Gaslights - 1/9
Title: Gaslights (Chapter 1 of 9).
Rating: R
Pairings: Kurt/Blaine, Blaine/Rachel
Spoilers: None.
Warnings (if any): Prostitution, demons.
Word Count: 5853
Summary: Nobody could ever argue that Blaine Anderson had not been raised a gentleman. He had mastered the classics, mathematics and politics. However, there were lessons he had simply chosen to ignore. Never travel into the lesser Boroughs of the city, never associate with the Daemons and - a special lesson from his father - visiting a brothel is acceptable, so long as it is reputable, nobody knows who you are and you are visiting a clean woman.
Chapter One, as told by Mister Anderson.
I tried not to look nervous as the woman inspected me. I knew her to be taking in every inch of me - from my hat to my shoes - with a practiced eye. I couldn’t say what she was looking for, but I knew that if she found something she didn’t like, I would back out of that door and into the Borough before I could even plead my case.
“You know what my girls and boys are, do you not? You haven’t just stumbled here by chance?” She asked and I nodded. “You must say it, Mister Anderson. I shan’t let someone who is too afraid to even say their name step towards their rooms. I cannot trust you not to leave here like a terrified child if you cannot even say it.”
“Daemons.” I imagined the word burned and blistered my tongue, the filthy, blasphemous nature of it condemning me to hell before I had a chance to sin.
“Exactly, Mister Anderson. They are daemons. They are not God’s children and they cannot help but affect those who belong to heaven. They tempt you towards sin, for they are sin.” Had I been an onlooker, perhaps at a play, I would have scoffed at the dramatic nature of her words. As they were spoken to me, however, I knew them to be nothing but truth. She was telling me bluntly, in the truest terms she could.
“How-” She interrupted me.
“How do they affect you, Mister Anderson?” I nodded curtly. “You can feel the sin; it rises in you and fills you. If you’re not careful, Mister Anderson, it can consume you. They can make you feel lust, greed, passion and rage, only to name a few.” She offered me the small book she’d kept tightly between her hands. I opened it to the first page, a page full of multicoloured cursive. I barely read the words, focusing only on one paragraph written in a purple ink. “What will it be, Mister Anderson? What sin do you choose?”
“Pride.” She smiled. I suspected she had guessed which I would choose the moment I stepped through the door. She took the book from me, staring down at the words for a moment. I knew her eyes to be on one word only. Male.
“You should take the violet door then, Mister Anderson. The boy will show you the way.”
The air was thick and muggy. Smoke and soot made it difficult to see. The stench of the river mixed with the smell of horses. I was definitely in the bad part of the city. People rushed by with little care - women in torn skirts, men in dusty suits, children with faces so dirty they might have been as pale as I but I would never have known.
Here, the air was full of noise - all of it human or animal. I was used to the unending ticking of the street-clocks and mechanical coaches, the unnerving silence of the living. Here, beyond the hustle and bustle, it would be as silent as I imagined paradise to be.
I reached the familiar house as quickly as I could. It wouldn’t do to be outside, amongst the crowds for too long. The house itself was more or less identical to the others crowding the sides of the roads, save for a slight crookedness and the elegant insignia on the door. They hadn’t the gall to remove it, or even repaint it. Red tears of paint streaked towards the steps, ruining something you could imagine upon the papers of a stately manor.
The door opened before I had a chance to pull on the bell. A boy I didn’t recognize stood before me, head bowed and eyes fixed on the ragged edges of the carpet. I took a moment to inspect his hands, which were folded in front of his belly. Unclean as they were, they were still the same as mine.
“Suh,” The boy mumbled. He paused for a second, before speaking louder. “Sir,” he repeated, stressing the r this time.
“I am here to see Miss Prideaux,” I said, keeping my eyes fixed on his hairline. “She is expecting me.” The boy hovered for a moment, before he nodded.
“Please wait, Sir.” The door closed in front of me. I sighed and took out my pocket watch. I kept my fingers cupped tightly around it, ensuring not a flash of the metal could be seen by anyone but I. I disliked coming to this part of town for many reasons, but one that often bothered me the most was how easy it became to lose track of time without the street-clocks on every corner. There wasn’t even a church to ring out the hour in this part of the city.
I tucked the watch back into my waistcoat, just as the door opened again. This time, it revealed Miss Prideaux herself, dressed in her usual garish and colourful manner.
“My apologies, Mr. Anderson. The lad is new and doesn’t quite understand the difference between the usual riff-raff and one such as yourself. Please be sure he’ll be getting a beating tonight.” I shook my head - acting as if being made to wait on the doorstep instead of being invited in was nothing - and held out my hand to her. She obliged, resting her palm upon mine so I might bend to press a kiss to the bends of her fingers. As always, the flash of gold across her fingernails and streaks of copper in her skin that showed blue on mine caught my attention. I pushed it away and rose again. She tittered in laughter as she drew her hand back towards herself, smiling widely.
“Such a gentleman,” She purred, moving aside to allow me through. The hallway was too small and I was forced to touch my body to hers - something I was sure she had purposely engineered. “How has business been, Mister Anderson?” She enquired as we walked the hall. It was dark - no light filtered in from the small window above the door and there were no candles or lanterns lighting the way - but I was accustomed to it now and knew which way to head even without Miss Prideaux leading me.
“Well, thank you,” I replied. In the back of my mind, I could imagine my mother telling me to enquire after hers but I forced it away. I doubt my dear mother ever expected me to be frequenting these sorts of businesses.
“And Mrs. Anderson? How is she?” She asked, and I frowned. How was Rachel? I wasn’t sure I knew. We saw each other for supper every night, and she regaled me with tales of her day. Occasionally, she took a break from telling me about her embroidery or how Mrs. Quinn Hudson was with child again to regale me with the most recent thing she had been to see at the theatre, but that was it. I listened to each story she told with interest, but when I enquired after her life she would smile brightly and tell me that she was not a star yet and I knew that was the end of the conversation.
“She’s very well.” Miss Prideaux seemed content as we stepped into her parlour. My eyes burned in the sudden bright light and I took a moment to close them. When I reopened them, it was still too bright and they watered. “I believe she is visiting a friend today.”
I gestured for Miss Prideaux to sit down before taking my own place opposite her. She rang the small bell on the table beside her chair and looked around the room. In this light - some of which came from the large windows, but most of which came from the multitude of lamps around the room - I could see the golden sheen to Miss Prideaux’s skin. It clashed with the jewellery ringing her arms and the bright silks that made up her dress.
When I looked away, a servant girl was entering the room, carrying a tray of tea. She set it down beside the mistress, and waited.
