Title: Not the One

Author: Scribe

Fandom: Child of the Night (Dracula)

Pairing: Jamey Roswell/Jonathan Harker (Nicolae)

Sequel/Series:

Archive: Yes to lists I send it to. Otherwise ask.

Disclaimer: Hm, I don't know... I guess to be safe I'd better say the Jonathan Harker character was originally created by Bram Stoker, but I believe it is now in public domain. I make no profit off this.

Websites: http://www.angelfire.com/grrl/scribescribbles and http://www.angelfire.com/grrl/foxluver

Summary: Jamey Roswell is not The One--the one that Jonathan Harker vaguely feels he is waiting for, he belongs to. But Jamey has set his sights on Jonathan, and is not a man to be easily deterred.

Warnings: Non-consensual m/m sex

Notes: In Chapter 60 of Child of the Night, Jamey Roswell gave Jonathan Harker his first real kiss during a game of Spin the Bottle, and it confused Jonathan terribly. Though he felt instinctively that he was 'meant' for someone, and that someone was not Jamey, he couldn't help but be stimulated. Now Jamey's plans to go to the continent have fallen through, and he is once again in intrigueing, and possibly dangerous, close proximity to Jonathan.

Terms: You're going to think I made a mistake, saying that Jonathan went up three flights of stairs to the second floor. In Britain, what we refer to as the first floor is the ground floor, the next is
the first, the one after that is the second, ect. Guv'ner (governer)--British term used to refer to a superior in rank or authority. fortnight--two weeks. In Britain a pantomime is more than just acting without words. It's more of a comedy review.

Rating: NC-17

NOTE: Let me try to explain this story to you. I am in the process of writing a rather epic fanfiction based on the Dracula legend, called Child of the Night. It contains elements of the original book and the Tod Browning, Hammer, and Copolla movie versions, most strongly
influenced by the Copolla.

In it a still mortal Dracula (Draculea) falls in love with Nicolae, the bastard half-brother of his eventual wife, Elizabeta. It is his death that drives Draculea to blaspheme and take on the curse of vampirism. He waits over four hundred years for his love to be reborn.

Nicolae is reborn as Jonathan Harker. I have reached that point in the story now, and Jonathan/Nicu will go to Transylvania to meet the man who was his lover in a previous life.

In Chapter 60, while offering vignettes to give an idea of Jonathan's life, I relate an incident where, at his birthday party, he is kissed by another boy--Jamey Roswell.

That was as far as I intended it to go, but several readers expressed interest in Jamey. The more I looked at it, and thought about it, the more interested I became in this character, who was never meant to have more than a walk-on in the story. After a little thought, I decided to write this story.

This is very important--listen carefully. THIS IS AN ALTERNATE REALITY STORY. IT WILL IN NO WAY IMPACT WHAT HAPPENS IN THE REST OF CHILD OF THE NIGHT. THAT WILL PROGRESS AS IF THIS NEVER HAPPENED.

In a manner of speaking, I'll be writing fanfiction of my fanfiction. But if you're reading this right now, you can probably deal with esoteric concepts like that. :)

Not the One
by Scribe

Late Summer, 1891
London

Jonathan stepped down from the carriage, reaching back inside for his bag. The cabbie remained perched on his high seat. He knew this address was a school, and scholars were of two types--either poor, or rich enough to feel entitled to free extra services. When he brought a passenger to one of these toff schools, he wasn't likely to get a tip. When Jonathan had haled him he'd quickly assessed the boy's dress, and dismissed any chance of extra pay, so he could carry his own baggage. But he could still put up a front. He said flatly, "Help yer with yer bags, guv?"

Jonathan was already lifting down his satchel. "No, thank you. I can manage easily."

The driver extended his hand, "That'll be one bob." His tone said, 'and don't you try to argue about it.' He knew that it was a bit steep for just a trip from Victoria Station, but he'd decided to ask for more when he learned his passenger's destination. He would, of course, back down if the boy protested too strongly. The last thing he needed was to be reported for inflated fares.

The boy set his bag on the sidewalk and reached into his pocket. He stretched up and pressed money into the driver's hand. "Thank you."

The cabbie blinked at the two coins. Besides the demanded shilling there was a thrupence, and he was sure that the lad could ill afford the extra expense. The boy was rapping the brass knocker on the front door, and the cabbie lifted his voice, "Thank yer, guv'ner!" Usually he would have felt contemptuous of someone who tipped for substandard service, but there was something about the open, friendly smile that the lad threw back over his shoulder that was different from his usual run of customers. He had a feeling that the boy was really seeing him. The cabbie tipped his hat and drove off, for some reason feeling a little more cheerful.

Jonathan rapped again. Term hadn't started yet, but there should still be at least one or two people in the building--it was never empty. But the teachers never answered the door, the students weren't allowed to, and any servant available might be busy in the depths of the building. He waited patiently.

Finally he heard the bolt being thrown, and the door opened a cautious slit. He smiled. "Hello, Jenkins."

The elderly houseman opened the door, studying the boy in surprise. "Lord, Mister Harker, you're back early! I didn't expect the first of the students for near a week."

He reached for the satchel, but Jonathan pulled it back, shaking his head. "No, don't trouble yourself, Jenkins. As I've tried to tell you before, I'm far from crippled." He entered and paused while the older man carefully relocked the door. It was never left unlocked, not even for a moment. Well, the undesireable neighborhoods seemed to be creeping closer and closer. There was no telling what might be roaming about the streets.

"Well, I'm glad that we've gotten your room cleaned, at least. I'm afraid you'll be a bit lonely till the others begin to arrive. Me and the lads won't have time to be of much company." Jenkins had two 'lads' (actually young men not much older than Jonathan) to help him with the housework. Usually he wouldn't have bothered to make this statement to one of the school's boarders, as few of them actually thought of the staff as anything other than a convenience. But young Harker was alway kind and courteous, and treated them as equals.

Jonathan went to his room, trudging up to three flights of stairs to the second floor. Normally the rooms up here would be relegated to the servants of the household, but here they were delegated to the less prosperous students, while the servants slept in the basement.

Jonathan didn't much mind. Though he had to share his quarters with two other boys, the room was fairly large. The room's position in the winter was an advantage--though it didn't have it's own fireplace, two chimneys pass through the room. Their radiation, and the heat that rose from the lower portion of the house made it rather cozey. But in the summer time...

Jonathan dropped his case on his bed, grateful that it was nearest the window. The servants hadn't bothered to draw the shade, so Jonathan raised it. He unlocked the window and tried to raise it. It wouldn't budge. Jonathan sighed. *I thought that the heat might have dried the wood a bit. What will it be like when the autumn damp makes it swell even more?*

*I'll have to try harder. We still have some weeks of hot weather, and it will be stifling if I can't have a bit of a breeze.* Jonathan removed his jacket, hanging it neatly over a chair, then undid his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves. Such casual attire was only allowed in the students' bedrooms, and he'd have to neaten his appearance before he went back downstairs. It looked as if this was going to be a strain, though, and he was already beginning to sweat.

Once again he checked to be sure the latch was undone, hooked his fingers under the wooden frame that held the glass, and strained upward. He strove until his shoulders ached, and his arms were trembling. Usually it didn't bother him that he was not as robust as some of the other boys, but now he found it frustrating.

He gave up with a sigh, resting his forehead against the warm glass, thinking. It was so much cooler in the country, and the old vicar he'd been spending summer with for the last few years had been vague, but kindly. Jonathan hadn't wanted to end his summer holidays early, but the old gentleman had been growing frail. His sister, who kept house for him, had made it clear that she no longer cared to have another person to tend to.

*It's just as well that this is my last year,* Jonathan thought sadly. *I wouldn't be welcome back again.* He sighed again. *Father and Mrs. LLewylen won't be best pleased about this, either.*

"Good heavens, Harker, you look as if you'd just been informed of the end of the world." Jonathan jerked, startled. He hadn't heard anyone come in, didn't expect anyone to even be on this floor, and the drawling voice caught him by surprise.

He turned to see Jamey Roswell lounging casually against the doorframe, grinning at him. A quick prickle ran up Jonathan's spine, and he had a sensory memory that came and went so fast that he almost didn't recognize it. For a split second it was as if he were standing in a cool, dim hall, feeling strong hands on his arms as he looked into bright, green eyes, just before firm lips descended on his own. He hastily pushed the memory of that birthday kiss last summer from his mind.

"Roswell! What are you doing here?"

Jamey pushed off from the door and sauntered toward him. "My, you're forgetful. I'm a fellow student."

"Yes, but I thought you were done. I thought you'd be on the continent by now, in Paris or Venics."

"Ah. Change of plans. My uncle died."

"Oh." That one three word sentance made it all clear. Jamey's uncle had been Lord Toynsbee, Duke of Clairidge. Jamey's father, being his younger brother, would have inherited the title and estates on his brother's death, and Jamey would have become the future Duke. His circumstances had been comfortable before, but they were now much improved. "I'm so sorry."

Jamey shrugged. "No need to be. He was a distinctly unlikable person. The only thing I can say in his favor is that he was a confirmed bachelor, so Father inherits." He came closer. "I must have arrived no more than five minutes after you. I expected to be the first. Why are you so early?"

"I lost my summer place. The vicar isn't well, and his sister thought it would be better for him to have the house to himself."

"In other words she decided she didn't want to do for two. Now, what are you up to that's gotten you so flushed?" He reached up and pushed a thick lock of hair off Jonathan's damp forehead. "You'll do yourself a damage, exerting yourself in this heat."

"I'm trying to remedy that, but the dratted window won't open."

Jamey opened his eyes wide in mock horror. "Harker, swearing? You MUST be frustrated." Jonathan couldn't help smiling. "Really, what have you been up to?" He wiggled his eyebrows. "Anything naughty?"

"I'm just trying to open this window so I don't suffocate. Jenkins had the place turned out, but not aired, and it needs it desperately."

"There IS a simpler solution. Come down and stay in my room for a day or two. I've got a private one this term--no roommate to clutter up the place."

"That's generous of you, but it isn't allowed."

Jamey rolled his eyes. "Harker, in case you haven't noticed, the headmaster isn't here. The teachers aren't here. No prat of a Head Boy is here. All there is are the servants, and they don't care. In fact, they'd probably appreciate it. It would give them less work."

Jonathan hesitated. Stay in Jamey's room? The idea was appealing. Jamey was friendly, and fun, and Jonathan sometimes wished that he wasn't so alone. But there was something a little disturbing about the idea, too. Jonathan evaded the suggestion. "I still need to open this window."

"If I help you, will you agree to at least visit me in my room?"

"Of course."

Jamey clapped his hands, rubbing them together. "Right! I think we can shift it with a joint effort. Grab hold of it, old boy." Jonathan turned back to the window and gripped the frame again. Jamey reached past him, an arm on each side, and took hold of the frame, too, his hands brushing Jonathan's.

"Now, then," Jonathan stiffened a little as he felt Jamey's chin rest on his shoulder, the older boy's warm breath fanning his ear. Jamey shifted closer, his body pressing against Jonathan's from behind. "On the count of three we give the old heave-ho, right? One..." He paused. Jonathan could feel his breath beginning to speed up. Finally Jamey said, "Two..." His voice was almost a whisper. Jonathan blinked, feeling a sweat droplet slide down his temple. "Three."

Jonathan threw all his strength into the uppward motion. He felt Jamey's arms, running along his own, tense. At the same moment the older, bigger boy's body pressed against him firmly, pushing Jonathan's crotch against the window sill as his own pushed against Jonathan's rump.

There was a squeal, and the window slid halfway up with a jerk. Jonathan fell forward, face bouncing against the glass. Instantly Jamey released the window, his arms going around the younger boy's waist. "Careful, there! It's a long way to the ground."

"I'm all right." Jonathan shifted, settling himself more steadily on his feet.

"Are you?" Jamey released him, but then settled his hands on Jonathan's shoulders for a moment before sliding his hands down his back. He patted Jonathan, then stepped away. "Good."

