an unsettling reunion (rps au, elijah wood & joshua hartnett)
Title: An Unsettling Reunion
Authors: almostnever & zillah975
Fandom: RPS AU for the Sable Knot RPG.
Summary: Elijah Wood, sentenced to slavery for theft and assault, prevails upon his friend Joshua Hartnett to visit the brothel where Elijah now pays his debt to society.
Previously:
Elijah writes to Joshua Hartnett: You will have heard about the dreadful incident, I expect.
Joshua replies to Elijah: Whatever help I can be...
Vignette: Elijah Plans His Reply To Joshua
Elijah writes to Joshua: With what heart I have left, I thank the stars for you.
Vignette: Joshua visits his aunt, and writes a letter to Elijah.
*
Joshua watches Sabine depart down the hallway, the heavily-built slave following after, and he blushes hotly to imagine what his aunt is going to do with the man. She obliged to bring him to see Elijah, but with merriment in her eye she declined to guide him further; now he's left to fend for himself in the sumptuous rooms of the Knot.
"Sir...?"
"Yes?" Joshua jerks around with a guilty start to find a liveried slave waiting for him. At least, he supposes she's a slave.
"Would Sir like to choose a slave for the evening?"
"Oh! Oh...." Joshua fumbles, uncertain and glancing around as if for a set of instructions. "I... I'm not... this is my...."
She smiles. "Of course. Perhaps I could make a suggestion, if you'll tell me what you find appealing."
Joshua's chest loosens with relief. "Yes," he says, nodding, "yes, please. I..."
How to describe him, he wonders, for surely if I ask for him by name, it would cause a scandal. My first visit, I couldn't possibly know any of the slaves, surely? "I...someone smallish," he says. "A boy. Young man. Dark, and fair-skinned, and.... And with a particularly vulnerable air," he finishes. "Blue eyes, if.... Blue eyes."
"We have several very handsome slaves who might fit that description," she answers. "If you'd care to take a seat in the lounge, I can have them brought for you to choose."
Joshua swallows and nods, his nervousness returning in full force. "Thank you," he says, then adds quickly, "And a brandy, please. If you please. A brandy."
"Of course," she says, and bobs a little curtsey. Joshua makes his way into the lounge and finds a heavy wingback chair near the back, falling into it with a sigh.
The slave glides out of the room, but once out of Joshua's sight, her step becomes brisk. She pauses only to give his drink order to another slave, who rushes to supply it. Then, hurrying to the dormitories, she sweeps down the corridors to collect male slaves who fit Joshua's specifications.
A brief knock, and the door to Elijah's narrow room swings open. "Come along," Maisie says stiffly.
She says nothing further to him as she collects more slaves from their quarters, greeting them with more warmth. After gathering just three more young men as well as Elijah, she begins leading them back toward the sitting room.
Elijah shudders in dread. Four seems the worst possible number. If she had come for Elijah alone he could have hoped, at least for the brief walk to the sitting room, that Joshua had come to see him.
In a larger group, he might not be chosen -- though that can be irksome in itself. Gentlemen seem to have quite a taste for that vulgar Jeremy, particularly, and it's rather irritating to be turned aside, even if it's ultimately worse to be quickly selected.
Among this group of four, though, there's little chance of being passed over. Elijah sighs tragically. His head aches already at the mere prospect of another ordeal, and it seems so unfair. His habitual visitors come often enough, surely he shouldn't have to submit himself to strangers as well.
Maisie surveys them before they enter to stand before the client; she casts a particularly stern look at Elijah, and with a scowl he sets his shoulders and tips up his chin, displaying himself to best effect as they walk in.
Generally Elijah tries not to look too closely at the clients before they choose a companion for the evening; unwise, when so many people have rhapsodized to him about the luster of his large blue eyes, the remarkable effect of his gaze. It's not til all four of them are stood in line that Elijah sneaks a glance at the gentleman -- and starts violently, his heart pounding fast in his chest. It's all he can do not to speak Joshua's name aloud, to fall at his feet.
Joshua struggles to keep his composure when the slaves are led in and he sees Elijah, head held high and too fine to be here, far too fine. For a long moment he just looks at him, his own heart hammering, before he manages to tear his gaze away and glance over the others.
He doesn't see them, though. All he can see is Elijah's eyes, the startled desperation in them, and after what he hopes is an acceptably careful consideration, he nods to Elijah.
"This one," he says curtly.
He scarcely even registers the little bustle of activity that follows his choice, the young men dispersing back to their rooms, or wherever slaves go when they're waiting for clients. The hollow sounds of their footsteps echo softly as he follows the slave to the room he's been given and Elijah follows him.
It's only as the door closes behind them that the full weight of what he's doing here hits Joshua, and he reaches blindly for a chair and sinks down into it, his gaze locked on Elijah.
"You've come," Elijah says with a tremulous smile, drawing near and hesitating. He would throw himself at Joshua's feet now that they're alone, only Joshua looks quite dazed and pale already. Elijah sinks to his knees instead, taking Joshua's hand in both of his and pressing it to his face. "Joshua... I'm so grateful, I'm so happy to see you." Elijah's voice falters, strained with honest sentiment.
Oh, and how long has it been since Elijah was this close to someone he truly wanted? He's impatient already. If only he could jump ahead a few moves in the game... pin Joshua's hips against the back of the chair with his mouth and hands and show him everything Elijah has had to learn, these past weeks.
It's difficult to conjure tears with such delicious notions in his head, but the moment seems to call for a drop or two. Resting his head against Joshua's knee, Elijah holds his breath and constricts his diaphragm til his last draught of air expands in his chest and fills the back of his throat. After a lifetime of losing his breath in the course of fits and paroxysms, this sensation, a constricted lack of air, never fails to fill him with a powerful surge of panic and misery.
Within moments he chokes on a sob, and permits himself a deep inhalation; and then he can lift his head to display flushed cheeks and wet lashes, a tear rolling down his cheek as he clutches Joshua's hand all the harder.
