APH: Into the Face of the Beguiled (4/?)
Title: Into the Face of the Beguiled (Chapter Four)
Author: grosse_averse, tatterdemalion on ff.net
Characters: in this chapter - America, Canada, Netherlands (NO LONGER AN OC, YES), France, mentions of Sweden and Switzerland, Denmark.
Rating: M for mature because c’mon. It’s a goddamned brothel.
Summary: AU. Alfred and Matthew Jones, expert runaways and orphans, arrive in Amsterdam to make their fortune. There, they find themselves caught up in the world of cabaret, prostitution, money, and murder, and it may be too late to get out.
Note: I - I'm not actually dead. Swear it. Now that my Secret Santas are all through, I'm good. I'm totally good.
Haha, so you know how I was lying to you about the rating for the last couple of chapters? Here is where I start not lying.
Backwards to Chapter Three!
“You have everything?”
“There’s not much to have, Al...”
“Check under the door, make sure no one’s outside.”
“I did.”
“Okay. I’m gonna throw this down, and when you jump out the window make sure you land on it. I don’t want to carry you because you broke your leg.”
“Okay, Al.”
“Right. On the count of three: one, two, three.”
...
“Well damn.”
Matthew, stricken, tried once more to push their apartment window open. The thick glass didn’t even budge.
“We did not think this through.” he told Alfred, who was fiddling with the hinges on the side. They wouldn’t move either.
Alfred threw the rucksack down in frustration, jaw tensed. “We have to get out of here.” he declared, and disappeared into the kitchen. Matthew sighed.
They had been sent to their room while the troupe performed downstairs in the theatre - Francis said that he would send someone up to fetch them once it was time to start earning customers. Matthew’s stomach had been hurting with anticipation ever since, but Alfred had said he had a plan.
Well...he did have a plan.
“Al, maybe it would make sense to try it during the day?” he called after his brother. “We’re pretty fast on our feet, if we caught them off guard we could get a big head start. Besides, I don’t think jumping out the third floor window was our best plan.”
Alfred came back into the main room with one of the kitchen chairs gripped tightly in his hands. Matthew stared.
“Uh...Al?” he tried. He heard voices in the hallway, a knocking at the door.
“We’re here to bring you downstairs.” someone said gruffly on the other side of the wood. Matthew panicked.
“Al!” he repeated, more frantically this time.
“Stand back, Mattie.” Alfred said, then lifted the chair over his head and brought it hurtling down into the window. The glass shattered under the force, and Matthew threw his hands up over his face.
“Christ, Al!” he exclaimed.
“Come on, hurry up!” Alfred grabbed the rucksack and dropped it out the window. “We don’t have much time!”
There was a commotion outside, and the brothers exchanged panicked glances. “Go!” Alfred urged, shoving Matthew towards the window. The younger of the two stumbled, and steadied himself on the window frame, wincing as he narrowly missed cutting his fingers on the glass shards - he pulled his sleeves over his hands to protect them. The rucksack looked so far away, and Matthew let out an exclamation as someone started banging on their door.
“Please, Matthew!” Matthew had never seen Alfred look so scared in his life. “I’m right behind you, I swear it, go!”
On his brother’s urging, Matthew clambered over the sill and jumped, trying to aim for the rucksack. He nearly missed it - his feet hit the edge and pain shot up through his right leg. He shoved his shoulder forward and threw himself into a tumble, breaking the rest of his fall.
Wincing from the pain, Matthew stared up at the window, where he could see Alfred standing, illuminated by the bedroom lights.
“Alfred, come on!” he hissed up at his brother. “Hurry!”
“Mattie, get out of here! Shoot - ” Alfred disappeared from the window and Matthew’s heart sank.
“No, Al!” he exclaimed again. “Please, Al, jump!”
No answer. Frantically, Matthew scrambled to his feet, grabbed the rucksack, and limped around the side of the building. It took him a while to get used to the pain, but fear for his brother and for himself kept him going. Their window lay around the back of the theatre, overlooking the alley between the theatre and the next door bookshop. At the end of the alley Matthew could see the nighttime patrons, the lights of the shops. As he got closer to the front of the theatre he heard voices rising above the usual street conversation, and pressed himself up against the side of the building, panicking. Had word of their escape attempt spread that fast?
A few metres down, hidden partially by a pair of run down wooden shutters, one of the windows that lined the side of the building was open a crack. Matthew seized the opportunity - if he could get in and lay low, hopefully he could meet up with his brother later, providing Alfred had been able to get away.
The voices drew closer - Matthew seized the window rim, yanked it open, wriggled himself inside, and closed it behind him. Once he was sure the drapes were securely covering the window, Matthew allowed himself to relax.
The first thing he noticed was the pungent, cloying smell that filled the room he'd just entered - it was dimly lit but the smoke in the room caused a haze that stung his eyes.
“What are you doing?”
Matthew nearly jumped out of his skin, stomach dropping.
Lars was standing behind him, looking annoyed and ruffled and sluggish. If Matthew squinted, he could see an armchair in the haze, and a smoky glass tube. A tendril of smoke curled upwards from the mouth of the glass. He stepped backwards.
Shit. Out of all the rooms he could pick, he chose this one.
“What are you doing?” Lars repeated, reaching forward to put a hand on Matthew’s shoulder. He reeked of the smoke and Matthew coughed.
“I - uhm...” Matthew tried to look elsewhere. “C-can you turn on a light?”
Lars examined him with narrowed eyes, before turning and advancing further into the room and turning on a tassled lamp. Matthew blinked against the bright light, before staring.
The apartment Lars had was nothing short of luxurious. With a colour scheme of rich reds and golds, an elaborate four poster bed and delicately carved furniture, it looked so out of place with the rest of the theatre's rather tacky decadence. Matthew could do nothing but gape.
“Like it?” Lars asked bitterly, noticing his staring. He straightened up and gave the bedside table a little kick. “Don’t. Most of it’s cheap imitation. Bonnefoy wouldn’t spend too much money to doll this place up, but it fits with the theme.”
Matthew found his voice again. “Wh-what theme?”
Lars motioned vaguely around the room with a flippant wave of his hand. “This is the first floor, right? So this room is for people who want to role play.” he walked over to an armoire that was crouching in the corner, and wrenched one of the doors open. Now that Matthew was close he could see that it was made of cheap, thin wood, and it hung slightly from its hinges. Inside the armoire were several different outfits, each rather elaborate, and looked to be from the 17th century rather than the present.
“This is the Orange Room,” Lars explained. “I dress up like some member of nobility and people pay to fuck me like that.”
At Matthew’s wide eyed stare, Lars flashed him a bitter smile. “You wouldn’t believe how many people secretly have a boner for the nobles.” he explained. “It’s unreal.”
Matthew couldn’t help but snort, helplessly, with laughter. This was all so surreal. Lars looked momentarily taken aback, before approaching the younger man.
“I’m going to pretend you’re not laughing at me,” he said. “So why are you here, funny man?”
The smile faded from the youth’s face and Lars had the recurring feeling of facing a trapped animal. The kid had such a wide-eyed look about him, those big blue-purple eyes frightened and tense. Even under the influence of the cannabis, Lars readied himself to restrain Matthew if necessary.
“Didja try to run?” he asked softly. The kid clenched his fists and released them - a steady, comforting pulse. Lars sighed.
“Oh, kid.” he chastised, shaking his head. “I’ve been here a long time, Matt. It doesn’t work, okay? Francis is a smart guy, he isn’t just flying blind. If I were you I’d try to lie low for the first little while, try to avoid drawing his attention to you. It makes things easier.”
