Thomas had an energy about him that night. As they alighted from the carriage, there was a lightness in his step that had him almost prancing along the curb, running his fingertips along the brickwork and continually glancing backward as if to check Vincent still followed him.
Which of course he did, though his pace was far more docile.
In truth, Vincent was nervous: although this was not an uncommon feeling for him, it was still unenjoyable. And on top of the anxiety, he felt guilty for feeling anxious because Thomas was so clearly excited to show him his club.
Generally speaking, Vincent did not like Gentleman's cubs. They were loud, dimly lit rooms filled with cigar smoke and husbands breaking promises they'd never intended to keep. He would much rather be reading than allowing men he didn't know or like to coax him to a gambling table or offer poorly hidden insults about his quietude.
But Thomas was excited, so an anxious and guilty Vincent was going.
As a clock tolled ten in the distance, Thomas – with a look backward, of course – turned down a laneway to the left, taking them away from the lit street lamps. The alley was lined with empty crates with ragged pieces of hemp draped between, and Vincent made the conscious decision to ignore the rustling and squeaking that emanated from those gloomy depths.
Another, cloaked and hooded, had ventured down that darkened laneway, hurrying towards them. Whether it was the anonymity afforded by evening or the general unnerving nature of the alley, the man never lifted his chin, even when his shoulder collided with Vincent's. He stumbled back slightly, catching himself against the wall, and waited in vain for any apology.
Thomas stepped in front of Vincent, tossing his own scowl after the rude stranger. His hands rose to rest on Vincent's lapels, straightening what had been knocked askew.
Vincent aimed for humour. "Not one of you patrons, I hope?"
The other man simply shrugged. "Could be. Discretion is a key tenet of membership at Pride's." He patted Vincent gently on the chest, his excitement returning with a wide grin. "Come, we're almost there!"
Vincent swallowed his sigh and continued on after him. It was not that he thought an establishment owned by Thomas would be of ill-repute, simply that it would be as all gentleman's clubs were: loud and uncomfortable.
With a final corner, they entered a laneway that ended only with a large black door. Thomas fell into step beside him.
"Now, this will not be what you are used to..."
That was an understatement.
"... but give it a chance."
Vincent was determined to do just that.
They reached the door and Thomas leaned forward to issue two firm knocks. Then, he turned to grin at Vincent, one eyebrow cocked.
"Oh, and do try not to stare."
Vincent was thinking about thinking about asking what he meant when a small slot, about the side of a hand, opened in the door. A park of dark eyes slid into position, squinting into the shadows.
"Password?" The voice was nasal and irritated.
Thomas' eyes narrowed, though his grin stayed in place. "I hope you've not been greeting all our guests that way Jerome."
The eyes squinted, squinted again, and then went wide as their owner let out a gasp. "Oh, Mister Thomas! We did not expect you this evening!"
The slot in the door closed sharply, but before Vincent could even flinch at the sound the entire door was heaved open, swinging into the darkness behind it and revealing a squat silhouette of a man with a lit cigar in one hand. He released a puff of smoke as he gestured them inside. As Thomas squeezed between the rotund man and the wall, he raised a sceptical eyebrow.
"You are being more courteous to our other guests, aren't yo-"
Jerome patted Thomas on the stomach – Vincent assumed he was aiming for shoulder and could not reach – and cut him off. "Of course, of course, Mister Thomas. The girls are just about to go on stage though, and you know I have such a low opinion of anyone who keeps me from seeing their act!"
For such a short man, Jerome certainly knew how to fill a space. As Vincent stepped inside, he struggled to avoid the man and his cigar-wielding arm that wove through the air as he spoke. He misjudged one particular punctuating gesture, narrowly avoiding having his shirt set alight as the body of the cigar thumped his shoulder.
Jerome's attention switched instantly to Vincent. He took him in from boots to belt, his gaze finally coming to rest on Vincent's no doubt alarmed expression. A smile leapt into place, his lip curling.
"And who do we have here?"
The hairs on the back of Vincent's neck stood on end, and he fought the flame down from his cheeks. He wasn't sure why – something he couldn't comprehend about the man's tone or the narrowing of his eyes – but he looked to Thomas for clarity. Or perhaps support.
