Page 28 of Molly Boys

None of the others had been right. Despite their beauty, they had been flawed in some hidden, unperceivable way. They didn’t suit his purpose. But this one… this one was different, he could feel it. He wanted him in a way he hadn’t coveted the others.

This was the one. He was certain.

A seed of resentment simmered in his chest. If the other two had not arrived when they did, the beautiful man would have been his already.

His lips peeled back, and a growl of frustration vibrated low in his throat. He still needed another for the time being, he couldn’t return empty-handed. It had been days since the failure with the red-haired boy. Maybe that was where he was going wrong. He selected them for their lithe beauty, but perhaps he needed someone slightly older. Someone pretty, certainly, but also strong and virile.

Perhaps…

He turned his head as a gate to a nearby yard creaked open and a man exited, closing the gate behind him. His coat was unbuttoned as was his collar, his blonde hair hung forward across his eyes, and his hat was clutched in one of his hands. With the other, he raised a cigarillo to his lips and inhaled, the cherry tip lighting the darkness and trailing a thin coil of smoke.

He was handsome, tall, and lean, much like the beautiful man. This one would do for now; it was better than nothing. Reaching into his deep pocket, he retrieved a rag and a small bottle of chloroform.

* * *

David smiled to himself as he took another drag and sauntered down the street. It was cold, yes, but he had a nice buzz running through his veins to keep him warm.

He could still taste Everett on his tongue. He’d thoroughly enjoyed sucking the stranger’s cock and letting him spend in his mouth. The beautiful ones always tasted the sweetest. He’d have loved to have bent him over the card table and loosened Everett’s trousers further, bury his cock in what he was sure would be a tight and enjoyable hole, but the green fairy had taken Everett quickly. He’d barely had a few glasses, but David could tell his mind had already slipped into the dreamlike world usually accompanied by heavy hallucinations.

Damn Louie for lacing his liquor. David had clearly built up a tolerance for Louie’s cocktails of alcohol and drugs, something he’d forgotten when he’d offered Everett a drink.

Fucking Louie.

He sighed audibly as he weaved down the street. Pity… he imagined Everett was a satisfying fuck. He’d grown slightly bored with the usual crowd at Mother Clap’s, but perhaps he could persuade Louie to wrangle him an invitation to Lord Francis’ private house in Islington. According to one of the other regulars, Everett was more or less a permanent fixture at Lord Francis’ side. He wondered if Francis and the pretty Everett were lovers, not that it mattered. Lord Francis had a reputation for sharing.

Still a little drunk and lost in his thoughts, he did not register the presence behind him until it was too late. He jolted in shock, unable to cry out in alarm as a cloth was clamped firmly over his mouth and he found himself pinned against a huge and solid body. A cloying scent filled his mouth and nostrils as he struggled. Dropping his cigarillo and hat to the snow-covered ground, he clawed at the huge hand covering his mouth and nose.

His heels gouged two trenches in the snow and clattered against the cobblestones beneath as he fought against his attacker, but it was no use. David was not a small man but the giant behind him dwarfed his lean frame.

Dots swam in front of his eyes and a buzzing began in his ears. Darkness swirled at the edges of his vision until it engulfed him completely and he finally stop struggling as he descended down into unconsciousness.

He felt the handsome man go limp in his arms. Tucking the rag into his pocket, he heaved him easily over his shoulder as if the tall, slim man weighed no more than a rag doll. Turning slowly, he trudged back toward the alley, the snow crunching under his enormous, booted feet.

Once back inside the passageway, he laid the man on the end of his hand cart. He lit a match in the near darkness to highlight the man’s face. Smoothing the blonde hair back with thick fingers, he studied his prize carefully as the match burned low. He wasn’t as beautiful as the other man but he would do… for now.

8

Everett crumpled the letter in his fist, his knuckles turning white from his tight grip. He closed his eyes and drew in a breath, trying to control the maelstrom of emotions swirling in his gut.

Once he was sure he had the overwhelming feeling of helpless frustration under control, he opened his eyes and tossed the balled-up paper into the fire. It gave him some measure of satisfaction as the edges blackened and curled in, leaving nothing more than a husk which collapsed in on itself and disappeared into the flames.

This latest demand from his father was even worse than the last, and they were coming with more frequency. While Everett had remained at school, he’d gone years without hearing from the Marquess. The man had never much cared for Ev’s company nor his good opinion; it was baffling why he took such an interest now. His father had already made his wishes perfectly clear. Everett was to take the vows and join the clergy or he would be disinherited and his allowance would go to the church anyway.

Ev had always known there was no way to avoid his fate, no matter what Francis thought. Given no other choice, Ev had agreed to his father’s terms on one condition: He was to be allowed one year in London before he was to be ordained. Then and only then would he return home to Derby, where he was expected to take up residence in a small remote cottage on the very edge of the Hillingdon estate.

It almost felt like a punishment. Taking the vows and joining the church was bad enough, but exile in the middle of nowhere with nothing but a tiny chapel and a small flock to guide? A smallflock? Everett couldn’t deal with his own problems most of the time, let alone anyone else’s. His solution tended to be found at the bottom of a bottle or the end of a pipe. Not really a recommendation he could make to a congregation of farmers and their wives.

Damn it. He rubbed his eyes roughly, trying to dispel that awful image. When his father had agreed to the year in London, Ev had felt like he had room to breathe, but now there was barely half of the allotted time left and worse still, his father seemed to be reneging on his agreement.

There was a knock at the door of the parlour and Ev looked up to find Henry entering with Ev’s overcoat folded neatly over one arm and his gloves and hat in his hands.

“My lord,” Henry greeted him. “The hackney cab is waiting for you outside as requested.”

“Thank you.” Ev crossed the room as Henry placed his hat and gloves on a side table and held up Ev’s heavy winter overcoat for him to slip his arms into.

“Will you be returning for dinner, my lord?”

“No, I’ll be dining with Lord Francis this evening. We’ll be at his property at Wilton Crescent.” Ev buttoned his coat.