“You may leave, Tina,” Miss Prideaux said, leaning towards the tea tray. “But please have some wine prepared to go to whichever room Mr. Anderson chooses.”
“It will be the usual,” I assured her, leaning back in the chair as she poured the cups of tea. I caught a quick frown on her face, but it was rapidly smoothed into a neutral smile.
“Do you not think you might sample another today, Mister Anderson?” She asked, lifting her cup and saucer into her hands. “Someone more prepared for what you require, perhaps?”
“With all due respect, Madame,” I said, punctuating the sentence with a sip of tea. It was cheap and rather chalky, as always. I tried not to grimace as I took another sip. “He does work here. I am sure he is already prepared.” I watched as her lips tightened against her teeth, and a flush began to build on her cheeks. It was generally advised that one shouldn’t anger someone of her sort, but I chose to ignore that piece of advice - much like I had chosen to ignore many others simply by coming here.
“There are others more suited to this profession, Mister Anderson, and they will make your evening far more enjoyable.” She seemed to be thinking as she spoke, the words were spoken slowly. “Perhaps my Miss Lopez. A rare Spanish beauty, straight from Seville. She could certainly give you more...devious pleasures, it is in her blood, Mister Anderson.” I said nothing. “Or perhaps Mister Puckerman is more to your tastes. He comes from a good family - a very devout religious family, Mister Anderson.”
“I’m sure they would be proud to see him in this establishment.” Miss Prideaux’s face was almost burning red now. I imagined that she might explode, but she simply set her tea down and took a few deep breaths.
“He has been here since childhood,” She continued, as if I had never said a word. “His mother is in an asylum. The nature of his birth, you see. His father meant to drown him but he hadn’t the heart, he simply abandoned him on the steps of my sister’s home. Once she passed, I took him in.”
“What a sad tale,” I said. I’m sure she could tell that I didn’t mean a word of it. “I’m sure their talents are plenty and varied, but I simply must insist on my usual choice.” She nodded, and rose from her seat. I followed, falling in step behind her as she led me to the door.
“I’m sorry I could not convince you otherwise, for I would have loved to keep that innocent spark in his eyes.” I bit my tongue so I didn’t state that if she wanted to keep him innocent, she would not have put him to such a career. “You know the way. Ring the bell if you require anything and Tina will be up promptly.”
“Thank you, Miss Prideaux.” I bowed before stepping out of the door and she simply nodded in return. “I will be sure to keep his innocence in mind this evening.”
The door to the parlour shut behind me with a snick and I smiled bitterly. I was once again in the dark, but as she had said, I knew my way. I took the steep stairs slowly, not wanting to appear to him flushed and out of breath. That could be saved for later after all. As I walked, I pulled out my pocket watch again.
I was not surprised to see I had lost forty five minutes over tea with Miss Prideaux and I dreaded my arriving home. At home, Rachel rarely recognized her place in the household. She was outspoken, loud, and prone to questioning my whereabouts. I was often jealous of my associates - especially Doctor Abrams, whose wife was the most quiet thing you could imagine. I often wondered if she was simple, but it would have been uncommonly rude to ask such a thing publicly, or privately.
I also wondered at the Doctor’s good fortune. He had come from modest beginnings to start with and an unfortunate accident in his youth led to his life being constricted to a bath chair. His wife had come with a large dowry and a wonderful education. Regardless, he was an uncommonly good doctor and a capital fellow. He deserved all the good fortune life would grant him.
Soon enough, I reached the familiar door. It was violet, something that had once been explained to me but I could barely remember the significance now. I raised my walking stick to tap it against the door and arranged myself in the doorway as I waited.
“Kurt.” I couldn’t help the breathiness of my voice when he opened the door. He was only in his shirtsleeves and though he was the unseemly one, I felt strangely overdressed. Though my mother would have had the vapours to see it, I pulled off my hat and bowed to him.
“Good evening, Blaine.” He was smiling widely when I came back up and he moved forward. We embraced, he kissing me so warmly, so convincingly I could almost forget his profession. “Come in,” he said, gesturing for me to walk into the room.
It was as dark as the rest of the house, but with a constant warmth despite the drafty windows. A large bed took up most of the space but I ignored it, preferring to seat myself on the small wooden chairs by the window. Kurt followed me, standing by my side as I settled myself.
“Would you care for some wine, Blaine?” He asked, and I nodded. I looked out of the window as he moved around to room. I heard the clink of a bottle against glass but didn’t look up until I sensed Kurt standing by me again. He held two glasses of red wine in his hands and, though I knew it would be as chalky as the tea, I took one from him.
He stayed standing, though he rested one hand on my shoulder. I could feel his fingers stroking against my lapels as we both drank. The room was unearthly silent, I could hear no mechanical noises and no noise filtered in from outside.
“I’ve missed you,” I said, setting my glass down on the thin window ledge. “Brighton was as dull as I had expected, but Rachel seemed to enjoy it.”
“Family is more important than me.” I looked up at Kurt. He was smiling at me still. Once he caught me looking, he bent to place his glass with mine and then moved to seat himself upon my lap. Despite the small difference in height that was in his favour, he felt as though he weighed no more than a feather. “Come now,” He murmured, pressing gentle kisses to my face as he spoke. “You did not travel all this way and brave the Borough just to tell me you missed me, did you?”
I shook my head, and his hand went to my chest. I sat still as unbuttoned my waistcoat, and then my shirt. I’m sure I looked a mess, sitting there with my shirt and waistcoat gaping wide open, but he said nothing of it.
“Come to bed now, Blaine, and we can talk later.” He rose, unbuttoning his own shirt as he sat down on the edge of his bed. I wanted to comment on the violet of his bed sheets against the porcelain of his skin, but his expression told me words were not wanted now.
I stood before him, waiting as he stripped me of my clothing. He took care with it, folding every piece and carrying it over to rest on the chair. He always had done that. Not even the first time did he simply remove my clothing and toss it to the floor.
Once I was naked, divested of even my socks, he pushed me back onto the bed. I sat up; resting on my elbows as he slowly removed his own clothes. I liked this part of our meetings - when he slowly took away the layers to reveal the violet tinged paleness of his body. Once he was done - his own clothes abandoned to the floor - he crawled onto the bed, heading straight for me.
We embraced again, he resting his weight upon me again. Now, I could feel the jut of his bones pressing against mine. It reminded me that even when he called for small treats to be brought to his room for us, I never saw him eat.
