1 Brandon #2
She pauses for a moment, then shrugs. “Sure.”
He nods and walks away as slowly as he can, adjusting his underwear out of her sight.
He goes into the back office and, from there, through the warren of tunnels that are for the people who work at the hotel but never stay there.
Here the lights are bright and buzz slightly, the floors are linoleum, and the walls are drab and dirty white.
He goes down to the laundry room and nods at the maid there, Hanna, washing the whites.
“Clean towels?” he asks. She nods at a pile, and he takes one. “Guest wants it now; I said I’d do it so you can keep on this.”
“Okay,” she says, barely looking up.
He takes the towel and folds it as he walks, quickly now, excited.
He knows what’s going to happen. He knows it’s a bad idea.
But he can’t stop. It’s intoxicating, inevitable.
Who cares if it could get him fired? That’s barely registering in his mind.
He feels pulled toward Jon, dripping, naked in his hotel room.
His smile, his body. He could be the one , that’s what this pull could be—destiny.
They could fall in love, get married, go vegan and travel the world, just like he’d imagined.
All that is easily worth a job, especially one this crappy.
The elevator and halls are empty. It’s past midnight on a Thursday.
People are already in for the night or will be out for another hour.
The halls have navy carpets patterned with yellow half stripes, like the lines next to a spaceship when it zooms on TV.
They make Brandon feel like he has to run, but he doesn’t. He walks fast though, and it’s enough.
He knocks on the door of 310 and hears the lock click. It opens just a sliver.
“Hello?” Brandon asks. There’s no one behind it.
It opens wider, and Brandon steps inside.
He feels someone behind him as he does. He’s been an idiot, he realizes.
Going into the dark room of a man he doesn’t know.
That’s how people get murdered. He turns quickly, almost tripping over his own feet, swaying a little as the door shuts.
Only a few lamps are on, so the light is dim, but it’s enough to catch every nook of Jon’s naked body. He was waiting behind the door.
“Hi,” Jon says. He’s wet but not dripping. He takes the towel from Brandon with one hand while the other arm wraps around Brandon’s waist. “Is this okay?” he asks.
Brandon nods but then instinctively pulls away as Jon rests his hand softly on his chin. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. We don’t have to—”
Brandon kisses him. He tastes beautiful, too, like mint and gin.
Jon pulls him closer, wrapping both arms around Brandon and lifting him in the air, mouths still together, hungry.
Brandon drops the towel. Jon throws Brandon on the bed.
Brandon starts to undo the buttons on his vest, his hands shaking.
“Here,” Jon says, undoing the buttons slowly.
“I have to be careful with the uniform,” Brandon says. His voice comes out in a whisper. “And my break isn’t long.”
“I won’t need long.”
The sex is a mix of exhilarating and awkward, unsure where their bodies go, asking each other what they want, or assuming it without asking.
Brandon doesn’t especially like having his nipples bitten but flinches through it, not wanting to ruin the moment.
He keeps staring at Jon instead. He’s gorgeous.
Six-pack, sculpted shoulders, beautiful eyes, amazing ass, and best of all: he wants Brandon.
He kisses Brandon, nibbles at his neck, fucks him, with passion, with desire.
Brandon’s not sure he’s ever felt this desired.
Ever felt like a hungry man’s first meal.
He loves it. He loves the way Jon keeps pulling him closer, their bodies inseparable, their mouths barely able to breathe.
This want, this heat, it must mean something.
Maybe Ollie was right—maybe love at first sight is real and this is what it feels like.
When it’s over eight minutes later, Brandon takes a breath in and feels strangely calm. Confident.
“Thanks for that,” Jon says. “That was great.”
“Yeah,” Brandon says, eyes closed, panting on his back. “It was. Best mistake.”
“Mistake?”
Brandon turns onto his side, opening his eyes to look at Jon, who is staring at the ceiling. He’s still wearing his bracelets, and Brandon runs a finger down Jon’s arm to them, fingering a chunky blue rubber bangle. “Rule breaking. I’m not supposed to sleep with guests.”
“I won’t tell.” Jon pulls his hand away and rolls to face Brandon. They look into each other’s eyes, and it feels quiet and meaningful. Then Jon pecks him on the lips, then rests his head in the crook of Brandon’s neck. “You smell good.”
“So do you,” Brandon says, wrapping his arm around Jon’s shoulder. He laughs. “I can’t believe you did the ‘I need a towel’ thing.”
Jon laughs too. “I feel like I’ve seen it in some porno. I was going to just open the door naked, but then I was worried someone else might be there, so…” He laughs again, high and a little unashamed, like he’s giddy with love. “I can’t believe it worked.”