His gaze was not returned however, as Thomas slight smile was fixed on Jerome. He looked the picture of joviality, if it wasn't for the barest tightening around his eyes or the hand that snaked out to take Vincent gently but firmly by the elbow. He tugged him further into the dark entryway, allowing the front door to close behind them, and casting all three of them into a more pervasive darkness lit only by smouldering end of Jerome's cigar.
"This is my guest," Thomas said into the darkness, "Mister Daniel."
Vincent startled, first at the use of his first name and as he felt Jerome step closer.
"And what brings you to Pride's on a night like this, Mister Daniel."
The hand on Vincent's arm tightened slightly. He took this as an indication to answer. "The... I..." he blinked, his eyes accustomed enough to the dark night to notice the edges of the leer Jerome aimed at him. "Uh, Thomas?" It was not supposed to be a question.
Jerome's answering laugh was predictably nasal. "Oh, aren't you adorable! I mean, why ar-"
"He's my guest, Jerome." Thomas' interruption was direct, but not harsh.
"Yes, but as a new guest it's my responsibility to know if..." The man's gaze never left Vincent's face; perhaps if he'd looked to his employer, he'd have seen the anger building.
"He's my guest, Jerome!" Thomas snapped.
It was a small space, and his hard tone echoed. To soothe himself as much as the other man, Vincent's hand drifted to rest on the fingers that still gripped him by the elbow, offering silent support as best as he was able. Truth be told, Vincent could not be certain what had irritated Thomas to begin with.
For his part, Jerome didn't appear offended or put out by the interruption. He took a slow step back, his eyebrows returning to their resting place, and he cast his employer an even look.
"Yours?"
Vincent could hear the presence of an unasked question, but not the question itself. In his confusion, he looked to Thomas. Their gazes met, both serious but with very different reasons. Thomas' attention was locked on Vincent's face, earnestly searching for... something. Gradually, his eyes softened at the edges, and by the time he looked away Vincent's cheeks were aflame.
"Yes," Thomas said firmly, "Mine."
Jerome dipped his head, smile reappearing. "Would you like me to spread that tidbit?"
At that, Thomas didn't hesitate. "Yes, thank you Jerome."
"Of course, of course! Now..." He stepped further into the building, drawing back a curtain Vincent could barely see to reveal a crack of light. "Go and enjoy the girls!"
Thomas's hand skimmed the length of Vincent's forearm, setting his hairs on end, until he found his hand and quickly interlocked their fingers. The sensation was strange, but Vincent had no chance to consider it further as the man dipped his head at Jerome and pulled Vincent after him. As he ducked beneath the curtain, he said in a low voice, "Welcome to Pride's," and then tugged Vincent with him into the mayhem.
By first impression, Vincent was unsurprised. A stage dominated the right-hand side, a bar sheltered beneath a staircase sat against the far wall, and armchairs and low-lying tables were scattered in between. Above the bar, a balcony offered an excellent view of the stage and the pit where a quartet now began to pluck out the first few frames of German opera.
On his second assessment – made as Thomas led him into the room and he struggled to keep from bumping into others – Vincent realised the club was past the point of full. Men were perched on every settee and chair within sight, with many more filling spaces between the furniture. Serving staff squeezed through narrow gaps, more than one falling good-naturedly into a patron's lap, and as the band struck up in earnest, a few clearly intoxicated guests thumped on the balcony railing and let off shrill whistles to share their eagerness with the room.
The audience erupted in one loud cheer as the performers shuffled onto stage and began their comedic performance. Vincent winced, a little overwhelmed by the noise. His heart hammered in his chest and he longed for a corner to sequester himself in. To his great relief, the pair broke free from the crowd at that point, stepping up to the far less busy bar as Vincent dragged air into his lungs. Perhaps he gasped, as Thomas looked at him quickly with a frown, tugging on their joined hands and manoeuvring Vincent in closest to the bar. Thomas stood between him and the crowd, holding his ground as an intoxicated gentleman collided with him and kept moving.
"I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't know it would be this busy."
