The English Spy

‘And laying His Royal Highness naked upon the altar, the Archbishop of Canterbury did say…’

He had it. Matthias Karlo Adnan Sebastian Edwin Beaumont, had it: The opening sentence of his magnum opus. When he returned to England from Triesenbourg, he could at last begin the final draft. Meanwhile, he sat scoping the male talent whilst he waited for his much loved cousin and fellow Anglo-Fiorentine to arrive.

Of four remarkable Fiorentine sisters, two had married Englishmen from Eastamptonshire. And although they would never say as much, they were happy to have returned with their respective husbands to Triesenbourg. The third sister, Anna-Maria Sebastina Agnes Lazar was said by local satirists to be the most forbearing of the three. For although she had married a perfectly decent Fiorentine, Anton Lazar was thought not the most astute man in the country. Not that this would  matter, accept that Zr (Mr) Lazar is currently the country’s Foreign Minister and  likely to be the next Prime Minister. The fourth sister, Leiala had been a Sebastian noviciate nun, an actor and latterly for many years Mayor of the commune of Mosca.

Matthias smiled. He noticed a group of Fiorentines gathering and greeting each. Kisses on each cheek, yes. But it was the giveaway kisses on the hands that attested to their nationality. He looked away. He knew that he would be able to interpret the pattern of the kisses,- if he paid attention.

“Matthias, Matthias,” a familiar voice called out.

At 1.66m Matthias was much smaller than his 1.86m cousin. But  in the size and warmth of their greeting, they were equals. Other Fiorentines  waiting to board the flight to Durazno who chanced to notice the pattern of hand kisses they exchanged, would be left in little doubt of the esteem and affection each shared for the other.

“Sorry I’ve cut it so fine, Matthias. The connecting train from Manchester was late.”

After they finally cleared security at East Midlands Airport, the two were happy to revert to their mother tongue.

Apart from being a Judo Black Belt and 3 minutes older than his twin, Zander  Philip Admir Martin Sebastian Edwin  Beaumont; and being the very capable treasurer The Lavender Triangle Housing Co-operative, Matthias had two other skills of some note. One such that he was an accomplished magician and illusionist. Ilar Robinson knew all of this of course and was prepared for the series of little tricks that would, he knew, be  played on him during the course of the flight. The inevitable tennis ball plucked from behind his ear; Finding his wallet in Matthias’s inside pocket, together with a note in his cousin’s familiar hand listing the denomination and quantity of the Euro and UK currency in that wallet.

“It’s all done by distraction,” is all Matthias would ever say and today was no exception. Not even Matthias’s many YouTube subscribers were offered much more of an explanation.-Not by him  and certainly not by his circumspect, popular and ever present assistant, Urtan.

 Suddenly, Matthias became serious. He had been exchanging glances with the hot flight attendant and considering the possibility of a quick fuck in the passenger toilet. But for now all of that disappeared from his thoughts.  His brown eyes were still as warm as ever, but now focused intently on Ilar. “Zander and I together with Zander’s beloved ‘lion,’ have decided that we are going to leave the UK and live permanently in Triesenbourg from some time in ’18.”

There was an intense pause. There was something different in Matthias's demeanour that Ilar had not seen before. Ilar broke the silence. 

“So Leo has agreed then?”

“He has indeed,” confirmed Matthias, removing Ilar’s wrist watch. “With luck and your - and Zander’s God willing, of course,- the two of them will live to a ripe old age and die together in some nice care home in the Arad valley.”

“Sounds lovely and I hope it happens for them,” said Ilar, aware that something had just occurred, but having not the vaguest idea what it was. He winced. For the past few days, his back had been giving him trouble. “I will miss you,” he continued sincerely. “You and Zander- and Leo his ‘lion’ as well, for that matter. But I come home to Triesenbourg  twice a year or so, so it won’t be too bad. We will still see a lot of each other,”

Like most other people, the flight attendant was taller than Matthias and seemed to be coming to the boil rather nicely. But he would have to wait.