Jonathan pushed the window the rest of the way up. He rested his hands on the frame, over his head, and bent to the open space, closing his eyes and breathing deeply as a current of slightly cooler air blew against his face. He didn't see the expression on Jamey Roswell's face as he watched this. "This is so much better," Jonathan murmured.

"Yes, well, come on down to my room and let this oven cool off for a bit." Jonathan reached for his jacket, and Jamey slapped his hand playfully. "Leave that!"

"But I can't go downstairs in my shirtsleeves," Jonathan protested.

Jamey sighed. "Harker, as I told you, none of the guv'ners are here now. Honestly," he threw his arm around Jonathan's shoulders and led him toward the door, "I'd half think that you sleep in a collar and cuffs."

They went down one flight of stairs. The most desirable rooms were on the first floor, away from the traffic of the ground floor, and more spacious and comfortable than the ones on the second. Jamey led Jonathan to the best room on the floor. It was situated in the back corner where it was shaded in the early morning, and it had a beautiful view of the back garden.

Jonathan had never been in one of the first floor rooms, as he hadn't been friends with the more affluent students, and he felt a little awkward. There was a large trunk at the foot of the bed, and one of the houseboys was in the process of unloading clothing. "You can take care of that later," Jamey told him. "I'm sure you have other things to be doing. Oh," he sorted through his pockets, then pressed a few coins into the man's hand. "You remember the arraingment we had last year?"

The man nodded cheerfully. "'Deed I do, sir. Any particular time?"

"Just have it here by this evening." The man touched his forehead, gave Jonathan a slight bow and a speculative look, and left. Jamey noticed Jonathan's curious look and smiled. "It's a secret. I'll tell you later. Come and see what I've brought with me."

They spent some time examining some of the things in the trunk. Jamey showed Jonathan the silk shirts, and his new set of evening clothes, complete with gold and onyx studs and cuff links. Jonathan greatly admired the new shaving set, especially the gleaming straight razor with the mother-of-pearl handle. He was near despair, as his own cheeks were still smooth. There were several pots of slick, pleasant smelling ointment that Jamey said his mother had insisted on giving him "Because she said my skin would dry and chap this winter. Here," He dipped up a bit and rubbed it on the back of Jonathan's hand, "I can only use it at night, really, because it takes so long to be absorbed into the skin. Don't want to walk about with my face shiny." He was still massaging. "It IS nice, though, isn't it?"

Jonathan ducked his head. It felt odd to have Jamey holding his hand, rubbing the ointment on with slow, almost sensual motions. He spotted something else in the trunk and reached for it, breaking the contact. Jamey didn't seem offended as Jonathan lifted out a thick sheaf of heavy, creamy paper, tied with a thin satin ribbon. "Also from my mother," Jamey informed him. "She hopes it will encourage me to write." He watched as Jonathan delicately stroked the smooth paper. "You like that, don't you, Harker?"

Jonathan shrugged as he reluctantly laid it back in the trunk. "I enjoy writing. You must know that--you gave me that splendid calligraphy pen for my birthday."

"Yes, I was rather proud of that. I flatter myself that it was your favorite gift. Your face lit up when you opened it. I think your love for writing is second only to reading."

"I confess that I'm hard pressed to say which I enjoy more." Jonathan's eyes lit on a slender book tucked half under a pile of handkerchiefs. He pointed, "What is that? A journal?"

"No." Jamey picked the book up and quickly riffled its pages. He paused at one point, eyes scanning it, then closed it and tucked it under his pillow. "When father took possession of the manor house, I helped out in inventorying the library, and he said I could help myself to whatever I wanted." Jamey's eyes twinkled. "Uncle had an extensive collection of rare and exotic books. I removed most of them to my rooms, but I couldn't resist bringing this one. If you're very good, I'll show it to you later."

There was a soft tap on the door, and Jamey called, "Come in."

It was Jenkins. He didn't seem surprised to find the two boys together. "Ah, Mister Harker. Good, this saves me a trip up the stairs. I was wondering if you two gentlemen would very much mind taking your evening meal in the kitchen? The boys have begun polishing the table in the dining room, and I'd like to give it a few more hours for the finish to set before we use it."

"No problem, Jenkins." Jamey clapped Jonathan on the shoulder. "I'll be taking Harker out for supper, and perhaps a bit of entertainment."

Jenkins looked unsure. "Sir, you know that students are not to leave the premisis after dark except with special permission."

"Jenkins, correct me if I am wrong, but Harker and myself are not even supposed to be in residence right now."

"Yes sir, that's true."

"Then be a good man and just pretend in this case that we aren't." At the older man's hesitation, Jamey continued, "Heaven's, man, I'll have him back before midnight. He won't turn into a pumpkin." When Jenkins still frowned, Jamey sighed. "Look, you needn't worry about us. We'll take cabs wherever we go. And we won't be babes in the woods. The last couple of years my uncle Darius gave me quite an education in the ways of the world." He smiled. "Or at least the
ways of London."

"Very well," Jenkins said uneasily. "I'll have one of the lads stay in the hallway to let you in when you return. Please, sir, no later than midnight? We can't sleep late like you fashionable folk."

He left, and Jonathan said, "Jamey, what are you thinking of? My father would have apoplexy if he knew I was wandering about the city at night."

Jamey dramatically threw himself across his bed on his back, arms outstretched. "Oh GOD, Harker! You're eighteen years old, and it's time you grew up a bit." He propped himself on his elbow and pointed at Jonathan. "And I'm just the man to drag you, kicking and screaming, into adulthood."

"But I can't afford it," Jonathan protested. "I used most of my pocket money just getting here. Father won't send me more for a fortnight."

Jamey got up and went to him. "Don't be a nit, Harker. As I said, I'm taking you out--that means it's my treat," Jonathan started to speak, "and before you protest, this is another belated birthday present. Please don't insult me by throwing it back in my face."

Jonathan hesitated. *I should be thrilled and excited. I've never had a chance to dine out, and the only entertainments I've seen were those that the entire class attended--concerts and pantomimes. I AM excited, I suppose. But why do I feel uneasy, too?*

There was no polite way to decline. Jonathan smiled graciously. "Thank you, Jamey."

Jamey returned the smile. He patted Jonathan on the shoulder, saying, "I promise you, Harker," his hand lingered, "tonight will be life changing for you."

Part 2

"Now," Jamey clapped his hands and rubbed them together. "First we'll go to a music hall, then supper, then a little club I know of." He cocked his head, studying Jonathan, his nose wrinkling. "You've sweated a bit. You'll need a quick wipe down and a fresh shirt."

Jonathan nodded. "The ones in my bag shouldn't be creased." He started for the door. "I'll just go get one, and..."

Jamey had been sitting on the bed. Now he hopped up and gave Jonathan a quick shove, causing the other boy to sit. "I'll go." He pointed at the pitcher and basin sitting on his dresser. "You go ahead and start sponging down. Won't be but a tic."

Jamey sprinted up the stairs, humming cheerfully to himself. When he'd come back to school early he'd only been anticipating a chance to visit some of his more disreputable haunts without having to go through the motions of presenting a respectable facade to the school staff. Finding Harker here, at loose ends, was a gift, a positive BOON.

Harker's traveling case was sitting on his bed. As he opened it, Jamey thought, *Narrow little bed.* He smiled as he lifted out a shirt. *He'll be much more comfortable in mine.*

Jamey smoothed his hand over the shirt. It was simple cotton. He wondered if he could get away with buying him something a little nicer. Silk might be a bit much, at least at first--perhaps some good linen. He'd probably protest. Jonathan wasn't easy with accepting gifts--not that he'd had much experience with it. "Well, I'll just tell him it's an early Christmas present," he murmured.

He started to turn away, but paused, glancing back at the open case. He set down the shirt and reached into the bag, lifting out a neatly folded pair of drawers. He shook them out.

They were much smaller than his own, since Jonathan was more slender. He rubbed a pinch of the fabric between his fingers. It was cotton, too, but it was much thinner, worn soft and smooth by many washings. *Good. He should have soft things next to his skin.*

Not really hoping, Jamey brought the garment up and pressed it to his face, inhaling deeply, hoping for a scent of the sweet body that it had encased, but there was only the faint smell of soap. He sighed regretfully, lowering it again. Jamey slid his hand into the drawers. The material was so thin and light that he could clearly see the shadow of his hand. He imagined seeing Jonathan clad in these. His hair was so dark, he'd be able to see the shadow of his nether hair, perhaps even the outline of his cock. Jamey felt his own cock stir in appreciation as he contemplated this.

*Why didn't I do something before now? He's been here almost as long as I have. Christ, the time I've wasted. Well, I don't think he'd have been ready before now.* Jamey was tempted to take the drawers and try to persuade Jonathan that he needed a change of underwear as well as a fresh shirt, but he knew he wouldn't have much of a chance. Instead he folded the garment and replaced it. *Hell, he may not be ready NOW.* Jamey picked up the shirt, smiling to himself. *Ah, well. Ready or not--here I come.*

When he opened the door to his room, Jamey paused. His gaze was riveted to the scene on the other side of the room. Jonathan's shirt was draped across the bed, leaving him stripped to the waist. He had his back turned, and had one arm lifted, elbow crooked, and was wiping the sparsely furred pit with a damp cloth. Jamey admired the smooth play of muscles across his back and shoulders as he moved. Clothed, Jonathan Harker looked a bit thin--unclothed he was revealed to be slender, but well muscled.

Jamey cleared his throat as he shut the door, and Jonathan turned. A faint flush mounted the other boy's cheeks as he quickly crossed his arms over his chest. Jamey could just see the coppery disks of his nipples, soft and flat against his chest, and he had to hold back the wolfish smile he could feel trying break out. Instead he drawled, "Oh, stop acting like a dewy maiden, Harker, and finish your wash. One would think you hadn't spent the last ten years living in close quarters with other men."

Jonathan hesitated a second longer, then lowered his arm and dipped the cloth back into the basin. Jamey admired the flex of his long, elegant fingers as he twisted the excess water out of the cloth. "I thought I'd be finished before you came back," he confessed. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be silly." He watched as Jonathan swabbed his other pit, then swabbed his chest. The cool swipe of the damp cloth made the skin of Jonathan's nipples crinkle slightly, and Jamey had to resist the urge to go to him, push his hand and explore. He wanted to see which would most quickly draw them up into sweet, stiff points--his fingers or his mouth. He had to shift slightly as Jonathan wiped his belly, cloth skimming the flat plane over his waistband.

Jonathan dropped the cloth back into the basin. "Do you have a towel? I can't very well just walk about half naked until I dry."

"Oh, I don't see why not. There should be a hand towel in the top drawer, but," he got up, approaching the other boy, "you're not done yet." He took the cloth, wringing it out briskly. "Turn around." Jonathan looked at him, his head tipped slightly down so that his hair tumbled across his forehead in a dark wave. Jamey sighed, twirling his finger. "Around! You need your back washed, idiot child."

Jonathan turned obediently. "That's better. May you always be so co-operative." Jamey wanted to take his time, but he knew that he'd get excited if he allowed his hands to linger on the smooth skin, and it was too soon to try anything. So he just gave Jonathan's back a quick, efficient wipe, then pulled the hand towel out of the top drawer and dried his back. Instead of handing the towel over to his friend, though, he took Jonathan's shoulder, turning him, and continued to scrub him briskly, from shoulders to waist.

He was about to stop when he noticed something intriguing. Harker's nipples were half hard now. Just before finishing he ran the cloth over Jonathan's chest again, teasing with the slightly rough fabric. Jonathan didn't quite gasp, but his breath was drawn in a little more deeply. When he laid the towel on the dresser, the nipples were firm buds. Before he could do anything more and panic the younger boy, Jamey picked up the fresh shirt and pushed it into Jonathan's hands. "Here. Hurry up, or we'll miss the first act. I'll be out flagging down a hansom. Meet me on the street." He left.