He seemed to notice that I had become distracted, and pressed his lips harder to mine. I could feel the bite of his teeth against my lower lip and smiled into the kiss. As we continued, he moved his legs to either side of my body. He pulled away for a moment as he held my member. His eyes seemed to be searching my face for something. A long moment later, he pressed down. I knew the rules he had never truly said and knew to keep my hips as still as possible.
I focused on his face as he pushed down, watching the way his expression contorted as he moved slowly. He seemed pained though I could feel that he had prepared himself before I had arrived. Once he was settled against my hips, his expression evened out and he began to smile.
“You are...” I said. I didn’t know how to finish the thought and moved my hands to his waist. My fingers seemed so dark against his skin and I wondered how he managed to stay so pale. Even Rachel, who seemed to spend her life hiding from the sun beneath veils and drinking vinegar, was darker then he.
“You’re thinking of your wife, Blaine,” He said, raising an eyebrow at me. I wanted to ask him how he knew, but he just shook his head and began to rock his hips against me and I forgot that I cared to know.
I groaned as he moved and knew it to be an ugly, primal sound but I could do nothing to stop it. Once, he had told me that he had never learned to dance but I refused to believe such a thing. Only someone who had mastered that art could move as gracefully, as sensuously as he could.
I squeezed my eyes shut, knowing if I kept looking at him I would not last. With my eyes shut, however, it was if as I could hear everything more clearly and his pants and whimpers filled my ears. He had long since stopped with the hideous, false sounding entreaties I’m sure he had been trained to say. I remembered our first meeting and how it had almost pained me to hear them. I’m sure at first he knew how I felt and simply didn’t care to stop, but I couldn’t pinpoint when he actually had.
Every time my hips lifted to match his movement, he would push them back down again with his weight, tightening his thighs against me so it became harder to move. I kept my eyes shut, listening only to his noises. He would whine and purr and speak my name in a tight, whispery voice that made my heart ache.
“Look at me,” He said, and my eyes opened. I knew it to be a demand; I knew he would undoubtedly use dirty tricks to get me to open my eyes if I refused. He was staring down at me, a strange light in his eyes as his movements become more erratic. I reached for his hands, clasping them tightly in my hands as he rocked back and forth against me.
I could feel my release building within me, that familiar tight burn persistent in my stomach but I forced it down. I didn’t want to be like the other men he saw. He wasn’t simply an available warm body, something my wife could not provide, and though he refused to allow me any control, I wanted more for him.
I said his name, repeating it over and over as his eyes fluttered. He smiled down at me before tilting his head back and releasing. His entire weight pushed down on me and I couldn’t hold back any longer as he let go of my hands to press against my chest to keep himself upright.
“You’re not fair, Mister Anderson,” He murmured as he climbed off of me. He tugged the bed sheet from underneath me and wrapped it around himself. I turned my head to watch him as he set about cleaning himself up, blinking rapidly to fight back the sleepiness that was trying to steal me away. “You know how I feel about you saying my name.”
“I do.” I propped my head up on my elbow; sure I was smiling like an insane fool as he came back to the bed and sat beside him. He tugged at me until my head was in his lap and he could run his fingers over my hair. “I want you to feel that way.” He turned his head away from me at that, but I could see the smile on his face and the warmth in his cheeks.
“I wish you wouldn’t use so much macassar on your hair, Blaine,” He sighed, toying with the ends of my hair. It was a familiar complaint, one I heard every time I saw him. “I know you look like a ruffian without it but I can’t stand the feel of it on my hands.”
“One day, I’ll come without it. Miss Prideaux will probably turn me away for looking like a beggar but at least I’ll have tried.” He smiled again at that, looking down at me this time.
We sat in silence for a while - broken only once by Kurt suggesting he could wash the oil from my hair and replace it before I left - my head still in Kurt’s lap and his hands still playing with my hair.
“I’ve never had an opportunity to be romantic,” I said, out of the blue. I wasn’t sure why I said it, but I had stopped questioning the way everything my parents had taught me around Kurt. I had never been one to simply blurt out what I was thinking - no, I left that to Kurt and Rachel who between them had no end of opinions - but around Kurt I couldn’t help but say whatever I thought.
“Not with your wife?” Kurt asked, his hands moving from my hair to my shoulders. His hands rubbed at them, digging into the tight muscles in my back with a softness that contrasted with the pain. “Not even on your wedding night?” I shook my head.
“I had no opinion about the marriage beyond that we are a good match, but she had her hopes set on someone else, a Mister St. James. Her parents didn’t approve so she settled for me.” I could see Kurt frowning and I shrugged, accidentally knocking his hands from my shoulders. He seemed to take it the wrong way, settling them beside his legs and no longer touching me. “I have known her my entire life and she was a very good match. A large dowry, good connections but...” I paused, my mind finally catching up with my mouth.
“But what?” He moved his hands back to me, resting them in my chest this time. I sighed - if I knew Kurt, and I often hoped I did, he would push me if I didn’t answer him. He and Rachel were similar in a lot of respects and that was just one of the many ways they were.
“I want better for her, sometimes. I could have married another woman and she could have married her beau and she would be happy.”
“Is she not happy with you?” I shrugged my shoulders again.
“I wish I knew, Kurt.” I supposed she was. She seemed happy, content with her life. I knew she had a good life, I knew many of her friends had far worse lives, and I knew that true love was not something that had ever been planned for her but part of me wished that was something I could give her.
I sighed out loud and closed my eyes, turning my head into the crook of Kurt’s knee. I felt his hands brush against my jaw, his fingers tracking the outline of my skull but before I knew it, I had fallen asleep.
When I awoke, the room was completely dark. No light at all managed to filter in through the dirty window and the candled had guttered and gone out.
I could feel Kurt lying beside me, his body pressed to mine and his deep breaths tickling my face. I tried not to disturb him as I moved, but his hand shot out to grip my arm as soon as I tried to sit up.
“You’re not leaving without saying goodbye, are you?” His voice was thick with sleep and his hand cold around my wrist. “I thought you were a gentleman, Blaine.” I smiled at that, reaching blindly to touch him.
“I was just going to see if I could light the candle,” I explained and he made some muffled noise into the sheets in response.
“I’ll do it.” He let go of my arm and I could hear him moving around the room. Soon enough, the hiss of a match filled the room and I could see again. Sometime as I slept, Kurt had redressed and stood once again in his shirtsleeves. “I don’t understand why Mistress refuses to get gas lamps.” He turned around, leaning back against the table the candle stood on and smiled at me. The candle light softened his already gentle features, making him look so much younger than I felt comfortable with. He was close to my age, I knew, but it felt so wrong for someone who looked so angelic to be here, in this dark and dirty house, entertaining lecherous men.