“Well that’s it you see dear cuz, we are hoping that you will come too. You have nothing to lose.”

Ilar had not seen this coming. His pause was positively Pinteresque as he gathered his thoughts. “I might have,” he began. “I might have a new boyfriend. Adam his name is. During a beautiful and frankly mysterious night, I said that I loved him. And in the cold light of day, I think I do. What’s more I was showing off…trying to impress him I suppose and as a result I’ve pulled a muscle in my back.”

Of an appropriate sympathy for Ilar’s back pain, there was no sign.

“But at heart deep down, you are a Fiorentine, Ilar. You are like Zander and the other two and a halve million. You live for Fiorentine, the language and culture. Heavens, you are into the monarchy, Saint Sebastian and of course the Harlequin thing in a big way. If you are going to settle down with anyone, particularly a guy who loves you with all his heart, that man in your life must obviously be a Fiorentine.”

Ilar gave a long low whistle. “That is some pitch and I appreciate it, I really do. I am lucky to have you and Zander looking out for me.”

“I know what you are about to say to me,” Matthias shrugged with the air of one defeated by his own logic. He nodded indicating that Ilar should say it.

“Look at Zander and Leo. Leo is no Fiorentine. He is more English than you or me. Yet do you know two gay men who love each other as much as they so obviously do? I certainly don’t know anybody more devoted to each other than those two. So why  can't I do the same?”
Matthias had his answer. In fact he had two answers. But is not they that came forth.

Even those passengers who did not speak Fiorentine knew a muffled plaintive cry when they heard one.

“Hello! It’s me. My name is Urtan. Let me out. I have been kidnapped.”

Passengers looked at one another. When the cry became the familiar  nursery rhyme all about the Harlequin that Fiorentines had learned as infants,  those passengers who were wondering whether or not to panic, or to accept the indifferent coffee proffered by the flight attendants, opted for the coffee.

The hot flight attendant was the only person who seemed  unperturbed, indeed indifferent to these events. Lest the attendant become indifferent to him, Matthias accepted another coffee as the muffled voice proceeded to whistle the opening bars of the Triesenbourg national anthem.

The second skill of note possessed in abundance by Matthias was recalled in a flash of realisation by Ilar.

“He is here isn’t he?,” whispered Ilar, knowing how faintly ridiculous he sounded. “Urtan, I mean.”

‘Urtan’ in colloquial Fiorentine translates as ‘us three,’ or ‘we three.’ The three referenced by the word are, Matthias, Zander and Urtan. Matthias is a talented ventriloquist. Urtan is the name of his dummy. Urtan looks very like Matthias and Zander. Some wags  claim not to be able to tell them apart.  

“Give that man a coconut,” demanded a genial Matthias in an entirely different voice that seemed to come from galley of the aircraft.

“The poor chap is in a dismantled state in a suitcase in the cargo hold of the plane. It is the only way they would agree to let Urtan fly,” confided Matthias quietly to his cousin. “I tried telling them that Urtan was only a threat to the safety of the plane if the pilot died laughing, but they would have none of it. I’ve never had this trouble before.”

The intervention of the less than amused co-pilot halted Matthias’s vocal games.

The flight attendant was by now simmering nicely, if a little nervously as the co-pilot noticed him and was clearly wondering what this particular crew member was actually doing.

“Back in a while, Ilar. Oh and before I forget, here’s your wrist watch.”

Matthias enjoyed the smiles and attention as he moved down the aircraft. But it was clear that the flight attendant might take refuge in his galley duties at any second. Matthias thought quickly and cleared his throat. He had never done this one before, not in public anyway. But what the hell.

Suddenly all eyes went to the rear of the plane from where the voice of President Trump seemed to address the passengers. Matthias could not resist garnishing his efforts with the muffled, ‘Here, hear’, tones of Urtan.

Matthias offered no protest as he was bungled into the crew toilet.

“Hi. I’m Andreas,” said the flight attendant a split second before he began to snog the small handsome figure.

“Hi. I’m Matthias,” replied Matthias catching his breath.