Jonathan finished dressing quickly, borrowing Jamey's silver backed brush to neaten his hair. He paused for a moment, examining his reflection in the mirror, frowning. He combed the hair back down so that it fell over his forehead, studying the effect. The hair would almost cover his ears if he didn't brush it back--it was time for a haircut. *It should be longer,* he thought. *He'd like the way I look with longer hair.* Jonathan wasn't sure who he meant by 'he'--though the thought that it might be Jamey never entered his mind. It was just that for as long as he could remember he'd felt that there was someone out there that he belonged to, someone who belonged to him.

He also knew that this someone was a man. At first, as a child, he had just accepted this unquestioningly. It seemed right. As he'd grown older he'd learned that such feelings were not acceptable if the person was of the same gender, and he was still confused by that. How could what seemed to be so natural and integral to his nature be wrong? He never discussed it with anyone, and tried to push it from his mind. When he realized that Wilhelmina Harker liked him more than just a little, he'd been relieved. She was a sweet, pleasant girl, and she became his friend. She hinted that she wanted to be MORE than his friend.

Jonathan didn't really like to think about that. While he knew that marriage was the accepted way of the world, the idea of sharing his life with Mina... Well, it just wasn't anything that he truly WANTED. He supposed that he WOULD marry her in a year or two. They got on together, were even fond of each other, and they were well matched socially. It meant nothing, Jonathan told himself, that when he looked into Mina's eyes he kept thinking of cool blue instead of brown.

Jonathan quickly pushed the vague musings back into the corner of his mind where he'd locked them away when he first began to mature. When he'd been thirteen, and his body had begun changing, reacting in strange, wonderful, and frightening ways, he'd turned his back on the dreams and daydreams he'd had all his life, trying to ignore them for what he knew was the more conventional leanings of his classmates. He swept his hair back into place ruthlessly and went downstairs to join Jamey.

Jamey was waiting at the curb, chatting to the hansom driver. As Jonathan arrived the man quickly hopped down from his perch and opened the cab door for them. Jamey might be a student, but his dress and manner marked him as affluent--he would receive much better service than the obviously middle-class Jonathan had.

Jonathan watched the street, wide-eyed, as they moved into the seedier section of London. He'd passed through it like this a time or two, but he'd never actually spent any time in any area that wasn't thoroughly respectable.

The traffic, both of carriages and of walkers, increased till the cab had to creep along. Jamey watched with amusement as the different emotions flitted across Jonathan's open expression.

Jonathan was fascinated by the gaudy dress of both the men and the women. All the more mature women in his life had worn almost painfully respectable gowns. He hadn't spent much time with younger women, and their dress hadn't been much more exotic. Besides the neutral shades there were ladylike pastels and a few deeper jewel tones, but this... Screaming reds, bilious greens, even an orange that rivaled the tangerine he'd once found in the top of his Christmas stocking. And the men did not leave the peacock shades to their companions. He saw some patterns on vests that he wouldn't have believed existed except in someone's fevered imagination.

The hansom slowed to a stop, and the little door in the roof opened. The driver peered down and said, "You 'ave a bit more to go, guv, but it'll take me till th' show's 'af over, what wiv this crowd."

"Very well, we'll get out here." They exited the cab and Jamey began to rummage in his pockets for the fare while Jonathan looked about with wide-eyed interest.

He didn't go unnoticed. A young, clean, neatly dressed, obviously well bred young man was a rarity in this area, guaranteed to attract attention. A couple strolling on the sidewalk paused, studying him and Jamey. The man whispered in the woman's ear, and she nodded. Letting her shawl slide down her arms to show off her bare shoulders, she sauntered over to the dark haired young man and gave him a wide smile. "'ello, ducks."

Jonathan looked at her in surprise. He wasn't used to strange women speaking to him, but he instinctively responded with courtesy. "Good evening, Miss."

She laughed, "Oh, Miss, is it? Yer just as perlite as yer are pretty. Want some company?"

Jonathan felt confused. "I'm sorry, but my friend is taking me to the show. I can't leave him," he explained.

"Thas' awright." The woman was studying Jamey as he tossed coins up to the driver. "'e looks like a toff. I could keep yer bofe company, easy enough."

Jamey turned back to find a whore trying to chat up Jonathan. He was amused by the woman's cheek, trying to solicit his friend almost before his feet struck the pavement, but her sort of entertainment wasn't on the slate for tonight. He stepped over to them, taking Jonathan's arm. "Sorry, Judy. Not tonight."

The woman cocked a painted eyebrow, pursing her lips as she eyed Jamey's possessive stance. "Oh, it's that way, is it? Awright, ducks. Dint mean to poach on yer territory."

She strolled back to her companion, shrugging expressively. The man shook his head, frowning, and called, "Yer sort take the bread from poor workin' girls mouths," before herding his woman toward another man.

Jamey steered Jonathan up the street toward the music hall. "Move, lad. If you stand there and gawp the dollymops will be over you thick as flies on honey."

"She wanted to join us," Jonathan said. "Is she a friend of yours, Jamey?"

"Good lord, no! Whatever gave you that idea, Harker?"

"Well, you knew her Christian name."

Jamey laughed. "Oh, you ARE an innocent! Harker, a Judy is a woman of low repute, a fallen woman."

Jonathan's eyes rounded, "You mean a... a..."

"Prostitute. Yes, Harker, she was trying to solicit you."

"But, I don't understand. She said something about both of us." Jamey cocked an eyebrow. Jonathan reddened. "Oh. And her friend..."

"Was her pimp. Don't be so shocked--they're just providing a service. Here, stick close to me while I get the tickets." He laughed. "You know, many of these acts are promoted as being educational. I think your education has already started."

Jamey bought tickets for the best seats, in a box close to the stage. They had to share it with only four other people, all of them men of approximately their class. They were greeted with casual friendliness, the other men extending the camaraderie of men out on the town.

Jonathan had a wonderful time. The variety of the acts astonished him. There were acrobats who piled themselves into tremendous human pyramids and threw their bodies about in amazing and alarming ways. There was a juggler who could keep an astonishing number and variety of objects in the air at once. There was a dog act where the animals danced, leaped through hoops, and seemed to answer mathematic questions with barks. Jamey wasn't impressed. He said that if anyone could ever train cats to do the same thing, THAT would be a sight to see. There were singers, some of who encouraged the audience to join in. Jonathan couldn't, as he knew none of the popular songs, but Jamey sang along lustily. The dancers all wore scandalously skimpy costumes--arms, shoulders, and even legs quite bare. These women seemed to intrigue his box companions, and he heard the men discussing the possibility of getting backstage to meet this one or that one.

When the show was over they had no trouble finding another cab. Cabs were not frequent in this neighborhood, but the drivers knew there would be some more affluent customers looking for transportation. Jamey instructed the driver to take them to where the business district began to give way to a residential area, and they alighted before what looked like a substantial building of flats.

The door was answered by a very large, stern looking man, who eyed them carefully. He apparently decided they might be acceptable, and bowed slightly. "Good evening, gentlemen. Have you a reservation?"

"No, but I do have this." Jamey extracted a card and handed it over.

The attendant scrutinized the card, and his expression relaxed into a respectful smile. "Indeed, sir!" Then his expression became grave. "We were greatly saddened to hear of your uncle's death, sir." He stepped aside, inviting him in. "Of course there is a place for you and your friend. Please enter."

Inside, Jonathan examined the interior with great curiosity. It looked like a perfectly normal upper class home, though perhaps there were a few more doors along the long front hall than he would have expected.

The attendant said, "Common room, sir?"

Jamey shook his head. "No, no, I'll want a private dining room." The attendant glanced at Jonathan, and Jamey said, "JUST the dining room."

The attendant bowed again. "Very good, sir. This way, please." They were led down the corridor, almost to the back of the house, and ushered into a very small, but elegantly appointed room. It held nothing but a sideboard, a small table, and two chairs, but the rug was rich, the wallpaper tasteful, and the paintings on the wall, while not old masters, were well done.

They sat, and the man produced a menu, the bill of fare written in a clear, neat hand. He handed it to Jamey, then stood, awaiting their order. Jonathan was a little puzzled when he did not receive a menu also. "What would you like, Harker?" Jamey asked.

"I can hardly know, till I know what they offer," Jonathan couldn't keep a faint tone of reproof from his voice.

"Oh, sorry. Here," Jamey stood and moved his chair till he was sitting on the side next to Jonathan, rather than across from him. He showed his friend the menu.

There was quite a selection, but Jonathan frowned. He whispered, "Jamey, there are no prices. How can I tell what it costs?"

"You can't. You're not to think about price, Harker. This is a treat--remember? In any case, you needn't worry--I won't be paying for this tonight. Uncle set up an account for the family, and the solicitor will take care of it at the end of the month. Now, show me what you want." He leaned his head closer to Jonathan's, murmuring, "I only want you to be happy, dear boy." He patted Jonathan's cheek. There was something about his smile that made Jonathan feel a touch uneasy. "Please remember that."

Part 3: Introduction

Jonathan stared at the menu, forehead crinkling. Jamey said, "Come now, Harker, don't tell me that you can't read it?"

Jonathan felt himself flush. "I only took one semester of French."

"What? But you HAD to have a language other than Latin."

"I studied Hungarian with Mister Lugolas."

Jamey blinked. "What on earth FOR?"

Jonathan shrugged. "It was the only Slavic language being offered." Jamey gave him a disbelieving look, and Jonathan explained, "Every other man entering the business world will know French." He smiled. "How many will know Hungarian?"

Jamey blinked in surprise. "That's very clever of you, Harker! Bravo. Now then, shall I order for you?" He started pointing out different items on the menu, and Jonathan became absorbed in it. He'd never gone hungry, but the food had always been plain. The menu offered exotic and elegant items that he had heard of, but never tasted.

The waiter gave Jonathan a glance, then leaned toward Jamey and murmured. "Les huîtres sont très efficaces."

Jamey arched an eyebrow. "Je n'ai pas besoin d'aide dans ce secteur. Vous êtes trop familier." The waiter bowed apologetically. Jamey looked at Jonathan, watching as he thoughtfully bit his bottom lip, studying the menu. He shook his head minutely, smiling to himself, and said, "How about a half-dozen oysters as a starter?"

Jonathan made a face. "The vicar had them once on his birthday. Then entire household was ill for two days."

"That is because they were carted off into the hinterlands, and sat in a barrel God knows how long before they reached your table. Here, you get them with the kiss of the sea still fresh upon them. They oysters," he told the waiter. "You needn't have any if you don't want, Harker, but I am CERTAINLY not going to pass up such a delicacy. We'll get a bit of caviar, too, I think. Then potage clair, truite d'amande and médaillons de veau, and we'll let THEM decide on the sides, eh?"

"Well, I know that potage is soup and truite is trout, so it sounds good." He fidgeted a bit as Jamey returned the menu, and finally said, "Will we be having sweets?"

Jamey regarded him with amusement. "We certainly will, if you want it, but let's wait a bit. Now, as to the wine." He looked at the waiter. "I'll trust you on this--just don't try to foist on us some over-priced swill with a better reputation than taste."

As the waiter left, Jonathan murmured, "Really, water will do me very well, or perhaps milk..."

"MILK?!" Jamey sounded horrified. "Good GOD, Harker, it is my sacred duty to drag you into civilization. You can have your water, but I expect you to take at least a few sips of the wine. You have to start somewhere."

When the starters arrived, Jamey instructed Jonathan on how to eat the caviar, spreading it on toast and sprinkling it with a bit of minced onion and flaked egg yolk. He watched in amusement as Jonathan munched thoughtfully. "Well?"

"It's a little odd, but nice," Jonathan concluded. He watched as Jonathan lifted one of the oyster shells, squeezed a lemon wedge over it, and tipped the contents into his mouth. Jonathan winced. "I don't see how you can do that. It's ALIVE."

"There's something to be said for that." He offered one. "Try it." Jonathan sat back a little, eyeing the oyster suspiciously. "Come on. You never know--you might like it."