Guilt leapt in Vincent's chest like a flame; his issues were ruining this. He forced a taut smile and shook his head.
"It's... The... I'm fine."
Thomas' lips quirked at the corner, but he didn't press the issue. Instead, he asked, "How do you like the players?"
Dutifully, Vincent directed his attention back to the crowd and the performers. He was grateful that, thus far, the song was not lewd, and for the way it held the room's attention. As he watched, one actress sauntered closer to the other, drawing a cheer from the audience, and dipped her bearded counterpart into a-
Vincent blinked. Both actresses were stocky, well-attired women with – his eyes did not deceive him – beards! In fact, the longer he watched the more sure he was that they were men. As his brow descended into a heavy frown, he wondered whether this was a parody? A mockery? He doubted it – neither felt to Thomas' tastes. His eyes flicked to the crowd, hoping they'd provide answers, but instead they only raised further questions. There were more than a few women in the audience, he noted with surprise, most of whom had a serving girl nestled in their laps. Where hands rested on shoulders, knees, cheeks, the connections were undeniably amorous. The same could be said for the men; Vincent watched one pair who shared a settee inch in closer to give a barmaid more room to pass, only for each to slide a hand up the others leg towards their-
Vincent's gaze whipped back to Thomas'. He was sure his cheeks were bright red.
"Surprise?" Thomas offered cheekily, offering a slight shrug. He dipped his head at someone behind Vincent, before leaning in much closer. Vincent shivered at his warmth, before suddenly stiffening and stepping to the side. As Thomas picked up the glasses of dark brown liquor he'd been reaching for, he smirked at Vincent's rigidity. "You can relax here," he said, moving to lean against the bar, "we all can."
Relax. Vincent barely held in a snort. He'd been told to relax his entire life, as if it had never occurred to him to do so without instruction! It was the 'we' that gave him pause though. His confusion was clearly apparent.
"This club has been a sordid secret of London for forty or so years now," Thomas said, one arm gesturing around the room. The drink in his hand threatened to spill, and he took a quick sip before continuing his explanation. "When I bought it a few years ago I made it a little more respectable – just a little mind you!" He winked as he held the other glass out to Vincent. "But it has always been and always will be a safe haven for people who feel attractions or have thoughts of themselves the Ton would not approve of. People like... us."
Vincent accepted the drink and raised it to his lips without conscious thought. It was a lot to process. The word 'us' reverberated in his mind, linking him to every person in that room.
"Do my eyes deceive me or has Thomas Thorne finally decided to grace us with his presence?"
Thomas didn't move for a long second, a wave of irritation rising and disappearing from his eyes before a wide smile slid into place. Slowly, he turned to the side without putting any unnecessary distance between himself and Vincent.
The man who stood several metres away was resplendent in a navy blue coat, the white trim of his shirt just peeking out from beneath the wide cuffs. Even in the chaos of the Pride, he stood out for his height and his stillness, resting easily against a pillar. The nonchalance reminded Vincent of...
Beside him, Thomas inclined his head. "Good evening, George."
The man's smile widened at his own name, his blue gaze locked firmly on Thomas. He was slightly sturdier than either of them, with blonde hair slicked back from his face. He was very... well put together...
"I thought you'd gone and abandoned the place," George smirked, beginning a steady approach. He seemed oblivious to – or perhaps uncaring of – the world around him, stepping directly into the path of a serving girl whose precariously balanced tray nearly toppled to the ground. She threw him a look of irritation, which he also ignored, before acknowledging Thomas with a dip of her chin and trotting off to attend the waiting patrons.
Completely unfazed, George continued. "You weren't avoiding me, were you?"
Vincent frowned. There was no hint of contrition in the man's question, which surely there would be if they'd had a falling out. With his puffed-out chest and pointed look, he seemed to want Thomas to admit to avoiding him. It struck Vincent as unusual.
"Of course not, George." For his part, Thomas' tone was just the charming side of curt. "I would never let anyone keep me away from my club."
George was now in range to set one large hand on Thomas' shoulder, offering what could only be assumed to be supportive pats. "As you should. Especially after such an insubstantial disagreement."