“Why?” Matthew asked tersely. “Why should I give in to him? He’s a criminal, he’s a horrible man, I - ”
Lars grabbed his elbow and shook him, sharply. “Don’t say that.” he ordered. “Look, I like you, kid, but if you’re going to be naive about it, you’re only going to make it worse for yourself. You have to know how to survive in here, so you can live long enough to get out. Got it?”
The kid looked startled - Lars felt a pang of sympathy.
“I’ll try to help you out, if you want.” he offered. “But you gotta behave, all right? Better boys than you have gotten on Bonnefoy’s bad side.”
Matthew eyed him darkly. “And what’s happened to them?” he asked. Lars’s hand slid, loosely, down the crook of Matthew’s elbow and dropping to his side. Matthew tilted his head at his silence.
“What is that?” he asked, motioning over Lars’s shoulder, at the bong that was now cooled. Lars twisted around.
“That,” he said proudly, as if talking about his child, “is cannabis, my fine friend. Wonder drug of the 19th century.”
Lars moved towards the armchair at the same time as Matthew moved, sideways, dodging the Dutch man’s tall frame, making a pass for the apartment door.
Lars was drugged but he wasn’t slow - if anything, he considered his tolerance to the adverse effects of the drug to be higher than normal, considering how many times he smoked. He leaned forwards, swiping his leg between Matthew’s. The younger man tripped, tangled, and went stumbling forwards and downwards, onto the thinly carpeted floor of Lars’s apartment. When Matthew scrambled up, onto his elbows, Lars crouched quickly and pressed down on Matthew’s shoulder blades with both hands.
“Matthew.” he fought against the boy’s frantic thrashing. “Matthew, listen to me. I can’t let you run, Matt. Look, it’s not all bad, right?” he tried to keep his voice soothing. “There are worse brothels in the city. You get your own apartment. Bonnefoy keeps you fed. I’m trying to help you.”
Matthew twisted under his grip, glaring up at him.
“You’re a coward.” he accused. “You stand by and watch him ruin other people’s lives. You’re no better than he is.”
Lars’s eyes went cold. “Just because you don’t understand doesn’t mean you have the right to say things like that.” he informed him testily.
Matthew felt a momentary flash of guilt, but that dissolved when Lars gripped his elbow painfully, pulling him to his feet and out of the room.
When they entered the lobby of the theatre, Matthew balked. He wasn’t at all naive, not as naive as Lars seemed to think he was, but when Francis had told them of their patrons, Matthew couldn’t help but think of them as seedy, shady old men, skulking into the theatre in ill-fitting suits, grabbing at them with greasy hands. It was silly, but who else, Matthew thought, would go to a brothel?
But these were men, looking like the kind of men he’d interacted with all his life, the ones who passed him on the street or took his order in a pub. Average, ordinary looking men - young, old, clean-shaven, bearded, sharply dressed or a little shabby - milled around the lobby, but Matthew had never encountered stares like these, smiles like these, as the Dutch man paraded him past on the way up the stairs.
“Hey, don’t take him away!” one rowdy client called after them. “Come down and play with us, sweetheart!”
Matthew turned green when the men started laughing. Lars’s grip softened to something almost comforting. The younger man looked up and caught the Dutchman’s eyes.
“Is it always like this?” he asked softly. Lars looked apologetic.
“You get used to it.” he replied, and stopped in front of Francis’s office, lifting his hand to knock.
--
Prior to this, after watching Matthew jump out of the third story window, Alfred had been apprehended before he could even leave their apartment, wrestled to the ground by a tall, muscular blonde named Berwald and another blonde named Vash (who was holding a shotgun), taken forcibly to Francis’s office, and left there. Currently his cheek was stinging; Francis had struck him with the back of his hand, rings on his fingers raising welts. Now the Frenchman was staring coldly at him, arm half-raised as if he was thinking of hitting him again. Alfred sneered at him.
“That all you got?” he asked. “I mean, I know you wear dresses, but I didn’t think you were that much of a wimp - ”
“I wouldn’t keep talking, if I were you.” Francis said calmly. “I’m sure your big mouth could be put to better use. I have met very few people who were stupid enough to try and run their first day. You and your brother are obviously one of a kind.” Francis’s tone was sardonic. “When I find your brother, Alfred, I will beat him within an inch of his life. Then we will see how cocky you are.”
A chill of dread ran down Alfred’s spine - Francis caught his reaction and smirked. “Ah, does that hit a nerve?” he purred. “Not so easy to be reckless when you have something precious to look after, hm? So the next time the two of you do something foolish, I will know who to punish.”
“Don’t you dare.” Alfred’s voice was like ice, when there was a knock on the door. Francis called out for them to come in, and his eyes lit up when Lars and Matthew entered the room.
“Speak of the devil.” he chuckled, looking maliciously pleased with himself as Alfred hurried to his brother’s side. “Lars, go downstairs. They will join you shortly.”
Lars looked uncertainly at Matthew, before exiting the office and closing the door behind him.
“Now,” Francis’s smile disappeared, and Matthew almost cowered from the Frenchman’s stony demeanor. Alfred wrapped an arm around his brother in comfort. “It is late, and paying customers are waiting for what I have promised them. If you two continue to interfere with the earnings of the theatre I promise you, you will regret it. Do you understand me?”
The two brothers didn’t say anything. Francis’s lip curled.
“Do you understand me?” his tone left no room for argument.
“Yes.” they eventually muttered, sullenly. Francis didn’t smile.
“I will deal with you afterwards.” he intoned, more towards Matthew than anyone else. “Now the two of you had better get downstairs and get a client or it will not be just one side of your face that is hurting.”
Matthew studied his brother’s red cheek with worry in his eyes. Alfred kept a steady glare on his face.
Francis sighed. “Really?” he asked. “Would you like me to force you? Would you like me to call Vash and Berwald back? Vash has been itching to try his new toy out...”
The Frenchman smiled at the sudden trepidation in Alfred’s eyes. “Oh, good, there’s some sense in you after all.” he praised. “Go down to the lobby, and stand together. The clients will approach you, unless you think you will be able to approach them. Ah, but I forget - you are not good at acting, are you?” Francis raised his eyebrows at Alfred, who merely turned his head to smile guardedly at his brother.
“Let’s go.” he said softly, and led his brother out of the office.
Matthew’s hands were trembling. “I can’t...I don’t think I can go through with this.” he whispered to his brother as they walked along the upper hallway that overlooked the lobby. They could hear chatter from downstairs, the clinking of glasses, bursts of brief, bright laughter. Alfred’s grip tightened on his brother’s shoulders.
“It’s okay, Mattie.” Alfred soothed. “I’ll take care of it. It’ll be all right.”
Lars was across the lobby when they descended the stairs, head tilted, face relaxed from his earlier hit of cannabis as he listened to a young man chatter nervously in his ear. The man was at least a head shorter than the Dutchman, and Lars spared the brothers a look over his head before returning to his facade of lazy interest. Kateryna was flushing and blushing in the corner, wearing her Mediterranean dress from the performance, as a group of clients fawned over it. The few people the brothers could recognize were spread around the lobby, and though all of them were currently talking to green ticket-holding patrons, there weren’t that many clients in the lobby.
“So...we just stand here?” Matthew asked his brother incredulously. Alfred swept his gaze across the lobby.
“Yeah, I guess.” he admitted. There was a low table set up along the side of the lobby, covered in a tablecloth and glasses of alcohol. Alfred took two and handed one to his brother. Matthew looked dubiously at it.
“Please drink it.” Alfred wheedled. “Maybe it’ll help calm you down a little.”