"I don't know."

Jamey wiggled it enticingly. "Try one, or no sweets."

Jonathan blinked. "I think that's blackmail."

"Haven't you noticed, Harker? I'm a wicked man, willing to do anything necessary to get my way. Come on, now--just one. You might even enjoy it."

Jonathan accepted the shell, holding it gingerly. Jamey quickly squeezed a lemon wedge over it.

"I don't chew it?" Jonathan asked.

"No, you do NOT bite," Jamey advised. "Just hold your breath and let it slide straight down your throat." Jonathan took a breath, closed his eyes, and brought the shell to his lips. Jamey watched with a small smile as the other boy tipped his head back and slid the pearly, quivering oyster into his mouth and gulped. "Well?"

Jonathan licked his lips, brows drawn together. "Odd, but not nasty, like I thought. It tastes rather salty."

"Do you think that you could learn to like it?"

Jonathan shrugged. "I don't know. It isn't as if I'll have the opportunity to develop a taste for them."

Jamey patted his hand. "I promise you that I can provide all you desire."

They finished, with Jonathan happily making his way through a large slice of gâteau de chocolat. He'd drunk about a half glass of each type of wine. He stood up very carefully after Jamey had signed the check. "I believe I would have actually gotten tipsy if I had drunk much more," he observed.

On the way out, Jamey threw his arm around the other boy's shoulders. "But you needn't worry about that, Harker. After all, you're with a friend. I'll look after you. Now, then, we'll finish the night off with a trip to a little place I think you'll like."

Jonathan felt a little uneasy. "It's not a public house, is it? If my father found out I'd been in a tavern."

"No, it's a private club, only members and guests. I'm a legacy, from my uncle, and you're MY guest." There was a hansom waiting for them, and Jamey beckoned the driver to lean down, murmuring the destination to him.

The driver's eyebrows went up as he looked at the two young men. "Yer sure about that, guv?"

Jamey rolled his eyes. "Yes, I'm sure."

"Mm. Front entrance, or back?"

"FRONT," said Jamey coldly.

The cabbie shrugged. "No offense meant, guv. It's just that yer both look a bit young ta be members o' that place. I usually takes tha 'guests' round ta tha back."

As they climbed in Jonathan said, "I'M a guest."

"Not the sort of guest he means, Harker." This puzzled Jonathan, but he didn't ask for an explanation.

The drive was not long. They alighted before another large house, one that was well lighted. Jonathan noticed several elegant carriages parked on either side of the street, the drivers clustered under a gas streetlamp, talking. They quieted and watched the two young men walking up to the front door, then again began talking animatedly.

A man dressed in dramatic livery, black and scarlet, answered the door. He eyed them closely, frowning. "Are you trying to ruin us? Go to the back."

He started the close the door, and Jamey caught it, saying sharply, "You had better be more sure of your judgment." The man paused, taking a closer look at Jamey. His expression became doubtful. Jamey took out a card case, flipping through the cards, selected one, and passed it over.

The man handed it back, bowing deeply, "I AM sorry, Mister Roswell. It's been a good while since you last visited us." He looked at Jonathan, saying, "I apologize for misjudging you, sir."

They entered. Jonathan heard the murmur of many quiet conversations coming from different rooms. There was also music--piano and violin, and someone was singing.

"Let's go into the main salon--you don't need to go to the gaming rooms." As he steered Jonathan into a large room just off the main hallway he said, "Oh, and Jonathan? You're not to go upstairs, no matter how anyone coaxes you, do you understand?"

"Certainly," Jonathan knew that certain areas of all clubs were off-limits to non-members.

"Good. You're not ready for the upstairs."

The room was very large, almost the size of a small ballroom. There were fireplaces on two sides, and a large mahogany bar across the back of the room. There were a scattering of footmen in the club's livery, all watching the club members and guests with eagle eyes--ready to leap into action to fetch a drink, light a cigar, or run an errand.

Most of the other occupants of the room wore either evening dress or good suits, though Jonathan was surprised to see a few men dressed in flashy, cheap clothes. These seemed to be the youngest men, most of them probably even younger than Jonathan. They were all exceptionally handsome, Jonathan thought absently, and they were invariably surrounded by several older, attentive gentlemen.

What really surprised Jonathan, though, was that there were several ladies present. Or perhaps, judging from the vibrancy of their dress, he should say 'women'.

"There's a seat," said Jamey, steering Jonathan toward it. Jonathan sat, and Jamey called a footman over. "Bring him a brandy." When Jonathan started to protest Jamey said, "Don't be silly--do you want to look completely out of place? Just hold it if you don't want to drink it. I see a friend of my uncle's over there. Just sit tight, and I'll be back soon."

The footman brought the drink and Jonathan sat holding it, looking about, wide-eyed. Some of his classmates were well to do, but Jonathan had never been in the presence of so many of the upper class.

"Well, well, well, what have we here?" The voice was warm and husky. Jonathan looked up to find a woman standing before him. She was tall and slender, and she wore a gown of jonquil yellow trimmed with bright green. Her hair was a bright copper that Jonathan found a bit doubtful. If it hadn't been for her dress or her obviously false hair color, Jonathan would still have known she wasn't quite respectable, because her face was painted. Her skin was powdered white, save for the bright patches of rouge high on her cheeks, and her lips were shiny crimson.

Despite the evidence that she was a bit common, Jonathan stood up, giving a small, polite boy. "Good evening, miss. Would you care for a seat?"

She spread her hand over her bosom. "My word! Such a polite thing it is! Yes, thank you, I'd be pleased." She settled lightly on the small sofa, and Jonathan sat beside her. "Since there is no one here to give us a proper introduction, we'll have to do the honors ourselves." She offered her hand. "I am Andrea."

Jonathan waited a moment, then when he realized that a surname was not forthcoming, took her hand and said, "I am honored, miss. My name is Jonathan Harker."

She gave his hand a squeeze, and her grip was surprisingly firm. "Charmed. This is your first time here, Jonathan? I'm here most nights, and I know I haven't seen you before. I would have remembered such a handsome young buck."

Jonathan was a little taken aback by her casual use of his given name. *But I've never been to a club, so I don't know how they do things. I suppose they don't stand on ceremony.* "No, this is my first visit."

"Did you come with someone, or were you recruited?"

Jonathan looked at her, uncomprehending. "Beg pardon?"

"Oh, come now, pet. There's nothing to be ashamed of it they brought you in." She studied him with shrewd eyes. "You'll do very well here. In fact, I believe that you might even find yourself a good friend who'd like to have you to himself."

"My friend Jamey Roswell brought me. He's about somewhere."

"JAMEY Roswell? Oh, no, pet, not Jamey! He's far too young to be able to do it up right. Now, his Uncle Darius is another matter. Rich as Midas, and quite generous," she tapped him on the shoulder with an ivory fan, "provided you're willing to be generous in return."

"I don't understand."

"Darling, really! You can't mean that..."

"Andy, dearest, shut your cake hole." Jamey, carrying a brandy, came up behind the sofa. He leaned over and dropped a peck on the proffered cheek. "Jonathan, don't listen to her. She's the most godawful tease in the entire club." He came around and sat on Jonathan's other side, casually laying his arm across the back of the sofa behind the other boy's back.

"Rosy, I've just been having a chat with your delightful companion. Where on earth did you find him?"

"Right under my nose, if you can believe it. He's a year behind me in school."

"No!" She looked at Jonathan with bright, delighted eyes. "You've brought us a schoolboy!"

"No, I have't," Jamey's voice was firm.

"Rosy, you can't be so cruel as to dangle him and not..."

Jamey stood up quickly. "Come with me for a moment, Andy." The walked a few paces away, and Jamey whispered to the woman. She turned yearning eyes back toward Jonathan, but Jamey gripped her arm, speaking even more firmly. Finally she nodded, gave Jonathan a small wave, and went to join another group.

Jamey watched Andrea (known as Andy, born Andrew) till 'she' was situated with another group, thinking, *I'll just never understand what some of the members see in creatures like Andy. If I want a woman, I want a woman. If I want a man, I want a man.*

He went back to Jonathan. "Come on. There are a few people I want to introduce you to. And for heaven's sake, sip that brandy! It isn't going to kill you." He led him over to a group of men, thinking, *And since I had a word with them, I don't have to worry about them saying anything to alarm you. They know what it's like to try to coax a reluctant innocent along.*

It was a pleasant evening. During the few social events he'd attended, Jonathan had been considered too young to be of interest to the adult men. After one or two rote questions about his school work he was always dismissed to join the younger guests, but these men spoke to him as if they believed he had a brain, and knew how to use it. He was caught up in the conversation, and was a little surprised when one of the footmen discreetly asked if he'd like another drink. Jonathan looked and, sure enough, the glass was empty. He didn't remember drinking it. He'd already had more alcohol than he'd ever had before. *Almost more than the sum total of my drinking to date,* he thought. *I don't want to look foolish.* He declined politely.

Finally Jonathan jogged Jamey's elbow. "It's half-past eleven, and we're supposed to be home by midnight."

"Oh, very well." Jamey pointed. "Go tell that man to call us a cab. I'll be with you in a moment." The little group watched Jonathan as he walked away, and Jamey said, "You can all congratulate me now."

The group laughed. One of them said, "You conceited dog! Yes, you've done very well for yourself, Rosy. Is he really a virgin?"

"I'd stake my immortal soul on it."

"Well, I'll take that as an affirmative, but we all know very well that you'd happily hazard your soul for something that delicious. Will you be bringing him back? Do say yes--I'd love a chance with him."

"Cool down. If all goes well I might, but I'll warn you now that I'm going to be a selfish cow, at least at first."

Another man shrugged. "Can't blame you for that, old boy. Beautiful, innocent, and clean. That's the sort you want to set up in a little flat so that you can have a cuddle and a tumble whenever you want."

"I don't think so," Jamey demurred. "Perhaps if he was of the lower class he might be practical, but he's middle-class, through and through. Far too respectable to be a kept boy, I'm afraid. Still,"

Jonathan was hovering near the door, looking back toward Jamey. Jamey sucked his teeth thoughtfully. "I do believe we'll come to some sort of an understanding."

Part Four: Seduction

Notes: The hose are NOT ladies nylons or silk hose. They were more like fine woolen socks. Just remember that they didn't HAVE elastic topped socks then. Dishabille--The state of being partially or very casually dressed. Casual or lounging attire. An intentionally careless manner. Notions Small lightweight items for household use. kanurd--drunken, dickey--a man's detachable insert (usually starched) to simulate the front of a shirt

On the ride back to the school, Jonathan sat forward, putting his face near the open coach window. Jamey watched him, amused. "Good lord, Harker, don't tell me you're tipsy?"

Jonathan, looking a little sheepish, sat back. "Well, I had wine with supper, and then that drink at your club. I'm not used to spirits."

"Then you need to begin cultivating your tolerance. Social drinking is an important part of most business, Harker."

Jonathan glanced sideways at Jamey. "Surely not? Surely people would be more confident in a sober businessman."

Jamey sighed dramatically, as if saddened by Jonathan's naivety. "Of course they won't want to do business with some gin soaked sot, but..." he held up a finger, as if making a point, "they don't trust a man who won't drink with them. You know very well that every society dinner ends with the women going to the parlor for sherry, and the men indulging in brandy and cigars." Jonathan wrinkled his nose, and Jamey laughed. "No, you don't have to take up cigars, bur really, you MUST learn to hold your liquor. We'll start your education tonight."

They were dropped at the school, and Jamey gave a discrete rap at the door. A voice from inside called, "Yeah?"

"Open up, you sodding git. The wand'ring boys are home." There was a laugh, and the door was opened by the same houseman who had come to Jamey's room earlier. As he locked the door, Jamey said, "Did you get it?"

