by EE Ottoman
William rolled his shoulders, trying to get his shirt unstuck from his back where it was plastered thanks to the sweat gathering between his shoulder blades and along his spine. He let his eyes drift shut in the dark room and listened to the roll and crash of voices all around him.
There was the scrape of chair legs across the floor, startlingly close, and he looked up in time to see Lake seating himself at their table.
“That was fast.” Hill set aside his now empty glass.
Lake shrugged, taking a cigar and matchbox from his coat pocket “Some men have simple needs, you know. So what is this business that you had to talk to me about?”
Hill glanced at William and then away again too quickly.
“Our friend Moss, here, is in trouble. He needs somewhere to stay beyond the reach of the law.”
Lake lit the cigar and blew out a cloud of smoke. “So? Why come here? This is a brothel, not a boardinghouse.”
“Moss’ offenses,” Hill said carefully, “are ones of a similar nature to most of the men here. But also, probably most importantly, I didn’t quite know who else to turn to.”
Lake made a low scoffing sound and gestured as if to brush this explanation away.
“He’s been to prison already over this.” Hill leaned forward across the table, dropping his voice. “He was heading for an asylum, and I know the doctor he was given over to—a man who thrives on making others suffer, on holding power over them. They were going to have him examined before an audience, with doctors from all over the country and other countries even. You know how this goes; you live with the fear too. That someone will pound on your door and destroy your life, strip you and examine you. Do every cruel and humiliating thing they can think of to your body because you’re less than nothing.”
Lake’s gaze dropped, and William’s own went to Moss who was holding his glass of apple brandy in a white knuckled grip. His gaze was fixed at a point somewhere between William and Hill’s shoulders, not looking at anyone.
“We just need one night,” Hill said.
For a long moment, Lake looked between Hill and Moss, his face going still. “Well, he can’t stay here.” His tone had the ring of finality to it. “But—” He held up a hand as Hill opened his mouth to protest. “Let me finish. But I do know a boardinghouse—where I stay, as a matter of fact. Double the normal price, and I’ll take him there and let him spend the night in my room. It’s not like I’ll be there anyway.”
“Don’t whores usually live in the brothels?” Moss said, startling William since he’d been silent for the better part of the conversation.
“The mistress of this house doesn’t like the boys to stay here when we’re not working.” Lake blew another cloud at the ceiling.
“There’s an old paupers’ graveyard not far from here, by Augustus Street and Chatham,” Hill said. “Do you know the place?”
Moss nodded. “I know it.”
“Meet us there tomorrow morning as early as you can. I am hoping it’s far enough afield that Corporal Thornton won’t track us there.”
Moss froze, the last of vestiges of color leaching from his face. “Corporal Thornton.” His voice sounded strangely hollow. “He was the one who came to the house this afternoon?”
Hill reached out to him and then seemed to think better of it. “Yes, but don’t worry. I don’t think he’ll find you here.”
“You know him?” William said.
Moss’ hands were shaking now, and he covered his face for a moment. “Yes.”
He sounded shocked, and William’s mouth set in a hard line. He would be willing to put money on Thornton having been one of the men who’d perpetrated whatever horrors Moss had experienced in prison.
“He won’t find you,” he said, his voice low.
Hill was counting out coins onto the table next to Lake. “There.”
Lake scooped up the coins and deposited them into his pocket. “So, Mr. Moss, what do you do when you’re not making shady deals in brothels?”
William tensed, but Moss seemed to collect himself and turned towards Lake, a small smile turning up the corners of his mouth. “Well, at one point I was a clerk in a small shipping firm. These days, though, I spend most of my time on the run from the law, which is more work than the penny serials would have you believe. In fact, it seems to have become a full-time occupation.”
There was a beat of silence, and then Lake’s mouth spread into a wide, bright smile. “Why don’t I buy you a cup of coffee, Mr. Moss. I can see you’ve already tried the applejack, but trust me, I come here a lot, and the coffee’s much better.”
He stood and offered his arm as if to escort a lady. William was sure if he’d made that gesture to Hill, he’d have gotten a cold stare at best, but Moss just glided to his feet and took Lake’s arm with all due solemnity.
The two of them headed towards the bar, and William watched them go.
“Are we doing the right thing?”
Hill leaned back, rubbing his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know. I don’t know if any of this has been the right thing. But it’s too late now, and Moss is a grown man. He can look after himself for one night.”
William hoped so.
With a sigh, Hill stood. William did too, putting his overcoat back on, although another layer of wool felt like the very last thing he wanted.
At least the air was blessedly cool outside. Even with the smell of the city and the noise all around them, William still paused on the sidewalk, tipping his face up to let the cold night air play across his skin.
“Come on.” Hill’s fingers brushed against his, feather light, just once. “It’s late, and you’ll get bowled over if you stay in one place too long.”
William blinked and smiled at Hill before falling into step beside him.
“Please come back to my rooms with me,” he said lowly so only Hill could hear him. “There are things I would like to talk to you about.”
Hill looked up at him, his gaze questioning.