“I know,” laughed the other peeling off as much of  Matthias’s clothing as his own. “You and Urtan are great on your YouTube channel, by the way”

“Glad you like it. I’ll tell Urtan. He is a real compliment whore.”

Andreas tingled from head to toe and was just about to go down in the cramped space, onto Matthias’s swaying cock when Matthias swallowed his.

“Oh, Ceshic! Ceshic! (Fuck! Fuck!) cried Andreas in none too quiet encouragement. Let me shag you good and hard is what he had most urgently in mind. But when Matthias began kissing his heavy balls and wrapped his lips fully around them, Andreas’s brain kind of went of on a path of its own.

“You should open an English language Channel,” is what Andreas heard himself say.

“That is what Urtan say’s as well, so we are thinking about it.” Mathias replied, swishing Andreas round before he realised what was happening.

“Some gorgeous arse, you have there, Andreas.”

The aircraft banked suddenly and a number of passengers were sure they heard Urtan utter a muffled profanity from the depths of the cargo hold.

The sudden movement added momentum to Matthias’s thrust, as his tongue entered Andreas’s beautifully gaping hole. He wanted more. He ate out that muscular bottom hoping Andreas was a bottom. Only then did Matthias realise that his condoms were in his shoulder bag, next to Ilar. Five minutes is a long time in an airline loo, so there was not the leisure to be had for a philosophical discussion by two strangers on the merits of going bareback.

“I would ask if I could fuck you, Andreas,” he began considerately. “But I haven’t got a condom to hand.”

“Me neither,” replied Andreas, genuinely disappointed. “I would love to fuck you too, if you like,- and if Urtan averts his gaze of course!”

Their laughter was heard in the passenger area.

“Whoops!, said Andreas, shushing them. He took hold of Matthias’s cock. Matthias reciprocated and took his firmly in hand. They kissed gently at first and then as they wanked each other, with mounting passion.

“I’m in Durazno for a few day’s said Matthias, quivering as Andreas started nibbling his lower lip and  finger fucking him. They wanked each other urgently aware that time was ebbing away. But still, when their orgasms came in quick succession, they were contented.

“Let’s meet up before I return to England.”

“Yes,” agreed Andreas. “But isn’t the nephew of the Foreign Minister your affair or something?”

“We are cousins. And alas, Ilar Robinson and I are not having an affair.”

“The cat that got the cream,” from what some of us heard," grinned Ilar on Matthias’s return to his seat.

“And I got his black briefs,” added Matthias in triumph.

The cousins hugged and parted at the airport bus station. Matthias to travel to his parent’s home in Sarravale, the major port and Ilar to his parent’s home in the capital.

Although Andreas did not know it yet he was to be surprised the next day to see Matthias emerging into the arrivals hall of the airport.

“Hi” Andreas said, daring a modest kiss given the speedy if delightful intimacies they had shared hardly 24 hours earlier.

“oh,” said the surprised passenger: surprised he may be. But to be welcomed home to his motherland by a kiss from a good looking stranger was unusual, even by Fiorentine standards. With this very much in mind returning the modest kiss with a more intense one of his own, was no hardship.

“I must go…The bus to Sarravale, you understand.”

He took the flight attendant's left hand bestowed two small kisses.

All was suddenly clear.

“Oh dear!, exclaimed Andreas with a grin.  You are not Matthias Beaumont are you? And I doubt that you are the talkative Urtan either.”

“No and No. I am Zander. Three minutes allows Matthias to claim the honours of sibling seniority. As to Urtan, I suppose he is almost as much my alter ego as Matthias’s.-But with Matthias pulling the strings.. Like I said, those three minutes.”

“I am Andreas by the way, Zander. Let’s meet for glass or two of wine.”
< Aero Triesenbourg Internazonale landed on time. Kissed by  man named Andreas outside the air terminal. He thought I was Matthias,- or Urtan. I love you my beautiful lion.>

Zander pressed 'send.' And because he was teaching his beloved Leo, Fiorentine, a few moments later the text was repeated in that language.   

To Be Continued.