The sight of Elijah's tears brings Joshua back to himself with a rush and he pulls Elijah into a hard embrace. "Oh, my poor friend," he murmurs, and Elijah's slim body feels like bird bones beneath his hands, fragile, his heart beating wildly. He draws back to cup Elijah's face in his hands, searching those rainwater eyes. "Are you -- are you well?" he asks. "Do they -- feed you sufficiently? Do you need a physician?"
Elijah laughs bitterly. "Oh, they look after us. We're like livestock, they check our teeth and keep us in good health." That may be more candor than the situation requires; Elijah purses his lips. He flattens his hands against Joshua's lapels and presses nearer, a supplicating posture. "I'm well enough, it's only that I've been longing to see you. I need nothing else."
"Come," Joshua says, pulling Elijah with him towards the settee near the window. "Come and sit with me, please, Elijah, do you -- shall we -- we should have something sent up," he manages at last. "Brandy, wine, something to eat. And you can tell me--" all about your service here, about the indignities you must suffer "--we can talk for a while. My aunt won't expect me finished here for an hour or more."
Nodding, Elijah sinks into the plush settee, his hand fluttering to stroke the tear-tracks off his face. "Give the bell pull a tug and someone will come directly. They'll bring anything you want... oh, but please don't speak of leaving yet, not when you've only just arrived. I can't bear it, Joshua. How I've missed you!"
Joshua fumbles for his handkerchief and offers it to Elijah. "I should have insisted you come to stay with me in London," he says bitterly. "Not with those wretched snobs who took such advantage of your good nature." He's embarrassed to find himself blushing faintly, his emotions getting the better of him. He was the only one who ever really understood, he thinks. The only one I could trust not to laugh, and how did I repay him? "I've been a poor friend to you, I'm afraid. A very poor friend indeed."
"That's not true," Elijah protests, blotting his eyes. The handkerchief smells of Joshua's cologne, and Elijah only just stops himself from tucking it in his own pocket at once, knotting his hands around it instead. "You've been my dearest friend, Joshua. And look at me now! Deserted. You're the only true friend I have."
He casts a sidewise glance up at Joshua through his lashes. "And even you... I shouldn't wonder if even you were disgusted with me now, seeing this place. Knowing how often I've been stood in line like that, and chosen... I was so ashamed to ask you to come here. I simply didn't know what else to do."
Joshua gapes at Elijah, frightened of the self-recrimination he hears in Elijah's words. "No, no, you mustn't -- you mustn't think that, you mustn't think that way of yourself or of me," he stammers. "You're not to blame, it isn't your fault if you -- that you -- that you must suffer these iniquities, and I could never think less of you for bearing them."
Though indeed, he had not considered how many times Elijah might have been stood in such a line, or how often he might've been chosen, and he feels a rush of heat at the thought now. Chosen, and chosen for what? he wonders. For what they must assume I'm -- in here, doing, to him, even now.
His eyes widen in sudden apprehension. And what if they ask me....
"Do... do all of them..." he begins, a furious blush creeping up his throat. "That is, if I were asked, surely I could say I wanted only a bit of... of talk, and genial companionship, couldn't I?"
It's all Elijah can do not to laugh outright; he ducks his head to pass it off as shyness, letting it quaver his voice as if with embarrassment. "You would be the first who could give such an answer," he alludes delicately. Meeting Joshua's eyes again, he continues, "If you are asked, better to say as little as you can. Pretend to be too bashful to answer, perhaps. If they knew I'm not -- performing my duties, servicing -- it would be all the worse for me. I hate that I must ask you to play at depravity for my sake... can you forgive me?"
"There is nothing to forgive," Joshua says softly, taking Elijah's hands. "It's so small a thing to ask -- I would do much more if it would help you." Elijah's fingers are cool contrast to the warmth of his palms, and Joshua can feel his pulse fluttering in his wrist. It makes his breath catch.
He drops his gaze with a wry smile. "And I shall have no trouble playing bashful," he adds. "You were always more sophisticated than I."
Elijah shakes his head, clinging to Joshua, lowering his voice intimately. "I was a child then, playing at worldliness. I thought I knew something of life from books. Books! No story yet penned could have prepared me for this place. Oh, Joshua," he sighs. "The things that darken men's hearts! Such terrible desires! How could I have known? I think perhaps I could bear what my body is subjected to, if only I could shed the burden of this awful knowledge. To hold such secrets, such debasement... sometimes I think I shall go mad."
The words pluck at Joshua's shameful curiosity about his friend's condition, the low circumstances in which he now resides, and he swallows hard, gripping Elijah's hands. "My heart breaks to think of you with no one to confide in," he murmurs. "If it would help you, please, unburden yourself to me."
The shy scandalized eagerness in Joshua's voice makes Elijah want to dance about in victory. He knows that tone; it's the tone of a man well and truly hooked. Exultant, Elijah studies Joshua's face, so handsome; his heavily lashed dark eyes, his ascetic cheekbones and sybarite's lips.
If slavery puts me in your arms then I will not count the loss of my freedom as too high a price, he thinks, and commits the phrase to memory, in hopes he'll have the opportunity to use it later.
"If I may... bless you, Joshua. Your care is such a balm to me," Elijah murmurs, hushed and secret. "Now that you have seen this place you cannot but know that it is a brothel. Rich drapes and tapestries hardly hide its vile nature. But it is still worse than that, if such a thing can be imagined. Here they traffic not only in the pleasures of the flesh but in its depredation. The Knot's members delight in punishment and pain."
Joshua's brows draw together in perplexity. "Punishment?" he says. "But I thought this was -- that -- what further, worse punishment could they mete out?"
"More varieties of torment than I could ever express. When first I came here," Elijah explains, "they beat me. Not as correction... merely to test what I could bear, so that every man who wishes may do the same, again and again, as much as he likes so long as he neither disfigures nor kills me.
"Yet even that is not the measure of the horror at work in these walls!" he goes on. "The people who make use of us savor our shame. The humiliation of our humble state is only the beginning of their joy; they abuse and demean us..."
Joshua listens with growing alarm, but beneath that alarm is a sliver of something he can't yet admit to, the same strangeness he'd felt when his aunt had intimated what she planned for the heavily-muscled slave she'd chosen; the same that was aroused in him at the sight of a classmate's face, tearstained upon leaving the Headmaster's office after correction. He presses his lips together and tries to will away the flush he can feel heating his cheeks, hoping Elijah mistakes it for anything but what it is.
