Archive of Our Own ^beta

Rüdeger's voice is the first thing Mathieu notices. His vision is poor - his fellow brothers, dressed alike as they are, are largely distinguished by their height and weight, their hair colour if they have much hair remaining at all, but most importantly, their voices. Mathieu perceives their various accents like he imagines an artist must notice colours - the frail reedy tones of Brother Aedoc's voice, pale and faded, the robust, hearty boom of Brother Wojslav like the rich depths of a fine wine, the weary, languid drawl of Brother Guy, tarnished like old brass. Mathieu is a practical man, not an artist, and such poetic thoughts do not come naturally to him - in truth, he finds them somewhat frivolous and foolish.

But Brother Rüdeger's voice has the power to make him imagine poetry. The cantor's singing is beautiful, soaring and sweet by turns, able to fill the church until it feels like the simple walls of wood and plaster should not be able to contain it. Brother Mathieu could listen to it all day and all night and never grow weary of it. Even when he speaks instead of singing, there is a mellow tenderness to it that is unlike any other man's voice Mathieu has known. It sets him apart from the rest of the monks at Kiersau Abbey, and it is the first thing about him that makes Mathieu's heart beat faster.

Every brother at Kiersau is expected to do their share of the labour that is needed to keep the abbey operating. Brother Mathieu is not strong, he's small of stature, and his helpfulness in the garden is largely limited to pulling weeds and picking the vegetables when they are ripe. Some of the other monks joke that he's already low to the ground, so he doesn't have as far to bend. But Brother Rüdeger is tall, and he can perform more strenuous tasks like tilling the soil and chopping firewood. And Mathieu, working nearby, alongside him, becomes acutely aware of the scent of him, the heady perfume of clean sweat and sun-warmed skin. He has never cared for the smell of unwashed bodies and damp wool in close quarters like the dormitory, but he thinks to himself that he would not mind how Rüdeger smells, if he was to sleep next to him. The thought makes his face redden, to the point where Brother Florian notices his flushed cheeks and orders him to go sit in the cool shade and drink some water, in case he's suffering from heatstroke. Mathieu knows it is not heatstroke, but he goes anyway, because it will allow him an excuse to get away from Rüdeger.

Such thoughts are a temptation to sin, and for a little while, Mathieu does his best to avoid the tall, dark-haired brother with the beautiful voice. He makes sure not to sit near him at mealtimes, and turns the other way if he sees him approaching in the corridor. But a monastic community like Kiersau is small and self-contained - it is impossible to avoid another monk completely under such circumstances. Rüdeger is there at each hour of the day, and Mathieu's indecent thoughts are with him always too. He prays that he might be cleansed of his impurities, so that he can look on Brother Rüdeger as a brother in truth. He has heard of penitents who practice flagellation or wear hair shirts, to mortify their flesh and share in Christ's suffering, but he cannot do such a thing without undoubtedly provoking questions from his brothers about why he suddenly feels the need to engage in such aggressive penitence. It is a small community, after all, and every action is scrutinized.

He thinks about making his confession, but what would he confess to? "I have thought too much about my brother's voice, about his hands, about the way he smells? I have been distracted from my tasks because day and night I dream of him speaking my name? I am afraid of succumbing to temptation and perhaps daring to touch him?" No, it will not do - thinking something was not the same as acting on it, and perhaps this was merely a test put before him to measure the strength of his convictions. Mathieu feels those convictions wavering, though, shifting like unsteady stones underfoot. Mathieu grew up in the mountains. He knows that if enough pebbles begin to move, one by one, it can build into a landslide.

After Compline one hot summer night, Mathieu, unable to sleep, rises from his bed and goes to the church. He has no wish to disturb the other brothers, and it will be cooler there. Perhaps if he can pray in silence for a little while, he thinks, he will be able to go back to bed and get a few hours of rest before Matins. He does not notice the tall shadow until it is too late. "Brother Mathieu?" that beautiful voice says, and Mathieu's heart jolts.

"What are you doing here?" he demands. His own voice sounds sharp and peevish to his ears, harsher than he means for it to be.

"I couldn't sleep, with the heat," Rüdeger replies. "And you?"

Mathieu flushes, thankful that it is surely too dark for the other man to see his face clearly. "The same."

They should each return to their beds, or at least pray in silence. Instead, Rüdeger comes closer, tentative and slow, and sits. Seated, he is almost Mathieu's height, and it occurs to Mathieu that this is considerate of him, to keep from looming over him while they talk. Not that they ought to be engaging in idle conversation, he reminds himself. Or anything else.

"Brother Mathieu," Rüdeger says again. Mathieu could listen to him speak his name for the rest of his life, he thinks, and be content. But then Rüdeger says, more timidly, "I hope my presence here is not bothering you. I have the feeling that you... you avoid me. Have I offended you in some way?"

Mathieu blinks behind his spectacles. He hadn't realized his evasive behaviour was so obvious, and he feels a pang of guilt at having made Brother Rüdeger feel as though he had done something wrong merely by existing. Existing and being beautiful, which is no fault of his. "No, not at all," Mathieu assures him.

"I'm glad," Rüdeger says, and smiles sweetly. "I hope we can become better companions."

"Yes," Mathieu says, trusting that the darkness will hide the warmth flooding his face. "I would like that too."

After that, it feels easier to sit next to Rüdeger at meals, to work by his side at their duties, to converse with him when they have cause to do so and will not get in trouble. Mathieu is under no illusions - he has no reason to think Rüdeger would ever return his feelings, and he practices restraint and resignation. He still prays that one day he will be relieved of this burden, that he will be purified of his unholy desires, so that he is able to treat Rüdeger as he should treat any of his brothers. So that when he wakes in the night, cock throbbing with the last drops of his shameful emission, he will not have Rüdeger's name on his lips.