William gave him another small smile, this one more tentative. “Not about Moss. There’s an apology I need to make to you.”
Hill’s eyes widened a little, and then he nodded and turned back to the street.
The street was just as busy as it had been earlier that evening. There were still crowds of people passing back and forth and street vendors everywhere William looked.
He could smell roasting corn, the brine of fresh seafood, and sweet potatoes, mixing with the regular city odors.
There was an old woman hunched over a small metal brazier filled with glowing coals. The sweet potatoes lay roasting on the coals, and every so often, she turned them with a long metal fork.
William paused in front of her. “Grandmother?” She peered up at him, and he pointed towards the potatoes. “May I buy two of these from you?”
“Of course, sir.” She skewered the first one on the prongs of her long fork, “But if you want butter and maple sugar it will cost you extra.”
“That’s all right.” William dug out his purse. “Butter and sugar on both of them.”
She lifted two potatoes off the coal, split them down the middle, wrapped them in pieces of newspaper, before topping them liberally.
William handed one to Hill and paid the woman extra for not being stingy with the fixings.
Sweet potatoes were not particularly easy to eat while standing on the sidewalk. William had to throw propriety to the wind and eat using his hands. It tasted so good, though, hot and sweet.
Hill was bypassing the use of fingers altogether. He’d peeled the potato skin away from the flesh and held it by the paper wrapped around one end while he took bites from the other.
A small pig, not yet fully grown, waddled up, snuffling around the pavement a little ways from where they stood. It didn’t come within more than a few feet of them, having learned to fear humans who often wielded brooms or sticks. It did give them a beseeching look, though, from out of its small dark eyes.
Hi
ll threw it a piece of his potato skin.
“They’ll just end up bothering you if you do that.” William balled up the piece of newspaper around his potato skin and threw it in the direction of the closest garbage heap.
Hill let out a small huff of laughter. “I know.” He tossed the pig another piece of potato skin anyway.
They started walking again, Hill finishing up the last of his potato as he went. Both of them were quiet as they went. Hill hailed the first cab they saw and sat silently across from William during the drive to his rooms.
The silence might have lain heavily between them, but it didn’t. For once, William didn’t feel the sense of oppressive tension that had dogged him for the last forty-eight hours. Not that their problems were any smaller now. Moss was still not safe, and they were all still in danger of discovery. The thought of the conversation he and Hill were about to have twisted his stomach but the leaden weight of dread that had seemed to permeate his entire body down to his bones was at least temporarily absent.
He’d had a glass of apple brandy and something hot to eat, and Hill had at least agreed to come back with him. He needed to hold on to that and concentrate on these small things instead of letting himself drown in the larger fears of things he couldn’t change.
Their cab stopped in front of his building. William paid the driver and led the way inside.
Once they were inside the parlor, he stoked the fire while Hill hung up his hat and greatcoat.
“You said you wanted to talk.”
William turned, still kneeling by the hearth, and looked up at Hill, who was watching from a few paces away.
“I said I needed to apologize.” He stood and dusted the ash off his hand. “I know very well that I reacted badly when you told me about your connection with Moss, and I’m sorry. I like you very much, and I wish...that I could have been better for you then.”
Hill sighed and studied William in silence for a long moment. “You’re right in that we can’t go back to the way it was before. I like you, Blackwood, I do. I think that should be obvious by now, but I trusted you that night. I trusted you with something I’ve told so few people, and I saw the way you looked at me, the horror on your face, the way you turned your back on me. As if you were so disgusted you couldn’t even look at me. Like everyone else. Do you not know what that feels like?” His voice broke a little on the words.
“Of course, I do.” It came out louder and angrier than William had intended, but he couldn’t seem to lower his voice or took in a deep enough breath to calm down. Anger burned through his chest just as brightly and fiercely as the desire had done. “Look at me. I am a black man who prefers other men; worse, I prefer to be fucked by other men. Of course, I know what it feels like to be rejected and hurt by someone I trusted. To the point where I’m scared to even try.”
They stared at each other, breaths coming fast, angry and poised for a fight.
“I’m sorry,” Hill said first. “I know you understand. Of course, you do. I shouldn’t have said that. I just…” He reached up to rub his face. “I’m a mess, and I don’t know how to do this.”
“I’m sorry too.” William looked away. “I should have spoken with you sooner, made it clear I was not disgusted by you, not ever.”
Hill took several jerky steps towards him, his gaze pleading but still unsure. William caught him around the shoulders as Hill half fell against him. At this angle, Hill’s face was pressed against William’s shoulder in a way that could not have been comfortable, but he didn’t seem to be willing to move.
William dared to tighten his arms a little and felt Hill relax into him, little by little.
For a long time, they stood like that in silence, until Hill gave a little snuffling sigh and lifted his head.
“I can call you a cab if you want,” William said, pulling back a little.
“No. I think I’ll stay here if it’s all the same to you.”
William gazed at him—at the dark sweep of lashes against his cheeks, the shape of his mouth, the small, compact lines of his body.
It was late; they were both tired, and they would need to meet Moss in the morning.