The man turned back to him with a cheeky smile, and Jonathan wondered at the man's boldness. It was true that Jamey wasn't as class conscious as some of the students, but... Jonathan remembered the quick way he'd put the waiter in his place, and wondered that he allowed the servant this familiarity.

"Did at that, guv'ner. It's up in yer room..." he tipped a smile at Jonathan, "awaitin' your pleasure."

Jamey didn't scowl, but there was something warning about his expression. He tossed the man another coin. "Good. Get to bed, then, and be quiet about it. Come along, Harker."

At the first landing Jonathan said hesitantly, "I've had a splendid time, Jamey. Thank you."

"What? Oh, no, Harker, we're not done for the night yet." He took Jonathan's arm and pulled him toward his room.

"But Jamey, it's almost midnight."

"So? It isn't as if you'll have anyone routing you out of bed in the morning. We can lie about till luncheon if we see fit. In any case, I'm not ready to let you go yet. Come on, and I'll tell you all the high society gossip." Jonathan started to say something, and Jamey waved the statement off. "Yes, yes, I know--you don't gossip. But I'd wager your little friend Mina does, and wouldn't she just hang over you if you could tell her a few juicy tidbits?"

Jonathan allowed himself to be led into Jamey's room. "All right. It will be nice to visit for a bit before I go to bed."

"Yes, yes. We don't get to be alone together to just TALK nearly often enough." He locked the door. "Always someone bursting in." He took off his jacket. "Come, come, Harker. It's rude to be more elaborately dressed than your host." Jonathan obligingly removed his own coat, then, a bit more slowly, removed his vest when Jamey did so, also. Jamey untucked his shirt. When Jonathan hesitated, Jamey quickly reached over and jerked the tail up from his waistband. "I'll not have you sitting about constricted, Harker. It makes me jolly uncomfortable. Now to see what our below stairs friend left us. Do the tie, too." Jonathan unknotted it, but left it threaded under his collar, the ends dangling. Jamey sighed and rolled his eyes. "I suppose I should be grateful that you don't insist on a dickey and cummerbund."

He turned down the coverlet on the bed, then reached under the pillows that he'd revealed. "Ah-hah!" His voice was triumphant as he pulled out a bottle of brandy. He smiled at Jonathan. "You're looking at me as if I were dangling a snake."

"Jamey, you could get in SO much trouble! We both could."

Jamey shrugged. "We won't. A generous quarterly tip insures that the prefect gives the room only a glance when he does inspections. Now then, I expect you'd rather not drink straight from the bottle. Glasses, glasses..." He opened the door in his nightstand and took out two thick white porcelain mugs. "I suppose cups will have to do."

He kicked off his shoes and hose, and climbed up on the bed. Sitting cross-legged he said, "Well, don't just stand there. Hop up." Jonathan started to climb up, and he pointed, voice severe, "Take off your shoes and socks, you daft boy! The liquor can be concealed easily enough, but if you get street grime on the sheets there WILL be a fuss."

Jonathan knew that the casual dress was supposed to make him more comfortable, but it was really having the opposite effect. He wasn't used to being so dishabille, and it made him a bit nervous. He felt as if at any moment one of the teachers might walk in and scold him for appearing downstairs in such a careless state of dress.

As if reading his thoughts, Jamey said, "For God's sake, RELAX, Harker. No one is going to burst in and dress you down for not dressing up."

Jamey leaned over to his nightstand and got a small penknife, which he used to cut away the wax seal. The knife was replaced, and he next came up with a small corkscrew. Jonathan couldn't help smiling faintly as he watched his friend twisting the screw into the bottle's cork. "You have stationary, ointment, a penknife, a corkscrew, mugs... You have a veritable notions store here."

Jamey grinned as he eased the cork from the bottle, "Harker, you have no IDEA what I have here." He poured golden liquid into both cups, corked the bottle, then offered a mug to Jonathan. "But all shall be revealed--eventually."

Jonathan lifted the cup to his lips, then hesitated. "Go on," Jamey urged. "Just sip slowly." Jonathan took a swallow, then coughed. Jamey nodded. "Good effort. Have a bit more." When Jonathan gave him a doubtful look, Jamey offered, "It will get easier--believe me."

They talked, Jamey telling Jonathan society gossip, as he had promised. Jonathan listened attentatively, sipping at the brandy. His cup never got more than half empty before his host refreshed it. Jamey was right--it DID become easier to drink it. The burn in his mouth and gullet lessened, and he had to admit that a most pleasant glow seemed to have settled in the pit of his stomach, and started to spread out. In fact, a delicious lightness had moved into his head, while conversely his limps felt heavy.

His attention began to wander to the interesting sensations, and he was only half aware of Jamey's chatter. "...insisted on hiring a FEMALE secretary. Well, his wife went directly to her solicitor to see if she had grounds for divorce. She didn't, of course." He snorted. "These days she'd need eye witnesses to flagrant infidelity, a black-and-blue face from abuse, and proof that he'd tossed her out into the streets. You know, my uncle said that the time was coming when MOST secretaries would be women. Something about their dainty fingers being better suited to the typewriting machines. I don't see it, though. I don't think the wives would allow it, and are you listening to me at ALL, Harker?"

"Hm?" Jonathan looked up vaguely. He blinked owlishly, then said slowly, "I'm sorry, Jamey. I think I may have drunk too much."

Jamey cocked his head, interested. "Do you, now?" He took Jonathan's mug and set it on the nightstand with his own. "Let's find out." He climbed off the bed. "Stand up."

Jonathan obeyed. Rather, he TRIED to. He got his feet on the floor and went to stand up. Something went wrong. It felt like he was floating, and as he neared upright, the floor suddenly seemed to tilt. He sprawled back on the bed with a small yelp of surprise.

Jamey laughed. "Oh, dear! Yes, I do believe that you're kanurd." When Jonathan made a questioning sound he said, "Drunk to you, you nit."

Jonathan struggled upright, and put his hand out quickly to brace himself against the wall. "Oh..." He shook his head, but that only made it worse, and he had to put BOTH hands on the wall to stay standing. "I heard jokes about the floor tilting, but I always thought it was exaggerated."

"So, now you know. What do you think of it?"

"I'm not sure." Jonathan turned to put his back to the wall, tipping his head back and gazing at the ceiling. "The room feels as if it's revolving," he said matter-of-factly.

Jamey laughed softly. "Harker, you're past kanurd into pickled." Jonathan pushed himself away from the wall and very carefully walked to the foot of the bed. He picked up his jacket and examined it, frowning, as if he were trying to work out a puzzle. "What are you doing?"

"I should go to bed." After a moment's study he found the armhole and managed to slip his left arm into it (after two attempts) only to find that it was actually the RIGHT sleeve.

Jamey pulled the jacket away and turned to toss it on the chair with Jonathan's vest. When he turned back, Jonathan was fumbling with his tie, trying to wind it into a passable knot. "Stop that!" Jamey scolded. He pushed Jonathan's hands away and quickly finished untying it, jerking it free. "You'll strangle yourself in the state you're in. Look, Harper," he gripped Jonathan's shoulders, his voice confiding, "Let's be sensible. You're in no shape to climb those stairs. You'll end up at the bottom, with a broken neck. Just think of how that will annoy the headmaster."

"I could crawl up," Jonathan said.

"Please! A gentleman does NOT crawl about, no matter how soused he gets. He calls a servant to help him along. No, Harker, you'll just have to spend the night here."

"I could go sleep on the davenport in the library," Jonathan offered.

Jamey took Jonathan's face in his hands, staring straight into his eyes, and said, slowly and clearly, "You can break your neck just as easily on those stairs as you could on the others."

"Oh. Yes, of course."

"You'll sleep here. There's plenty of room in that bed for both of us." *And if you suggest one of the other perfectly good empty beds on this floor, I'll just tell you that they're not made up, and the servants would be annoyed. That should be enough to convince you.* "You're staying." It was a statement, not a question. Jonathan nodded. "Right. I suppose I'd best get you something to sleep in, then. I don't suppose you sleep nude?" A slow flush began to creep up Jonathan's cheeks. "No, I didn't think so. I'll..."

"Actually, I do." Jamey gazed at Jonathan, eyes widening. The blush heightened. "Not when I'm here at school, because it's against the rules, but when I'm away..." He trailed off. "The nightshirts just seem strangling sometimes."

"I quite agree."

"But if you have a shirt to loan me, I'd be grateful."

Jamey bit back a sigh. *No, of course it couldn't be that easy.* "Well, I'm like you in that respect, Harker. I only wear them when I must. But I have a spare you can use."

He went to the dresser and returned with two voluminous nightshirts, tossing one to Jonathan. Jonathan reached up to catch it, and missed. It settled over his head, and he just stood there for a moment. Jamey burst out laughing, imagining the baffled expression that nightshirt must conceal. He was proved right when Jonathan pulled the garment off his head. "Hurry and get undress, Harker. You need to lie down before you FALL down."

Jonathan dropped the nightshirt and began to unbutton his shirt. It was rather odd to see those slim, elegant fingers moving with such clumsy slowness. Jamey watched, not bothering to try to hide his interest, sure that Jonathan was too drunk to notice, or attach any significance to it if he did.

Again he appreciatively considered the pale skin, the well-formed body. Jonathan wasn't the hearty, husky type that embodied this era's image of masculinity. He was a bit slender, but the muscles flowed smoothly and firmly. Without his clothes he didn't look the least bit weak. He was fine-boned, but it was the lean elegance of a thoroughbred.

Jamey suddenly realized that Jonathan, his hands on the fastenings of his trousers, was looking at him, puzzled. *Oops, caught staring. Not good.* Jamey quickly began to strip out of his own clothes, and Jonathan went back to disrobing. Once his attention was back on his own actions, Jamey went back to observing the other boy.

He was disappointed when, after removing his trousers, Jonathan slipped into the nightshirt. His hopes rose, though, when the boy slid off his drawers and deposited them on a chair, with the rest of his clothing. Jonathan sat heavily on the bed again, and Jamey resumed undressing, moving with deliberate slowness. He hoped that he would be able to attract Jonathan's attention, much as the boy had attracted his own. Jonathan didn't stare--he had rather expected that. Oh, but he DID look. His eyes would flick back to Jamey now and then, before darting away again. *Oh, there's curiosity there, yes indeed.*

Jonathan tried to concentrate on the way the room seemed to be gently swaying back and forth, but he was distracted. It wasn't as if he'd never been around other men disrobing. He shared a room with three other boys, after all. But somehow this was different. There were only the two of them, and he had just spent the evening socializing with Jamey. Somehow it seemed much more intimate.

He blushed furiously and looked away as Jamey casually pulled off his drawers, but still he got a glimpse of the thick, pale cock, resting against a wiry tangle of sandy hair. He felt weedy next to Jamey's height and breadth. Roswell looked elegant in his clothes, but unclothes he looked... primitive. There was something very raw and almost overwhelmingly male about him.

There was the rustle of cloth, and he heard Jamey, amused, say, "You can turn back around, Harker." When Jonathan looked, he was buttoning up the shirt. "I haven't struck you blind, have I?" He didn't know what to so, and Jamey just shook his head. "Oh, go on. Get into bed. I'll dim the gas."

Jonathan crawled under the sheets while Jamey turned the gas jet by the door down till it was only a tiny blue speck. Then he went to the one by the bed and turned it down till the room was lit by only a dim glow. He went to the trunk and rummaged in it, then came back, carrying two objects. "I want to use some of that lotion my mother sent me, and I promised to show you this." He handed the slim book to Jonathan.

Jonathan eagerly opened the book to the first page, then frowned. "Les Affaires d'un Notoire Jeune Homme. Jamey, it's in French! I won't be able to read it."

Jamey opened the jar and dabbled his fingertips in the cream. "It means The Affairs of a Notorious Young Man. You don't have to read it--just look at the pictures."

Jonathan perked up. "Oh, it's illustrated?"

"Yes, indeed. There are even color plates."

Jonathan turned the pages slowly and carefully. "Yes, here's one. This must be the young man in question."

