Gethsemane Revisited; or, The Garden of Earthly Delights
Author’s note:
This chapter takes place immediately after SMST ch 33: A Final Temptation; The Night on the Mount; Judas’s Confession; Peter and the Cock’s Crow; & The Preparation of a Grave
On the night of the fourteenth, despite there being a clamor of people and things that wanted his attention, Martin dismissed all except the most urgent. He dealt with those in a perfunctory way: most problems that had arisen at this juncture were not problems that could be solved, and so if someone came to him with that, all Martin could do was lay his hand gently on their shoulder and say as much.
“We’ll face trouble when it arises,” was his refrain. “Go get some sleep— you’ll regret being tired in the morning if you keep yourself up with this.”
The people he said this to had no choice but to accept his words, or at least they didn’t argue with him, because they slipped out of his classroom-office without protest. When the last of them— Otto, one of the most high strung men in the camp— had gone, Martin slid down in his seat and sighed, glancing over at Siegfried, who was sorting through their supply of stolen guns and ensuring that all of their check-lights went on and that their energy packs were full. He had them lined up against the wall, the rifles like little soldiers themselves, and the handguns placed in a line before them.
“Do you think I’m making a mistake, Sieg?” Martin asked.
“In what way?”
“Telling everyone not to worry.”
“I didn’t hear you say that.”
“Not in those words.”
“People want reassurance,” Sieg said. “They know you can’t solve every problem— and they know you’re not going to call off tomorrow— but they want to hear you. It’s good for you to talk to them, say what you need to say.”
“I don’t know why.”
Sieg raised one of the rifles to check its sights, then put it down on his lap to fiddle with one of its mechanisms. “And I don’t know why you’re asking me,” he said. His voice was his usual placid one, but Martin could read the wry humor into it.
“Do you have any problems you want me to tell you that I won’t solve, Sieg?” Martin asked.
He craned his neck to look behind him at Martin. “I think your comrades are a little jealous of me.”
“In what way?”
“I’m here and they’re not.”
Martin’s face twisted. “It was a mistake that made me important to them. Anybody else could be me instead, if they happened to have been in the right place at the right time… I’m a poor substitute.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” Sieg said. “But even if it was, it doesn’t matter. They need you now.”
“And you, Sieg?”
“Yes, of course.”
He didn’t know why he had asked that— it was a stupid question, and Sieg’s answer was a lie. He knew perfectly well that he didn’t need him: they had lived together for years with that shared understanding, the invisible wall between them. The fact that Sieg was here now was not so much a dismantling of that wall but an acknowledgement of it, a coming to terms with the difference between need and want, between requirement and desire.
They could have both lived, or died, without the other— they had understood as much when Martin came back to Sieg’s apartment. It was somehow much more precious that Sieg had chosen to be here, regardless of need.
“I need you here too,” Martin said. “If they’re jealous, it’s because they don’t understand that. I’m just as human…”
“I know,” Sieg said. He finished checking the last rifle over, and leaned it back up against the wall. “But I wouldn’t want to keep you from them.”
Martin stood from his tiny child’s seat and stretched, feeling the tension in his back. He reached out a hand to help Sieg to his feet, which he took despite the fact that he could easily pull Martin to the ground if he wasn’t careful. They stood in the dark classroom for a moment, saying nothing and not letting go of each other’s hands, and then Sieg put his other hand on Martin’s shoulder and gave him a gentle push towards the door.
“Come on— they need to see you more than I do.”
It may have been true— it was true— but that was trouble with want.
They headed back towards the gymnasium together, the stage-light illuminating the hallway and paling the beams of their flashlights. Inside, the mood was strange— someone was playing a guitar and some were singing along, while others were talking loudly. It was with the sense that all this was being done to ward off doom.
Sieg waved Martin off and went to sit on the gym mat that had ended up as his own. It was by far the thickest one, and therefore the most comfortable bed, but it smelled most overwhelmingly of mildew and sweat, so most people had opted for the thinner but less ragged options. After months of sleeping on floors in whatever buildings they could find, most of Martin’s crew was inured to the discomfort of a hard floor, and were happy enough with their sleeping bags.
