Page 7 of Molly Boys

For a second, they stood together, locked in silence. Then, just when Charlie was contemplating making a run for it, the giant stepped aside. Swallowing, he gave the man a curt nod and moved past. He barely got two steps away when he felt one of those huge arms wrap around him, pinning his arms to his sides. He struggled and cried out as a cloth was pressed over his mouth, muffling his frantic yell for help. A cloying scent filled his nose and mouth. The world around him began to spin and the cobbles tilted beneath his feet. His eyes rolled back in his head and his body went limp as everything turned black.

He didn’t feel a thing as he was picked up like a rag doll, nor did he stir when his slight frame was tucked into the crate. He didn’t register the lid lowering nor the ominous knocking as the nails sealed it shut.

In fact, there was no one, as the first pale rays of dawn began to break through the fog, to notice the enormous brute of a man slinging the leather strap over his wide shoulders and picking up the handles to drag the small cart behind him down the empty street in silence.

2

The dainty tinkling of the carriage clock chimed the hour, and Everett almost groaned out loud. His head was pounding and his mouth tasted foul.

Opening his eyes, he abruptly shut them again, fighting a wave of nausea as the room began to spin wildly. Drawing in a slow breath, he registered the soft bed beneath him, the cool air pebbling his naked skin, and the warm flesh of a body pressed up against his side.

Rolling his head gingerly, he cracked one eye open tentatively and when the spinning subsided, he opened the other. The room was still draped in darkness, the fire having burned down to nothing but embers and the oil lamp on low. He recognised the first tumble of limbs wrapped around him as belonging to Francis but, realising there were more limbs than required by just two people, he lifted his head a scant few inches off the soft, down-filled pillow and cast his gaze over to the third naked body in the bed.

Even in the dim light, Everett could make out the sweetly angelic face of Richard Lowcroft, or Darling Dickie as Francis had referred to him, a moniker which was beginning to catch on, many guests of the house now using it when greeting the pretty and enthusiastic boy.

As gently as he could, Everett removed Francis’ arm from his chest and carefully lifted his aching body into a seated position. He hadn’t meant to stay the night. It only made it harder for him to slip away undetected in the morning.

It was foolish and dangerous. If the house was raided by the police, there would be no disguising the true nature of the establishment nor the men found in varying states of undress within its walls.

They all lived with the gut-wrenching fear of discovery but it was never quite enough to prevent them from coming back for more. They could no more deny their nature than stop the moon from rising, but he was under no illusion. One day their luck would run out and god help them when it did.

Swinging his legs slowly over the side of the bed, he winced as his feet made contact with the freezing floor. His buttocks and thighs ached with exertion and his hole throbbed painfully.

He had a vague recollection of the three of them the previous night. Trapped between the two other men in a web of decadent pleasure, he’d fucked the boy spread out beneath him as Francis ploughed his arse from behind. The three of them had writhed in the sheets, fuelled by a haze of whiskey and opium.

But he didn’t have the time to dwell on the night’s activities, he realised as he glanced across at the small clock and noted the time. It wasn’t usual for him to stay the whole night; he preferred to return to his own residence well before dawn.

Francis stayed more often. After all, the house was his, so he could come and go at will, even if it wasn’t his main residence. His real home was in Wilton Square, in Belgravia, and was one much more befitting of his station. The house in Islington was Francis’ dirty little secret, one society would condemn him for if they knew.

Shaking the thought from his head and wincing at the sharp pain the movement caused, Everett located his clothes and dressed, his movements slow and sluggish. Buttoning his boots and pulling on his evening jacket, he cast one last fond glance over the two men entwined together amidst the rumpled bedding before he left the room.

Descending the stairs to the ground floor, he found Haywood, Francis’ ever-patient and unruffled butler, waiting by the door, and Everett found himself wondering if the efficient and discreet man slept at all.

“My lord.” The butler held up his heavy coat for him to slip his arms into and then handed him his hat, gloves, and cane.

“Whatever Francis is paying you can’t be enough,” Everett murmured, his voice a hoarse rasp.

“His lordship is very generous to his staff,” Haywood replied without a hint of a smile. “I have taken the liberty of summoning a hackney carriage for you, my lord.”

“Definitely not paying you enough,” Everett mumbled as Haywood opened the door and he stepped out into the biting air.

Dawn was barely breaking above the fog rolling along the streets and shrouding everything in a sickly grey mist. Swallowing tightly at the pain in his head and the awful churning of his stomach, he descended the steps to find a hackney cab waiting in front. It wasn’t a real hackney cab, but rather another of Francis’ ploys to avoid the wrong kind of attention. He couldn’t very well have his own carriage with his family crest emblazoned on the side waiting outside. Instead, he’d purchased a cab, and the driver was one of Francis’ footmen dressed as a commoner. He’d bought it initially so he could move freely back and forth to the Islington house without attracting notice, but it was a courtesy Francis had extended to Everett too.

Everett had to admit it was a cunningly devious way to avoid detection.

Reaching out tentatively, he grasped the handle and turned. His knuckles turned white with the force of his grip as he ignored the tremors in his hand. The door swung open and he climbed inside with relief and slumped into the seat. A wave of nausea washed over him, causing him to swallow against the sudden unpleasant rush of moisture in his mouth. He breathed slowly, and once certain he was not going to have to lean out of the carriage and vomit, he closed the door and leaned back in the seat.

Lifting his cane, he rapped against the roof and winced, first at the sound and then at the violent jostle of the cab as the horses set off, their hooves clattering loudly against the cobbles. Everett’s head lolled to the side as he stared out the window into the dim light. He barely registered when they passed by a man pulling a hand-drawn cart with a large crate strapped to the back, an event he wouldn’t have noticed at all if it wasn’t for the sheer size of the man pulling it. Although his bowler hat was drawn down low, concealing most of his face in shadow, and his heavy overcoat covered most of his body, the giant of a man was as tall as a horse, huge and heavily built.

Everett blinked in surprise as the cab rolled past him, but as he disappeared from view, Everett’s attention was diverted by his traitorous stomach. It roiled and churned dangerously like a frigate on storm-tossed seas. He swallowed against the flood of moisture in his mouth once again, fighting back the urge to vomit.

Closing his eyes, he allowed his mind to drift, slipping in and out of that strange place between dreaming and waking, filling with strange images and half-formed thoughts and images. He was finally jolted awake by the halting of the cab and a knocking on the roof.

Gathering what was left of his wits, he gingerly reached for the door handle and climbed down the step. He fumbled in his pocket for a coin which he handed to the driver before turning toward his home, a tall, terraced building in Bedford Square, Bloomsbury.

He gripped the black iron railing tightly to steady himself as he swayed, still experiencing the ill effects of the night before. His body felt as if it were comprised of lead as he let himself into his house. Given the early hour, it seemed somewhat unfair to drag his valet out of bed to answer the door.

All Everett could think about as he closed and locked the door behind him was the peace and solitude of his own room. Climbing the stairs seemed to take forever but when he finally reached his bedroom, he almost sighed aloud.