Increasingly ragged and hysterical, Elijah begins to lose his breath in earnest, unable to inhale deeply in his agitated state. "After training, my first night truly serving, they held an auction -- two, the other for a boy not more than sixteen -- each of us given over to the highest bidder, who paid a princely sum for virginity. Imagine it, being touched so for the first time, by a stranger who revels in agony --" finally he stops forcing the words out and leans against Joshua's shoulder, adding with a gasp, "Oh, please try not to think badly of me, please don't turn me away."
Joshua trembles, pulling Elijah into his arms. "I could never do that, Elijah," he murmurs, grateful to be able to hide his face from his friend. "I could not turn you away, don't even think it."
Inwardly Elijah rejoices, even as he pants and sobs; there's nothing of revulsion in Joshua's affect. Quite the contrary, he holds Elijah close, as if all these lurid stories only serve to inflame him.
It would hardly surprise Elijah if such were true. Half his visitors seem to hunger to hear stories of the awful acts that the other half force him to do.
Once he composes himself, Elijah says in barely more than a whisper, "Could nothing sway your faith, then? I want to believe it, but Joshua... I'm so afraid... I'm in such disgrace. They say the tea here is drugged to make us wanton, and such is my dishonor that I pray it is true. For in this very room, my hands were bound to the headboard there, just there! A man I'd never seen before tied me down and struck me, but it was far worse after that, when he was gentle. And helpless I had no choice as this man caressed me so, with his hands and his mouth, yes, even til crisis overcame me, I can only admit the full measure of the guilt. How can I hope for mercy from anyone, how can I stand in the judgement of any man's eyes after that?"
"The fault is not yours," Joshua says firmly, pushing back to face Elijah. "If your body betrays you under the sway of whatever drug they give you, or even in the face of your own helplessness, no one can judge you for that. You do what you must to survive this place."
But even as he speaks what he hopes is encouragement, Joshua's mind is fixed on an image of Elijah spread out and writhing under some stranger's touch, and he lurches to his feet, turning to the window and leaning heavily against the sill. "No one can judge you for that," he repeats, dry-voiced and shaking. But how you would judge me if you knew my own depravity, he thinks, that would have you bound for my pleasure, and mine alone.
And in the darkness of his mind's eye, Elijah wavers and becomes himself, and the stranger a faceless man with Elijah's blue eyes and soft, soft hands...
Elijah frowns; he's gone too far perhaps. He wants Joshua to cleave to him, not turn away. He reads the tremor in Joshua's hands, and shivers himself. One foot wrong and Joshua may run from him even still, more repelled than attracted by these glimpses of vice.
It's down to this, then. Elijah could shrink into himself, weep still more to bring Joshua back to console him; but his lips curls in determination to risk another step forward.
"And if I admit that I have thought of you, how I have thought of you," he says slowly, "so often and so... ardently, Joshua, even in rooms such as this, when -- if I told you how often I wished --" he watches the tension of Joshua's shoulders with a stare as fixed as a cobra's. "Would you condemn me? Or would you stand by me even then, even knowing...?"
Joshua turns, staring wide-eyed at Elijah, and his heart is a fist hammering against his chest. Elijah's fair skin is limned gold in the lamplight, and Joshua can see the glimmer of fine hairs on his cheek, and his soft pulse beating in the perfect column of his throat. Josh's prick stirs, begins to stiffen. His mouth....
"Elijah," he breathes, almost as if to himself, "do not tempt me so. I could be as they are," jerking his chin towards the door to take in everything inside the Knot apart from the two of them. "This...disease they share -- if it is in the blood then surely I must have it, for my aunt is a member here and now I must be, shall be," his pitch increasingly fevered, "if only to see you, and I--"
With a choked sound he throws himself to the settee beside Elijah. "I cannot, I cannot! I would be as cruel as they to take such advantage!"
Lacing their fingers together, Elijah squeezes tight, relieved and triumphant. "Oh, Joshua. Don't you see? Your hesitation proves you're nothing like them. No other would so much as pause. But you... your refined conscience, your rare sensibility... it's no wonder I've dreamed so much of you. My dearest friend." He kisses the back of Joshua's hand and presses it to his cheek. "Trust in yourself, as I trust you."
Joshua is struck speechless, unable to deny Elijah the comfort of thinking Joshua better than those around him, but equally unable to believe it himself. Not when his prick rises at Elijah's closeness, his helplessness, not when Joshua would throw him down here and have his way if only he were sure how, if only he could be sure of living with himself afterwards. If only he could be sure Elijah wouldn't hate him for it.
He clings to Elijah's hand. The kiss still burns on the back of his own, imprint of perfect cupidsbow lips, and Joshua feels branded, as if the mark will stay with him forever. How easy it would be to claim a kiss for himself now, for Elijah is so close, so vulnerable.... Barely a breath between them.
Joshua tears his gaze away, inhaling sharply. "I must go," he says, and his voice cracks, comes out little more than a whisper. "My aunt -- my -- I must go."
"So soon," Elijah answers sadly, and grits his teeth in frustration. So soon to go back to his bare little room, and nothing to look forward to but the next visit, in days or even weeks. Nevertheless, he lowers his lashes, striving to look his most martyred and angelic. "I'm so grateful you came. I'll not truly live til I see you again."
The words catch at Joshua's heart. The notion that Elijah would long for him so, after all the nights he'd lain awake wishing for just such a thing.... More nights now in his memory than ever at the time, perhaps, but still, enough. He only hopes that Elijah cannot see the ignoble desire he's sure is written plainly on his face. "I must," he murmurs. "I -- I shall come again soon."
Elijah knows that he's gripped Joshua's imagination, he can see Joshua's body responding to him in the most tempting, mouthwatering way... still, Elijah wants more: to seal this meeting somehow, end things in a way that will bind Joshua to him unbreakably.
As Joshua rises to his feet, Elijah follows, all but folding himself into Joshua's arms as they stand. "I'm afraid I must impose on you for one last favor, if I may..." he asks.