"I would hardly call your thorough criticisms of the way I run my club 'insubstantial'."
Unbidden, Vincent's gaze scanned the room. As far as he could tell, Pride's was thriving. The patrons were giddy and intoxicated, filling the building with laughter and raucous – he couldn't see what 'advice' George had felt the need to offer.
And the tension in Thomas' arms clearly indicated he felt the same way.
Close as they were, Vincent easily extended his hand to grip the edge of Thomas' sleeve, offering a tug of support.
George's attention instantly refocussed on him. "And you are?" His tone could not be mistaken for friendly.
Vincent followed Thomas' lead. "Daniel," he said, offering the man a curt nod. George's gaze trailed him from head to toe, but the experience was very different to the doorman. There was no doubt in Vincent's mind that this man viewed him with disdain, which surprised him a little – usually he had to do more than simply introduce himself to earn the ire of another!
Without comment, George's eyes flicked back to Thomas, but not without touching on where he and Vincent were in contact. For that simple grip on his sleeve, the man's lip twitched, before smoothing out into a thin smile.
Ah.
"My uncle is hosting a ball tomorrow evening before the debutantes debut for the season. I'll tell him you're in town and to expect you." It was less invitation, more instruction. "I imagine there's only room for one more of course."
Vincent didn't mean to laugh, but the venom in George's voice was so overdone that he couldn't help it. At the last minute, he managed to stifle it down to an amused huff, but the man definitely noticed. His refused to look at Vincent, but his chin rose a fraction. Vincent's cheeks flamed with embarrassment, but Thomas' hand on his arm paused him in the midst of forming an apology.
"We'll consider it," Thomas said. He stepped closer to Vincent, crowding him around the bar, and deftly sliding out from beneath George's possessive hand. "Now, if you'll excuse us..."
He met George's blue eyes evenly with his own dark gaze, almost daring the man to protest his dismissal. For a moment, George seemed to consider it, his lip twitching, but eventually he inclined his head and swivelled on one foot to gracefully stride away from them.
Thomas let out a harsh breath when George had disappeared into the crowd, his hands coming to rest on the bar with his head hanging forward. Vincent was somewhat pinned within his embrace, the crown of Thomas' head only centimetres from resting against his chest, and he frowned down at him with concern.
"I detest that man," Thomas grumbled into the space between them.
Vincent tilted his head to the side. "I do not believe the feeling in mutual."
The other man winced. "Ah, yes, well... He and I, we once had-"
Vincent was already nodding. "Mm, yes." That was obvious, even to Vincent. If he had to guess, however their intimacy had ended, it was Thomas who had spurned George. That accounted for the man's attitude. And his dislike of Vincent.
Thomas waited for a question, a demand for an explanation, but none were forthcoming. Still, he raised his chin and offered answers. "You may have noticed he's quite pretty, and unfortunately we had already..." Thomas cleared his throat, gaze darting away from Vincent's for a moment. "... exchanged some kisses... before his disagreeable personality came to light. I ended it months ago," he hurried to assure the other man, whose usual frown of concentration was marring his brow, "but he's yet to accept my rebuff completely it seems."
Vincent was not surprised by the story. It made quite a lot of sense to him. But one word reverberated in his mind. To occupy his hands, he raised them to Thomas' cravat, smoothing the material there whilst he formed his question. "He.. You... Does it feel the same to kiss him and is does to kiss," he swallowed, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. "Me?"
Even if they had not been discussing kissing, Thomas' attention would have been firmly fixed on his lips now. His hand rose, cupping the angle of Vincent's jaw so that his thumb came to rest on the man's lower lip. He enjoyed the sharp inhale this inspired, even more so when the edge of his lip caught on Thomas' thumb before springing back into place.
"Not in the least," he said huskily.
Vincent remembered to take a breath, the air a sharp shock to his body which otherwise seemed to burn. His gaze flickered to the side, aware of how public this display of intimacy was. Even despite what he'd seen at the Pride, he was still amazed that they were ignored. Here, he realised, they were normal. Here, they were safe. Here...
They could do whatever they pleased.