Still, his hand found Hill’s smaller, callused one, twining their fingers together as his other landed lightly on Hill’s hip, just under the fall of his coat. And this time, when he tilted his face down, Hill met him halfway.
It was slow at first, and then Hill’s arm went around William’s waist, hard and purposeful, bringing their bodies together. Hill tasted like sugar and apples. William wanted to touch, to finally get those clothes off.
Hill hadn’t so much as taken off his coat the last time they’d done this, and that was no longer acceptable, not even close.
William let go of Hill’s waist and touched Hill’s shoulders and neck to cup the back of his head. He pushed his fingers into Hill’s dark curls and felt Hill lean into him harder as he did so.
There was a desperate slant to Hill’s mouth, and William kissed him back just as hard. He rubbed against Hill’s scalp, just a little, and rocked his hips forward.
Hill groaned, hips moving too, fingers hard against the small of William’s back.
William broke away long enough to say “Bedroom,” and then foiled his own plans by kissing Hill again.
It was Hill who finally took a step back, took William’s hand, and led the way to the bedroom without any hesitation at all.
The room was dark, and William had to let go of Hill long enough to light the candle on the stand next to the bed. Hill was leaning against the closed bedroom door arms crossed over his chest when William turned.
William watched him, feeling the space between them. It was so new, this knowledge that he could reach out across that space and touch him.
He moved forward at the same time that Hill straightened up and stepped away from the door. The room was small enough it only took a few paces for them to close the distance between them. William gripped Hill’s hip, pressed against the cloth of Hill’s trousers, wanting to feel skin. Hill caressed up William’s chest as if slowly mapping the planes of him, curled around a shoulder, and then up to his collar.
Hill’s fingers found his cravat and carefully untied the knot. William unbuttoned Hill’s waistcoat and slipped inside to caress across Hill’s stomach and up his chest, feeling the heat of him through the thin cloth of his shirt.
He had to use both hands to get Hill’s coat off his shoulders. Even though Hill dropped his arms to his sides obediently, it still got tangled halfway down. Hill laughed and rolled his shoulders back, bringing him closer against William as he shrugged the garment off.
Their chests met, and William kissed along the line of Hill’s jaw as he stroked down Hill’s hips to his thighs. He paused there. For a moment, he just breathed in the scent of him.
Against him, Hill had stilled. “Blackwood?” His voice was a little bit hesitant.
“William,” he said without taking his mouth away from the crook of Hill’s jaw—the curve of his ear and throat so temptingly close. He could feel when Hill swallowed.
“Augustus, then.”
William touched their foreheads together and kissed Augustus gently on the lips.
“As much as this is lovely,” Augustus said when they parted, “I would much rather have you on the bed right now, preferably naked.”
“Yes. I want to see all of you this time.” William’s hands drifted down to the small of Augustus’ back as he had done the first time they were together, this time moving down lower to cup Augustus’ backside. Just held him like that for a moment, basking in the fact that he was allowed.
“Are you sure?” Augustus brought his hand to rest against the center of William’s chest and pushed him gently back towards the bed. “That isn’t going to be more than you want at the moment?”
It was half joking, half serious. His tone was light enough, but William could hear the tension underneath, see it in Augustus’ face.
“No.” William pressed flat
against Augustus’ chest in turn. “It isn’t too much; it’s exactly what I want.”
It only took a few steps for them to reach the bed and for William to turn them.
Augustus let William guide him down onto the bed and strip off his shirt. He was wearing another shirt underneath the linen, this one made out of a tighter, heavier weave. William’s paused over this one, unsure, but Augustus stripped it off without hesitation and let it drop to the floor.
William knelt with a knee on either side of Augustus’ hips, kissed him, and traced the very fine, downy hairs at the center of his chest and down his stomach. Augustus’ fingers fisted in the cloth of William’s shirt just above the waistband of his trousers, pulling hard, no longer careful, just desperate to get their remaining clothes off. William wanted that too, so he stripped off his coat and waistcoat without much care, undid his trousers, and yanked his shirt over his head.
He was still tugging his arms free of the cloth when he felt Augustus’ fingers touch his stomach and trace up to his chest. He had more hair there than Augustus, but he’d never considered the gentle fan of tight curls excessive. Augustus touched those curls then his nails dragged back down, just hard enough to make William’s breath come out in a hissing gasp.
“Good?”
William wrestled the shirt all the way off and looked down at Augustus, who was watching him, eyes heavy-lidded.
“God, yes, please.” He arched into Augustus’ touch, watched his lips curve into a smile. When Augustus ran his nails back up William’s chest, he shivered against the touch.
Augustus curled his hand around the back of William’s neck, bringing them close enough together that their lips brushed. “I want you to bring me off. With your hand or your mouth, I don’t care which, but I want, need, to know what it feels like to spend while you touch me.”
William let out an unsteady breath. “Yes.” He stood from the bed, stripping off the rest of his clothes while Augustus raised his hips enough to unbutton his trousers and wriggle out of them. William wrapped a hand around his cock as his gaze tracked over the lines of Augustus’ body, his chest, stomach, and thighs.