Joshua is trembling with conflict, Elijah too near, too near, and it would be so easy, such a simple thing to take him, as it seems they've both wished for. My right, a cruel voice insists, shocking Joshua with its vehemence. I paid for him, he's mine if I want him, and Joshua swallows hard and shoves the desire away.
"Anything," he says, torn with guilt at all the things he cannot do.
"I must look as if you've made use of me," says Elijah. "They'll check me for marks when they take me back. I know it's difficult for you, but..." he squares his shoulders and lifts his chin, tilting his head just slightly to expose the angle of his cheekbone and the cord of his neck to the light. "Don't think about it," he urges, "just let fly your hand."
Joshua can't but think about it, though, and he stares at Elijah, aghast.
"You can't mean..." he begins. "You can't mean that they -- is it so common for them to strike you?" he asks, looking at his own hand as if wondering at the notion that it could be turned to such a use.
In answer, Elijah loosens his collar with a jerk and pushes his shirt down, exposing the yellow-violet blotches of fading bruises at the base of his neck, spreading across his shoulder.
"That's what I meant about the nature of his place," he says, striving to keep the impatience from his tone. "The patrons here love nothing better than to inflict punishment, of one sort or another. Several of them book me regularly to do nothing but beat me. They say they like the way my skin shows the marks so well." He gives Joshua his most earnest, wide-eyed look. "I'll be checked thoroughly when you go. If I don't look as if you've touched me, they'll grow suspicious, and punish me for failing to serve you properly. I'm sorry to ask you this, more than I can say, but -- please, Joshua."
For a long moment Joshua simply stands and stares, his gaze fixed on the yellowing bruises. He wants to touch them, wants to press, see his fingerprints appear and vanish in the blood that's pooled and fading beneath the surface of Elijah's skin. He doesn't want to strike him.
As if in a dream he reaches out to cup Elijah's face in his palm, and Elijah's wide blue gaze pleads with him. He's nothing but a whore, comes the voice, the same one as before, cruel. He's manipulating you, and you such a lapdog, begging for scraps at his table. Do you think he doesn't try this with every man who uses him, doesn't try to take what he can get? and with a soft snarl of anger Joshua lashes out and slaps Elijah hard across the face.
And just as quickly pulls him close, arms around that frail body as he presses his lips to the cheek he's struck, open-mouthed, the softest kiss and the sweet smell of Elijah's hair.
"How can you smell so clean, in this place?" he murmurs, a sigh of breath leaving him. "I shall come again soon."
Then he turns, heart hammering, and strides out of the room without a backward glance.
Left alone, Elijah touches his own face lightly, caressing the heat of Joshua's handprint. It felt like quite a solid blow; his mouth curls in a smile. He's willing to wager that Joshua will feel horribly guilty for hitting him before he even makes it back to the sitting room, never mind that Elijah had to insist that he go through with it.
Surely Joshua will be haunted by that blow long after the coal-red mark fades from Elijah's face. If Elijah's plan has been successful, Joshua will be back soon, eager to make reparations, to help.
It's an unexpected advantage that Joshua evidently has a taste for the sort of rough trade the Knot trafficks in; the smoldering look in his eyes! He'll be clamoring to have Elijah's contract bought by one of his rich relatives in no time. And then... no more Knot, no more whoring and punishment. Only Joshua, and Elijah feels certain he can convince Joshua to bend for him, regardless of who might own who.
Steps thump outside the door; hastily Elijah tugs the rest of his clothes into rumpled disarray. Maisie collects him and looks him over with a weather eye, nods, and bustles him back to his room. "Get some sleep," she says as she goes, her way of saying that he won't be called on to work again tonight.
Elijah peers into his small looking glass, and smiles wide to see the pink bloom of Joshua's hand still warm on his cheek.
*
The sway of the carriage as they return through the dark streets to Sabine's townhouse lulls her, and the rain on the roof makes a companionable patter.
She's lucky for that, because Joshua has turned sullen and wordless. She watches him through heavy-lidded eyes as he stares out the curtained window, his gaze sometimes going to his hands. Finally she breaks the silence.
"How did you find your friend?" she asks.
Joshua glances up sharply. "I -- I simply asked to see all the slaves of his -- his height, and colouring," he stammers. "I didn't ask for him by name, for heaven's sake."
Sabine smiles. "I mean, did you find him well?"
Joshua blushes hotly. "Oh. Oh, well," he says, "hardly well. He is a slave, after all."
There's another long stretch of silence as Sabine waits for Joshua to expand upon his evening, and then she huffs a little sigh. "If you're going to be such excellent company every time I take you to see your friend I shall have to be sure never to do it again. Did you at least tip the poor creature?"
"I'm not -- you'll -- what?" Joshua says, turning abruptly to Sabine? "Did I what?"
"Did you tip him?" she repeats. "A gratuity, something for himself."
The look on her nephew's face answers her question, and she chuckles softly, shaking her head. "Well, you can always overtip next time, if you can convince me to bring you again."
Joshua swallows a groan and leans heavily against the window, and tries not to think about anything at all.
*
"Letters for you," croaks the slave in charge of the post, and thrusts a few envelopes into Elijah's waiting hands.
Two are from his most frequent male visitors; he knows from experience that the contents will veer from weak poetry to scribbled fantasies, and while he'll have to read them before they call again, he's not at all eager to peruse them soon.
The third is a letter from Joshua, however, and Elijah drops the rest in his rush to rip it open.
My dear friend,
Please forgive my abrupt departure, and my appalling ignorance of the customs of that place the new circumstances in which you find yourself. I pray you to accept the enclosed and to look for me to visit again before too many days have passed. I wish I could tell you more precisely, but am dependant upon the whims of my aunt until and unless I can procure membership in my own right.
You are in my thoughts and prayers, always.
With affection,
J.H.
Elijah tilts the envelope, and a half crown rolls out into his waiting hand. It's likely as much as poor Joshua could manage without his father calling him to account; yet not enough, Elijah hopes, to pay the balance of Joshua's guilt.
He reads the letter again. The words are slanted with haste compared to Joshua's usual attractive penmanship, and the note arrived so quickly that Joshua must have put it in the very next post.
Closing his hand around the coin, Elijah squeezes tight, white-knuckled. Not enough by half, indeed. Joshua will be back.