"Yes, I remember that." Jamey rubbed lotion into his palm, working his hands together. "A fairly comely boy. Keep looking." *I can't wait to see what you make of the next one.*

Jonathan turned pages. He stopped suddenly, and a pink flush crept up his cheeks. "Jamey, what sort of book is this? This... there's a drawing of a woman with bared breasts here."

"That would be the chambermaid who first seduces him."

"This is about... about carnal acts?"

Jamey laughed softly. "What did you THINK it would be about, Harker? It's called the AFFAIRS of a young man. Did you think it would be a listing of routes and business meetings? Don't act so shocked--it's just a bosom." Jonathan gave him a worried glance, but kept turning the pages. He quickly dropped the book, eyes flying wide open. "Ah, you've reached the picture of the picnic."

"Jamey, they're both NAKED! You can clearly see his member. He's..." Jonathan almost choked.

Jamey remembered that the young man in that picture had been rampantly aroused, his sex swollen out of proportion with his body, a hand wrapped around it. *And since that book did not fall directly over your lap, I can see that you're beginning to get into the same state, my dear.* Jamey simply nodded.

Jonathan tried to make him understand. "He had his head between the woman's legs, he was looking right at... at her sex."

"Oh, he was doing more than LOOKING at it, Harker." When Jonathan looked puzzled, Jamey quickly wiggled his tongue at him.

Jonathan's expression was both fascinated and horrified. "No! I refuse to believe it. No one would do something like that."

"Oh, it's not so bad, as long as she's clean." Jonathan's mouth dropped open. "Yes, I have. But it's not what I prefer. Keep looking."

"I couldn't!"

"Oh, go on! How are you going to make your way in the world if you don't know what's out there?" He rolled his eyes. "Dewey naiveté is prized in maidens, Jonathan, but it's a liability to a man. Now, go on. It won't bite you."

"Jamey..." Jonathan protested.

"I said go on. There's only one more." Jamey's voice was firm. Jonathan blinked. His entire life had been spent obeying people with that tone in their voice, and he was too befuddled now to remember that this older boy had no authority over him--that he did not HAVE to obey him. He slowly picked up the book again as Jamey stood up and reached for the gas jet.

The book fell open to another color plate. The image presented was so alien that for a moment Jonathan honestly could not comprehend what he was seeing. He thought that it must be another image of simple coitus, though it did seem odd to him that the woman would have her feet up over her lover's shoulders. Then several facts struck him. There were no breasts. The supine partner's chest was quite flat, though there WERE two dark spots that had to represent nipples. The active partner's member seemed to enter his lover's body at an awkward angle. Then one other fact suddenly struck him like a thunderbolt. There was a thick, stiff cock lying flat along the bottom partner's belly. Jonathan realized that he was looking at a carnal act he'd never even imagined--sexual intercourse between two men.

The light went out, all save for the two blue specks of the dimmed gas flames, and he felt the bed dip beside him. A hand passed before his face, and he blinked slowly. "Good Lord," Jamey drawled. "I've stunned him." The book was removed, and firm hands pressed Jonathan back till his head touched the pillow. "Lie down, you innocent. You'll survive."

Jonathan stared up at the unseen ceiling, his thoughts a kalaidiscopic blur. He squeezed his eyes shut, only to have an image of the last picture form in his mind. How was that possible? He found himself wincing. Didn't that hurt? Would anyone ever submit to such a thing willingly?

He found himself fidgitting, feeling far too warm, wishing that he dared strip off the strangling nightshirt. It was true that he did not usually sleep nude, but sometimes...

His attic room at the vicar's had sometimes been sweltering in the summer, even with the windows left open. There were times when, hoping for a breeze, he had stripped and stood in the open window, gazing out at the night. The window opened onto the back garden, there were no near neighbors, and the vicar and his sister had been abed early, so there was no chance of being seen. He would stand there, staring up at the stars, feeling the cool brush of air against his naked skin, and think of his future. He would imagine travelling far away: beyond the places that most British considered exotic enough--Paris and Italy. He wondered what it would be like to roam the older parts of Europe, close to the old Persian empire. What would it be like to explore the Balkans? What sort of people would one find there?

His mind was pulled back from his contemplation of the past when Jamey shifted beside him. Jonathan swallowed, finding himself very aware of the weight of the body on the other side of the mattress. *Why am I so warm? Is it the brandy?* Yes, he remembered the burn as it traced its way to his belly, and the glow that had started in his belly. But this... this was different. This was lower, heat pooling in his crotch.

He flinched when he felt a hand on his arm, and Jamey whispered, "What's wrong? Can't sleep?"

Jonathan rolled his head on the pillow. He could just make out Jamey's face. *So close. Have I EVER been this close to anyone?* He spoke before he realized he was going to say anything, and he knew his words made no sense. "I don't understand."

Jamey smiled at him softly. "I know, and it's all right." Jonathan closed his eyes in relief. He felt a hand card through his hair, almost like his mother used to do when he was restless, and it was soothing... comforting. Jamey's voice was husky. "I'll take care of you, Jonathan."

Part Five

A sliver of moonlight crept through the curtains, barely illuminating Jamey Roswell's room with a pale silver glow. In that light the boy lying beside him looked almost ethereal, but Jamey had his hand in Jonathan's hair, stroking his fingers slowly through the soft, dark mass, and he knew very well that Jonathan Harker was solid flesh.

"Jonathan?" Jamey whispered. Jonathan made a tiny motion of his head, indicating that he was listening. "Jonathan, do you remember your sixteenth birthday?"

A small smile, those beautiful lips curving just a touch. "'f course," the voice was slightly blurred. "Just last year."

"Just a few months ago, really. What do you remember about it?"

Jonathan sighed softly, dark brows pulling down slightly as he thought. "I had a party... supper party, like a grownup. Never had a child's party, straight to grownup. Father didn't want to bother."

"Your father's a toad, Jon." Jonathan's smile grew, so Jamey continued, "A great, squatty, knotty green one." Jonathan bit his lips. "I'm surprised you aren't all over warts." Jonathan finally laughed, and Jamey smiled in triumph. *Make them laugh, and they're half yours.* "It was quite a pleasant little to-do, Jonathan. You're a good host, though you DID have to be nudged in the right direction with the games. You remember the games?"

"Um, Packing My Trunk, Gossip..." His lips twitch. He was fighting back another smile. "That tickles, when someone whispers in your ear. You almost have to laugh."

Jamey leaned down and whispered in Jonathan's ear, "And what did we play AFTER that, Jon?" Jonathan DID giggle, his shoulder rising to push Jamey away, but Jamey was persistent, holding the shoulder down, his lips grazing Jonathan's ear. "Come on, now. You remember."

"Spin the Bottle. That one girl--Cassie, was it? She was SO scandalized."

"What happened during that game?"

Jonathan fell silent, going very still. His eyes slitted open just a crack, then shut tight as he tried to roll on his side, away from Jamey. "Sleepy now."

"No you don't, m'lad!" Jamey gripped Jonathan's shoulders firmly, pinning him to the mattress. "What happened? Do you remember?" Jonathan opened his eyes slowly and regarded Jamey warily. "Oh, yes," Jamey breathed, "Yes, you remember." He cocked his head. "You've tried to forget, haven't you? You would, but you haven't been able to." Jamey leaned a fraction of an inch closer. "I haven't been able to forget either, Jonathan."

He kept his left hand on Jonathan's shoulder, but he lifted his right, and touched the other boy's face, rubbing his thumb over one high cheekbone. "I thought about you all summer, you know. I kept remembering what it was like there in that hallway--dim, warm, and close--because it was so narrow. And the scents... Do you know that smell makes up a great deal of memory? It's fixed in my mind. There was a hint of cabbage from the sprouts that were served at dinner... Oh, just a very small trace--Llewellyn need not be shamed--it's almost impossible to cover up. There was, mmm, lemon and beeswax, because I expect she'd had your scully scrubbing and polishing all day."

"We don't have a scully," Jonathan said faintly. "A girl comes in twice a week."

Jamey's hand moved, and he tapped Jonathan on the nose in playful admonishment, making the younger boy blink owlishly. "You're trying to evade the subject. There was a floral scent. God, that Cassie twit had DRENCHED herself in violet water. And you. There was soap, and... bay rum." He smiled, and his finger stroked down Jonathan's cheek. "You'd shaved, but I don't think you needed to. You scarcely do now. Soap, bay rum, and something else--warm and musky. Do you know what it was, Jonathan? It was... just you. Your very own scent. I told you that I'd been wanting to kiss you for a long time, Jonathan. That's true again."

"Jamey," Jonathan whispered, "that was a game."

Jamey nodded. "Mm, yes--a sweet game. And it was fun, wasn't it?" His hand slid down Jonathan's throat. "I think there are many games you haven't played. I can teach you."

"I..." Jonathan shook his head. "No, Jamey. It wasn't right."

"Jon," Jamey's voice was mildly scolding. "Really, you MUST overcome this middle class prejudice. You're going to have to deal with all sorts in your life, you know. There's nothing WRONG with it, as long as no one is hurt."

"Jamey, I meant... I... I don't love you."

Jamey sighed, smiling. "Oh, you poor, sweet little innocent. I LIKE you, Jonathan, but this isn't love I'm offering you--it's desire. There's nothing wrong with that."

"But there IS."

"Honestly, Jon!" Jamey moved. Jonathan made a soft sound of surprised distress as his friend flipped down the covers, then half covered him with his own body. Jamey lay, pressing his upper body to Jonathan's, pinning him even more firmly. "Look, aside from making marriage contracts and babies, union with a woman offers no great advantages or virtues. If you want cooking and cleaning you can hire a maid for far less than it would cost to keep a wife, and take your pleasure where you will."

"No, it isn't right, Jamey. I'm not saying it isn't right for you. I... your nature is more... more..." Jamey cocked an eyebrow sardonically. "Open. Generous?"

Jamey smiled. "Yes, I like that word--generous."

"But it isn't right for me. There's someone... I belong to them. It wouldn't be right for me to be with anyone else."

"Ew!" Jamey made a face and singsonged, "Miiiiiiiina!"

"No."

Now Jamey was surprised. "No? Not little Miss Murray? Then who?"

"No one you know."

Jamey shook Jonathan's shoulders. "Come on, give. Tell me, Jon." He gave the other boy a sly look. "Tell me, and we'll consider this ended. Satisfy my curiosity and you can sleep the sleep of the innocent once again."

"I can't tell you. I... I don't know myself."

"WHAT? Oh, bloody hell, Jon! Do you mean to tell me that you're saving yourself for your One True Love?"

"Yes." Jonathan's chin lifted.

"Oh, that's just... just..." Jamey was shaking. He burst out laughing. "Oh, that is so bloody precious! You know, I half expected that you'd found someone to pluck your cherry this summer--if not Miss Mina, then some sturdy country squire might've tumbled you in a haymow." His smile faded a little, his expression becoming more intent. "I'm ever so pleased I was wrong."

"I think I should go to my own room now."

"What? After a revelation like that? Oh, no, no. You'll stay right here, laddie buck. I have SO much to teach you."

Jonathan gasped. "Jamey, you said you'd stop if I told you."

"IF you told me who you loved. But even YOU don't know, so I'm afraid that the renders the whole agreement moot. I feel no obligation to turn you loose. Give us a kiss, Harker."

"I don't want..." Jamey swooped down, pressing his mouth over Jonathan's parted lips, and his tongue flicked quickly inside. Jonathan tried to pull back, but that just forced his head deeper into the pillow, and Jamey followed him down, never giving a fraction. The only other time in his life Jonathan had ever experienced anything even remotely like it had been that birthday kiss--and it had the same effect.

His senses swam with confusion, but a bolt of sensation seemed to spear from his mouth down through his body. He could feel his nipples drawing up into tight, hard points. Heat pooled in his groin, and he could FEEL his pulse throbbing there. When Jamey lifted his head, Jonathan gasped, "Stop it, Jamey! I told you I didn't want to."