“I don’t see how it’ll help.” Matthew grumbled, though he obediently cupped the glass in his hands and took a sip. The alcohol burned his throat on the way down and he made a face. Alfred laughed.
“Look, it won’t be so bad,” Alfred tried after a few seconds of awkward silence. “We can’t...do anything too bad, right? So we’ll just put on an act and whoever buys us will get some fucked up pleasure outta it and we’ll be all right.”
Alfred looked nervous, but Matthew wanted to believe him. He held onto his drink tightly, surveying the room with nervousness. He caught the eyes of a man in the corner, on the outer edge of the group surrounding Kateryna. He was tale, pale-skinned, with a shock of spiky, blonde hair and a wild grin. Matthew averted his eyes - but when he looked back, the man was still staring at him, eyebrows raised. Before he knew what he was doing, Matthew flashed him a hesitant smile.
That was when the man started walking over.
“Alfred!” Matthew hissed. “I think - some guy - don't look!”
“Huh?” Alfred asked, turning his head. “What are you talking about?”
Matthew felt like hiding his face as the man stopped in front of them, a strange half-smirk on his face. He was holding his green ticket in a casual way that let the brothers see that he was indeed here for more than just a show.
“Hey.” he greeted. “I haven’t seen you two around before. You new?”
Matthew cast an uncertain glance at his brother, and Alfred nodded, face guarded, shifting so his body was slightly turned away.
“Yes.” he said. “We just started. I’m Alfred, and this is my brother, Matthew.”
Matthew nodded. “Hello.” he greeted. The man’s grin widened.
“I’m Mikkel.” he replied, voice thick with an accent Matthew couldn’t place, and continued to smile as if expecting something.
“Wh-where are you from?” Matthew spoke up softly after a brief lapse in conversation. “Your accent, it’s...”
“It’s that noticeable?” Mikkel asked, amused. “I’m from Denmark, but I haven’t been there in a while, I didn’t think I sounded that bad anymore.”
“You don’t sound bad!” Matthew hastened to assure him. “I - I was just curious.”
“Yeah?” Mikkel looked him over with interest. “Me too. You free?”
“We come together.” Alfred cut in, watching Mikkel suspiciously. If anything, Mikkel looked more interested.
“How much?” he asked.
“You’ll have to discuss that with Madam.” Alfred recited diligently, adding after a beat, “The most we do is oral.”
“Oh, really?” Mikkel wrinkled his nose, looking as if he was reconsidering. Matthew hoped fervently that he would.
But eventually the Dane smiled. “Why not?” he asked. “Come on, let’s go see your boss.”
Mikkel motioned for them to follow him, about two paces behind. Alfred reached out to touch his brother’s shoulder in comfort. “It’ll be all right.” he repeated softly. Matthew didn’t answer him.
They stood outside the office, trying to catch snippets of Mikkel’s conversation with Francis. At the most, they could hear Francis telling Mikkel the same thing Alfred had told him - Mikkel’s brief attempt to barter for more, Francis’s refusal, and Mikkel’s eventual payment (the brothers exchanged glances at the amount - it was quite substantial). When Mikkel came back out of the office, his smile was more predatory.
“Aren’t you going to show me to your room?” he asked.
On the way back to their apartment, Matthew couldn’t help but feel Mikkel’s eyes on him, watching him walk. When they stopped in front of their door so that Alfred could fumble for the key, Matthew almost jumped when he felt Mikkel put a hand on his hip. Matthew turned his head slightly, almost fearfully.
“You’re not what I usually get.” Mikkel told him in a low, amused voice. Matthew forced a laugh.
“I hope we don’t disappoint.” he managed. Mikkel chuckled in his ear.
“Me too.” he said, and dared to bite the shell of Matthew’s ear. Matthew made a little noise, and his brother turned his head with an acidic glare.
“At least wait until we get inside.” Alfred snapped, and Mikkel withdrew with a raised eyebrow.
“Whatever you say.” he drawled. He didn’t remove his hand. Within the apartment, Matthew saw that the broken window had been covered, a bed-sheet securely tacked to the frame, and the glass swept up. Mikkel, who was giving the inside of the apartment a brief sweeping glance, either didn’t notice this fashion arrangement or didn’t choose to comment.
As soon as all three of them were inside the apartment, Mikkel’s grip tightened and he said pleasantly, “I’m done waiting.” Before Matthew could react Mikkel spun him around, grabbed his face and kissed him. His teeth scraped against Matthew’s lower lip and Matthew ground his teeth together to prevent from pushing away.
It'll be all right, he repeated his brother’s words to himself, squeezing his eyes shut as Mikkel took over with sure, practiced confidence, biting at his lip. He prodded Matthew backwards so he stumbled over his brother, towards their double bed. Mikkel broke away to push Matthew down on the bed, removed his jacket, and started fiddling with his belt. Matthew’s stomach turned in sick anticipation.
Alfred, a desperate look in his eyes, stepped up behind Mikkel and slid a tentative hand around his shoulders.
“What do you want us to do?” he asked in a low voice. Mikkel lightly shrugged his arm off.
“I want you to suck my cock.” he told Matthew, pointedly, pulling his zipper down. Matthew almost swallowed his tongue.
“M-me?!” he repeated, trembling. “I - I don’t - ”
“He’s not very good at it.” Alfred said quickly, putting his hand back on Mikkel’s shoulder with a bit more force. “Try me, I promise I’ll make it worth your while...”
Mikkel caught Alfred’s wrist and examined him briefly, a hungry sneer twisting the corners of his mouth.
“I want your brother to do it.” he said simply, and pushed Alfred over to the bed, adding with a sneer, “You can suck his cock, if you’re that desperate for it.”
Matthew exchanged a panicked glance with his brother. Alfred sifted a hand into Matthew’s hair.
“Come on.” he said to Mikkel in a low voice, the closest he ever got to pleading. “He’s - he’s just a kid, give him a break...”
Mikkel was impassive, one hand stroking himself through his trousers, eyebrows raised. “I paid good money for this.” he said. “And I want your brother to suck me off. Get it?”
Matthew finally nodded, stiffly, and stifled a yelp when Mikkel knotted his free hand in the youth’s hair, forcing him forward on the bed. Matthew scrabbled against the covers for balance. Alfred shoved himself backwards, a pained look on his face as he watched the man pull his brother to his crotch.
“Shit.” Alfred swore, and got on his knees beside the bed, gripping his brother’s hand tight. “It’s okay Mattie, just go slow...”
Mikkel grunted as Matthew slid a tentative hand around his cock, which was jutting angrily from the fly of Mikkel’s trousers, at attention and already leaking. Matthew had...touched himself, when he was younger and curious, but this felt so bizarre, holding another man like this. Mikkel stared down at him, features twisted in impatience.
“Hurry it up.” he told Matthew, and the boy nodded hesitantly, leaning forward until he was almost touching the tip of Mikkel’s arousal. Matthew parted his lips and slid his mouth down around Mikkel’s cock. He felt like he was watching this from somewhere else, like he was perched on the light fixture watching himself give a Danish stranger a blowjob. When he looked back on it, he couldn’t even remember what Mikkel initially tasted like - just that it was a foreign, fleshy weight on his tongue, with maybe a salty, faintly bitter taste at the back of his throat.
Now that it was in his mouth, Matthew wasn’t quite sure what to do with it - he settled for slowly dropping his head, allowing more and more of the man’s arousal into his mouth. The Dane had a substantial erection, and Matthew was worrying about how it would all fit.