Fritz, the freckled sixteen year old who had been appointed in charge of their food supply in camp, approached Martin as he stood on the outside of the circle of light that held the guitar player, tunelessly and quietly singing the words of the old song.
“Hey, Martin,” he said, and held out something wrapped in paper. “For you.”
“What’s this?” he asked.
“Found it the other day,” he said. “Left in a teacher’s desk.”
The paper wrapped object was thin and rectangular— very clearly now a chocolate bar, even though Fritz had tried to disguise that fact.
“You keep it,” he said. “Share it with Karl.” He nodded at the guitar player, who was so engrossed in his playing and the singing of the few sitting in front of him that he didn’t notice Martin referring to him.
“Knew you’d say that,” Fritz said, though he didn’t sound too put out. “You’re hopeless, Comrade.”
“I know,” Martin said. He patted Fritz on the shoulder, who shook his head.
Martin wandered away to talk to the other groups gathered on the floor of the gym, sharing greetings and gentle smiles. He could feel Sieg’s eyes on him the whole time, as he sat by himself.
Martin’s thoughts wandered back to their shared childhood— this moment seemed like a strange inversion of the way they had been as kids. It was Sieg who had always been the one in their school to provide help and reassurance to the other kids who had wanted it, and it had been Martin alone on the sidelines watching. This had been true even after they became fast friends, and more than fast friends. Perhaps it was years of association with Sieg that had given Martin the ability to play this role here— but Sieg would never take credit for teaching Martin anything, even if it was true. The thought made him smile.
Eventually, the sounds in the gym died down as more and more people took his advice to try to get some sleep, and Martin went around to turn off the big lights. As the last went off, he switched his flashlight on, swishing its beam across the ground, illuminating the faces and prone bodies of his friends and comrades. They looked peaceful, in the whispering dark, and he lingered on the sight for perhaps a little too long— an ache growing in his chest.
He eventually went to lay down.
“Just me, Sieg,” Martin whispered when laid down on the mat and brushed against Sieg’s back, though he didn’t need to be told that.
The foam mat was almost three feet thick, meant for cushioning high falls, but it was soft enough that the weights of their bodies hollowed out a cavity in it, and Martin ended up sliding down next to Sieg, pressed together by the geometry of it. The warmth of his body pushed every other thought out of his mind, and he let himself enjoy the pressure of his chest on his back. The scent of his soft hair against his nose freed him from the smell of the mat they lay on.
It was pitch black in the gymnasium, except for the occasional flashes of someone illuminating their watch face to check the time, or getting up with a flashlight to go to the bathroom. The room was filled with the sounds of breathing and shuffling as people got comfortable, and the low whispers of someone making a comment to their neighbor.
Sieg rolled over to face Martin. Though they couldn’t see each other in the dark, Martin could feel his breath on his face. He touched Martin’s cheek with the lightest touch of his fingertips, which made him shiver. He traced from beneath Martin’s eye, down towards his lips, where he rested his fingertips for a moment. When he withdrew his hand, Martin fumbled in the dark for it, but found instead that Sieg was leaning in to kiss him, and so his hand ended up in his hair, tangling and pulling as Sieg’s lips found his.
Martin opened his mouth to let Sieg kiss him more deeply, and when he did he was startled to find that Sieg’s mouth was full of candy: a hard and bitter square of dark chocolate not even half melted on his tongue. Even if he had wanted to, which he didn’t, Martin couldn’t resist or complain— they had to be imperceptibly quiet there in the dark room. So he let Sieg push the chocolate into his mouth, kissing him deeply all the while. It was an overwhelming feeling, like his mouth had become the locus of all the pleasure in the universe. He hadn’t had chocolate in months, and hadn’t kissed anyone so deeply in far longer than that.
They savored the candy together until it was gone, and Martin heard Sieg fiddle with the wrapper to get out another square. He reached over and stilled his hand.
“Not here—” he breathed.