“You didn’t think it would work?”
He’s quiet. “I mean, I felt like we had a moment down there.”
“Me too.”
They’re silent in the dim light, Jon’s hand tracing down Brandon’s torso, to the tattoo just over his right hip.
“Is this from Die Spitzel der Liebe, oder Wenn die Liebe der Spion ist ?” he asks.
Brandon’s eyes go wide. No one knows DSLWLS.
It’s an obscure German comic from the mid-2000s that he got into while trying to impress this broad-shouldered art major in college who’d been especially into weird comics.
He’d been taking German classes because his grandmother spoke some and he needed it to fulfill a requirement, and after some googling of unknown comics so he’d have a conversation starter, he found DSLWLS, the story of two spies in the 1980s, one in East Berlin, one in West, who fall in love while also working opposing missions.
It’s a beautiful story about fate bringing two people meant for each other together.
The art major wasn’t impressed. Brandon was so sure they’d had a moment, but then he made out with Brandon’s freshman-year roommate.
But Brandon kept up with the German, eventually minoring in it.
And he’s read DSLWLS over a hundred times now.
It’s the perfect love story. He can’t get anyone else into it though.
They never translated it, and no one, not even Ollie, seems to want to have it read aloud to them by Brandon.
“I’m impressed,” Jon says, finger circling the tattoo—the cipher disc Ingrid used to translate Rolf’s messages with their key cipher word, and his last message to her, on it— Heimweh , the longing for home, or a person who is home.
The person Brandon hopes he’ll find someday.
The person who might be touching his tattoo right now. “No one knows DSLWLS.”
“I know,” Brandon says, sitting up. “And it’s so good!”
“So good,” Jon agrees, bringing Brandon in for another kiss.
Brandon is so excited by this connection—this obvious sign—that he almost wants to keep kissing, have sex again, but he remembers he can’t be gone long, so he sits up, looking for his briefs.
“I’m sorry, I can’t stay. I’d like…to talk more. ”
“Go for round two?”
Brandon smiles, slipping his clothes on. “If I had time.”
“I get it.” Jon nods, looking only a little disappointed.
“Maybe if you give me your number?” Brandon can’t believe his own boldness—but Jon said it, right? They had a moment. “We can go out, grab some food sometime, talk more DSLWLS, maybe go back to my place, or somewhere I won’t get fired.”
“Your place?” Jon smiles broadly, like he doesn’t believe the invitation.
“It’s not as nice as here, I’ll admit.” Brandon sits back on the bed to put his shoes on.
Jon sits up behind him and kisses his neck in a way that makes the hairs there stand on end. “Sure. Give me your phone.”
Brandon takes it out of his pocket and hands it over as he checks himself in the mirror next to the bed, making sure his hair isn’t too tousled, his uniform not too wrinkled.
Jon hands him his phone back. “Text me.”
“I will.” Brandon leans forward and gives him another kiss, long and deep, tasting him, inhaling him. Is this Heimweh? Then he pulls back. “Gotta go.” He almost sighs it. “Sorry. I want to stay.”
“It’s fine. I’m about to fall asleep anyway.” Jon smiles, his eyes half closed, then lies back on the bed.
Brandon leaves quietly. The hall is empty. It’s been only twenty minutes. He should be okay.
In the elevator down, his heart starts to pound. What did he just do? It was amazing, right? It was worth it? It feels like it was worth it.
He takes out his phone and opens the group chat.
brANDON
I am definitely in love
No response. He checks his contacts for Jon’s number. Nothing under Jon Engle . His body goes hot at that, some fake trick to make him think he was getting Jon’s number, but not really. Was Brandon bad in bed? Was it just some quick pump and dump? Why not say that? Why talk after?
Then he sees it under new contacts: L. Bunny . He smiles. Funny.
He texts Jon right there, in the elevator.
brANDON
Let me know when you’re up. We can do something fun. Again, I mean.
He hits Send as the elevator doors open on the lobby. It’s still quiet, and he walks back over to the desk and takes his place behind it.
“Did he open the door naked?” Amber asks. She’s doodling penises on the notepad in front of her. She did several pages of them in the time Brandon was gone.
Brandon swallows. “What?”
“Since he needed a towel. Like in a porno. I’ve heard of it happening, but not to me. At least not yet. Did you beat me to it?” She pauses to leer at him.
“Oh.” Brandon shakes his head quickly. “No. He was wearing one of the robes. Dripping though.”
“Too bad.” She goes back to her doodles.