It felt so wrong for someone who looked so angelic to be a daemon, of all things.
“Blaine?” He was frowning now, a concerned expression that made my heart ache to see it.
“I got lost in my thoughts.” I smiled, hoping to see him smile again. “What were you saying?”
“Gas lamps.” I nodded, drawing my legs towards my self and raising my eyebrow. I’m sure he knew I was copying his favoured expression - hoping to imitate that air of being so self-assured it didn’t matter what I thought and probably only managing to look a fool. I wonder after the irony. I had been taught since I was a child that my opinions had worth, and yet a simple prostitute, a daemon, somebody on the lowest rungs of society seemed more sure of that fact than I.
“I suspect it’s because Miss Prideaux is miserable.” Kurt bit his lip for a moment, and I was sure I had said something drastically wrong and he was going to throw me from the room, but he nodded quickly after.
“She is, but she’s all I have.” I stuttered at that. I’d always thought that Kurt had no family. Nobody ended up in one of these houses if they had someone to care for them, or a trade to go into. “It’s not that bad.” He was looking past me, a soft smile on his face as he stared at the wall. “I have friends here. I’d miss it if I was somewhere else.”
“You...” I paused. Again, words came forth before I could even contemplate what I was going to say. I knew Kurt was looking at me as I pulled the sheets around me and sat up against the wall. “You don’t have to stay here. You could go somewhere better.” I looked at Kurt now, and saw the way he was looking at me and was struck dumb. I tried for a joke, smiling and gesturing to the room. “Somewhere with natural light.”
“You should be going.” He turned his back to me and I tried not to sigh. As I slept, he’d moved my clothes to the end of the bed, laying them out separately as he did every time we met. I pulled on my trousers before I stepped towards Kurt. He kept his hands on the table, eyes focused on the window I knew he couldn’t see out of. “It’s getting late.”
“Kurt, forgive me,” I said, resting a hand on his shoulder as he had done to me earlier. “I know this is your home but you deserve so much more.” The silence stretched between us, taught and uncomfortable before he rested a hand on mine.
“Thank you.” I leaned forward to press a kiss to his neck, but he pulled away. “Leave the money on the dresser. I’ll call for the boy to bring up a candle so you don’t break your neck on those god-awful stairs.” I sighed, my head spinning and aching as I turned back to my things.
“I’ll see you next week,” I replied. I hated this. Hated facing the reality of the situation. I didn’t look up when I heard the door open, and turned my head in the opposite direction when I heard him speak.
“Goodbye, Mister Anderson. Next week it is.”
It was extremely late to be returning home, and I knew as soon as I stepped into the entry hall that Rachel would have some choice words for me. I waited there, taking off my hat and gloves and simply listening to the rhythmic ticking the Borough had been so void of.
“Blaine!” Rachel seemed to swoop into the room, her skirts pulled high and revealing her ankles. I turned my eyes away from her, coughing until I heard the rustle of them falling to the floor. “Where on Earth have you been? Half of the servants are already sleeping and the other half were waiting for you to come home. It’s far too late for you to be out roaming the streets. Have you even had supper?” I had expected this - I expected this every time I returned home at any time she deemed unacceptable. Every week I gave her the same response and every week she argued with me. Sometimes, I didn’t know why I was so soft with her. Any other husband would have silenced her as soon as they were married.
“It was business, Rachel,” I smiled and turned back to her, holding my arms wide. She rolled her eyes at me for moving into my embrace, turning her cheek up for me to kiss.
“Business? At this time of night? What sort of business are you doing, Blaine?” Her eyes narrowed at me as she pulled away, clearly suspicious. “My friend’s husband always tells her he is doing business when in truth he’s visiting...” She pursed her lips. “He’s doing his business in Whitechapel, Blaine. Promise me you’re not going to Whitechapel.” I nodded. I knew what she was implying - Whitechapel was nothing if not notorious for it’s brothels and fallen women. It wasn’t a lie, to say I wasn’t going. Even if I was, it wasn’t for her to know. It didn’t concern her. While I didn’t agree with many things my father said, he had always made a point that it was perfectly natural for a gentleman to seek pleasures outside of the marital bed.
“Come, call for tea and meet me in our parlour. I’ll tell you about my business.” I pressed a kiss to her forehead again, and strode from the room. As I left, all I could hear was her confused sigh.
“Tea, Blaine?” She called. “Tea at this time of night?”
I had barely taken my seat before Rachel was staring pointedly at me. She coughed when I reached for the tea cup and I sighed.
“You’re so impertinent, Rachel,” I murmured, and she simply beamed at me. “I’m thirsty; I can’t tell you anything with my mouth so dry.” She sighed again, but allowed me to sip at my tea. Once she deemed I had taken too long, she began tapping her foot against the floor.
“If you were at Whitechapel, you can tell me. I’d rather you weren’t, however. We are married, it isn’t seemly for a gentleman to be seen there.”
“I wasn’t at Whitechapel,” I replied. She relaxed almost immediately, leaning back into her chair and looking smug. Perhaps her friend had suggested I was, and Rachel was relishing in the wonder of knowing she was wrong. Rachel did prefer to be right. “I was visiting a cousin.”
“A cousin?” Her eyebrows arched, far too similarly to the way Kurt’s did whenever he thought I’d said something absurd.
“Twice removed or something.” I nodded, trying to seem as though I was telling the truth. I’d never been a particularly good liar. Kurt said I got uncomfortable when I did and my voice sounded different. “His parents have passed and he’s only a boy, I was thinking of taking him as a ward.”
“A ward?” I wondered if she was going to repeated everything I said. I nodded again. “Oh, what a wonderful idea! It’d be like having a child!”
“He’s about sixteen, Rachel. Not so much of a child, really.” She seemed disappointed by that, a small frown on her face. “He’s not in society at all. I’m not even sure he has an education, really.”
“You’re wonderful, Blaine.” She took my head, smiling widely at me and stroking my knuckles. “I think it would be marvellous to bring him here - we could make a true gentleman of him and better his life. I’m terribly sorry I ever doubted you, darling.” I smiled tightly at that and my stomach rolled. I wished I was feeling the guilt of lying to my wife, the guilt from convincing her I was innocent but I wasn’t. All I could feel was nerves related to one simple question.
How on Earth was I going to convince Kurt?
Notes: I basically want to dedicate this entire story to pandoras5thbox who, despite only signing up to beta one fic of mine, was amazing support writing this ♥ I swear she knows what I'm writing better than I do. TY so much, bb <3 Without you, this would be just another idea. Also, thank you to Phil, for the gorgeous insignia on the banner.