"Tsk, tsk, Harker--and you're usually so honest." Jamey lifted slightly, and Jonathan tried to push his hands away when he felt the older boy working the buttons on the front of his nightshirt. Jamey chuckled, and somehow the sound wasn't as good-natured as his usual laughter. "Stop it, Jon. You're far too drunk to put any real obstacles in my way." The shirt was open almost to his waist now. Jamey's hands slipped inside, nimble fingers finding the thrusting copper peaks. He pinched lightly, rubbing his thumbs over the suddenly sensitive tips, and Jonathan found himself arching up into the touch. "And you're far too randy to pretend you're not enjoying this." Jamey bent, and Jonathan moaned in surprise and pleasure as he engulfed his right nipple and sucked strongly, flicking his tongue. Jamey used the weight of his body to keep Jonathan pinned to the mattress, because his friend was still squirming weakly. *The darling idiot doesn't know what he really wants. It's my duty to show him.*

Jonathan's squirming had rucked his nightshirt up his thighs. Jamey pushed it up, over his hips. He pulled back a little, wanting a good look at his prize. It was one of the most erotic sights Jamey had ever seen. Jonathan was sprawled, loose limbed, the alcohol fogging his sensibilities preventing him from tensing, no matter how distressed he was. His body almost gleamed in the moonlight that filtered through the window. Jonathan's hair and eyes, his nipples and his pubic thatch, were like shadows against the pale perfection of his skin. And his cock... Jamey sighed in pleased admiration. It arched slightly, already firming.

But while he was admiring, Jonathan took the chance to try to escape. He made a clumsy effort to roll away, but Jamey easily pushed him back. "You're not going anywhere now, Jon--not until we've both had a bit of fun."

"Jamey, truly, I can't do this."

"You don't have to do anything tonight, little boy. Just lie back and let Jamey take care of you." Jamey wrapped his hand around Jonathan's prick, squeezing and stroking. Jonathan groaned, eyes closing. Jamey could feel the immediate thickening, and he laughed again. "You can't lie about this, not to me."

With his free hand, Jamey impatiently lifted his own nightshirt. He was aroused, his cock rigid and eager. He was tempted to simply jerk Jonathan's legs wide, lifting his feet up to his shoulder, spit in his hand, slick his cock, and fuck the boy senseless. *But no, Jamey. As much fun as that would be, it would hurt the little darling--body and feelings. He'd run far and fast, and, damn it, once isn't going to be enough with him. I must treat him tenderly.*

Jamey pushed Jonathan's thighs apart and settled himself between them, reaching between their bodies to bring their erections together. Then he embraced Jonathan tightly, kissed him again, and began to thrust against him.

"Jamey, please!" His words were muffled by Jamey's mouth pressing to his own. Jonathan tried to shove the other boy off him, but his arms were caught at his side. His head was spinning, and his body didn't seem to want to obey him.

He arched, trying to buck Jamey off, but it had an unlooked for effect. It slid his cock against Jamey's as they were pressed between their bodies. Jamey's head jerked up, and he stared down at Jonathan with eyes gone dark with passion. "God, YES, Jon!" He began to move more quickly, his cock painting warm, slick smears on Jonathan's belly.

Jonathan felt his testicles drawing up to his body, tight and heavy, and then--it was happening. Jonathan had never touched himself to the point of orgasm. By the time he'd reached the age when his body was awakening, he was living closely with other boys, and there was never any privacy. The incidents where he'd awakened after a troubled sleep to find his sheets damp and sticky had caused him horrific embarrassment.

The other boys had teased him unmercifully, asking who his sweetheart had been in his dreams. He couldn't explain that he had no clear memory. It was all fragments and sensations. But... But he had somehow known, even at the beginning, that his dream lover was not a woman. No, the hands that caressed him had been too large, too strong. The body pressing down on him had been big, and hard... and it HAD been on him. He had never dreamed of himself in the superior position, and somehow it had seemed right--natural. But now... Now it seemed to be happening, and it was all wrong. It was wrong because Jamey was not the one he was meant to be with. Though he couldn't really voice this belief, he felt it on a soul deep level, and the way his body was responding to this unlooked for, unasked for lover both shocked and saddened him.

But he had little time to reflect, because he was experiencing his first fully aware orgasm. He cried out, clutching instinctively at Jamey as his seed jetted out, slicking their bellies. Jamey went still, holding the younger boy as he shuddered, hips jerking, smugly watching the emotions flitting across Jonathan's face. The pleasure was clear, but so was the distress. "There, now," he crooned. "Wasn't that nice? Mmm..." He rubbed his face against Jonathan's chest, again nipping at the still firm nipples. "You're so lovely and responsive, Jon."

"Can I go now?" Jonathan's voice was faint.

"Go now? Utter rubbish, boy. We're far from finished here." Jonathan's eyes flew wide, and Jamey sighed. He took Jonathan's hand and moved it down between their bodies, forming his fingers around his thickened flesh. "Oh, I suppose this will do for now." Jonathan was frozen. Jamey poked him, almost playfully--almost. "Don't just HOLD it, as if it's... it's a BEANBAG." Jamey's laughter was thick with lust. "Oh, lord, it doesn't even know the proper way to diddle." He closed his hand around Jonathan's and guided it in stroking. "Like that. Um, yes, you have smooth hands. Faster now, Jon, and squeeze a little. Uhh. Rub over the head, that feels so good."

The hormones and adrenaline that had flooded Jonathan were mingling with the unaccustomed alcohol haze. He felt as if he would loose consciousness at any moment, and Jamey just wouldn't STOP, he wouldn't LISTEN. *I don't understand. He's my friend, isn't he? Why doesn't he realize I don't want to do this? I'll just have to... to make him spurt. It'll be over then, and he'll leave me alone.*

Jonathan, face turned away, followed Jamey's hot, whispered directions, caressing the other boy with increasing speed and firmness. Finally Jamey roughly turned Jonathan's head back and kissed him hard, thrusting his tongue deep, as his seed coated Jonathan's hand. After a few more jerks of his hips, he relaxed on top of Jonathan with a quiet murmur. "Oh, what a sweet, sweet thing he is. So good."

Jamey moved off Jonathan, but before the younger boy could move away, Jamey put his arms around him, snugging him up against his side. "You've earned yourself a bit of a nap, sweetheart." He pushed Jonathan's head down on his shoulder, holding it there till he was sure that the boy wouldn't move, then he drifted off to sleep himself.

Jonathan lay, staring into the dark. This was so alien, lying tucked against another warm, sweaty male body, feeling boneless witht he lassitude that followed sexual satiation. But there was something familiar about it, too.

*This is crazy. It must be the drink giving me these ideas, because I've never shared a bed with another, not even when I first came to school. But... but it's like my body remembers this feeling, even if my mind cannot. Something exactly like this.*

He closed his eyes, and a tear slipped down his cheek. *No, not exactly like. Those other times... Oh, God, if there WERE other times, they were different, becuase I was with who I was meant to be with--not this one. Not Jamey.*

Part Six

Jonathan slept, though it was more like a troubled unconsciousness. His dreams were a strange whirl. There were brightly clothed women and men who teased and jeered, cats prancing and leaping, gas street lamps seen through fog, avid faces lit by candlelight...

*Wrong, so wrong. Why? I said no. Didn't I say no? But it felt good, good and horrible at the same time."

Then there was something familiar. The One was there--the one who had visited his dreams since he was a child. He'd never really seen them. They were no more than a form in shadows, with only parts clear--sometimes the eyes, sometimes the hands. Yes, he knew those hands well. They could touch with such gentleness, or such authorotative passion. And the eyes--cool blue, but still somehow so warm.

Jonathan moaned in his sleep. *Forgive! I didn't want to, I didn't mean to...*

//Hush, little one.// The voice in his mind was soft, and kind. //Do not grieve. It was not of your choice. You are innocent. I cannot be with you, not yet, and you are so young, so full of life. I cannot blame him for desiring you.// The voice grew cold. //But his selfishness, his disregard of your protests... He had best hope that we do not meet.//

Jonathan could not remember anyone else, save his mother, who had been willing to defend him with such ferocity. From this One, both known and unknown, he felt the love and acceptance that he had missed since her death. But from this One, he felt so much more. His mother had loved him because he was her child, part of her blood and flesh--part of HER.

//But you are a part of me, also, my beloved,// the voice whispered. //Part of my heart, part of my soul. And someday, perhaps part of my blood as well...//

There were the hands--so big and warm, so knowing--stroking, caressing, finding all the hidden spots that made Jonathan tremble and sigh. The touch skimmed down the crease of his buttocks, and Jonathan parted his legs, giving more room. The fingers delved deeper, and a cool slickness was rubbed around the warm entrance to his body. He shivered, but made no protest, knowing instinctively that it was necessary, and that it would be warmer soon.

He had tensed, and a second hand stroked his back soothingly, calming him, as the first finger breeched him, sliding deep. Jonathan made s quiet noise of discomfort, and soft lips descended on the back of his neck in apology.

*I don't understand,* Jonathan thought as the finger probed and stretched. *It didn't hurt before. The other times it it just felt good. But he wouldn't hurt me on purpose.* And Jonathan could tell that his phantom lover wasn't being brutal, though his touches were perhaps a bit too forceful. Then the finger was withdrawn, and a solid, warm weight covered him. *No, there should be more. He always prepares me so carefully, takes the time to be sure I'm...*

"Wake up, Sleeping Beauty." The voice that whispered in his ear was familiar, but it was not the one he had been execting. It wasn't The One. A slick hand wiggled under Jonathan's body, gripping his half-hard cock. "Come on, old friend. It isn't nearly as much fun if you can't enjoy it, too."

Jonathan opened his eyes, confused for a moment. He was laying on his belly, and in the watery, gray light that filled the room he could see that this wasn't his narrow room at his father's house. He wasn't in the even smaller room at he vicar's, or his dorm room, either, and the bed beneath him was softer and more luxurious than any he'd ever been in, except...

*That one night I slept with Jamey. The time he...* The weight on top of him shifted, bright blond hair drifting down before his face. "Jamey?"

"Feeling better, Jon? You must be, judging from the sounds you made while I was preparing you. The alcohol helps--you're a lot more relaxed than you might have been otherwise."

*Prepared?* Jonathan suddenly felt sick again. Those dream touches... Not The One, but Jamey--handling him while he was senseless.

Jonathan tried to push up, but Jamey just laughed. "Don't be so eager. I'll be inside you soon enough."

"No, Jamey!" Now Jonathan tried to crawl from beneath him, but he was effectively pinned, and his legs still didn't want to obey him.

"Oh, and now he's going to be skittish again. Really, Jon, I never would have pegged you as a fickle tease. You've been leading me along--you can't try to cry off now." Jamey was spreading his buttocks. "Not when the goal is at hand."

"Please, don't. I... I'm not saying never, but I'm not READY for this, Jamey! I don't want to now."

"What rot." Jamey squeezed and stroked Jonathan's prick, and the younger boy was horrified to feel it stiffen even further. "You're just too indecisive, my friend. You need someone to push the issue."

Jonathan scratched desperately at the sheets as he felt the broad, slick nub of Jamey's arousal press against his anus. "Please don't please don't please don't..." Jamey flexed his hips, driving the thick staff several inches into the tight, reluctant sheath of Jonathan's body. Jonathan gave a choked cry, burying his face in the pillow.

There was an apologetic kiss on his ear. "Yes, I know, I know. I should have given you another finger before I mounted you, but damn, Jonathan... You're more than a man can resist, truly you are." Jamey moved again, sliding deeper, hearing Jonathan's whimper, and feeling the magnificent grip squeeze as the boy hitched in pain. Jamey moaned, "Fuck! You're bloody FANTASTIC, Harker! I don't think I've ever had anyone tighter, man or woman. Just a bit more now."

"It HURTS."

