† Finnegan †
Barely ten minutes after Spencer left, Finnegan stood by the door to his room and preened his hair in the mirror. His client was due to arrive any moment and he must be presentable.
Working in the brothel was not his dream job, but it would not be anyone's dream job. He simply needed a stable existence and the ridiculously large earnings that came with working in the Promise of Pleasure. Once he had enough money to travel the world, he would seek a better life for himself.
He had, so far, avoided vampire clients. They mainly attended the more upscale brothels in the heart of the city; the places that could afford proper health care and finer establishments. Or they simply picked up a human and taught them the ways of a slave, within the comfort of their own homes. Sometimes, they even found the rare vampire slave, ready and willing to be nothing more than a bed mate in return for certain comforts and extravagances.
Finnegan had no chance of being so lucky. Those boys were always well groomed, with enough family money to elevate themselves through society circles, until they found someone willing to take them on full time.
When the knock on the door finally came, he had firmly reminded himself of his duties and position in life. He was here to serve, at their pleasure, until he could afford to support himself. Nothing more. Nothing less.
He opened the door with a ready smile, that faltered as he found an older gent standing on his doorstep. He was tall, with hair greying at the sides that suggested he had been older when turned. He walked with a cane held firmly in his left hand, his top hat in the other. He was dressed far too well for a man of these parts, so Finnegan could not help but wonder why he did not aim for the grander brothels that were nought more than a carriage ride away.
"Welcome." Finnegan recalled his manners and stepped back from the door, to invite his guest inside.
The man bobbed his head and stepped into the room, looking rather uncomfortable.
"May I take your hat and cane?" he asked politely.
The man turned to look at him, then again at the tiny top room he occupied. Rather reluctantly, he handed over the two items and crossed to the window. He was very quiet, compared to some of his other clients.
"A refreshment?" Finnegan offered, trying to encourage him to relax and speak up. But the man simply turned and shook his head.
"To tell you the truth, boy, I am not sure why I came," the man said, with a seriousness that surprised him. "I do not look for a companion or a whore," he continued.
Finnegan flinched at the term he most hated and backed over to the bed, wondering if this man was a danger to him. He had heard of some men who detested brothels and booked a boy, simply so they could beat him or capture him and parade him around their friends, in the street, to make an example of them. He would not be one of those unfortunate souls.
The man sighed and shook his head, before looking up. "A friend sent me here. A dear friend who insisted that it was high time I seek comfort for my lonely nights. Or attempt to find my life mate, though I doubt I would ever discover them here," he complained, turning his nose up at the room. "I was turned late in life, as you can tell, and the fates have seen fit to grant me a longer life than I deserved. I doubt that I will have a life mate at all, as I am not a true vampire, by birth. That suits me fine," he went on, verging on rambling.
"Now that I have seen you, living in this squalor, I think I shall leave before I catch some outrageously disfiguring disease. Or perhaps encourage you in this sham of a life you live," he continued.
Finnegan raised himself to his full six foot and crossed to stand in front of the door. "You will not leave, sir," he demanded, blocking the way. "Whether you sit and sulk in the corner in silence or exchange pleasant conversation with me, I do not particularly care. But you will remain, as you have booked my precious time. And if you leave now, I will be punished for it, as it will be assumed that I did or said something to insult you and I will never be trusted with another vampire client again," he warned.
"And what do I care of that?" the man asked. "It would do you good, son, to get away from this business."
The patronising tone of his voice drove Finnegan to his temper and he could not stop the words that flowed from his mouth. "I will have you know, sir, that I am in this business because my own parents threw me out of the house for my inability to be like my father and lust after women. I am only interested in men," he informed him, taking a step forward. "Without the proper schooling and thrown out of my home with nothing but the clothes on my back, I ask you, what profession do you believe I should have entered? What use would I have been to the world, if not to cater to rich, egotistical men like yourself, who have nothing better to do with their money than buy company?"
Finnegan took another half step forward until he was practically pressed chest to chest with the man before him. "There would not have been a business for me to fall back on, in my time of crisis, if there were not the demand for naked male flesh that enticed you here. You may protest all you wish to this being the whim of a friend, but you would not have come if not obscenely intrigued by the idea or panting beneath that top hat for a little male company," he said, releasing all of his pent up frustration on this man.
