A young man dressed in fine clothing moved swiftly through dark cobbled streets, a sealed letter in his hand for delivery. His job was to transport documents or communication of importance and his fee a heftier one than that of a simple courier. He had a runner’s body, lean yet muscular, and a savvy countenance, for he was too alert to be jumped and too quick to be chased down.
He was a passionate young man, though, and his passions didn’t match those considered appropriate by London standards. His affairs were often the risky, heady kind with married men who preferred a more masculine look to a pretty face. They would always, in the end, return to their wives.
It was why he found himself pausing halfway along one of the narrower streets – an isolated one but bad for an ambush because there was nowhere to hide – to talk to the tall blonde man. He’d stepped out of a side door into the alley, his top hat at a jaunty angle and a cane in his right hand. He wore the latest fashion; a bright blue jacket with loop fastenings all the way down to just above his crotch where the jacket was cut away and then extended down behind him to the backs of his knees. The young man admired the stranger’s tights and the bulge in them before his gaze flicked upward to make sure he wasn’t going to be challenged on his inappropriate stare. When he met the stranger’s eyes though, a thrill sparked a path along his spine, zapping him into awareness.
He was handsome, this one. A little older than himself, perhaps mid-twenties. Blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail and silvery eyes that seemed to bore right into him. He looked at the young messenger with an expression of lust that couldn’t be mistaken. He was quite a bit taller, for the top of the young man’s head likely reached the other’s mouth. He stared at those lips, at the little smile that had appeared there, and at the way a hint of tongue came out to wet them. It made his pulse quicken.
“Your name, boy,” the gentleman demanded.
“Godwin,” he immediately replied. He’d never liked his name but there was little he could do about it. The gentleman slowly looked him over, his stare obviously hungry even by the flickering light of the torch set into the wall at his shoulder.
“No, that won’t do. How about you call yourself Win, instead?” he purred, his smile growing.
“I like that better,” Win replied, because he did. He couldn’t take his eyes off the gentleman. He’d never seen someone so handsome, so confident. He wasn’t even hiding the fact he found Win attractive. It felt deliciously naughty to be appraised so boldly in a public street (even if there were no people around).
“Escort me to my home, love,” the gentleman said. “It’s not far,” the tall blonde continued, stepping away. Win’s heart quailed at the thought of losing an opportunity to spend private time with this mysterious man. He hurried to his side, the letter in his hand no longer urgent.
“What’s your name?” Win asked, blushing as he imagined kissing this man, touching him, doing all the taboo things that he desired. He had an impression of experience beneath that confidence and hoped he could measure up.
“Lazarus,” came the reply, and Win promised himself that he would do his best to please him.