"Be brave." Knowing that it would cause pain, Jamey still couldn't resist. He thrust hard, burying himself to the root, putting his arms tightly around Jonathan as the smaller boy jerked. He whispered, "It's all right! Everything is all right, Jonny. Just be still for a moment, eh? Get used to it."

Jonathan closed his eyes, feeling the tears slipping down his cheeks. He wasn't sure if they were from pain, humiliation, or grief. It wasn't that he'd never conceived of this act. He knew that he'd engaged in it--in his dreams, with The One he was meant to be with. But it hadn't been like this--it hadn't hurt like this. And he hadn't felt... used.

Jamey could tell that Jonathan was enjoying this like he was, and he was sorry about that, but he wasn't about to stop. The first buggering was usually uncomfortable, it couldn't be avoided. He'd just have to be sure that he made Jon happy after he'd had his own fun. After all, he wanted the boy to be willing later.

Jamey pulled back, relishing the snug squeeze of the virgin passage, then thrust back into the moist heat. It was heaven. He meant to go slowly, to give Jonathan every chance to adjust to the new sensations, but it was just too much. He found himself going faster and faster, till he was plowing into the quivering boy with hard, deep strokes, their bodies meeting with moist smacks.

Jonathan had given up protesting. He gripped the pillow, pressing his face into it to muffle his yelps when Jamey gave a particularly vigorous lunge. Surely it had to be over soon? Jamey seemed to be in some sort of carnal transport, and it COULDN'T last long.

The truly horrifying thing, though, was that through the pain, there was a dull, burning pleasure building. Jamey took hold of his hips, lifting him for a better angle, and his cockhead suddenly reached a place that it hadn't before. Jonathan cried out, jerking in shock, and Jamey chuckled, "Yes! There we are, I knew I'd find it for you!" He thrust, finding the spot again, making Jonathan leap beneath him. "There, sweetheart! There!"

Jonathan felt a hot, liquid gush deep in his bowels as Jamey crushed himself against the younger boy. "Ah, damn! I'm sorry, Jon, but I just couldn't last. You're too sweet."

Jamey pulled his softening cock from the clasp of Jonathan's body, and he rolled the boy over. Jonathan's pale skin was flushed, rosey from brow to chest. His large brown eyes were dark and sparkling, the pupils dilated, and his beautiful lips were parted and trembling. Jamey noticed the moisture on the boy's cheeks, but he told himself that it was the sweat of passion and exertion. He wouldn't consider that it might be tears. He chose to ignore that--instead he saw that Jonathan was erect, his beautiful, strong cock lying up against his belly. Jonathan stared at him numbly, then put his hands over himself.

"Lord, boy, don't be modest now." Jamey pushed his hands away. "Don't cover yourself like that. Now, don't worry, beautiful boy. Jamey will take care of everything."

"Oh, God, Jamey, please... You got what you wanted--just leave me alone."

"You don't mean that," said Jamey confidently. "There's no daddy or vicar or teacher here to stop you enjoying this, Jon, and I'm damned if I'll let you deny yourself a bit of pleasure." He bent his head, nipping one firm, pebbled nipple, and Jonathan's head thrashed in silent denial, but Jamey saw only passion.

His hands holding Jonathan's wrists firmly to the mattress, Jamey kissed and licked his way down Jonathan's heaving chest and abdomen till he came to where Jon's glans lay against his lower belly. He ignored the weak protests, listening only to the gasps and moans as he took the sweet, hot flesh first into his mouth, then down his throat.

Jonathan stopped struggling, surrendering to the erotic assault, but he took no joy in the act, even as his body rushed toward release. Jamey swallowed greedily as Jonathan spent, drinking the boy's essence with relish. When the flow ceased, Jamey spent another minute or so nursing at the softening rod before he allowed it to slip from between his lips, planting an approving kiss on the damp head.

Finally Jamey loosened his hold on Jonathan's wrists, sliding his hands up the boy's forearms in a caress. He moved to the side, preparing to pull Jonathan into his arms for a post-coital cuddle.

Instead Jonathan lunged off the bed. For a moment an astonished Jamey thought the boy was going to bolt naked into the hall. Instead Jonathan stumbled to the dresser, clutching frantically for the basin. He lost his footing and slipped, landing heavily. Just in time he bent over the basin in his lap and vomitted once, then twice.

Jamey watched, open-mouthed, the laughed once. "Well, I've seen that reaction from the one who did the swallowing, but I must say that it's the first time I've ever seen the one who received be sick." He got up and squatted beside Jonathan. "Are you through?" Jonathan hitched slightly, but nodded. "Good. Give me that mess." He took the basin, opened the commode, and dumped the mess into the slop bucket. Then he rinsed the basin, poured clean water in it, and took a face cloth.

Sitting beside Jonathan on the floor, he wet the cloth, then gently wiped the pale boy's face and throat. "Congratulations, Harker. Your first morning after. I'm going to suppose that your head aches, too?" Jonathan nodded. "Thought so. What a shame. You can't have really enjoyed that nice little eye-opener. Well..." he patted Jonathan's shoulder. "All part of being a man. It gets better after you throw up. You'll feel easier in a bit, though I don't suppose you'll be up to breakfast?" Jonathan shook his head. "A bit of toast and strong tea might help that stomach."

He stood up as he spoke, opening a drawer and pulling out fresh linen. Jonathan watched in disbelief as he laid them out, then casually began washing his sticky cock, cleaning away sperm and traces of blood and shit. *That's mine,* Jonathan thought. *My dirt and blood--and he's so CASUAL about it.* "No, thank you." *And that was my voice. My God, how can I sound so normal?*

Jamey had finished his ablutions, and emptied the basin. He refilled it, then began to dress. "Well, I'm going down and rousting the cook into giving me a bang-up breakfast." He gave Jonathan a rougish smile, and even leanded down to pinch his cheek. "For some reason I have quite an appetite. I'd suggest you go ahead and wash up before you go back to bed, or dress. It gets dreadfully tacky if you let it start to dry." He walked toward the door. "Sleep in as long as you like. I'll tell the staff not to make the room up till you've gotten up."

He paused at the door. "Or I could have them draw you a bath? A nice, hot soak could make you feel better." He looked a little sheepish. "I know I was a bit rough with you for your first time, but it gets better, Jon--honestly. A good soak will just melt the aches away."

"Jamey," Jonathan said weakly. "First... no. That's all. No more."

Jamey nodded. "Not for a bit. You'll need time to rest, and realize that you weren't really hurt. But you'll see that it's just that the skin around your asshole is more delicate than some people think, and there's always a little tearing when you start out. I'm going out to The Chillton Club after breakfast. If you decide you want to join me there for luncheon, just tell the man at the door--I'll leave word." He winked at Jonathan, then left, shutting the door after him.

Jonathan sat for a moment more, leaning his head back against the wall to stare blankly at the ceiling. *That's it. That's all it was to him--an eye-opener. Now he's off to a big breakfast and a day at his club.* Jonathan got to his feet stiffly and cleaned himself, shuddering at the mess.

He wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed, but just looking at the wide, comfortable bed, with its smooth *stained* sheets made him feel sick again. He pulled his clothes on, then left the room.

"Yer up sooner than I expected." Jonathan turned quickly, almost losing his balance, but the man who'd come up behind him caught his shoulder. "Steady on, laddie." It was the young man who'd opened the door for Jonathan and Jamey the night before--the one who'd left the bottle in Jamey's room. The man noticed his anxious look and said, "It's just old Carson, Mister Harker--you know me."

"I... yes. I'm sorry."

"No need to apologize." He patted Jonathan, letting him go. "His Nibs said yer didn't want nuffin, but I thought I'd have a look meself. Bad head, eh?" Jonathan put a hand to his forehead. "Thought as much. And the belly. Yeah, you would. Here, have this." He offered Jonathan a glass of water. Jonathan took it, and the man opened a twist of paper, shaking a powder into it. The liquid fizzed, sharp, medicinal smell drifting up to tease Jonathan's nostrils. "You drink that up. It works a treat."

Jonathan looked at it doubtfully, then took a deep breath and drank the concoction. It tasted awful, but he finished it, and immediately felt a little relief, at least from his physical complaints. Carson nodded his approval. "There you are. Now all you need is a bit of time between you and last night, and you'll be fine."

Jonathan handed the glass back. "Thank you," he said sincerely. "I think I would have had to crawl up the stairs without that."

"Ah, ain't no need for you to be doing that. I can have Mister Jamey's room made up in a tic, an' you can have a lie down there. That's what his special friends usually do."

Jonathan stared at him. "Special friends?" Carson smiled, winking. "Oh, God."

"Here, now!" Carson took Jonathan's arm firmly. "You've come all over pale!" He reached for the door knob. "Let's get you back to bed..."

"No!" Jonathan wrenched away from him.

"What's wrong, laddie?" He blinked, then said slowly, "It's not what I said about his special friends, is it? Oh, you mustn't trouble yourself about that! It's not as if he's running them through his bed. No, choicy is our Mister Jamey. But really..."

He bit his lip. "I shouldn't be saying this--it isn't my place. But you're a nice lad--always been real respectful, like. I don't want you to get hurt. Don't be spreading it about that I said this, but..." He hesitatated, then said, "Don't go falling in love with him, eh? He's as fine as paint, an' a right charmer an' all, but I can tell that you're the sort who's going to want someone for always and only, and Jamey hasn't got that in him, yeah? He's going to get the title when his dad passes on, an' that means that he's going to have to make a marriage, for the sake of the estate."

Jonathan regarded the young man, feeling stunned. He was talking to him as if he was a village maiden who'd been tumbled by the eldest son of a local lord. He pushed himself away from the wall and said, with as much dignity as he could muster, "You needn't worry about me losing my heart, Carson, or my head. I can assure you that I'm not interested in Jamey... like that."

He turned and made his way to the stairs leading up to his room. Carson watched him go thoughtfully, noting the dispirited droop of his head. Last night he'd been caught up in Jamey's gleeful anticipation of seducing this handsome, fresh young man. Since Jonathan still had another year of school, and Roswell wasn't stingy about sharing his paramours, Carson had rather hoped that there might be a chance to strike up a mutually pleasant physical relationship with Jonathan. Seeing the young man's state after his first night with Jamey, he was beginning to doubt that Roswell's seduction had been as harmless as he'd thought.

While he cleaned Jamey's room, that suspicion grew. For one--the level of drink in the bottle he'd provided was much lower than he would have expected. Young Harker had been nicely tiddly when they'd returned from their evening out--Carson could tell. There shouldn't have been the need to feed him so much alcohol. The boy must have been in a near stupor when Jamey finally took his pleasure of him. Where was the sport in that? The reeking contents of the slop pail testified to Jonathan's state as much as his haggard appearance had. In contrast, Jamey had been quite chipper, eating a hearty breakfast and joking with the staff.

Then there were the soiled cleaning cloths, and the sheets. Carson stared at them for a long time. Spunk, yes, you expected to find that after such an encounter, and there was enough there to indicate that both of the lads had enjoyed themselves at least once. And the shit wasn't much of a surprise, either. But the blood... That was nasty. Though there wasn't enough to alarm him, he judged that there was more than there should have been, had the seduction been entirely joyful for both sides.

Carson made the bed. He would wash the sheets himself, as he had before, in order to keep the school laundress from worrying that 'one of t' lads is sick, like, an' shouldn't we tell t' butler, or headmaster, or summat?'.

He wasn't sure exactly why this was disturbing him so much--Jonathan Harker wasn't the first fellow student Jamey Roswell had debauched. He wasn't the youngest, either. But somehow...

Carson paused in the hallway, his arms loaded with dirty linen, and gazed at the stairs that Jonathan had mounted earlier. He thought back of Jonathan's time at the school, his unfailing politeness, his genuine smiles, little thoughtfullnesses that he performed to lighten the load of the menial staff, his friendliness to some of the very young, and frightened new students...

*Mebbe he ain't the first what Jamey has had,* Carson started down, *but for some reason this is the first time I feel like someone has been dirtied.*

END PART 6