Sieg nodded, and they both got up from the mat. Martin stumbled in the darkness on the unsteady foam, and Sieg caught him around the waist, saving him from falling over onto a sleeper on the floor just a step away. Martin fumbled for his flashlight and turned it on. When he turned, the beam illuminated Sieg’s face for a moment, all the flush on his cheeks and the trace of chocolate still on his lip. Martin touched his own lip to indicate where it was, and Sieg’s tongue darted out to lick it clean.
Martin’s face must have also been horribly red with desire, and he hastily turned to leave the gym, leading Sieg out.
The school was small, and there were very few good places to go. Sieg almost seemed to not care where they went. As Martin tried to lead him away, he stopped him with his hand on his shoulder and kissed him again, right there in the middle of the hallway, pulling Martin’s shirt out from its messy tuck so that he could slide his hands up his sides, his fingers stopping at each one of Martin’s ribs.
“Mmm, Sieg—” he protested, though it wasn’t much of a protest, since all he wanted was to let him continue to kiss him. He wanted to toss his head back and let the red stubble of Sieg’s several-days unshaved beard scrape across his neck.
“I love you,” Sieg said.
“Not in the hallway—”
“I can love you in the hallway,” Sieg said— but that was a funny enough thought that he smiled and pulled back.
“Come on,” Martin said. “There’s no rush.”
This was not true, and they both knew it. It was past midnight already, and they would be leaving early in the morning, well before the sun rose.
“We have time,” Martin said.
Sieg nodded, and let Martin lead him forward again. He turned the hallway corner, and switched off their flashlight— they were now too near the windows for it to be safe. He navigated by memory, hand in hand together, pulling him along until he found the school nurse’s office.
The lock on the door was broken— they had broken it when they first arrived, cleaning it out of all the first aid supplies that they could possibly use— but the skinny room was otherwise untouched. A camp bed without sheets was shielded from the rest of the room with a thin fabric curtain, which Martin pulled back. The bed was beneath a similarly curtained window, and he pulled back those too, letting the thin slivers of starlight in. Not enough light to see anything except Sieg’s vague shadow before him.
He sat down on the bed, and it creaked when Sieg followed, meant for the weight of an ailing fifth grader, not two grown men. Martin pulled Seig’s head towards his own, their noses bumping in the darkness. His own pulse was sounding in his ears, roaring and making him lightheaded. Sieg undid the buttons on his shirt and pushed it off his shoulders, and Martin’s hands tangled in his hair as he kissed his neck and then his chest, nuzzling his face across Martin’s skin.
Martin was pressed into the corner of the room, leaning back against the intersection of the walls. The painted concrete behind him was cold, and goosebumps rose on his flesh. He wanted to clutch Sieg’s head— that fiery ball of warmth— to his chest and hold it there. Or he wanted Sieg’s full weight on top of him, or he wanted a thousand million other things.
“Slow down,” Martin whispered. “We have time.”
He was saying it for himself more than Sieg, but he obeyed nevertheless, slowing his near-frantic kisses to simply rest his forehead against Martin’s stomach. Martin carded his fingers through his hair.
He moved deliberately slowly, trying to calm the beating of his heart, trying to savor the moment. He held Sieg’s head in his lap like he held the sun in his hands, and stroked his thumbs across his cheeks. If it was sweat or tears that gathered on his fingers, he couldn’t tell in the darkness.
“Let me see you,” he said. “Come here, Sieg.”
He sat up, though there wasn’t enough light to see him by. That didn’t matter. Martin reached for his shirt and tugged it off him, and it was his turn to touch Sieg, memorizing every inch of him with his fingertips: the stubble at his neck, the hollow of his throat, the rapid rise and fall of his chest, and the fuzz of hair that trailed down his stomach. Where Martin was bony, Sieg was warm and full of life, and in the blackness he pictured the blood beneath his skin, coursing through his veins like fire, illuminating him completely.
