Sequel to Apples to Apples

The first hint of what should have been a warning appeared in the form of an offer to help with the household errands. Had it manifested as a set of troop maneuvers or planned austerity measures it would have been immediately recognized and heeded. But that wasn't the case.

He had just stepped out of the house that morning to pick up food for the week when Gilbert called him back and suggested they do the shopping together at one of the outdoor markets instead. Ludwig readily agreed. The warm atmosphere and fresh foods sparked fond memories of days gone by, not to mention he was secretly pleased at the opportunity to spend some leisure time with his brother; the recent influx of work was too much for one person and kept them both so busy that they had barely seen each other for the past several weeks.

Everything was going fine (bread, check; fish, check; chocolate pastries, check; potatoes, check) until they rounded the corner to the next row of stalls and Ludwig stopped dead in his tracks, eyes wide in disbelief.

The entire line of stalls. On both sides, all the way down. Deep sensual reds, blindingly cheerful greens, yellows that could outshine a canary diamond. Apples as far as the eye could see.

They were all so lovely, lined up in rows and stacked atop each other. He particularly liked it when they were sorted by color. Some of them even still had the stems attached. He pictured wrapping his thumb and forefinger around one of those stems, feeling that hardness cradled between them, and exerting just enough pressure until it gave with a soft pop.

It was suddenly far too hot outside in a way that had nothing to do with the weather.

"You planned this," he choked out weakly.

"No idea what you're talking about," was the glib response.

Before Ludwig could dignify that with an answer, a hand snaked around his waist and curled one of its fingers securely around his belt loop. He'd already tensed in preparation to push away when he became aware of a very pleasurable stroking sensation against his side and realized it was also Gilbert; the thumb of that same hand had slipped under his waistband and was making gentle circles over his hip through the thin material of his tucked in shirt. Without thinking, he found himself leaning closer into Gilbert instead.

"People are trying to get around us." The whisper ghosted against the shell of his ear and sent a shiver down his neck and through one arm. Ludwig's eyes fell closed for a brief instant. "Stop making a scene and walk."

I'm not the one making a scene, he thought, unable to voice the objection. The combined forces of the thumb at his hip and the gleaming sea of flawlessly shaped perfection up ahead had driven him to distraction.

Reluctantly, Ludwig stepped forward and entered the fray.

The only way to get through this, he decided, was to find some sort of outlet. To divert himself long enough to escape the trap he'd been ensnared in while retaining some semblance of dignity.

He imagined disentangling himself so that he would be free to heave Gilbert over his shoulder and lay him out across the large table immediately to their right. Gilbert would be encircled by all those pristine apples, so many apples touching every part of him. The red ones in particular would contrast exquisitely against his unnaturally pale skin and hair, and even better, exactly match his unusual eyes.

"Hey, West! Earth to West calling!"

Ludwig jumped and snapped back, tearing his gaze and thoughts away from apples the exact shade of Gilbert's stare. Voice tight from want, he was scarcely able to utter a quick, "What is it?"

They were still strolling along, passing by the vendor with the red apples and heading in deeper.

"I said, let's go check out those over there. I want to bring some home."

And Ludwig wanted to watch him pick them. Watch his hands roam over them one by one, fingers spread wide as he inspected each for quality, tracing every last centimeter all over, from the smoothness in the center to the crevices at top and bottom.

He adjusted his jeans with one hand, uncomfortably. It was a futile gesture, he realized, as the burst of relief it brought was quickly overwhelmed and swept away. "Okay," was all he managed to breathe out in response.

They approached the vendor. This one also stocked that tantalizing red color. Ludwig couldn't stop the flood of thoughts that raced through his mind.

He wanted to rip open Gilbert's shirt as he lay there amidst the red apples, strip him bare to the waist, and rake his fingernails down the exposed muscles of his chest. He wondered if Gilbert would be as compliant as the last time or if he would fight, launching himself off the table and sending cartons of apples crashing to the ground. They would both be knocked down, rolling on top of each other across the hard floor until Gilbert had him pinned, while apples continued to spill forth from the table like a waterfall and scatter all around them.

"—look awesome!" The vision in his mind shattered like glass as the sound of Gilbert's voice broke through. But this time, he wasn't the one being addressed.

Gilbert was speaking to one of the vendors, a youngish looking woman in glasses. With his free hand, the tip of one finger toyed with a bright green apple resting on the table, skimming the edge of the indentation at the top, around and around, before plunging inside.

Ludwig's breath hitched and for a moment he could do nothing but watch, captivated.

"We'll take a kilo," Gilbert continued his conversation with the woman. He threw an evil smirk in Ludwig's direction that promptly morphed into a leer before turning away as if nothing happened.

"No." It was time to put an end to this charade.

"Yeah, West, we will."

"No, Gilbert. We won't." He turned from that angry red glare to the vendor, who now looked like she wanted to be anywhere that was far, far away from the two of them. "We'll take them all."

"Excuse me?" Behind those large black framed eyeglasses (was she cursed with exceedingly poor vision or making a fashion statement; he couldn't tell), the young woman appeared incredibly confused.

"All of them. The red ones. I want all of the red ones."

With a steadiness extracted from the last dregs of his dying self-control, he pulled six crisp €20 notes from his wallet (it would blow a large chunk of this month's discretionary budget for the household but he didn't care). There was a pen lying on the table. Emptying his pockets, he found a scrap of paper and meticulously printed his address, handing it and the money to the perplexed woman. "Deliver them to this address. Immediately."

"Sir, are you sur—"

"Yes." He was being rude but it couldn't be helped. Gilbert's hand on his waist was taking liberties: the pad of skin swapped out for the scraping of a nail as if he'd somehow read Ludwig's earlier thoughts, the circles at his hip becoming greedier until his thumb was claiming territory as far under the waistband as it could reach.

They needed to leave, and fast.

"Okay then, can do!" The befuddled expression had already changed to elation and she hurriedly instructed her younger associate to start packing up the precious red gems.

Ludwig watched the proceedings with an eager twitch of his lips. Then he dragged a beaming Gilbert from the market. If he was lucky they would reach home just in time for the delivery.

Whoever said you couldn't live your dreams was an idiot.