I've caught someone watching me — a man — the same man –and James has seen him too, following us. Have you hired someone to do that, security, since my headteacher was murdered?"

Patroclus furrowed his eyebrows. "No, I have not. If I had, I would have informed you. It seems a little strange to me, whoever it is. Would you like me to get a P.I on the case to see who it is and why they are doing it? Perhaps it would also be wise to hire more security."

Matthew had not anticipated that it was not someone his father had hired, which left a limitless array of possible people, and motivations. His father was right about this, and his voice did convey concern, leaving him a little warmer inside. "Yes, please. Better safe than sorry. Also, vater..." he scratched his head. " I — uh — I know that I haven't been the best son ever, I'm the devil compared to Wilhelm, but I dislike how we're not close like you and him are, like how we used to be."

Taking a sip of his coffee, Patroclus was silent a while, though his eyes were shining — whether abnormally or not, Matthew could not determine. "I know," he nodded. "I know. When you were born, and I saw you for the first time in the hospital, I knew love again. I looked at you and I loved you. You came out with silver-white hair and the sun seemed to pour out of your eyes. You were like an angel, and reminded me of what I was doing all this for: my kids. Everything that happens back at home, that's tough love, because I want only the very best for you."

Matthew brushed away a tear that tumbled down his cheek. He said everything he had wanted to hear, and more — that reassurance that he was loved, too. And everything he said made sense, and perhaps all of it was in his mind this entire time: what he perceived as disappointment or hatred was the opposite. He wanted to cry harder, but they were in public and it was inappropriate.

"Perhaps you do not remember, but almost the exact same thing happened with Wilhelm and I. Teenagers nearly always separate from their parents, and then they find each other again when the teenager grows up and becomes an adult. That is the way of things. This is you growing up, Matthias, my bärchen."

"I still feel like a stupid kid," Matthew said.

"So do I, sometimes."

"And I thought you hated me," he said. "That I was an embarrassment to the family name."

"No. It's the opposite. Wilhelm is exactly like how I was, no doubt about that. We both made our father's words God's words, lived and obeyed by them, made them our laws. We were each servants to one of the very things that gave us life. You are different. You think for yourself, and an independent mind is the strongest asset a person can have. I have always admired you for that, Matthias, never hated you for it."

"Thank you," Matthew whispered. "If we're trading compliments, then I admire your strength, not necessarily physical strength, but your strength of character. You are always poised and calm, and could weather out any storm. Sometimes your calmness can be infuriating, but it is a good asset to have, and one than I am sorely lacking."

"Thank you," Patroclus said, a half-smile playing at his lips. He adjusted his glasses. "And your friend, James, he seems nice. Though, I have to say, he is unlike any friend you have had prior. You two seem to be quite close."

"Yes. He's special to me, my ἑταῖρος φιλτατος, as you and James would say, like Achilles and your namesake. I think you two would bond, both being classicists."

"It is likely, judging from the traditions of ancient Greece, that Achilles and Patroclus had engaged in some sort of homosexual relationship. According to Homer, Achilles wished his bones be buried with Patroclus', so that they would be together forever. Is that what you mean, how you and James feel about one another?"

"Perhaps not," Matthew mumbled, his skin hot. "I meant more of a platonic relationship."

"You know that it would not bother me, anyway?" Patroclus said, sipping on the last of his coffee. "Right? Sexuality is a non-issue to both me and your mother. You know, she has a lot of gay friends and the COO of one of my subsidaries – your cousin – is a lesbian—"

"I know. You and mother have always been open about that, but that's not what it is." he said. If anything did happen, he would tell his parents in his own time. He thought it would be futile to even disclose that he had feelings at this point. "He is wonderful, though. Intelligent, wise, kind... James was actually the one who convinced me to talk to you."

"Well, he was right. I like him even more now. Have you invited him to come to Germany with us?"

"Yes," he told him. "I think he will like the schloss a lot. And all the cousins."

"I'm glad," Patroclus said. "And what about Wilhelm? You two were so close when you were younger. I think it is very sad indeed that you and him are so...estranged. Perhaps you need to reconnect somehow, do something together, to remind you both of the bond of family."