Mikkel let out a slow, measured exhalation, and his hips twitched upwards. The sudden, if minute, thrust was enough to make Matthew panic, and he let go of his brother’s hand in favor of lightly grasping the Dane's hips. Mikkel let out a grunt, and slid his other hand into Matthew’s hair, fingernails rasping over his scalp.
“Just take it easy.” Alfred was whispering by his side, stroking a tentative hand over his brother’s tensed shoulders. “You’re okay, you're okay...”
Matthew chanced a glance upwards - he locked eyes with Mikkel, who was flushed and raggedly breathing. The man’s hands cupped downwards, towards Matthew’s face, and the blond broke eye contact, intent on taking this one step at a time.
He probably shouldn’t have looked down. Mikkel snarled, “I can’t wait this long!”, grabbed Matthew by the back of his skull and shoved him forward. Matthew choked, eyes stinging, as Mikkel buried himself down Matthew’s throat, rendering the youth unable to breathe, gagging.
“Hey!” Alfred leapt up once he saw his brother’s discomfort and tried to push Mikkel away.
Mikkel shook him off easily, sending Matthew’s brother tumbling to the ground, and snapped, “I paid for this, sit down.”
Matthew grabbed onto Mikkel’s trouser leg, and the Dane eventually released him. Matthew coughed, wetly, into the covers of the bed, scrambling for breath and fighting the urge to throw up. When Mikkel sat down beside him, Matthew pushed away, trembling as he tried to regain an even breathing.
“Hey, hey, kid.” Now Mikkel’s tone was falsely smooth and sweet, and he ran a hand through the youth’s hair like he was some kind of house cat. “Sorry I got a little rough on you. Bonnefoy hasn’t had newbies around in a while, I forgot that you needed some time.”
Matthew couldn’t speak, shuddering as he forced himself to talk.
“Th-that’s all right.” he croaked and Mikkel smiled, let his hand drop so he was running fingers over Matthew’s earlobe in what Matthew supposed was a comforting gesture.
“C’mon.” he said encouragingly, settling himself down on the bed. “I’ll show you how to do it. Sit up, come on.”
Matthew allowed himself to be prodded into place by this suddenly jovial man with his cock still hanging out of his pants. Once the blond was facing him, Mikkel smiled.
“Okay, kid, now just put your face down on my lap. Got it?” he asked. “We’ll go nice and slow this time, promise.”
“Promise?” Matthew repeated dubiously and Mikkel laughed.
“Just suck me off.” he ordered, sifting fingers through Matthew’s hair again. His grip was relaxed, but the implication was there - obediently Matthew lowered himself down again, guided gently by the hand at the back of his skull, to take Mikkel’s cock in his mouth. At least he had learned from his disastrous first try; now the sensation of having something of this size and weight in his mouth was not new to him, and Matthew made sure to keep his throat relaxed in case Mikkel suddenly decided to take the shortcut again. He kept his eyes closed, focused on taking Mikkel deeper into his mouth, and almost choked of his own volition when he felt the flared glans press down into his throat. Above him, Mikkel groaned.
“Shit, your throat is so tight.” he muttered under his breath. “You’re gonna be a natural...hey golden boy...yeah you, you wanna make it "worth my while"? C’mere.”
Matthew heard movement off to the side and then wet sounds above his head - if he had looked up he would have seen Alfred and Mikkel kissing.
He didn’t want to look up.
Mikkel’s hips were moving with the bobs of Matthew’s head, rising up to meet him, forcing Matthew to take him down faster. Matthew’s nose had hit Mikkel’s pubic hair and his throat was starting to seize up. Mikkel didn’t look like he was planning on stopping anytime soon, examining Matthew with lazy half-interest as he ran an inquisitive hand down the length of Alfred’s body. Alfred’s eyes met his brother’s and they shared a horrified what do we do? look.
When Matthew hit the root of Mikkel’s cock he held himself there, ignoring Mikkel’s twitching hips and his demands of, “What the fuck are you stopping for, kid?” Then he forced his burning throat to swallow around Mikkel, pulling and squeezing with his muscles as best he could.
Mikkel nearly doubled over, a groan tearing itself from his mouth. If Matthew reached up he could feel the fluttering of the Dane’s abdomen muscles as he struggled to hold himself together.
“So tight.” he muttered. “Fuck that’s good...”
Matthew did it again, for good measure, and increased the speed of his sucking - Mikkel was bucking under Matthew's mouth, snarling something unintelligible into his hair. It didn’t take long before Mikkel grabbed Matthew’s head and held it still, barking out something in Danish as his cock twitched and jumped in Matthew’s mouth. Warmth at the back of his throat and the same almost-bitterness from before was the only warning Matthew got before Mikkel pulled out and left him gasping around a mouthful of ejaculate. He wanted to wash his mouth out, throw up, do something to get Mikkel’s semen out of his mouth and out of his memory, but Mikkel hauled him up and kissed him almost fondly on the temple.
“You weren’t half bad.” he praised, as if that would somehow make Matthew feel good about himself and what he’d just done. The Dane didn’t stick around for formalities - in thirty seconds he’d zipped himself up, retrieved his jacket, and was out of the apartment without much of a goodbye. As soon as the door shut, Matthew threw himself off the bed, into the bathroom, and spat into the sink, retching and hiccoughing in his panic. Alfred followed him with a pained look on his face as he watched his brother cupping water in his hands to wash away the taste.
Matthew’s eyes met Alfred’s in the mirror.
“I’m so sorry.” Alfred said awkwardly. “I - ”
Matthew turned and embraced his brother, turning his head away so Alfred couldn’t see how upset he was.
“I feel so dirty.” he rasped out through gritted teeth and Alfred clutched at him.
“Don’t.” he said sharply. “This - this isn’t your fault okay? He's the dirty one, for - for doing this to you.” He stepped back, tried to get his brother to look at him.
“You were real brave.” he told Matthew. “It’s going to be okay. You’re safe now, and he’s not gonna come back. All right?”
“I don’t believe you.” Matthew said quietly and Alfred had to smile sadly at his little brother.
“Yeah, I know.” he replied. “But it makes me feel a little better, at least.”
--
END CHAPTER FOUR
--
Notes:
The Orange Room - a reference to the House of Orange-Nassau, a family of nobility; William I of Orange was responsible for leading the Dutch revolt against Spanish rule; William III married Mary II of England and together they took part in the “Glorious Revolution” of 1688, becoming joint rulers of England, Ireland, and Scotland until Mary’s death.
A note on cannabis? - Cannabis was totally the favourite child of the drug world around this time. Some people suggested using cannabis as a replacement for alcohol because people “didn’t get violent” when they smoked cannabis so men wouldn’t beat their wives when they were high as opposed to when they were drunk (?!). Also, in the U.S. during the 1860s, Maple Hasheesh Candy was sold over the countertop and was perfectly lovely, delicious candy! Hooray!
A note on Lars? - I know everybody is probably so tired of Netherlands being characterized as a druggie, but that sort of lifestyle was common - it was still that age where drugs were a “gentleman’s choice”, or a “miracle of science”. I was debating using opium, but this was the beginning of a period when people started injecting morphine and heroin rather than smoking the opiate at home (though opium dens were definitely alive and kicking!), and I felt less confident in my knowledge of injecting drugs than I am in my knowledge of smoking drugs. Also, cannabis was used for an aphrodisiac, too D: Which definitely helps in this business, I guess??
A note on Mikkel? - I’m seriously not hating on Denmark. I like Denmark! I feel like such a dick for making him...such a dick.
Author's Note: If you're still reading this story...that's pretty amazing! Sorry for the horrible update lapse - I'll try to do better! Thanks for reading!