Rating: R
Pairings: Kurt/Blaine, Blaine/Rachel
Spoilers: None.
Warnings (if any): Prostitution, demons.
Word Count: 5853
Summary: Nobody could ever argue that Blaine Anderson had not been raised a gentleman. He had mastered the classics, mathematics and politics. However, there were lessons he had simply chosen to ignore. Never travel into the lesser Boroughs of the city, never associate with the Daemons and - a special lesson from his father - visiting a brothel is acceptable, so long as it is reputable, nobody knows who you are and you are visiting a clean woman.
Chapter One, as told by Mister Anderson.
I tried not to look nervous as the woman inspected me. I knew her to be taking in every inch of me - from my hat to my shoes - with a practiced eye. I couldn’t say what she was looking for, but I knew that if she found something she didn’t like, I would back out of that door and into the Borough before I could even plead my case.
“You know what my girls and boys are, do you not? You haven’t just stumbled here by chance?” She asked and I nodded. “You must say it, Mister Anderson. I shan’t let someone who is too afraid to even say their name step towards their rooms. I cannot trust you not to leave here like a terrified child if you cannot even say it.”
“Daemons.” I imagined the word burned and blistered my tongue, the filthy, blasphemous nature of it condemning me to hell before I had a chance to sin.
“Exactly, Mister Anderson. They are daemons. They are not God’s children and they cannot help but affect those who belong to heaven. They tempt you towards sin, for they are sin.” Had I been an onlooker, perhaps at a play, I would have scoffed at the dramatic nature of her words. As they were spoken to me, however, I knew them to be nothing but truth. She was telling me bluntly, in the truest terms she could.
“How-” She interrupted me.
“How do they affect you, Mister Anderson?” I nodded curtly. “You can feel the sin; it rises in you and fills you. If you’re not careful, Mister Anderson, it can consume you. They can make you feel lust, greed, passion and rage, only to name a few.” She offered me the small book she’d kept tightly between her hands. I opened it to the first page, a page full of multicoloured cursive. I barely read the words, focusing only on one paragraph written in a purple ink. “What will it be, Mister Anderson? What sin do you choose?”
“Pride.” She smiled. I suspected she had guessed which I would choose the moment I stepped through the door. She took the book from me, staring down at the words for a moment. I knew her eyes to be on one word only. Male.
“You should take the violet door then, Mister Anderson. The boy will show you the way.”
The air was thick and muggy. Smoke and soot made it difficult to see. The stench of the river mixed with the smell of horses. I was definitely in the bad part of the city. People rushed by with little care - women in torn skirts, men in dusty suits, children with faces so dirty they might have been as pale as I but I would never have known.
Here, the air was full of noise - all of it human or animal. I was used to the unending ticking of the street-clocks and mechanical coaches, the unnerving silence of the living. Here, beyond the hustle and bustle, it would be as silent as I imagined paradise to be.
I reached the familiar house as quickly as I could. It wouldn’t do to be outside, amongst the crowds for too long. The house itself was more or less identical to the others crowding the sides of the roads, save for a slight crookedness and the elegant insignia on the door. They hadn’t the gall to remove it, or even repaint it. Red tears of paint streaked towards the steps, ruining something you could imagine upon the papers of a stately manor.
The door opened before I had a chance to pull on the bell. A boy I didn’t recognize stood before me, head bowed and eyes fixed on the ragged edges of the carpet. I took a moment to inspect his hands, which were folded in front of his belly. Unclean as they were, they were still the same as mine.
“Suh,” The boy mumbled. He paused for a second, before speaking louder. “Sir,” he repeated, stressing the r this time.
“I am here to see Miss Prideaux,” I said, keeping my eyes fixed on his hairline. “She is expecting me.” The boy hovered for a moment, before he nodded.
“Please wait, Sir.” The door closed in front of me. I sighed and took out my pocket watch. I kept my fingers cupped tightly around it, ensuring not a flash of the metal could be seen by anyone but I. I disliked coming to this part of town for many reasons, but one that often bothered me the most was how easy it became to lose track of time without the street-clocks on every corner. There wasn’t even a church to ring out the hour in this part of the city.
I tucked the watch back into my waistcoat, just as the door opened again. This time, it revealed Miss Prideaux herself, dressed in her usual garish and colourful manner.
“My apologies, Mr. Anderson. The lad is new and doesn’t quite understand the difference between the usual riff-raff and one such as yourself. Please be sure he’ll be getting a beating tonight.” I shook my head - acting as if being made to wait on the doorstep instead of being invited in was nothing - and held out my hand to her. She obliged, resting her palm upon mine so I might bend to press a kiss to the bends of her fingers. As always, the flash of gold across her fingernails and streaks of copper in her skin that showed blue on mine caught my attention. I pushed it away and rose again. She tittered in laughter as she drew her hand back towards herself, smiling widely.
“Such a gentleman,” She purred, moving aside to allow me through. The hallway was too small and I was forced to touch my body to hers - something I was sure she had purposely engineered. “How has business been, Mister Anderson?” She enquired as we walked the hall. It was dark - no light filtered in from the small window above the door and there were no candles or lanterns lighting the way - but I was accustomed to it now and knew which way to head even without Miss Prideaux leading me.
“Well, thank you,” I replied. In the back of my mind, I could imagine my mother telling me to enquire after hers but I forced it away. I doubt my dear mother ever expected me to be frequenting these sorts of businesses.
“And Mrs. Anderson? How is she?” She asked, and I frowned. How was Rachel? I wasn’t sure I knew. We saw each other for supper every night, and she regaled me with tales of her day. Occasionally, she took a break from telling me about her embroidery or how Mrs. Quinn Hudson was with child again to regale me with the most recent thing she had been to see at the theatre, but that was it. I listened to each story she told with interest, but when I enquired after her life she would smile brightly and tell me that she was not a star yet and I knew that was the end of the conversation.
“She’s very well.” Miss Prideaux seemed content as we stepped into her parlour. My eyes burned in the sudden bright light and I took a moment to close them. When I reopened them, it was still too bright and they watered. “I believe she is visiting a friend today.”
I gestured for Miss Prideaux to sit down before taking my own place opposite her. She rang the small bell on the table beside her chair and looked around the room. In this light - some of which came from the large windows, but most of which came from the multitude of lamps around the room - I could see the golden sheen to Miss Prideaux’s skin. It clashed with the jewellery ringing her arms and the bright silks that made up her dress.
When I looked away, a servant girl was entering the room, carrying a tray of tea. She set it down beside the mistress, and waited.