Matthew wanted, so much, to bring up his sister. If the bond of family was so strong, then why did he pretend as though she had never existed?—yet it would taint an otherwise very constructive discussion. "We were close, but I think it is up to him to make that happen. He's the adult, and still he acts as though I am the older brother. And...there are things he has done that I haven't forgiven. You know, he was like my best friend when I was little and then he just left me."

"You know how he is. Work-oriented. And I believe the correct word for him is 'hustler'. He didn't accept any money from me, wanted to earn it all himself, and for him to be in the position that he is now, that took a lot of work. For all his faults, you do have to admire him for that."

"I don't admire people who abandon other people."

"Well, on that note," Patroclus said, gathering up his things. "I have to go now." He put them into his leather brief-case and shrugged on his wool cashmere trench coat. "This meeting is vital if I want to venture and diversify into media. Murdoch is going to be there." He stood up. "I will see you later, son. Oh, and, just tell James how you feel. Risks have better rewards."

"But I don't—"

"Goodbye, Matthias."

Matthew sighed. Even his own father knew that he liked James. He evaluated the present dilemma: if he told him, he risked alienating him and severing their friendship, but there was a possibility, albeit minuscule, that the feelings were reciprocated. Was the possible loss worth the possible gain?

The answer to the question eluded him. As most things seemed to, apparently. He sighed again. At least now he was on good terms with his father — one less thing to worry about on his massive list of worries. Wilhelm, Worthington, Michael, Tobias — the list seemed endless.

He was loved by his parents and James, and maybe that was enough to offset all the bad stuff.

* * *

Matthew had fond memories of Epping Forest.

It was less than an hour drive from Central London and had that quiet, rural feel to it. Epping Forest itself was a massive, ancient woodland — but he had taken James just outside of it, to an area of land owned by a family friend. On it was a stables, which Matthew was similar with. He had ridden here before.

James was suitably dressed in a pair of equestrian boots he borrowed from Patroclus, tight pants, smart ribbed jumper, and denim jacket. Paired with his adorably dainty face, he was like that boy-next-door in the movies that everyone fell for.

"What if I can't ride and I fall off and break my leg?" James said, as they marched through the field, toward the outbuilding. Though he had consented the day before, he looked distressed and hesitant now. "Or what if the horse doesn't like me and stomps me to death?"

"None of that will happen," Matthew said, breathing out his mouth to avoid the smell of manure. "Today is an adventure, so you have to ride. Trust me, you will love it. There's nothing else like it in the world. Besides, if anything did go wrong, hypothetically speaking, I will be there to kick the horse's ass."

They reached the stables, and the two horses were all ready, with stirrups and harnesses already attached. Brooke, the daughter of a family friend, was holding them. One was a beautiful, black stallion, tall and imposing, all brawn. The other was pure white, and notably smaller than the other, though still impressive in its own right.

"Hi Matthew," Brooke said, tucking her curly stray strands behind her ear.

Matthew had had sex with her before, when he was fifteen. Their families holidayed together and it was inevitable. Now though, here with James, he felt awkward, and knew that it was just him feeling that way — both James and Brooke were ignorant to different aspects of the situation.

"Hi Brooke," Matthew said. "Thank you for getting the horses ready for us. This is my friend James. James, this is Brooke."

After they muttered greetings to each other, Matthew was relieved when Brooke left them to it, telling him to stop by the house if he needed anything. A silence descended upon the stables then, except for the braying of the animals and the perpetual buzzing droning of the flies.

"Is she one of your exes, or something?" James asked, caught between a smile and a laugh. "She had a look on her face, the 'I-want-to-have-your-babies' face. Plus you went a little quiet."

"We have a bit of history," Matthew said, stroking the black horse's back. It was friendly enough, sniffing at him curiously. James had not even approached the horses yet, remaining where he stood. "You know, after you first discover sex and you pretty much want to do it with anyone, that's what it was. Happened once, but nothing more, no feelings involved."

"Okay. The smaller horse is for me, right?"