Onwards to Chapter Five!
Author: grosse_averse, tatterdemalion on ff.net
Characters: in this chapter - America, Canada, Netherlands (NO LONGER AN OC, YES), France, mentions of Sweden and Switzerland, Denmark.
Rating: M for mature because c’mon. It’s a goddamned brothel.
Summary: AU. Alfred and Matthew Jones, expert runaways and orphans, arrive in Amsterdam to make their fortune. There, they find themselves caught up in the world of cabaret, prostitution, money, and murder, and it may be too late to get out.
Note: I - I'm not actually dead. Swear it. Now that my Secret Santas are all through, I'm good. I'm totally good.
Haha, so you know how I was lying to you about the rating for the last couple of chapters? Here is where I start not lying.
Backwards to Chapter Three!
“You have everything?”
“There’s not much to have, Al...”
“Check under the door, make sure no one’s outside.”
“I did.”
“Okay. I’m gonna throw this down, and when you jump out the window make sure you land on it. I don’t want to carry you because you broke your leg.”
“Okay, Al.”
“Right. On the count of three: one, two, three.”
...
“Well damn.”
Matthew, stricken, tried once more to push their apartment window open. The thick glass didn’t even budge.
“We did not think this through.” he told Alfred, who was fiddling with the hinges on the side. They wouldn’t move either.
Alfred threw the rucksack down in frustration, jaw tensed. “We have to get out of here.” he declared, and disappeared into the kitchen. Matthew sighed.
They had been sent to their room while the troupe performed downstairs in the theatre - Francis said that he would send someone up to fetch them once it was time to start earning customers. Matthew’s stomach had been hurting with anticipation ever since, but Alfred had said he had a plan.
Well...he did have a plan.
“Al, maybe it would make sense to try it during the day?” he called after his brother. “We’re pretty fast on our feet, if we caught them off guard we could get a big head start. Besides, I don’t think jumping out the third floor window was our best plan.”
Alfred came back into the main room with one of the kitchen chairs gripped tightly in his hands. Matthew stared.
“Uh...Al?” he tried. He heard voices in the hallway, a knocking at the door.
“We’re here to bring you downstairs.” someone said gruffly on the other side of the wood. Matthew panicked.
“Al!” he repeated, more frantically this time.
“Stand back, Mattie.” Alfred said, then lifted the chair over his head and brought it hurtling down into the window. The glass shattered under the force, and Matthew threw his hands up over his face.
“Christ, Al!” he exclaimed.
“Come on, hurry up!” Alfred grabbed the rucksack and dropped it out the window. “We don’t have much time!”
There was a commotion outside, and the brothers exchanged panicked glances. “Go!” Alfred urged, shoving Matthew towards the window. The younger of the two stumbled, and steadied himself on the window frame, wincing as he narrowly missed cutting his fingers on the glass shards - he pulled his sleeves over his hands to protect them. The rucksack looked so far away, and Matthew let out an exclamation as someone started banging on their door.
“Please, Matthew!” Matthew had never seen Alfred look so scared in his life. “I’m right behind you, I swear it, go!”
On his brother’s urging, Matthew clambered over the sill and jumped, trying to aim for the rucksack. He nearly missed it - his feet hit the edge and pain shot up through his right leg. He shoved his shoulder forward and threw himself into a tumble, breaking the rest of his fall.
Wincing from the pain, Matthew stared up at the window, where he could see Alfred standing, illuminated by the bedroom lights.
“Alfred, come on!” he hissed up at his brother. “Hurry!”
“Mattie, get out of here! Shoot - ” Alfred disappeared from the window and Matthew’s heart sank.
“No, Al!” he exclaimed again. “Please, Al, jump!”
No answer. Frantically, Matthew scrambled to his feet, grabbed the rucksack, and limped around the side of the building. It took him a while to get used to the pain, but fear for his brother and for himself kept him going. Their window lay around the back of the theatre, overlooking the alley between the theatre and the next door bookshop. At the end of the alley Matthew could see the nighttime patrons, the lights of the shops. As he got closer to the front of the theatre he heard voices rising above the usual street conversation, and pressed himself up against the side of the building, panicking. Had word of their escape attempt spread that fast?
A few metres down, hidden partially by a pair of run down wooden shutters, one of the windows that lined the side of the building was open a crack. Matthew seized the opportunity - if he could get in and lay low, hopefully he could meet up with his brother later, providing Alfred had been able to get away.
The voices drew closer - Matthew seized the window rim, yanked it open, wriggled himself inside, and closed it behind him. Once he was sure the drapes were securely covering the window, Matthew allowed himself to relax.
The first thing he noticed was the pungent, cloying smell that filled the room he'd just entered - it was dimly lit but the smoke in the room caused a haze that stung his eyes.
“What are you doing?”
Matthew nearly jumped out of his skin, stomach dropping.
Lars was standing behind him, looking annoyed and ruffled and sluggish. If Matthew squinted, he could see an armchair in the haze, and a smoky glass tube. A tendril of smoke curled upwards from the mouth of the glass. He stepped backwards.
Shit. Out of all the rooms he could pick, he chose this one.
“What are you doing?” Lars repeated, reaching forward to put a hand on Matthew’s shoulder. He reeked of the smoke and Matthew coughed.
“I - uhm...” Matthew tried to look elsewhere. “C-can you turn on a light?”
Lars examined him with narrowed eyes, before turning and advancing further into the room and turning on a tassled lamp. Matthew blinked against the bright light, before staring.
The apartment Lars had was nothing short of luxurious. With a colour scheme of rich reds and golds, an elaborate four poster bed and delicately carved furniture, it looked so out of place with the rest of the theatre's rather tacky decadence. Matthew could do nothing but gape.
“Like it?” Lars asked bitterly, noticing his staring. He straightened up and gave the bedside table a little kick. “Don’t. Most of it’s cheap imitation. Bonnefoy wouldn’t spend too much money to doll this place up, but it fits with the theme.”
Matthew found his voice again. “Wh-what theme?”
Lars motioned vaguely around the room with a flippant wave of his hand. “This is the first floor, right? So this room is for people who want to role play.” he walked over to an armoire that was crouching in the corner, and wrenched one of the doors open. Now that Matthew was close he could see that it was made of cheap, thin wood, and it hung slightly from its hinges. Inside the armoire were several different outfits, each rather elaborate, and looked to be from the 17th century rather than the present.
“This is the Orange Room,” Lars explained. “I dress up like some member of nobility and people pay to fuck me like that.”
At Matthew’s wide eyed stare, Lars flashed him a bitter smile. “You wouldn’t believe how many people secretly have a boner for the nobles.” he explained. “It’s unreal.”
Matthew couldn’t help but snort, helplessly, with laughter. This was all so surreal. Lars looked momentarily taken aback, before approaching the younger man.
“I’m going to pretend you’re not laughing at me,” he said. “So why are you here, funny man?”
The smile faded from the youth’s face and Lars had the recurring feeling of facing a trapped animal. The kid had such a wide-eyed look about him, those big blue-purple eyes frightened and tense. Even under the influence of the cannabis, Lars readied himself to restrain Matthew if necessary.
“Didja try to run?” he asked softly. The kid clenched his fists and released them - a steady, comforting pulse. Lars sighed.
“Oh, kid.” he chastised, shaking his head. “I’ve been here a long time, Matt. It doesn’t work, okay? Francis is a smart guy, he isn’t just flying blind. If I were you I’d try to lie low for the first little while, try to avoid drawing his attention to you. It makes things easier.”