Autumn comes, then winter, and spring once more. Mathieu almost begins to think he has succeeded, that he has driven back the temptation of lust. Then he comes upon Rüdeger bathing out in the lavatorium, his robe removed, taking advantage of the warmer weather to cleanse away the winter's smoke and stale sweat, and those feelings come rushing back. His spectacles cloud with steam and he takes them off hastily, pretending that he needs to clean them, but in truth trying to see as little as possible of bare skin and dark hair.

"Brother Mathieu, come, the water is still hot," Rüdeger offers kindly, and Mathieu approaches slowly, wary but unable to resist, unwilling to risk causing offense. He bathes as quickly as he possibly can, and makes some excuse of being summoned by the prior in order to try and get away. But before he manages to complete his escape, Rüdeger reaches out and his hand brushes against Mathieu's, clutching it for a moment in a way that could not be accidental. Their eyes meet, Mathieu stunned still, Rüdeger seeming just as surprised. "Your eyes," he says softly. "I've never seen them clearly before. I didn't know they were so blue."

Mathieu jerks his hand away in a panic, pulls on his robe and hurries away. But he can't help thinking, Oh, he notices me too?

Rüdeger looks vaguely ashamed the next time they meet, in the refectory that evening, and they say nothing of the moment that passed between them. Mathieu feels a strange, twisting discomfort, vacillating between dismay and desire, not certain what Rüdeger was thinking, whether he was likewise suffering pangs of desire and doubt, or merely confused by Mathieu's hasty departure. He decides it is cruel to leave things like this between them. Taking his courage in both hands, he whispers, before leaving the table, a request for Rüdeger to meet him later in the church.

He waits in the dark chasm of the church, wondering whether Rüdeger will come. Perhaps he will not, out of fear or uncertainty, and this tension will persist between them until it becomes visible to everyone at Kiersau. Until perhaps even the abbot becomes aware, and must intercede. Mathieu is not, as a rule, an imaginative man, but he finds it easy in this moment to imagine how badly things could go, if Rüdeger says something careless. Or perhaps they will simply avoid one another in mutual awkwardness for the next twenty years, a thought that is somehow almost as bad.

"Brother Mathieu?" The voice is quiet, but it makes Mathieu jump nevertheless. "My apologies," Rüdeger says. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"Now, or in the bath?"

"Both," Rüdeger tells him. "I shouldn't have done that... shouldn't have said anything. You must be angry with me."

"No," Mathieu says, taken aback. "I could never be angry with you." All he wants to do is make things better again, make sure Rüdeger is comforted. He reaches out one hand, and Rüdeger meets it, and then, somehow, they are in one another's arms. Rüdeger bends low so his lips meet Mathieu's, and Mathieu feels as though he might expire here and now. They come to kneel on the stone floor together, as if in prayer, but this is a different type of prayer than Mathieu knows. There is no discussion of whether they should stop, whether this is wrong - perhaps they have both held that argument in their own minds and reached the same conclusion.

Mathieu feels Rüdeger's hardness pressed against him through the rough fabric of his robe, and fumbles to unfasten his belt. At the same time, Rüdeger's hand touches him and the sensation almost overwhelms him. It has been years since even his own hand has touched himself in this way, and he fears he won't be able to wait.

"Have you ever done this before?" he asks. He remembers, somehow, to take off his glasses and set them aside so they won't be damaged.

"Once, with a boy in my home town," Rüdeger admits shyly, "when I was younger. It was youthful ardour, maybe curiosity, not love."

Mathieu does not have the courage to ask if this is different, but something in Rüdeger's tone suggests that maybe it is. "I've never... never with anyone," he confesses. No one has ever shown any interest in him, until now.

"Let me be the one, then, Mathieu," Rüdeger says with painful sweetness.

They manage to get their robes off, spreading them on the cold floor, and Rüdeger lies down on them. Mathieu is close enough to see him as a soft blur in the darkness, but he knows he will understand more by touch, scent, sound. His hands rove over Rüdeger's body, learning how to make him sigh and gasp with pleasure. He has some impression of what might feel good from his own youthful masturbatory habits, but direct experience proves a better teacher. Rüdeger is eager and yielding, his cock twitching in Mathieu's grip as he spends. Mathieu runs his fingers through the sticky seed mingled with the dark hair on Rüdeger's belly, and lifts them to his lips to taste, wanting to seize this moment with all his senses.

"Here," Rüdeger offers shyly, and brings his mouth to Mathieu's straining cock. A dazzling burst of stars spreads behind Mathieu's eyes, and he has to bite his lip to keep from crying out. Even though they are alone here in the church, it isn't impossible that they could be discovered if they make too much noise, so he muffles his moans as best as he can. It becomes increasingly difficult, though, and soon he comes with a harsh rasp of breath, startled by the way Rüdeger keeps sucking him through it, like he wants to swallow him down to the last drop.

Mathieu slumps back onto the floor, knowing that he will never be able to stand in this church again without thinking of this moment when he lay naked next to this man, who is so warm and gentle and beautiful. Every prayer he says here from now on will be overshadowed by this memory, every note Rüdeger sings will remind him of the other things that mouth can do, and when they take communion together, he will be reminded of another kind of communion entirely. When he praises the Lord here, he will be praising him for this gift as well: that against the odds, they have found one another. Somehow, he cannot bring himself to think that any of this is a sin.