"Come stroke it," he said, motioning him closer, and watched as he stepped towards them, unsure and breathing heavy. When he stood next to him, Matthew took his hand and brushed it across the white horse. "See? It's tame."

James stroked it one his own, once, twice, three times. It sniffed at him, and he jumped, and it snorted, moving its head closer to James and rubbed against James chest. He grinned and petted its nose. "Oh," he murmured. "It is tame, and I feel bad saying it. Is it a boy or a girl?"

Matthew bent down, and saw his whopping phallus. "Definitely a boy."

"He's so cute. I'm excited now."

"Let me help you up," Matthew said, and pushed up his foot. He tried to swing over and failed, and climbed onto the horse as though he was scaling the top of a cliff. Matthew laughed to himself. "Keep your feet in the stirrups. Hold onto the harness. When you want the horse to turn in a particular direction, pull the harness in that direction and he will turn. Kick his side softly for him to amble, and harder for a gallop. Pull the harness back, like a brake, for him to stop. Do you understand?"

"Yes," he nodded. "I think so."

Matthew swung onto the bigger horse, and, sitting atop him, felt like a king. "We'll go slow for now, see how confident you are. Are you ready?"

"I am."

Matthew kicked the horse lightly and led it out of the stables and open doors. The sky was clear and bright, and the sun painted the world gold, though the breeze was chilly. The clonking of hooves reverberated off the grass, and after a few moments, James had caught up and rode next to him. Despite the slow pace, James' body was bouncing everywhere, and Matthew could not help but laugh.

"What is it?"

"Nothing," he said, riding in the direction of the nearby woodland. "I ought to thank you for convincing me to see my father. It went rather well, to my surprise. He said some very kind things. I feel like we're in a positive place now, and it's all because of you."

"I'm glad." James said, squinting as the sun illuminated his face. He had now stabilised on the horse, and was natural riding it, "My new classics teacher is so boring. With Worthington, class was a forum of discussion, like the Platonic Academy. He believed the dialectic method was the best way to teach, to engage in discourse. Mrs Alexopoulos prefers textbooks."

"It's so shitty that he's dead."

"The world is shitty. Brexit, Trump, Weinstein. Fucking diesel cars. That's why I'm glad I have you, to make it a little less shitty."

Matthew's stomach churned with caterpillars sprouting into butterflies. The forest was close now, but he turned in the opposite direction, grinning, and kicked his stallion into a gallop. He shouted, "My dad voted for Brexit!"

The gallop turned into a sprint, full-throttle, and Matthew hooted, on top of the world — nothing could break that feeling. He quickly turned his head around and found James following him in a gallop, though not quite as fast, and he looked like a warrior charging into battle.

"F*ck your dad!" James shouted, laughing.

Matthew turned again, charging towards the forest. The wind stole his breath, and he yanked at the horse, slowing the pace. He waited for James to catch up, and when he was by his side, they entered the forest.

Birds chirped a perpetual song, and the ground was blanketed with crunchy leaves. The canopy of the fat, old trees, though deciduous and bare, still shaded the forest dull and foreboding. A grey squirrel hurried though, jumping into the tree and running, swinging up the branches. "It's pretty here," Matthew said, "But you can't beat the forests in Bavaria."

"Do you want to stop here?" James said, pointing to a massive, felled tree that was the biggest Matthew had ever seen, the roots sticking in the air like feet, each one wider than Matthew's head. It must have been ancient. "For a little break? My arse is hurting."

"Sure," Matthew said, and got down from the stallion. He tied the harness around a smaller tree and helped James do the same. "Do you like it?"

James sat on the tree, and brushed his hands through his windswept hair. "Now I get why you love riding so much. The thrill you get when you do it. Personally, I don't know why people don't replace cars with horses. They're friendly and they don't pollute the air. Maybe then the ice-caps won't melt. It's a win-win situation."

"Tesla cars are a better bet than horses. You know, they have these things called engines, and they go a lot faster." Matthew said, and shuffled next to James, their thighs touching. He took off his backpack. "Are you hungry? I have your favourite — tuna."