“Why?” Matthew asked tersely. “Why should I give in to him? He’s a criminal, he’s a horrible man, I - ”
Lars grabbed his elbow and shook him, sharply. “Don’t say that.” he ordered. “Look, I like you, kid, but if you’re going to be naive about it, you’re only going to make it worse for yourself. You have to know how to survive in here, so you can live long enough to get out. Got it?”
The kid looked startled - Lars felt a pang of sympathy.
“I’ll try to help you out, if you want.” he offered. “But you gotta behave, all right? Better boys than you have gotten on Bonnefoy’s bad side.”
Matthew eyed him darkly. “And what’s happened to them?” he asked. Lars’s hand slid, loosely, down the crook of Matthew’s elbow and dropping to his side. Matthew tilted his head at his silence.
“What is that?” he asked, motioning over Lars’s shoulder, at the bong that was now cooled. Lars twisted around.
“That,” he said proudly, as if talking about his child, “is cannabis, my fine friend. Wonder drug of the 19th century.”
Lars moved towards the armchair at the same time as Matthew moved, sideways, dodging the Dutch man’s tall frame, making a pass for the apartment door.
Lars was drugged but he wasn’t slow - if anything, he considered his tolerance to the adverse effects of the drug to be higher than normal, considering how many times he smoked. He leaned forwards, swiping his leg between Matthew’s. The younger man tripped, tangled, and went stumbling forwards and downwards, onto the thinly carpeted floor of Lars’s apartment. When Matthew scrambled up, onto his elbows, Lars crouched quickly and pressed down on Matthew’s shoulder blades with both hands.
“Matthew.” he fought against the boy’s frantic thrashing. “Matthew, listen to me. I can’t let you run, Matt. Look, it’s not all bad, right?” he tried to keep his voice soothing. “There are worse brothels in the city. You get your own apartment. Bonnefoy keeps you fed. I’m trying to help you.”
Matthew twisted under his grip, glaring up at him.
“You’re a coward.” he accused. “You stand by and watch him ruin other people’s lives. You’re no better than he is.”
Lars’s eyes went cold. “Just because you don’t understand doesn’t mean you have the right to say things like that.” he informed him testily.
Matthew felt a momentary flash of guilt, but that dissolved when Lars gripped his elbow painfully, pulling him to his feet and out of the room.
When they entered the lobby of the theatre, Matthew balked. He wasn’t at all naive, not as naive as Lars seemed to think he was, but when Francis had told them of their patrons, Matthew couldn’t help but think of them as seedy, shady old men, skulking into the theatre in ill-fitting suits, grabbing at them with greasy hands. It was silly, but who else, Matthew thought, would go to a brothel?
But these were men, looking like the kind of men he’d interacted with all his life, the ones who passed him on the street or took his order in a pub. Average, ordinary looking men - young, old, clean-shaven, bearded, sharply dressed or a little shabby - milled around the lobby, but Matthew had never encountered stares like these, smiles like these, as the Dutch man paraded him past on the way up the stairs.
“Hey, don’t take him away!” one rowdy client called after them. “Come down and play with us, sweetheart!”
Matthew turned green when the men started laughing. Lars’s grip softened to something almost comforting. The younger man looked up and caught the Dutchman’s eyes.
“Is it always like this?” he asked softly. Lars looked apologetic.
“You get used to it.” he replied, and stopped in front of Francis’s office, lifting his hand to knock.
--
Prior to this, after watching Matthew jump out of the third story window, Alfred had been apprehended before he could even leave their apartment, wrestled to the ground by a tall, muscular blonde named Berwald and another blonde named Vash (who was holding a shotgun), taken forcibly to Francis’s office, and left there. Currently his cheek was stinging; Francis had struck him with the back of his hand, rings on his fingers raising welts. Now the Frenchman was staring coldly at him, arm half-raised as if he was thinking of hitting him again. Alfred sneered at him.
“That all you got?” he asked. “I mean, I know you wear dresses, but I didn’t think you were that much of a wimp - ”
“I wouldn’t keep talking, if I were you.” Francis said calmly. “I’m sure your big mouth could be put to better use. I have met very few people who were stupid enough to try and run their first day. You and your brother are obviously one of a kind.” Francis’s tone was sardonic. “When I find your brother, Alfred, I will beat him within an inch of his life. Then we will see how cocky you are.”
A chill of dread ran down Alfred’s spine - Francis caught his reaction and smirked. “Ah, does that hit a nerve?” he purred. “Not so easy to be reckless when you have something precious to look after, hm? So the next time the two of you do something foolish, I will know who to punish.”
“Don’t you dare.” Alfred’s voice was like ice, when there was a knock on the door. Francis called out for them to come in, and his eyes lit up when Lars and Matthew entered the room.
“Speak of the devil.” he chuckled, looking maliciously pleased with himself as Alfred hurried to his brother’s side. “Lars, go downstairs. They will join you shortly.”
Lars looked uncertainly at Matthew, before exiting the office and closing the door behind him.
“Now,” Francis’s smile disappeared, and Matthew almost cowered from the Frenchman’s stony demeanor. Alfred wrapped an arm around his brother in comfort. “It is late, and paying customers are waiting for what I have promised them. If you two continue to interfere with the earnings of the theatre I promise you, you will regret it. Do you understand me?”
The two brothers didn’t say anything. Francis’s lip curled.
“Do you understand me?” his tone left no room for argument.
“Yes.” they eventually muttered, sullenly. Francis didn’t smile.
“I will deal with you afterwards.” he intoned, more towards Matthew than anyone else. “Now the two of you had better get downstairs and get a client or it will not be just one side of your face that is hurting.”
Matthew studied his brother’s red cheek with worry in his eyes. Alfred kept a steady glare on his face.
Francis sighed. “Really?” he asked. “Would you like me to force you? Would you like me to call Vash and Berwald back? Vash has been itching to try his new toy out...”
The Frenchman smiled at the sudden trepidation in Alfred’s eyes. “Oh, good, there’s some sense in you after all.” he praised. “Go down to the lobby, and stand together. The clients will approach you, unless you think you will be able to approach them. Ah, but I forget - you are not good at acting, are you?” Francis raised his eyebrows at Alfred, who merely turned his head to smile guardedly at his brother.
“Let’s go.” he said softly, and led his brother out of the office.
Matthew’s hands were trembling. “I can’t...I don’t think I can go through with this.” he whispered to his brother as they walked along the upper hallway that overlooked the lobby. They could hear chatter from downstairs, the clinking of glasses, bursts of brief, bright laughter. Alfred’s grip tightened on his brother’s shoulders.
“It’s okay, Mattie.” Alfred soothed. “I’ll take care of it. It’ll be all right.”
Lars was across the lobby when they descended the stairs, head tilted, face relaxed from his earlier hit of cannabis as he listened to a young man chatter nervously in his ear. The man was at least a head shorter than the Dutchman, and Lars spared the brothers a look over his head before returning to his facade of lazy interest. Kateryna was flushing and blushing in the corner, wearing her Mediterranean dress from the performance, as a group of clients fawned over it. The few people the brothers could recognize were spread around the lobby, and though all of them were currently talking to green ticket-holding patrons, there weren’t that many clients in the lobby.
“So...we just stand here?” Matthew asked his brother incredulously. Alfred swept his gaze across the lobby.
“Yeah, I guess.” he admitted. There was a low table set up along the side of the lobby, covered in a tablecloth and glasses of alcohol. Alfred took two and handed one to his brother. Matthew looked dubiously at it.
“Please drink it.” Alfred wheedled. “Maybe it’ll help calm you down a little.”