***
Authors: almostnever & zillah975
Fandom: RPS AU for the Sable Knot RPG.
Summary: Elijah Wood, sentenced to slavery for theft and assault, prevails upon his friend Joshua Hartnett to visit the brothel where Elijah now pays his debt to society.
Previously:
Elijah writes to Joshua Hartnett: You will have heard about the dreadful incident, I expect.
Joshua replies to Elijah: Whatever help I can be...
Vignette: Elijah Plans His Reply To Joshua
Elijah writes to Joshua: With what heart I have left, I thank the stars for you.
Vignette: Joshua visits his aunt, and writes a letter to Elijah.
*
Joshua watches Sabine depart down the hallway, the heavily-built slave following after, and he blushes hotly to imagine what his aunt is going to do with the man. She obliged to bring him to see Elijah, but with merriment in her eye she declined to guide him further; now he's left to fend for himself in the sumptuous rooms of the Knot.
"Sir...?"
"Yes?" Joshua jerks around with a guilty start to find a liveried slave waiting for him. At least, he supposes she's a slave.
"Would Sir like to choose a slave for the evening?"
"Oh! Oh...." Joshua fumbles, uncertain and glancing around as if for a set of instructions. "I... I'm not... this is my...."
She smiles. "Of course. Perhaps I could make a suggestion, if you'll tell me what you find appealing."
Joshua's chest loosens with relief. "Yes," he says, nodding, "yes, please. I..."
How to describe him, he wonders, for surely if I ask for him by name, it would cause a scandal. My first visit, I couldn't possibly know any of the slaves, surely? "I...someone smallish," he says. "A boy. Young man. Dark, and fair-skinned, and.... And with a particularly vulnerable air," he finishes. "Blue eyes, if.... Blue eyes."
"We have several very handsome slaves who might fit that description," she answers. "If you'd care to take a seat in the lounge, I can have them brought for you to choose."
Joshua swallows and nods, his nervousness returning in full force. "Thank you," he says, then adds quickly, "And a brandy, please. If you please. A brandy."
"Of course," she says, and bobs a little curtsey. Joshua makes his way into the lounge and finds a heavy wingback chair near the back, falling into it with a sigh.
The slave glides out of the room, but once out of Joshua's sight, her step becomes brisk. She pauses only to give his drink order to another slave, who rushes to supply it. Then, hurrying to the dormitories, she sweeps down the corridors to collect male slaves who fit Joshua's specifications.
A brief knock, and the door to Elijah's narrow room swings open. "Come along," Maisie says stiffly.
She says nothing further to him as she collects more slaves from their quarters, greeting them with more warmth. After gathering just three more young men as well as Elijah, she begins leading them back toward the sitting room.
Elijah shudders in dread. Four seems the worst possible number. If she had come for Elijah alone he could have hoped, at least for the brief walk to the sitting room, that Joshua had come to see him.
In a larger group, he might not be chosen -- though that can be irksome in itself. Gentlemen seem to have quite a taste for that vulgar Jeremy, particularly, and it's rather irritating to be turned aside, even if it's ultimately worse to be quickly selected.
Among this group of four, though, there's little chance of being passed over. Elijah sighs tragically. His head aches already at the mere prospect of another ordeal, and it seems so unfair. His habitual visitors come often enough, surely he shouldn't have to submit himself to strangers as well.
Maisie surveys them before they enter to stand before the client; she casts a particularly stern look at Elijah, and with a scowl he sets his shoulders and tips up his chin, displaying himself to best effect as they walk in.
Generally Elijah tries not to look too closely at the clients before they choose a companion for the evening; unwise, when so many people have rhapsodized to him about the luster of his large blue eyes, the remarkable effect of his gaze. It's not til all four of them are stood in line that Elijah sneaks a glance at the gentleman -- and starts violently, his heart pounding fast in his chest. It's all he can do not to speak Joshua's name aloud, to fall at his feet.
Joshua struggles to keep his composure when the slaves are led in and he sees Elijah, head held high and too fine to be here, far too fine. For a long moment he just looks at him, his own heart hammering, before he manages to tear his gaze away and glance over the others.
He doesn't see them, though. All he can see is Elijah's eyes, the startled desperation in them, and after what he hopes is an acceptably careful consideration, he nods to Elijah.
"This one," he says curtly.
He scarcely even registers the little bustle of activity that follows his choice, the young men dispersing back to their rooms, or wherever slaves go when they're waiting for clients. The hollow sounds of their footsteps echo softly as he follows the slave to the room he's been given and Elijah follows him.
It's only as the door closes behind them that the full weight of what he's doing here hits Joshua, and he reaches blindly for a chair and sinks down into it, his gaze locked on Elijah.
"You've come," Elijah says with a tremulous smile, drawing near and hesitating. He would throw himself at Joshua's feet now that they're alone, only Joshua looks quite dazed and pale already. Elijah sinks to his knees instead, taking Joshua's hand in both of his and pressing it to his face. "Joshua... I'm so grateful, I'm so happy to see you." Elijah's voice falters, strained with honest sentiment.
Oh, and how long has it been since Elijah was this close to someone he truly wanted? He's impatient already. If only he could jump ahead a few moves in the game... pin Joshua's hips against the back of the chair with his mouth and hands and show him everything Elijah has had to learn, these past weeks.
It's difficult to conjure tears with such delicious notions in his head, but the moment seems to call for a drop or two. Resting his head against Joshua's knee, Elijah holds his breath and constricts his diaphragm til his last draught of air expands in his chest and fills the back of his throat. After a lifetime of losing his breath in the course of fits and paroxysms, this sensation, a constricted lack of air, never fails to fill him with a powerful surge of panic and misery.
Within moments he chokes on a sob, and permits himself a deep inhalation; and then he can lift his head to display flushed cheeks and wet lashes, a tear rolling down his cheek as he clutches Joshua's hand all the harder.
The sight of Elijah's tears brings Joshua back to himself with a rush and he pulls Elijah into a hard embrace. "Oh, my poor friend," he murmurs, and Elijah's slim body feels like bird bones beneath his hands, fragile, his heart beating wildly. He draws back to cup Elijah's face in his hands, searching those rainwater eyes. "Are you -- are you well?" he asks. "Do they -- feed you sufficiently? Do you need a physician?"