“You may leave, Tina,” Miss Prideaux said, leaning towards the tea tray. “But please have some wine prepared to go to whichever room Mr. Anderson chooses.”
“It will be the usual,” I assured her, leaning back in the chair as she poured the cups of tea. I caught a quick frown on her face, but it was rapidly smoothed into a neutral smile.
“Do you not think you might sample another today, Mister Anderson?” She asked, lifting her cup and saucer into her hands. “Someone more prepared for what you require, perhaps?”
“With all due respect, Madame,” I said, punctuating the sentence with a sip of tea. It was cheap and rather chalky, as always. I tried not to grimace as I took another sip. “He does work here. I am sure he is already prepared.” I watched as her lips tightened against her teeth, and a flush began to build on her cheeks. It was generally advised that one shouldn’t anger someone of her sort, but I chose to ignore that piece of advice - much like I had chosen to ignore many others simply by coming here.
“There are others more suited to this profession, Mister Anderson, and they will make your evening far more enjoyable.” She seemed to be thinking as she spoke, the words were spoken slowly. “Perhaps my Miss Lopez. A rare Spanish beauty, straight from Seville. She could certainly give you more...devious pleasures, it is in her blood, Mister Anderson.” I said nothing. “Or perhaps Mister Puckerman is more to your tastes. He comes from a good family - a very devout religious family, Mister Anderson.”
“I’m sure they would be proud to see him in this establishment.” Miss Prideaux’s face was almost burning red now. I imagined that she might explode, but she simply set her tea down and took a few deep breaths.
“He has been here since childhood,” She continued, as if I had never said a word. “His mother is in an asylum. The nature of his birth, you see. His father meant to drown him but he hadn’t the heart, he simply abandoned him on the steps of my sister’s home. Once she passed, I took him in.”
“What a sad tale,” I said. I’m sure she could tell that I didn’t mean a word of it. “I’m sure their talents are plenty and varied, but I simply must insist on my usual choice.” She nodded, and rose from her seat. I followed, falling in step behind her as she led me to the door.
“I’m sorry I could not convince you otherwise, for I would have loved to keep that innocent spark in his eyes.” I bit my tongue so I didn’t state that if she wanted to keep him innocent, she would not have put him to such a career. “You know the way. Ring the bell if you require anything and Tina will be up promptly.”
“Thank you, Miss Prideaux.” I bowed before stepping out of the door and she simply nodded in return. “I will be sure to keep his innocence in mind this evening.”
The door to the parlour shut behind me with a snick and I smiled bitterly. I was once again in the dark, but as she had said, I knew my way. I took the steep stairs slowly, not wanting to appear to him flushed and out of breath. That could be saved for later after all. As I walked, I pulled out my pocket watch again.
I was not surprised to see I had lost forty five minutes over tea with Miss Prideaux and I dreaded my arriving home. At home, Rachel rarely recognized her place in the household. She was outspoken, loud, and prone to questioning my whereabouts. I was often jealous of my associates - especially Doctor Abrams, whose wife was the most quiet thing you could imagine. I often wondered if she was simple, but it would have been uncommonly rude to ask such a thing publicly, or privately.
I also wondered at the Doctor’s good fortune. He had come from modest beginnings to start with and an unfortunate accident in his youth led to his life being constricted to a bath chair. His wife had come with a large dowry and a wonderful education. Regardless, he was an uncommonly good doctor and a capital fellow. He deserved all the good fortune life would grant him.
Soon enough, I reached the familiar door. It was violet, something that had once been explained to me but I could barely remember the significance now. I raised my walking stick to tap it against the door and arranged myself in the doorway as I waited.
“Kurt.” I couldn’t help the breathiness of my voice when he opened the door. He was only in his shirtsleeves and though he was the unseemly one, I felt strangely overdressed. Though my mother would have had the vapours to see it, I pulled off my hat and bowed to him.
“Good evening, Blaine.” He was smiling widely when I came back up and he moved forward. We embraced, he kissing me so warmly, so convincingly I could almost forget his profession. “Come in,” he said, gesturing for me to walk into the room.
It was as dark as the rest of the house, but with a constant warmth despite the drafty windows. A large bed took up most of the space but I ignored it, preferring to seat myself on the small wooden chairs by the window. Kurt followed me, standing by my side as I settled myself.
“Would you care for some wine, Blaine?” He asked, and I nodded. I looked out of the window as he moved around to room. I heard the clink of a bottle against glass but didn’t look up until I sensed Kurt standing by me again. He held two glasses of red wine in his hands and, though I knew it would be as chalky as the tea, I took one from him.
He stayed standing, though he rested one hand on my shoulder. I could feel his fingers stroking against my lapels as we both drank. The room was unearthly silent, I could hear no mechanical noises and no noise filtered in from outside.
“I’ve missed you,” I said, setting my glass down on the thin window ledge. “Brighton was as dull as I had expected, but Rachel seemed to enjoy it.”
“Family is more important than me.” I looked up at Kurt. He was smiling at me still. Once he caught me looking, he bent to place his glass with mine and then moved to seat himself upon my lap. Despite the small difference in height that was in his favour, he felt as though he weighed no more than a feather. “Come now,” He murmured, pressing gentle kisses to my face as he spoke. “You did not travel all this way and brave the Borough just to tell me you missed me, did you?”
I shook my head, and his hand went to my chest. I sat still as unbuttoned my waistcoat, and then my shirt. I’m sure I looked a mess, sitting there with my shirt and waistcoat gaping wide open, but he said nothing of it.
“Come to bed now, Blaine, and we can talk later.” He rose, unbuttoning his own shirt as he sat down on the edge of his bed. I wanted to comment on the violet of his bed sheets against the porcelain of his skin, but his expression told me words were not wanted now.
I stood before him, waiting as he stripped me of my clothing. He took care with it, folding every piece and carrying it over to rest on the chair. He always had done that. Not even the first time did he simply remove my clothing and toss it to the floor.
Once I was naked, divested of even my socks, he pushed me back onto the bed. I sat up; resting on my elbows as he slowly removed his own clothes. I liked this part of our meetings - when he slowly took away the layers to reveal the violet tinged paleness of his body. Once he was done - his own clothes abandoned to the floor - he crawled onto the bed, heading straight for me.
We embraced again, he resting his weight upon me again. Now, I could feel the jut of his bones pressing against mine. It reminded me that even when he called for small treats to be brought to his room for us, I never saw him eat.