“I don’t see how it’ll help.” Matthew grumbled, though he obediently cupped the glass in his hands and took a sip. The alcohol burned his throat on the way down and he made a face. Alfred laughed.
“Look, it won’t be so bad,” Alfred tried after a few seconds of awkward silence. “We can’t...do anything too bad, right? So we’ll just put on an act and whoever buys us will get some fucked up pleasure outta it and we’ll be all right.”
Alfred looked nervous, but Matthew wanted to believe him. He held onto his drink tightly, surveying the room with nervousness. He caught the eyes of a man in the corner, on the outer edge of the group surrounding Kateryna. He was tale, pale-skinned, with a shock of spiky, blonde hair and a wild grin. Matthew averted his eyes - but when he looked back, the man was still staring at him, eyebrows raised. Before he knew what he was doing, Matthew flashed him a hesitant smile.
That was when the man started walking over.
“Alfred!” Matthew hissed. “I think - some guy - don't look!”
“Huh?” Alfred asked, turning his head. “What are you talking about?”
Matthew felt like hiding his face as the man stopped in front of them, a strange half-smirk on his face. He was holding his green ticket in a casual way that let the brothers see that he was indeed here for more than just a show.
“Hey.” he greeted. “I haven’t seen you two around before. You new?”
Matthew cast an uncertain glance at his brother, and Alfred nodded, face guarded, shifting so his body was slightly turned away.
“Yes.” he said. “We just started. I’m Alfred, and this is my brother, Matthew.”
Matthew nodded. “Hello.” he greeted. The man’s grin widened.
“I’m Mikkel.” he replied, voice thick with an accent Matthew couldn’t place, and continued to smile as if expecting something.
“Wh-where are you from?” Matthew spoke up softly after a brief lapse in conversation. “Your accent, it’s...”
“It’s that noticeable?” Mikkel asked, amused. “I’m from Denmark, but I haven’t been there in a while, I didn’t think I sounded that bad anymore.”
“You don’t sound bad!” Matthew hastened to assure him. “I - I was just curious.”
“Yeah?” Mikkel looked him over with interest. “Me too. You free?”
“We come together.” Alfred cut in, watching Mikkel suspiciously. If anything, Mikkel looked more interested.
“How much?” he asked.
“You’ll have to discuss that with Madam.” Alfred recited diligently, adding after a beat, “The most we do is oral.”
“Oh, really?” Mikkel wrinkled his nose, looking as if he was reconsidering. Matthew hoped fervently that he would.
But eventually the Dane smiled. “Why not?” he asked. “Come on, let’s go see your boss.”
Mikkel motioned for them to follow him, about two paces behind. Alfred reached out to touch his brother’s shoulder in comfort. “It’ll be all right.” he repeated softly. Matthew didn’t answer him.
They stood outside the office, trying to catch snippets of Mikkel’s conversation with Francis. At the most, they could hear Francis telling Mikkel the same thing Alfred had told him - Mikkel’s brief attempt to barter for more, Francis’s refusal, and Mikkel’s eventual payment (the brothers exchanged glances at the amount - it was quite substantial). When Mikkel came back out of the office, his smile was more predatory.
“Aren’t you going to show me to your room?” he asked.
On the way back to their apartment, Matthew couldn’t help but feel Mikkel’s eyes on him, watching him walk. When they stopped in front of their door so that Alfred could fumble for the key, Matthew almost jumped when he felt Mikkel put a hand on his hip. Matthew turned his head slightly, almost fearfully.
“You’re not what I usually get.” Mikkel told him in a low, amused voice. Matthew forced a laugh.
“I hope we don’t disappoint.” he managed. Mikkel chuckled in his ear.
“Me too.” he said, and dared to bite the shell of Matthew’s ear. Matthew made a little noise, and his brother turned his head with an acidic glare.
“At least wait until we get inside.” Alfred snapped, and Mikkel withdrew with a raised eyebrow.
“Whatever you say.” he drawled. He didn’t remove his hand. Within the apartment, Matthew saw that the broken window had been covered, a bed-sheet securely tacked to the frame, and the glass swept up. Mikkel, who was giving the inside of the apartment a brief sweeping glance, either didn’t notice this fashion arrangement or didn’t choose to comment.
As soon as all three of them were inside the apartment, Mikkel’s grip tightened and he said pleasantly, “I’m done waiting.” Before Matthew could react Mikkel spun him around, grabbed his face and kissed him. His teeth scraped against Matthew’s lower lip and Matthew ground his teeth together to prevent from pushing away.
It'll be all right, he repeated his brother’s words to himself, squeezing his eyes shut as Mikkel took over with sure, practiced confidence, biting at his lip. He prodded Matthew backwards so he stumbled over his brother, towards their double bed. Mikkel broke away to push Matthew down on the bed, removed his jacket, and started fiddling with his belt. Matthew’s stomach turned in sick anticipation.
Alfred, a desperate look in his eyes, stepped up behind Mikkel and slid a tentative hand around his shoulders.
“What do you want us to do?” he asked in a low voice. Mikkel lightly shrugged his arm off.
“I want you to suck my cock.” he told Matthew, pointedly, pulling his zipper down. Matthew almost swallowed his tongue.
“M-me?!” he repeated, trembling. “I - I don’t - ”
“He’s not very good at it.” Alfred said quickly, putting his hand back on Mikkel’s shoulder with a bit more force. “Try me, I promise I’ll make it worth your while...”
Mikkel caught Alfred’s wrist and examined him briefly, a hungry sneer twisting the corners of his mouth.
“I want your brother to do it.” he said simply, and pushed Alfred over to the bed, adding with a sneer, “You can suck his cock, if you’re that desperate for it.”
Matthew exchanged a panicked glance with his brother. Alfred sifted a hand into Matthew’s hair.
“Come on.” he said to Mikkel in a low voice, the closest he ever got to pleading. “He’s - he’s just a kid, give him a break...”
Mikkel was impassive, one hand stroking himself through his trousers, eyebrows raised. “I paid good money for this.” he said. “And I want your brother to suck me off. Get it?”
Matthew finally nodded, stiffly, and stifled a yelp when Mikkel knotted his free hand in the youth’s hair, forcing him forward on the bed. Matthew scrabbled against the covers for balance. Alfred shoved himself backwards, a pained look on his face as he watched the man pull his brother to his crotch.
“Shit.” Alfred swore, and got on his knees beside the bed, gripping his brother’s hand tight. “It’s okay Mattie, just go slow...”
Mikkel grunted as Matthew slid a tentative hand around his cock, which was jutting angrily from the fly of Mikkel’s trousers, at attention and already leaking. Matthew had...touched himself, when he was younger and curious, but this felt so bizarre, holding another man like this. Mikkel stared down at him, features twisted in impatience.
“Hurry it up.” he told Matthew, and the boy nodded hesitantly, leaning forward until he was almost touching the tip of Mikkel’s arousal. Matthew parted his lips and slid his mouth down around Mikkel’s cock. He felt like he was watching this from somewhere else, like he was perched on the light fixture watching himself give a Danish stranger a blowjob. When he looked back on it, he couldn’t even remember what Mikkel initially tasted like - just that it was a foreign, fleshy weight on his tongue, with maybe a salty, faintly bitter taste at the back of his throat.
Now that it was in his mouth, Matthew wasn’t quite sure what to do with it - he settled for slowly dropping his head, allowing more and more of the man’s arousal into his mouth. The Dane had a substantial erection, and Matthew was worrying about how it would all fit.