Elijah laughs bitterly. "Oh, they look after us. We're like livestock, they check our teeth and keep us in good health." That may be more candor than the situation requires; Elijah purses his lips. He flattens his hands against Joshua's lapels and presses nearer, a supplicating posture. "I'm well enough, it's only that I've been longing to see you. I need nothing else."
"Come," Joshua says, pulling Elijah with him towards the settee near the window. "Come and sit with me, please, Elijah, do you -- shall we -- we should have something sent up," he manages at last. "Brandy, wine, something to eat. And you can tell me--" all about your service here, about the indignities you must suffer "--we can talk for a while. My aunt won't expect me finished here for an hour or more."
Nodding, Elijah sinks into the plush settee, his hand fluttering to stroke the tear-tracks off his face. "Give the bell pull a tug and someone will come directly. They'll bring anything you want... oh, but please don't speak of leaving yet, not when you've only just arrived. I can't bear it, Joshua. How I've missed you!"
Joshua fumbles for his handkerchief and offers it to Elijah. "I should have insisted you come to stay with me in London," he says bitterly. "Not with those wretched snobs who took such advantage of your good nature." He's embarrassed to find himself blushing faintly, his emotions getting the better of him. He was the only one who ever really understood, he thinks. The only one I could trust not to laugh, and how did I repay him? "I've been a poor friend to you, I'm afraid. A very poor friend indeed."
"That's not true," Elijah protests, blotting his eyes. The handkerchief smells of Joshua's cologne, and Elijah only just stops himself from tucking it in his own pocket at once, knotting his hands around it instead. "You've been my dearest friend, Joshua. And look at me now! Deserted. You're the only true friend I have."
He casts a sidewise glance up at Joshua through his lashes. "And even you... I shouldn't wonder if even you were disgusted with me now, seeing this place. Knowing how often I've been stood in line like that, and chosen... I was so ashamed to ask you to come here. I simply didn't know what else to do."
Joshua gapes at Elijah, frightened of the self-recrimination he hears in Elijah's words. "No, no, you mustn't -- you mustn't think that, you mustn't think that way of yourself or of me," he stammers. "You're not to blame, it isn't your fault if you -- that you -- that you must suffer these iniquities, and I could never think less of you for bearing them."
Though indeed, he had not considered how many times Elijah might have been stood in such a line, or how often he might've been chosen, and he feels a rush of heat at the thought now. Chosen, and chosen for what? he wonders. For what they must assume I'm -- in here, doing, to him, even now.
His eyes widen in sudden apprehension. And what if they ask me....
"Do... do all of them..." he begins, a furious blush creeping up his throat. "That is, if I were asked, surely I could say I wanted only a bit of... of talk, and genial companionship, couldn't I?"
It's all Elijah can do not to laugh outright; he ducks his head to pass it off as shyness, letting it quaver his voice as if with embarrassment. "You would be the first who could give such an answer," he alludes delicately. Meeting Joshua's eyes again, he continues, "If you are asked, better to say as little as you can. Pretend to be too bashful to answer, perhaps. If they knew I'm not -- performing my duties, servicing -- it would be all the worse for me. I hate that I must ask you to play at depravity for my sake... can you forgive me?"
"There is nothing to forgive," Joshua says softly, taking Elijah's hands. "It's so small a thing to ask -- I would do much more if it would help you." Elijah's fingers are cool contrast to the warmth of his palms, and Joshua can feel his pulse fluttering in his wrist. It makes his breath catch.
He drops his gaze with a wry smile. "And I shall have no trouble playing bashful," he adds. "You were always more sophisticated than I."
Elijah shakes his head, clinging to Joshua, lowering his voice intimately. "I was a child then, playing at worldliness. I thought I knew something of life from books. Books! No story yet penned could have prepared me for this place. Oh, Joshua," he sighs. "The things that darken men's hearts! Such terrible desires! How could I have known? I think perhaps I could bear what my body is subjected to, if only I could shed the burden of this awful knowledge. To hold such secrets, such debasement... sometimes I think I shall go mad."
The words pluck at Joshua's shameful curiosity about his friend's condition, the low circumstances in which he now resides, and he swallows hard, gripping Elijah's hands. "My heart breaks to think of you with no one to confide in," he murmurs. "If it would help you, please, unburden yourself to me."
The shy scandalized eagerness in Joshua's voice makes Elijah want to dance about in victory. He knows that tone; it's the tone of a man well and truly hooked. Exultant, Elijah studies Joshua's face, so handsome; his heavily lashed dark eyes, his ascetic cheekbones and sybarite's lips.
If slavery puts me in your arms then I will not count the loss of my freedom as too high a price, he thinks, and commits the phrase to memory, in hopes he'll have the opportunity to use it later.
"If I may... bless you, Joshua. Your care is such a balm to me," Elijah murmurs, hushed and secret. "Now that you have seen this place you cannot but know that it is a brothel. Rich drapes and tapestries hardly hide its vile nature. But it is still worse than that, if such a thing can be imagined. Here they traffic not only in the pleasures of the flesh but in its depredation. The Knot's members delight in punishment and pain."
Joshua's brows draw together in perplexity. "Punishment?" he says. "But I thought this was -- that -- what further, worse punishment could they mete out?"
"More varieties of torment than I could ever express. When first I came here," Elijah explains, "they beat me. Not as correction... merely to test what I could bear, so that every man who wishes may do the same, again and again, as much as he likes so long as he neither disfigures nor kills me.
"Yet even that is not the measure of the horror at work in these walls!" he goes on. "The people who make use of us savor our shame. The humiliation of our humble state is only the beginning of their joy; they abuse and demean us..."
Joshua listens with growing alarm, but beneath that alarm is a sliver of something he can't yet admit to, the same strangeness he'd felt when his aunt had intimated what she planned for the heavily-muscled slave she'd chosen; the same that was aroused in him at the sight of a classmate's face, tearstained upon leaving the Headmaster's office after correction. He presses his lips together and tries to will away the flush he can feel heating his cheeks, hoping Elijah mistakes it for anything but what it is.