Before he could overthink the action, Vincent pressed himself off the bar, closing whatever gap had remained between him and Thomas. His hands went to the man's waist, one finding its way beneath Thomas' vest, and held the somewhat surprised man against him. Their breaths mingled, Vincent's heart thudded in his chest, and his anxiety had one final word; was this wise?
Vincent decided then and there that he did not give one hoot about 'wise'.
He pulled Thomas' mouth to his, their lips melding together. The hand on Vincent's cheek turned from gentle to insistent, sliding to the back of his neck and encouraging more. More heat, more touching – more! Thomas shifted his feet, positioning one leg between Vincent's so that their bodies could press together from thigh to chest, and both men felt desire explode in their bellies. Their tongues danced, their hearts raced, and-
It was a crash of symbols that startled them from the kiss, the conclusion of the thespian production gaining a thunderous applause from the audience. To Thomas, the cheering might almost have been congratulating him on not setting Vincent atop the bar and having his way with him right then and there. Thankfully Vincent, at least, had come to his senses, remembering where they were and – importantly – that they were not alone. He blinked several times in quick succession, the haze of desire slowly retreating, and took a quick step back.
Thomas let out a low, rusty laugh, running his hand across his chin, as he marvelled at the power this intelligent, awkward man had over him.
"When will you stop surprising me?" he asked on a breath.
For that, Vincent had no answer.
Over the other man's shoulder, the barman caught Thomas' attention. Or more specifically, the knowing look and raised eyebrows caught his attention. He cleared his throat suddenly and also put some distance between them. He may not care for his own reputation – if fact, he quite liked it as besmirched as possible – but it would not do for rumours to spread about Vincent. The use of his true first name, and the general air of mutually assured destruction that kept the patrons of Pride's from revealing other members guaranteed some sort of secrecy, but it was not foolproof.
"Shall we retreat to my office?" Thomas asked.
Vincent didn't yet have the breath for words, so he nodded quickly and let himself be led upstairs.
.
They spent several hours comfortably and quietly in each other's presence. Vincent was pleasantly surprised by the reading materials Thomas had sequestered in his office, and even more surprised that he could sit at one end of the lounge, faint music and raucous floating up to them from the club below, and feel... calm. Contented. He might even have gone as far as to say 'peaceful' if it weren't for the man at the other end of the lounge whose simple presence kept him on edge.
Thomas held a glass of port in one hand, occasionally swirling the liquid in thought as he studied the ledgers he'd laid across his lap. Every once in a while, he turned to Vincent, asking his opinion on a decision he was contemplating or a record he had difficulty deciphering. To gain his attention, he set his hand on Vincent's knee. Or at least, it began at Vincent's knee. As the hour edged passed midnight, his hand edged up Vincent's leg, settling at last on his mid-thigh to offer the occasional squeeze for his attention.
From the moment Thomas' hand came to rest there, Vincent could not have recalled a word he read or a piece of advice he offered the other man. All he could focus on was the lump in his throat and the pull of heat that seemed to emanate from Thomas' hand and tug at his chest, his stomach, his groin...
Vincent knew enough to know it was desire. He wanted Thomas. He wanted...
Truth be told, Vincent wasn't sure what he wanted – needed – but he knew there was something.
Another squeeze of his leg had Vincent' chin whipping up, and with wide eyes and flaming cheeks he tried to keep the evidence of his thoughts from his face.
Thomas smiled at him softly, flicking the ledger in front of him closed. "Are you ready to return to the house?"
Vincent thought that was a very good idea.
Neither man remembered much of leaving Pride's, walking shoulder to shoulder through the streets until they found a hackney cab to hail, and travelling in silence to the Humphrey's London home. It seemed both men were contemplating the moment they would be standing outside Vincent's bedroom door preparing to say goodnight and yet somehow ending up, once again, in a passionate embrace.
The tolling of a clock further along the landing signalled the late hour, and with the greatest restraint of his life, Thomas pulled away. Only the previous evening, he had assured Vincent there was no rush to explore the pull between them, the tension that stretched from his groin to somewhere in his chest that bordered on his heart. And yet here he was, like a young man just out of the schoolroom sneaking kisses and amorous embraces in every darkened corner he could find. He forced himself to remember that a few days ago, the man had never been kissed; he refused to push him into anything he was not ready for.