Martin undid his belt, though he couldn’t get Sieg’s pants off without him getting up, and when Sieg moved, he instead pushed Martin down so that he was over top of him on the narrow bed. He did, at least, manage to kick his pants off as he went, and so his legs were bare as he tangled them with Martin’s, laying his full weight on him like a blanket. Martin made a noise of contentment and continued to let his hands wander as Sieg resumed kissing him indiscriminately: marking his neck in a way that made him gasp, and then nipping at his ear.
It seemed that he was frantically animated— like he kept his mouth and hands in motion, always serving some purpose, because if he let them still, something terrible would happen. What that terrible thing was, Martin couldn’t fully parse out, but he understood.
We have all the time in the world , he thought again, but didn’t say it. Sieg’s hands slid down his sides, then undid his belt, pushing his pants down. Martin lifted his hips to help, and usually, he remembered, this would have made him say something funny, but tonight he was silent as Martin kicked his pants the rest of the way off.
It was perhaps the feeling of nothing remaining between them that finally stilled Siegfried’s near-frantic motion. He melted against him, tucking his head into Martin’s shoulder.
Martin wanted to ask if he was alright, but he knew what the answer was, and furthermore knew that Sieg was so silent because if he spoke it would come out too thickly— a voice trapped on the edge of tears. He could feel it in the heat of his face, burning against his shoulder, and the way he swallowed over and over, trying to clear the lump in his throat.
He rubbed Sieg’s back with one hand. “If I had known you would come find me, I wouldn’t have stayed at your apartment the other night,” Martin murmured into his hair. “I’m sorry to do this to you twice.”
“Funny thing to apologize for,” he managed to say. “More time together— that’s all I wanted.”
And even if they had known the difference between last and second to last, they would have savored it the same, it would have hurt just as much. If there had been a clock ticking down between them, showing the number of times they have left to meet and part— it was knowing the number that was painful, not the meetings and partings themselves.
“We have time,” Martin said again. “We have time, Sieg.”
He felt strangely peaceful— even moreso than he had the other night. Although they both knew that what they were doing here was preparation for the worst, Martin believed fully in the possibility of success, and that carried him past fear. If Sieg had been anyone else, his unhappiness would have been enough for Martin to tell him to stay home, to not follow the group tomorrow, if he believed there was no hope. But this was Sieg, and even if his convictions and hopes only extended as far as the man directly in front of him, he would stay.
But that was an unkind way of seeing him, and one that was at odds with the way Martin felt when he looked at him, and felt his arms around him. He could be drunk on convictions and sober on love, or drunk on love and sober on convictions, and being with Sieg made him feel the latter. With his arms around him, his breath in his ear, his warm and comforting weight on his chest, Martin in that moment might have traded his whole cadre for him alone, if anyone had asked.
Drunk on love was a dangerous thing to be, but permissible for a short while, in the time they had. It would wear off by the morning, and he would have his convictions beneath his feet again— they were a much more solid ground.
Martin gently pushed Sieg off him, making him sit up. It was unfortunate that they had already raided the nurse’s office for first aid supplies: there was no longer any vaseline or similar that they could scavenge to use, so they would have to keep whatever they did relatively simple. Maybe that was for the best. His efforts to remain composed might be undone if he let Sieg truly unravel him.
Sieg’s hand was on his arm, waiting, trying to feel what his intentions were. The bed was so thin and uncomfortable, but Martin eventually pushed his legs apart, then settled himself between them, wrapping his legs around Sieg’s waist. He pulled him forward with his hand in his hair, pressed their foreheads together, and then smiled against his lips before kissing him again.
This was a very comfortable and easy position, and when Sieg reached between them to take both their cocks together in his broad hand, Martin made a noise of pleasure. He kept his hand tangled in Sieg’s hair, kissing him so deeply that breathing became a tricky thing to manage.
Sieg understood what he wanted, and he took things very slowly, drawing out the moment. It was an incredible sensation, like they were one creature rather than two, sharing every breath and feeling. It was not more intimate, exactly, than other things that they might have done, or had done in the past, but it was a uniquely symmetrical experience. The only difference between them was that Sieg was in control of the feeling, and therefore in control of Martin. Whenever Martin’s breath began to waver and he tossed his head back, too overwhelmed by the feeling of Sieg’s hand on his cock to even kiss him, Sieg took his hand away and placed fluttering kisses on his bared throat until he could breathe properly and begin again.