Increasingly ragged and hysterical, Elijah begins to lose his breath in earnest, unable to inhale deeply in his agitated state. "After training, my first night truly serving, they held an auction -- two, the other for a boy not more than sixteen -- each of us given over to the highest bidder, who paid a princely sum for virginity. Imagine it, being touched so for the first time, by a stranger who revels in agony --" finally he stops forcing the words out and leans against Joshua's shoulder, adding with a gasp, "Oh, please try not to think badly of me, please don't turn me away."
Joshua trembles, pulling Elijah into his arms. "I could never do that, Elijah," he murmurs, grateful to be able to hide his face from his friend. "I could not turn you away, don't even think it."
Inwardly Elijah rejoices, even as he pants and sobs; there's nothing of revulsion in Joshua's affect. Quite the contrary, he holds Elijah close, as if all these lurid stories only serve to inflame him.
It would hardly surprise Elijah if such were true. Half his visitors seem to hunger to hear stories of the awful acts that the other half force him to do.
Once he composes himself, Elijah says in barely more than a whisper, "Could nothing sway your faith, then? I want to believe it, but Joshua... I'm so afraid... I'm in such disgrace. They say the tea here is drugged to make us wanton, and such is my dishonor that I pray it is true. For in this very room, my hands were bound to the headboard there, just there! A man I'd never seen before tied me down and struck me, but it was far worse after that, when he was gentle. And helpless I had no choice as this man caressed me so, with his hands and his mouth, yes, even til crisis overcame me, I can only admit the full measure of the guilt. How can I hope for mercy from anyone, how can I stand in the judgement of any man's eyes after that?"
"The fault is not yours," Joshua says firmly, pushing back to face Elijah. "If your body betrays you under the sway of whatever drug they give you, or even in the face of your own helplessness, no one can judge you for that. You do what you must to survive this place."
But even as he speaks what he hopes is encouragement, Joshua's mind is fixed on an image of Elijah spread out and writhing under some stranger's touch, and he lurches to his feet, turning to the window and leaning heavily against the sill. "No one can judge you for that," he repeats, dry-voiced and shaking. But how you would judge me if you knew my own depravity, he thinks, that would have you bound for my pleasure, and mine alone.
And in the darkness of his mind's eye, Elijah wavers and becomes himself, and the stranger a faceless man with Elijah's blue eyes and soft, soft hands...
Elijah frowns; he's gone too far perhaps. He wants Joshua to cleave to him, not turn away. He reads the tremor in Joshua's hands, and shivers himself. One foot wrong and Joshua may run from him even still, more repelled than attracted by these glimpses of vice.
It's down to this, then. Elijah could shrink into himself, weep still more to bring Joshua back to console him; but his lips curls in determination to risk another step forward.
"And if I admit that I have thought of you, how I have thought of you," he says slowly, "so often and so... ardently, Joshua, even in rooms such as this, when -- if I told you how often I wished --" he watches the tension of Joshua's shoulders with a stare as fixed as a cobra's. "Would you condemn me? Or would you stand by me even then, even knowing...?"
Joshua turns, staring wide-eyed at Elijah, and his heart is a fist hammering against his chest. Elijah's fair skin is limned gold in the lamplight, and Joshua can see the glimmer of fine hairs on his cheek, and his soft pulse beating in the perfect column of his throat. Josh's prick stirs, begins to stiffen. His mouth....
"Elijah," he breathes, almost as if to himself, "do not tempt me so. I could be as they are," jerking his chin towards the door to take in everything inside the Knot apart from the two of them. "This...disease they share -- if it is in the blood then surely I must have it, for my aunt is a member here and now I must be, shall be," his pitch increasingly fevered, "if only to see you, and I--"
With a choked sound he throws himself to the settee beside Elijah. "I cannot, I cannot! I would be as cruel as they to take such advantage!"
Lacing their fingers together, Elijah squeezes tight, relieved and triumphant. "Oh, Joshua. Don't you see? Your hesitation proves you're nothing like them. No other would so much as pause. But you... your refined conscience, your rare sensibility... it's no wonder I've dreamed so much of you. My dearest friend." He kisses the back of Joshua's hand and presses it to his cheek. "Trust in yourself, as I trust you."
Joshua is struck speechless, unable to deny Elijah the comfort of thinking Joshua better than those around him, but equally unable to believe it himself. Not when his prick rises at Elijah's closeness, his helplessness, not when Joshua would throw him down here and have his way if only he were sure how, if only he could be sure of living with himself afterwards. If only he could be sure Elijah wouldn't hate him for it.
He clings to Elijah's hand. The kiss still burns on the back of his own, imprint of perfect cupidsbow lips, and Joshua feels branded, as if the mark will stay with him forever. How easy it would be to claim a kiss for himself now, for Elijah is so close, so vulnerable.... Barely a breath between them.
Joshua tears his gaze away, inhaling sharply. "I must go," he says, and his voice cracks, comes out little more than a whisper. "My aunt -- my -- I must go."
"So soon," Elijah answers sadly, and grits his teeth in frustration. So soon to go back to his bare little room, and nothing to look forward to but the next visit, in days or even weeks. Nevertheless, he lowers his lashes, striving to look his most martyred and angelic. "I'm so grateful you came. I'll not truly live til I see you again."
The words catch at Joshua's heart. The notion that Elijah would long for him so, after all the nights he'd lain awake wishing for just such a thing.... More nights now in his memory than ever at the time, perhaps, but still, enough. He only hopes that Elijah cannot see the ignoble desire he's sure is written plainly on his face. "I must," he murmurs. "I -- I shall come again soon."
Elijah knows that he's gripped Joshua's imagination, he can see Joshua's body responding to him in the most tempting, mouthwatering way... still, Elijah wants more: to seal this meeting somehow, end things in a way that will bind Joshua to him unbreakably.
As Joshua rises to his feet, Elijah follows, all but folding himself into Joshua's arms as they stand. "I'm afraid I must impose on you for one last favor, if I may..." he asks.