What right did he have to come into his home, on his time, and degrade the choices he had made? What right did this stranger have to judge his life, not knowing the circumstances that had led him here?
Feeling spiteful, Finnegan began to unbutton the man's overcoat as he spoke. "You came to me for a reason and no amount of blustering will disguise that. Now, you may sit and enjoy my company as though we are old friends meeting anew – we will play chess or discuss literature or science – or you may sit and sulk in a corner, dreaming of being home. Either way, you will not leave this building until our time is through," he threatened, keeping his voice low.
"You vampires believe you are superior to us humans," He scoffed, as he finished unbuttoning the coat and pulled it from the man's shoulders. "But we, at least, know the true worth of a man's time and give him his due respect. If you find my work so reprehensible, then you should imagine how it feels for me, to wait behind this door and never know who or what may walk through it, demanding their right to my body," Finnegan explained.
"I must lay back and allow any man who enters this room to have their will, no matter if that will hurt, disfigure or drain me. I have no say, if I wish to continue living under this roof," he reminded him. "And if I could not continue to live here, I may as well throw myself in the river this very night, for my life would not be worth living. This may not be the Rites of Passion or the Golden Boy, but it is a respectable house and my last hope of survival," he said.
Eyeing the man carefully, Finnegan raised an eyebrow and asked; "So which will it be, old man? Do I live or die?"
***
† Gustavo †
Standing there, backed against the door with no way out, the boy's hands tugging the collar of his shirt as his coat hung around his elbows, Gustavo was lost for words.
He had never seen such fire and life in one of these young men before. His dear friend Prince Parry had once again encouraged him to seek comfort in the arms of another, even if he could not find a life mate of his own. He had been set up on many 'dates', as his friend called them, but never with one such as this lad.
The first disaster had been at his own home, when he found the young lad Parry had hired for the night stealing all of his jewels and attempting to stuff them into the lining of his hat. Gustavo had thrown him out instantly and warned Parry that he would never allow another whore into his home.
The second 'date' had been at a public restaurant, where he met the man and had a pleasant evening, before returning to the brothel with him. It had been one of the more respectable places, as this poor boy had surmised. But the lad from the Golden Boy was no better than the first; he had spent most of the evening begging to be turned and slapped him twice, before asking desperately to be punished for it.
Gustavo had run out of that establishment as though the devil himself were on his heels. He was far too old to deal with young boys who wished to be slaves. If he had wanted that, he could easily have found a vampire willing to serve that purpose.
This boy, from the pitiful and shabby the Promise of Pleasure, was nothing but a surprise.
He was better educated than most he had encountered, tall and beautiful, in a plain and simple way. His dull brown eyes and lopsided smile were hardly considered desirable, but then, Gustavo was not an attractive man himself.
He was nearly forty when he was turned on his deathbed, by his friend Parry. There was no epic speech of loyalty and love, only the frustration that the Prince may never find such a good chess partner again, so he had been turned and they continued their friendship as though it had never been in jeopardy. The Prince had never mentioned his paunchy stomach or the crows feet by his eyes, that should rightfully have been eliminated upon his turning.
Unfortunately for Gustavo, his least attractive qualities remained, thanks to the severity of the illness that sought to take his life. The turning had been lucky to allow him to live and, as dear Parry put it, living an ugly life was better than dying a dull death.
So here he was; alone, old and staring into the eyes of a lad who was fighting to keep his company. Not for any romantic or financial motive, which he would have understood, but simply for his own gains. Just as Parry had saved his life.
"What is your name?" Gustavo asked, relaxing against the door, as he realised he could do nothing but stay and attempt to save this boy's life. If things were truly so hard for him, in a human life, then perhaps that was a better reason to stay than for his own needs.
"Finnegan," the boy replied, with a suspicious stare. "Are you planning to report me to the manager?"
"No." He smiled and tentatively reached up to clasp the boy's wrists. "My name is Gustavo and–" there he stopped, not sure what to say. Until he recalled something Finnegan had said earlier, "–and I would very much enjoy a game of chess."
And so began the strangest relationship Gustavo had ever had, with the most delightful young man he had ever met.