It could not have been a better time for a full-scale vacation. But last month someone was slugging it on a sick leave and then was buried under a pile of urgent documents. Ted was ready to cry happy tears when he finally got a chance to bail out at least for a weekend. Purchase of the new house had not increased his money supplies, but shares had climbed neatly, and after the sale of the condo, he would be able not to think about this stuff for a while. In the wake of his shattering porn site fiasco, Ted eventually started to buy securities. Luckily, his salary at last allowed to invest the surpluses. He was doing alright and apparently could afford a small luxury.
For instance, to fulfill his boyfriend's longstanding dream. So now Ted was lying on a posh bed in a five-star hotel in the center of Paris and trying his best to get all that boring crap out of his head.
Apparently, of all sights seen that day Emmett particularly liked Galleries Lafayette with its stained glass dome and endless shops. When they returned to their suite with huge bags, he in the first place entertained Ted with a kind of fashion parade. Demonstration of every apparel was accompanied by yelps of such admiration, that Ted could not help forgetting how much it costed him. Damn, for how long was he going to think about that? Honestly, just like with food. As soon as you think, "My, my! I am not hungry at all," your stomach starts to rumble.
Ted felt embarrassed that even in the happiest day of his life (fine, one of the top ten) his euphoria sufficed only for several hours and was replaced by all those ludicrous financial regrets. Although, dammit, let them come, they always come if you do something so impractical. If you start to reprove yourself for them, you will drop out of reality altogether. And the reality, however you feel about it, had not been so sunny for fuck knows how many years. Above all, Emmett was happy to bits, and that had been the point. So Ted asked himself: "Do not nag at me, please!" and continued to behold the fashion parade.
To make the delight ultimately overfill Emmett, and finally sprinkle the eternally gloomy Theodore, the latter seized a moment in the pants interchange and gave his beloved head.
"At home, I will give you the best sex of your life!" Emmett promised when he recovered his breath.
"Em, every time, the sex with you is the best in my life."
"You just do not know what I am up to yet! I'm having a rush of inspiration! The only thing is, tomorrow I will need to drop into that huge shop next to Moulin Rouge. Can you please wait for me at a coffee house? I want to give you a surprise!"
"That's so intriguing!" Ted made Emmett turn his back on him and demonstrated, how exactly intrigued he was.
He'd better not get too carried away: they were set to hit local gay clubs. Although…
***
Gorgeous night, fabulous day. They walked from Champs-Elysees to Champ-de-Mars (and yes, not to capture a kiss against the background of the tower is too rebellious for a couple of respectable homos). From there, they went to the Seine embankment, to check out secondhand bookshops, then took a stroll around Cité, had a glimpse of Notre Dame, and finally headed for Lapérouse.
"Teddy, why are there no prices in this menu?" Emmett asked, savoring yet another Kir Royal.
It would be nice if at the moment of payment, he went to dust his nose. To end an awesome evening by a heart attack would be mauvais ton.
"My love, they call this the ladies' menu. I would like you to think not about prices but, for instance, about the fact that in his day Hugo used to dine in this restaurant."
"Fuck me!"
"Oh yes, baby, I will!" thought Ted and said, "Have some chocolate soufflé, they've been cooking it here more than a hundred years."
"Oh, I adore chocolate soufflé, Teddy. By the way, do you mind walking me to the bathroom?"
***
Gorgeous night, fabulous day, awesome evening. But then, some damned airport taxi was driving through a veil and carrying the love mates from a fairy tale to prosiness. On the way Ted's bel-ami was singing huskily: "Il est beau comme le soleil, para-ra-rara-rara," demonstrating total complacency. So, fine, it was time to go home, to make some new money instead of the spent one.
Ted returned from his sick leave when colleagues sent him a picture: his printed photo sandwiched between two pies rotating inside a turned-on microwave oven. As a matter of fact, it looked quite infernal and was exhorting Ted to work.
Folks at work met Ted by a kind of mini party, with cake, hugs and pats on his shoulders. It was just incredibly moving: neither at Wertchafter's, nor even in the Jerk-at-Work team Ted had encountered anything like that. He got so emotional that he slightly dabbled Cynthia's voluminous curls with his tears. Then Brian handed Ted a huge pile of papers, took away his plate ("The fifteenth lipo is not covered by your insurance!") and ordered him to get started.
Ted got started and did not stop till nightfall although, actually, he had urges rather for sex than for work. To make his day a little brighter, he put a framed picture of Emmett on his table, then set another one as desktop, and then, on second thought, hung the third and the fourth ones on the wall. The fourth shot was the most beautiful, of Emmett wearing an unbuttoned shirt. It only remained to bring that very sparkling sign "Fetch" here and the picture would be complete.
Having entered his accountant's office and heard yet another telephone crooning, Brian grumbled, "When they say that you should suck your man's ass, they mean it literally. Although, no, at such a rate you will make five more holes." Ted cast on him a go-fuck-yourself stare (it would be a cool superpower, he has to tell Mikey about it: just one look, and all your enemies are busy!) and handed him a pile of agreements — to sign.
It was a good thing that Ted had not been seventeen for quite a long time already, otherwise every agreement would have been adorned with graffiti: "Emmett. Em. Emmett. Emmettemmettemmett". Ted's head was so full with it that he even would not have hated to share with someone. Shame Cynthia is not gay! Ted greatly missed the opportunity to walk with a lesbian, listen to her stories, give her advice and once and again slightly raise the lid of his boiling kettle and throttle the steam: "As for Emmett and me…".
In Paris it would have been the right time to offer his beloved to live together, but Ted had decided that it would look like a manipulation and turn his gift into a strategic maneuver "entice a squash into a hole".
***
During the airport inspection an incident happened: a customs officer asked Emmett to open his suitcase.
"Teddy, do not look, it is a surprise!" exclaimed Em. Ted turned away and for five minutes was curiously observing, how witnesses of that scene were changing their countenances.
"Mon dieu, but how?!" asked the Charles-de-Gaulle officer with a mixture of delight and horror.
"I would have shown you, mon cher, but I already have le petit ami."
When Ted heard the sound of closing zipper and turned back again, the hall was all but applauding.
But on the plane Emmett grew sad. Ted took his mate's hand and tried to entertain him with small talk:
"Mon amour, we are not grudge holding, are we? We won't make one of those horrible suppers with a slideshow demonstration from the trip, will we?"
"I'd die first," answered Emmett sullenly, put on his eye patch and pretended to fall asleep.
Too fucking bad that one cannot get to Europe on a taxi. Well, Ted could only hope that sometimes his ami would get new flight associations. For that they'd better go somewhere as often as possible — and then the most important thing will be not to go to blazes. Ted surrendered to his bookkeeping instinct and started to count, how much money he spent on that voyage. Perhaps it was time to ask the air hostess to bring him a paper bag. Or valium. Did they give valium in first class?