Joshua is trembling with conflict, Elijah too near, too near, and it would be so easy, such a simple thing to take him, as it seems they've both wished for. My right, a cruel voice insists, shocking Joshua with its vehemence. I paid for him, he's mine if I want him, and Joshua swallows hard and shoves the desire away.
"Anything," he says, torn with guilt at all the things he cannot do.
"I must look as if you've made use of me," says Elijah. "They'll check me for marks when they take me back. I know it's difficult for you, but..." he squares his shoulders and lifts his chin, tilting his head just slightly to expose the angle of his cheekbone and the cord of his neck to the light. "Don't think about it," he urges, "just let fly your hand."
Joshua can't but think about it, though, and he stares at Elijah, aghast.
"You can't mean..." he begins. "You can't mean that they -- is it so common for them to strike you?" he asks, looking at his own hand as if wondering at the notion that it could be turned to such a use.
In answer, Elijah loosens his collar with a jerk and pushes his shirt down, exposing the yellow-violet blotches of fading bruises at the base of his neck, spreading across his shoulder.
"That's what I meant about the nature of his place," he says, striving to keep the impatience from his tone. "The patrons here love nothing better than to inflict punishment, of one sort or another. Several of them book me regularly to do nothing but beat me. They say they like the way my skin shows the marks so well." He gives Joshua his most earnest, wide-eyed look. "I'll be checked thoroughly when you go. If I don't look as if you've touched me, they'll grow suspicious, and punish me for failing to serve you properly. I'm sorry to ask you this, more than I can say, but -- please, Joshua."
For a long moment Joshua simply stands and stares, his gaze fixed on the yellowing bruises. He wants to touch them, wants to press, see his fingerprints appear and vanish in the blood that's pooled and fading beneath the surface of Elijah's skin. He doesn't want to strike him.
As if in a dream he reaches out to cup Elijah's face in his palm, and Elijah's wide blue gaze pleads with him. He's nothing but a whore, comes the voice, the same one as before, cruel. He's manipulating you, and you such a lapdog, begging for scraps at his table. Do you think he doesn't try this with every man who uses him, doesn't try to take what he can get? and with a soft snarl of anger Joshua lashes out and slaps Elijah hard across the face.
And just as quickly pulls him close, arms around that frail body as he presses his lips to the cheek he's struck, open-mouthed, the softest kiss and the sweet smell of Elijah's hair.
"How can you smell so clean, in this place?" he murmurs, a sigh of breath leaving him. "I shall come again soon."
Then he turns, heart hammering, and strides out of the room without a backward glance.
Left alone, Elijah touches his own face lightly, caressing the heat of Joshua's handprint. It felt like quite a solid blow; his mouth curls in a smile. He's willing to wager that Joshua will feel horribly guilty for hitting him before he even makes it back to the sitting room, never mind that Elijah had to insist that he go through with it.
Surely Joshua will be haunted by that blow long after the coal-red mark fades from Elijah's face. If Elijah's plan has been successful, Joshua will be back soon, eager to make reparations, to help.
It's an unexpected advantage that Joshua evidently has a taste for the sort of rough trade the Knot trafficks in; the smoldering look in his eyes! He'll be clamoring to have Elijah's contract bought by one of his rich relatives in no time. And then... no more Knot, no more whoring and punishment. Only Joshua, and Elijah feels certain he can convince Joshua to bend for him, regardless of who might own who.
Steps thump outside the door; hastily Elijah tugs the rest of his clothes into rumpled disarray. Maisie collects him and looks him over with a weather eye, nods, and bustles him back to his room. "Get some sleep," she says as she goes, her way of saying that he won't be called on to work again tonight.
Elijah peers into his small looking glass, and smiles wide to see the pink bloom of Joshua's hand still warm on his cheek.
*
The sway of the carriage as they return through the dark streets to Sabine's townhouse lulls her, and the rain on the roof makes a companionable patter.
She's lucky for that, because Joshua has turned sullen and wordless. She watches him through heavy-lidded eyes as he stares out the curtained window, his gaze sometimes going to his hands. Finally she breaks the silence.
"How did you find your friend?" she asks.
Joshua glances up sharply. "I -- I simply asked to see all the slaves of his -- his height, and colouring," he stammers. "I didn't ask for him by name, for heaven's sake."
Sabine smiles. "I mean, did you find him well?"
Joshua blushes hotly. "Oh. Oh, well," he says, "hardly well. He is a slave, after all."
There's another long stretch of silence as Sabine waits for Joshua to expand upon his evening, and then she huffs a little sigh. "If you're going to be such excellent company every time I take you to see your friend I shall have to be sure never to do it again. Did you at least tip the poor creature?"
"I'm not -- you'll -- what?" Joshua says, turning abruptly to Sabine? "Did I what?"
"Did you tip him?" she repeats. "A gratuity, something for himself."
The look on her nephew's face answers her question, and she chuckles softly, shaking her head. "Well, you can always overtip next time, if you can convince me to bring you again."
Joshua swallows a groan and leans heavily against the window, and tries not to think about anything at all.
*
"Letters for you," croaks the slave in charge of the post, and thrusts a few envelopes into Elijah's waiting hands.
Two are from his most frequent male visitors; he knows from experience that the contents will veer from weak poetry to scribbled fantasies, and while he'll have to read them before they call again, he's not at all eager to peruse them soon.
The third is a letter from Joshua, however, and Elijah drops the rest in his rush to rip it open.
My dear friend,
Please forgive my abrupt departure, and my appalling ignorance of the customs of that place the new circumstances in which you find yourself. I pray you to accept the enclosed and to look for me to visit again before too many days have passed. I wish I could tell you more precisely, but am dependant upon the whims of my aunt until and unless I can procure membership in my own right.
You are in my thoughts and prayers, always.
With affection,
J.H.
Elijah tilts the envelope, and a half crown rolls out into his waiting hand. It's likely as much as poor Joshua could manage without his father calling him to account; yet not enough, Elijah hopes, to pay the balance of Joshua's guilt.
He reads the letter again. The words are slanted with haste compared to Joshua's usual attractive penmanship, and the note arrived so quickly that Joshua must have put it in the very next post.
Closing his hand around the coin, Elijah squeezes tight, white-knuckled. Not enough by half, indeed. Joshua will be back.
***