"We should say goodnight," he said slowly, pressing one final, chaste kiss to Vincent's parted lips before pulling away. Where he'd thought to put distance, however, Vincent held firm. For a long moment the other man didn't say anything, didn't even raise his eyes from Thomas' chest where his fingers were knotted in the folds of his shirt. Eventually he seemed to make a decision on whatever he was considering, and he looked up quickly to ask one simple question.
"Or?"
Thomas froze. His heart gave one, almost painful thump. "'Or'?" He locked eyes with the other man, looking for any signs of hesitation or obligation. There was hesitancy of course – it was Vincent after all – but there was no wavering; he held his gaze without flinching. Most importantly, there was desire and the same urgency Thomas felt reflect back at him.
He grinned: he could work with 'or'.
.
It wasn't until the hour approached dawn that Thomas pressed a kiss to Vincent's shoulder blade and alighted from his room. He closed the door gently behind him, and couldn't help but pause. He stood there, grinning happily at the wood, for a quick moment before he roused himself; it would do neither of them any good if he were discovered there.
He turned and stepped away.
And noticed Matthew standing still at the top of the stairs with his eyebrows raised.
They blinked at each other.
Matt had his coat laid over one arm and his cravat loosened, but was otherwise dressed, if dishevelled. He leant against the railing, his hands in the pockets of his pants, and slowly inclined his head.
"Thomas," he said softly, by way of greeting.
For his part, Thomas looked far less put together. His boots, stockings, and coat were all gathered in his arms, his shirt untucked and unlaced. Honestly, they were both lucky he'd bothered to redress at all.
"Matthew." His mind swam as he tried to formulate an excuse for his presence. "I was just-"
The younger man interrupted. "Having a good evening?"
In some ways, he and Matt were too similar, Thomas thought briefly. The man was full of good humour and quick wit, and wanted to convince the world that he didn't take it too seriously. Normally, Thomas quite enjoyed his knowing smirks, but now that he was on the receiving end, he couldn't quite shake the feeling he was being toyed with. "Yes," he said cautiously, taking a few steps further away from the door. "And you?"
"Oh, it was good fun," his smirk was unerring, "though I'm rather glad I left when I did."
An awkward, surprised chuckle escaped Thomas' lips. Silence followed.
Deciding to put this unusual conversation behind them both, Thomas dipped his head and tried to excuse himself, but he only made it a few more steps along the landing.
"You won't hurt him."
It was neither question nor plea. It was an instruction, delivered with the same unnerving half-smile.
Thomas froze mid-step. The warning was clear, but so was the understanding. His eyes flicked up to Matt's, curious as to what he'd see. This man frequented his club, though he himself seemed set on women, encouraged Thomas to take his favourite brother to the venue, and now stood outside that brother's room in the early hours without a hint of shock or distaste on his face.
"Wait, you know-"
Matt shook his head instantly, straightening his posture. His smirk was absent now, replaced by a very un-Matthew-like seriousness. "That's not your secret to tell." Slowly, he climbed the stairs, joining Thomas on the landing. His tone was harder now. "Vin is my best friend. His heart is big – bigger, I think, than even he realises – and if you put a single crack in it, I will bury you." The threat was sincere, with none of Matt's unusual cheer.
He held Thomas' gaze for a long moment, making sure the other man understood. Then suddenly he smiled. "And never forget, I have two brothers larger than either of us and a tenacious ten-year-old on my side!"
Dutifully, Thomas chuckled, but from the corner of his eyes he considered the man in front of him once more. "You're a very odd man, Matthew Humphrey."
Matt grinned. "I could say the same about you!"
Thomas'brow quirked, and he offered a sage nod. "Many have."
~~~
Hello Lovely Readers!
EEEEEEEKKK! Please imagine me engaged in a happy little dance of joy that this chapter is finally finished!! I struggled SO HARD to write Pride's, let alone the progression of Vincent and Thomas' relationship, but now it's here and I'm very happy! Please let me know what you think, and if you have any thoughts about where this story will go before it draws to a close!
xx Flo