He seemed to notice that I had become distracted, and pressed his lips harder to mine. I could feel the bite of his teeth against my lower lip and smiled into the kiss. As we continued, he moved his legs to either side of my body. He pulled away for a moment as he held my member. His eyes seemed to be searching my face for something. A long moment later, he pressed down. I knew the rules he had never truly said and knew to keep my hips as still as possible.
I focused on his face as he pushed down, watching the way his expression contorted as he moved slowly. He seemed pained though I could feel that he had prepared himself before I had arrived. Once he was settled against my hips, his expression evened out and he began to smile.
“You are...” I said. I didn’t know how to finish the thought and moved my hands to his waist. My fingers seemed so dark against his skin and I wondered how he managed to stay so pale. Even Rachel, who seemed to spend her life hiding from the sun beneath veils and drinking vinegar, was darker then he.
“You’re thinking of your wife, Blaine,” He said, raising an eyebrow at me. I wanted to ask him how he knew, but he just shook his head and began to rock his hips against me and I forgot that I cared to know.
I groaned as he moved and knew it to be an ugly, primal sound but I could do nothing to stop it. Once, he had told me that he had never learned to dance but I refused to believe such a thing. Only someone who had mastered that art could move as gracefully, as sensuously as he could.
I squeezed my eyes shut, knowing if I kept looking at him I would not last. With my eyes shut, however, it was if as I could hear everything more clearly and his pants and whimpers filled my ears. He had long since stopped with the hideous, false sounding entreaties I’m sure he had been trained to say. I remembered our first meeting and how it had almost pained me to hear them. I’m sure at first he knew how I felt and simply didn’t care to stop, but I couldn’t pinpoint when he actually had.
Every time my hips lifted to match his movement, he would push them back down again with his weight, tightening his thighs against me so it became harder to move. I kept my eyes shut, listening only to his noises. He would whine and purr and speak my name in a tight, whispery voice that made my heart ache.
“Look at me,” He said, and my eyes opened. I knew it to be a demand; I knew he would undoubtedly use dirty tricks to get me to open my eyes if I refused. He was staring down at me, a strange light in his eyes as his movements become more erratic. I reached for his hands, clasping them tightly in my hands as he rocked back and forth against me.
I could feel my release building within me, that familiar tight burn persistent in my stomach but I forced it down. I didn’t want to be like the other men he saw. He wasn’t simply an available warm body, something my wife could not provide, and though he refused to allow me any control, I wanted more for him.
I said his name, repeating it over and over as his eyes fluttered. He smiled down at me before tilting his head back and releasing. His entire weight pushed down on me and I couldn’t hold back any longer as he let go of my hands to press against my chest to keep himself upright.
“You’re not fair, Mister Anderson,” He murmured as he climbed off of me. He tugged the bed sheet from underneath me and wrapped it around himself. I turned my head to watch him as he set about cleaning himself up, blinking rapidly to fight back the sleepiness that was trying to steal me away. “You know how I feel about you saying my name.”
“I do.” I propped my head up on my elbow; sure I was smiling like an insane fool as he came back to the bed and sat beside him. He tugged at me until my head was in his lap and he could run his fingers over my hair. “I want you to feel that way.” He turned his head away from me at that, but I could see the smile on his face and the warmth in his cheeks.
“I wish you wouldn’t use so much macassar on your hair, Blaine,” He sighed, toying with the ends of my hair. It was a familiar complaint, one I heard every time I saw him. “I know you look like a ruffian without it but I can’t stand the feel of it on my hands.”
“One day, I’ll come without it. Miss Prideaux will probably turn me away for looking like a beggar but at least I’ll have tried.” He smiled again at that, looking down at me this time.
We sat in silence for a while - broken only once by Kurt suggesting he could wash the oil from my hair and replace it before I left - my head still in Kurt’s lap and his hands still playing with my hair.
“I’ve never had an opportunity to be romantic,” I said, out of the blue. I wasn’t sure why I said it, but I had stopped questioning the way everything my parents had taught me around Kurt. I had never been one to simply blurt out what I was thinking - no, I left that to Kurt and Rachel who between them had no end of opinions - but around Kurt I couldn’t help but say whatever I thought.
“Not with your wife?” Kurt asked, his hands moving from my hair to my shoulders. His hands rubbed at them, digging into the tight muscles in my back with a softness that contrasted with the pain. “Not even on your wedding night?” I shook my head.
“I had no opinion about the marriage beyond that we are a good match, but she had her hopes set on someone else, a Mister St. James. Her parents didn’t approve so she settled for me.” I could see Kurt frowning and I shrugged, accidentally knocking his hands from my shoulders. He seemed to take it the wrong way, settling them beside his legs and no longer touching me. “I have known her my entire life and she was a very good match. A large dowry, good connections but...” I paused, my mind finally catching up with my mouth.
“But what?” He moved his hands back to me, resting them in my chest this time. I sighed - if I knew Kurt, and I often hoped I did, he would push me if I didn’t answer him. He and Rachel were similar in a lot of respects and that was just one of the many ways they were.
“I want better for her, sometimes. I could have married another woman and she could have married her beau and she would be happy.”
“Is she not happy with you?” I shrugged my shoulders again.
“I wish I knew, Kurt.” I supposed she was. She seemed happy, content with her life. I knew she had a good life, I knew many of her friends had far worse lives, and I knew that true love was not something that had ever been planned for her but part of me wished that was something I could give her.
I sighed out loud and closed my eyes, turning my head into the crook of Kurt’s knee. I felt his hands brush against my jaw, his fingers tracking the outline of my skull but before I knew it, I had fallen asleep.
When I awoke, the room was completely dark. No light at all managed to filter in through the dirty window and the candled had guttered and gone out.
I could feel Kurt lying beside me, his body pressed to mine and his deep breaths tickling my face. I tried not to disturb him as I moved, but his hand shot out to grip my arm as soon as I tried to sit up.
“You’re not leaving without saying goodbye, are you?” His voice was thick with sleep and his hand cold around my wrist. “I thought you were a gentleman, Blaine.” I smiled at that, reaching blindly to touch him.
“I was just going to see if I could light the candle,” I explained and he made some muffled noise into the sheets in response.
“I’ll do it.” He let go of my arm and I could hear him moving around the room. Soon enough, the hiss of a match filled the room and I could see again. Sometime as I slept, Kurt had redressed and stood once again in his shirtsleeves. “I don’t understand why Mistress refuses to get gas lamps.” He turned around, leaning back against the table the candle stood on and smiled at me. The candle light softened his already gentle features, making him look so much younger than I felt comfortable with. He was close to my age, I knew, but it felt so wrong for someone who looked so angelic to be here, in this dark and dirty house, entertaining lecherous men.