"I'm so hungry that I think I could eat you," he smirked. "Horse-riding is hunger-inducing."

I could eat you too. In fact, I want to...

Patroclus' conversation still played in his mind, and he could not quantify the risk. Perhaps he was over-thinking it. Perhaps, however, some part of him wanted to tell James, and that part was growing. The night prior, back at the school, Matthew deliberately maintained a distance between them whilst in bed, for fear that he would word-vomit it all out.

He handed him a wrapped tuna sandwich and unraveled one himself, munching on it, hoping that it would somehow quell his mind and his body.

"I love nature," James said, when he had finished eating. "My mum and dad, when I was a kid, they would take me to the Lake District all the time. The hills, the trees, Lake Windermere, I loved it. So different from the grime and monotony from urban living. I'll have to take you there some day. We could boat on Windermere in the summer."

"Sounds nice. Those hazy summer days." The thought of summer warmed Matthew's skin; it was his favourite season. He wished he had known James then, more excuses for shorts and going topless. He pulled a joint out of his pocket. "Speaking of hazy...do you want to do the honours?"

"Okay," he said, holding out his hand. Matthew gave it to him, along with a lighter, and that brief touch made him crave more. Matthew watched as he lit it between his teeth and inhaled, and how the smoke came out of his nose. He was the aesthetic that Matthew aimed for. "Tasty," he said. "What is it?"

"Strawberry Kush."

"It actually tastes like strawberry," James mumbled, between another puff. "I've been reading the Iliad for class, and Achilles surprised me. I didn't know he was gay. With Pa-tro-clus, like your dad. Really, it's more romance than war."

This was, Matthew thought, the chance to try and drag some information from James, to gauge his reactions and thoughts about homosexuality, though he had to be subtle about it. He wished, so much, that liking a boy was as easy as liking a girl. "Do you ship Achilles and Patroclus? Are they a cute couple?"

"Yeah," James said, handing him back the joint, burned down by about a third. "I do. Sometimes the male-female romance gets a little tedious, you know? It's something different."

Matthew took a couple of pulls, digesting what he said. It showed, at the very least, that he had no issues with it, and was not shy about supporting such a union. That either meant he was secure in his sexuality as a straight male, or that he had some homosexual tendencies. "Have you...have you—uhm—ever been with a boy before? I did once when I was younger." That was a lie, and a bad one at that, and he became a red hot, fumbling mess.

"Oh," James said, eyes wide. "I can't say that I have, no. What did you do with him?"

"Well—" Matthew mumbled, running through all the different sexual activities boys did together—"Just a – you know – he said boys give better head than girls, so I, you know, obliged him. Yeah..."

"And do boys give better head?" James asked, leaning forward, a coolness to his face, a knowingness perhaps, of sorts, a small smile.

He scratched his head. "Yeah. Maybe. I'm not sure."

James nodded, grinning. "Okay?"

His hair, though brown, had blond streaks running through, perhaps a relic of summertime. His eyes, those persistent, steadfast eyes. And his mouth, the pinkness of his lips, the dip of them at his cupid's bow, and the dimple indentation above them. The scattering of small moles and freckles on his cheeks. "I really want to kiss you."

Matthew shut his eyes and looked down. What the fuck did he just say? He was afraid to open his eyes, to look at James now that he knew his inner desires. He wanted to run away and vomit. "I'm—"

"Shush," James said, and held Matthew's shoulder in his hand.

Matthew opened his eyes, turning upwards, gulping, to see that James was closer, leaning over him, his lips parted and eyes fixed to his face. Matthew furrowed his brows. "What do you—"

James kissed him, and their lips smashed together. It took a couple of seconds to find their rhythm, and Matthew melted into it, pulling James onto his lap, gripping his hand at the nape of his neck. James wrapped his legs around Matthew's back. The kiss was softness and fantasy, and a dash of arousal thrown in for good measure.

They pulled apart when Matthew felt the hardening of both his and James' groin, and he panted, breathless, the sheer euphoria of actualising his desires frying along his nerves. Their noses were still touching, and Matthew dragged James into a hug.