It was so easy for him to make him lose control, and he hoped that Sieg was enjoying playing this game with him. He was too quiet, his breath too controlled, and Martin couldn’t see his face in the darkness.
The next time he pulled his head away from Sieg’s, rather than letting him kiss his shoulder or his neck, Martin traced his fingertips along Sieg’s face. He held perfectly still, except for the inexorable movement of his hand between their legs, as he trailed a feather-light touch across his closed eyes, his cheeks, his lips. Although he was trying to see if Sieg was smiling, he found that his mouth was slightly open, and when his fingertip rested there for a moment, his tongue darted out to lick it, like he was tasting the last of the chocolate that lingered there.
Martin laughed at the unexpected movement, and Sieg’s smile cracked open, and he laughed, too. Martin, suddenly unable to control himself at all, pressed his face into the crook of Sieg’s neck. There was a terrifying border between laughter and tears, and Martin found himself on the edge of it, trying to steady himself, trying not to let himself fall to the wrong side of that abyss and ruin the moment.
“Sieg—” he said. “I love you so much.” It was about the only true thing he could manage to say, but it was the right thing to say.
Sieg began to move faster, and this time Martin knew that he would not stop when Martin got close. The knowledge of that finality really hit him, and he squeezed his eyes shut, bracing his hands on Sieg’s thighs. He was so warm and alive, and Martin’s hands found easy purchase there, his fingers probably digging in hard enough to leave little bruises wherever they landed.
Sieg didn’t mind. His breathing was uneven, too, and he made small noises, sighs and moaning little hums.
He could hardly even feel the motion of Seig’s hand anymore— there was just a white hot feeling of pleasure, and he imagined that Sieg felt quite the same.
Martin came first, his whole body tensing, making a muffled cry into the crook of Sieg’s neck. The sudden wetness made the motion of Sieg’s hand easier and faster. Although the sudden overstimulation crossed the boundary from pleasure into something much more electric and overwhelming, almost unbearable, he didn’t try to pull away, and just muffled his open mouthed gasps on Sieg’s shoulder.
Sieg finished not long after: Martin felt him tense against him, and shudder, and then his cum landed somewhere on his chest, warm and wet. The motion of his hand slowed to nothing, Sieg now equally twitchy and overstimulated.
Neither of them moved for a long time, not until they had caught their breaths and their heartbeats slowed. Neither of them wanted to move, even after that. But Martin uncurled his hands from where they had been digging into Kircheis’s legs, and trailed the flat of his palm down Sieg’s chest, resting it over his heart. Sieg picked up his hand and kissed it, lingering on each finger.
Martin pulled Sieg’s hand back towards him, placing it on his own chest so that Sieg could feel the thrum of his heart. When he then lifted it to kiss, it was only a coincidence that it was messy with both of their cum, and that he kissed the flat of Sieg’s palm to taste it. Sieg laughed at him— how nice it was to make him laugh.
“You forgot the chocolate,” Martin accused gently.
“I figured you’d want to share the rest with other people,” Sieg replied. This might have been true, or it might have been a lie— the chocolate could have been accidentally abandoned in the heat of the moment.
“That’s true,” Martin said. “In the morning— that’s what we can do.”
“In the morning,” Sieg repeated.
He disentangled his legs from Sieg’s waist, but he carefully didn’t get up, and instead laid down on the thin bed, trying to leave as much room for Sieg as possible. There wasn’t much, but that didn’t matter. Sieg laid down, half on top of him, half next to him; it was all that the small bed allowed.
It was likely that Sieg would try to stay awake for as long as he could. That was the kind of person that he was. But Martin rubbed his thumb across the back of Sieg’s hand and murmured, “You should get some sleep. We’ll deal with trouble in the morning.”
They were out of time: the morning was only four hours away.