It felt so wrong for someone who looked so angelic to be a daemon, of all things.
“Blaine?” He was frowning now, a concerned expression that made my heart ache to see it.
“I got lost in my thoughts.” I smiled, hoping to see him smile again. “What were you saying?”
“Gas lamps.” I nodded, drawing my legs towards my self and raising my eyebrow. I’m sure he knew I was copying his favoured expression - hoping to imitate that air of being so self-assured it didn’t matter what I thought and probably only managing to look a fool. I wonder after the irony. I had been taught since I was a child that my opinions had worth, and yet a simple prostitute, a daemon, somebody on the lowest rungs of society seemed more sure of that fact than I.
“I suspect it’s because Miss Prideaux is miserable.” Kurt bit his lip for a moment, and I was sure I had said something drastically wrong and he was going to throw me from the room, but he nodded quickly after.
“She is, but she’s all I have.” I stuttered at that. I’d always thought that Kurt had no family. Nobody ended up in one of these houses if they had someone to care for them, or a trade to go into. “It’s not that bad.” He was looking past me, a soft smile on his face as he stared at the wall. “I have friends here. I’d miss it if I was somewhere else.”
“You...” I paused. Again, words came forth before I could even contemplate what I was going to say. I knew Kurt was looking at me as I pulled the sheets around me and sat up against the wall. “You don’t have to stay here. You could go somewhere better.” I looked at Kurt now, and saw the way he was looking at me and was struck dumb. I tried for a joke, smiling and gesturing to the room. “Somewhere with natural light.”
“You should be going.” He turned his back to me and I tried not to sigh. As I slept, he’d moved my clothes to the end of the bed, laying them out separately as he did every time we met. I pulled on my trousers before I stepped towards Kurt. He kept his hands on the table, eyes focused on the window I knew he couldn’t see out of. “It’s getting late.”
“Kurt, forgive me,” I said, resting a hand on his shoulder as he had done to me earlier. “I know this is your home but you deserve so much more.” The silence stretched between us, taught and uncomfortable before he rested a hand on mine.
“Thank you.” I leaned forward to press a kiss to his neck, but he pulled away. “Leave the money on the dresser. I’ll call for the boy to bring up a candle so you don’t break your neck on those god-awful stairs.” I sighed, my head spinning and aching as I turned back to my things.
“I’ll see you next week,” I replied. I hated this. Hated facing the reality of the situation. I didn’t look up when I heard the door open, and turned my head in the opposite direction when I heard him speak.
“Goodbye, Mister Anderson. Next week it is.”
It was extremely late to be returning home, and I knew as soon as I stepped into the entry hall that Rachel would have some choice words for me. I waited there, taking off my hat and gloves and simply listening to the rhythmic ticking the Borough had been so void of.
“Blaine!” Rachel seemed to swoop into the room, her skirts pulled high and revealing her ankles. I turned my eyes away from her, coughing until I heard the rustle of them falling to the floor. “Where on Earth have you been? Half of the servants are already sleeping and the other half were waiting for you to come home. It’s far too late for you to be out roaming the streets. Have you even had supper?” I had expected this - I expected this every time I returned home at any time she deemed unacceptable. Every week I gave her the same response and every week she argued with me. Sometimes, I didn’t know why I was so soft with her. Any other husband would have silenced her as soon as they were married.
“It was business, Rachel,” I smiled and turned back to her, holding my arms wide. She rolled her eyes at me for moving into my embrace, turning her cheek up for me to kiss.
“Business? At this time of night? What sort of business are you doing, Blaine?” Her eyes narrowed at me as she pulled away, clearly suspicious. “My friend’s husband always tells her he is doing business when in truth he’s visiting...” She pursed her lips. “He’s doing his business in Whitechapel, Blaine. Promise me you’re not going to Whitechapel.” I nodded. I knew what she was implying - Whitechapel was nothing if not notorious for it’s brothels and fallen women. It wasn’t a lie, to say I wasn’t going. Even if I was, it wasn’t for her to know. It didn’t concern her. While I didn’t agree with many things my father said, he had always made a point that it was perfectly natural for a gentleman to seek pleasures outside of the marital bed.
“Come, call for tea and meet me in our parlour. I’ll tell you about my business.” I pressed a kiss to her forehead again, and strode from the room. As I left, all I could hear was her confused sigh.
“Tea, Blaine?” She called. “Tea at this time of night?”
I had barely taken my seat before Rachel was staring pointedly at me. She coughed when I reached for the tea cup and I sighed.
“You’re so impertinent, Rachel,” I murmured, and she simply beamed at me. “I’m thirsty; I can’t tell you anything with my mouth so dry.” She sighed again, but allowed me to sip at my tea. Once she deemed I had taken too long, she began tapping her foot against the floor.
“If you were at Whitechapel, you can tell me. I’d rather you weren’t, however. We are married, it isn’t seemly for a gentleman to be seen there.”
“I wasn’t at Whitechapel,” I replied. She relaxed almost immediately, leaning back into her chair and looking smug. Perhaps her friend had suggested I was, and Rachel was relishing in the wonder of knowing she was wrong. Rachel did prefer to be right. “I was visiting a cousin.”
“A cousin?” Her eyebrows arched, far too similarly to the way Kurt’s did whenever he thought I’d said something absurd.
“Twice removed or something.” I nodded, trying to seem as though I was telling the truth. I’d never been a particularly good liar. Kurt said I got uncomfortable when I did and my voice sounded different. “His parents have passed and he’s only a boy, I was thinking of taking him as a ward.”
“A ward?” I wondered if she was going to repeated everything I said. I nodded again. “Oh, what a wonderful idea! It’d be like having a child!”
“He’s about sixteen, Rachel. Not so much of a child, really.” She seemed disappointed by that, a small frown on her face. “He’s not in society at all. I’m not even sure he has an education, really.”
“You’re wonderful, Blaine.” She took my head, smiling widely at me and stroking my knuckles. “I think it would be marvellous to bring him here - we could make a true gentleman of him and better his life. I’m terribly sorry I ever doubted you, darling.” I smiled tightly at that and my stomach rolled. I wished I was feeling the guilt of lying to my wife, the guilt from convincing her I was innocent but I wasn’t. All I could feel was nerves related to one simple question.
How on Earth was I going to convince Kurt?
Notes: I basically want to dedicate this entire story to pandoras5thbox who, despite only signing up to beta one fic of mine, was amazing support writing this ♥ I swear she knows what I'm writing better than I do. TY so much, bb <3 Without you, this would be just another idea. Also, thank you to Phil, for the gorgeous insignia on the banner.