Mikkel let out a slow, measured exhalation, and his hips twitched upwards. The sudden, if minute, thrust was enough to make Matthew panic, and he let go of his brother’s hand in favor of lightly grasping the Dane's hips. Mikkel let out a grunt, and slid his other hand into Matthew’s hair, fingernails rasping over his scalp.
“Just take it easy.” Alfred was whispering by his side, stroking a tentative hand over his brother’s tensed shoulders. “You’re okay, you're okay...”
Matthew chanced a glance upwards - he locked eyes with Mikkel, who was flushed and raggedly breathing. The man’s hands cupped downwards, towards Matthew’s face, and the blond broke eye contact, intent on taking this one step at a time.
He probably shouldn’t have looked down. Mikkel snarled, “I can’t wait this long!”, grabbed Matthew by the back of his skull and shoved him forward. Matthew choked, eyes stinging, as Mikkel buried himself down Matthew’s throat, rendering the youth unable to breathe, gagging.
“Hey!” Alfred leapt up once he saw his brother’s discomfort and tried to push Mikkel away.
Mikkel shook him off easily, sending Matthew’s brother tumbling to the ground, and snapped, “I paid for this, sit down.”
Matthew grabbed onto Mikkel’s trouser leg, and the Dane eventually released him. Matthew coughed, wetly, into the covers of the bed, scrambling for breath and fighting the urge to throw up. When Mikkel sat down beside him, Matthew pushed away, trembling as he tried to regain an even breathing.
“Hey, hey, kid.” Now Mikkel’s tone was falsely smooth and sweet, and he ran a hand through the youth’s hair like he was some kind of house cat. “Sorry I got a little rough on you. Bonnefoy hasn’t had newbies around in a while, I forgot that you needed some time.”
Matthew couldn’t speak, shuddering as he forced himself to talk.
“Th-that’s all right.” he croaked and Mikkel smiled, let his hand drop so he was running fingers over Matthew’s earlobe in what Matthew supposed was a comforting gesture.
“C’mon.” he said encouragingly, settling himself down on the bed. “I’ll show you how to do it. Sit up, come on.”
Matthew allowed himself to be prodded into place by this suddenly jovial man with his cock still hanging out of his pants. Once the blond was facing him, Mikkel smiled.
“Okay, kid, now just put your face down on my lap. Got it?” he asked. “We’ll go nice and slow this time, promise.”
“Promise?” Matthew repeated dubiously and Mikkel laughed.
“Just suck me off.” he ordered, sifting fingers through Matthew’s hair again. His grip was relaxed, but the implication was there - obediently Matthew lowered himself down again, guided gently by the hand at the back of his skull, to take Mikkel’s cock in his mouth. At least he had learned from his disastrous first try; now the sensation of having something of this size and weight in his mouth was not new to him, and Matthew made sure to keep his throat relaxed in case Mikkel suddenly decided to take the shortcut again. He kept his eyes closed, focused on taking Mikkel deeper into his mouth, and almost choked of his own volition when he felt the flared glans press down into his throat. Above him, Mikkel groaned.
“Shit, your throat is so tight.” he muttered under his breath. “You’re gonna be a natural...hey golden boy...yeah you, you wanna make it "worth my while"? C’mere.”
Matthew heard movement off to the side and then wet sounds above his head - if he had looked up he would have seen Alfred and Mikkel kissing.
He didn’t want to look up.
Mikkel’s hips were moving with the bobs of Matthew’s head, rising up to meet him, forcing Matthew to take him down faster. Matthew’s nose had hit Mikkel’s pubic hair and his throat was starting to seize up. Mikkel didn’t look like he was planning on stopping anytime soon, examining Matthew with lazy half-interest as he ran an inquisitive hand down the length of Alfred’s body. Alfred’s eyes met his brother’s and they shared a horrified what do we do? look.
When Matthew hit the root of Mikkel’s cock he held himself there, ignoring Mikkel’s twitching hips and his demands of, “What the fuck are you stopping for, kid?” Then he forced his burning throat to swallow around Mikkel, pulling and squeezing with his muscles as best he could.
Mikkel nearly doubled over, a groan tearing itself from his mouth. If Matthew reached up he could feel the fluttering of the Dane’s abdomen muscles as he struggled to hold himself together.
“So tight.” he muttered. “Fuck that’s good...”
Matthew did it again, for good measure, and increased the speed of his sucking - Mikkel was bucking under Matthew's mouth, snarling something unintelligible into his hair. It didn’t take long before Mikkel grabbed Matthew’s head and held it still, barking out something in Danish as his cock twitched and jumped in Matthew’s mouth. Warmth at the back of his throat and the same almost-bitterness from before was the only warning Matthew got before Mikkel pulled out and left him gasping around a mouthful of ejaculate. He wanted to wash his mouth out, throw up, do something to get Mikkel’s semen out of his mouth and out of his memory, but Mikkel hauled him up and kissed him almost fondly on the temple.
“You weren’t half bad.” he praised, as if that would somehow make Matthew feel good about himself and what he’d just done. The Dane didn’t stick around for formalities - in thirty seconds he’d zipped himself up, retrieved his jacket, and was out of the apartment without much of a goodbye. As soon as the door shut, Matthew threw himself off the bed, into the bathroom, and spat into the sink, retching and hiccoughing in his panic. Alfred followed him with a pained look on his face as he watched his brother cupping water in his hands to wash away the taste.
Matthew’s eyes met Alfred’s in the mirror.
“I’m so sorry.” Alfred said awkwardly. “I - ”
Matthew turned and embraced his brother, turning his head away so Alfred couldn’t see how upset he was.
“I feel so dirty.” he rasped out through gritted teeth and Alfred clutched at him.
“Don’t.” he said sharply. “This - this isn’t your fault okay? He's the dirty one, for - for doing this to you.” He stepped back, tried to get his brother to look at him.
“You were real brave.” he told Matthew. “It’s going to be okay. You’re safe now, and he’s not gonna come back. All right?”
“I don’t believe you.” Matthew said quietly and Alfred had to smile sadly at his little brother.
“Yeah, I know.” he replied. “But it makes me feel a little better, at least.”
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END CHAPTER FOUR
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Notes:
The Orange Room - a reference to the House of Orange-Nassau, a family of nobility; William I of Orange was responsible for leading the Dutch revolt against Spanish rule; William III married Mary II of England and together they took part in the “Glorious Revolution” of 1688, becoming joint rulers of England, Ireland, and Scotland until Mary’s death.
A note on cannabis? - Cannabis was totally the favourite child of the drug world around this time. Some people suggested using cannabis as a replacement for alcohol because people “didn’t get violent” when they smoked cannabis so men wouldn’t beat their wives when they were high as opposed to when they were drunk (?!). Also, in the U.S. during the 1860s, Maple Hasheesh Candy was sold over the countertop and was perfectly lovely, delicious candy! Hooray!
A note on Lars? - I know everybody is probably so tired of Netherlands being characterized as a druggie, but that sort of lifestyle was common - it was still that age where drugs were a “gentleman’s choice”, or a “miracle of science”. I was debating using opium, but this was the beginning of a period when people started injecting morphine and heroin rather than smoking the opiate at home (though opium dens were definitely alive and kicking!), and I felt less confident in my knowledge of injecting drugs than I am in my knowledge of smoking drugs. Also, cannabis was used for an aphrodisiac, too D: Which definitely helps in this business, I guess??
A note on Mikkel? - I’m seriously not hating on Denmark. I like Denmark! I feel like such a dick for making him...such a dick.
Author's Note: If you're still reading this story...that's pretty amazing! Sorry for the horrible update lapse - I'll try to do better! Thanks for reading!
Onwards to Chapter Five!