The Kindness of Strangers (Part 2)
Title: The Kindness of Strangers (part 2 of 2)
Author: Septemberoses
Fandom: True Blood
Pairing: Eric/Godric
Spoilers: none.
Rating: R for hurt/comfort, pillow talk, sexing, enlightened self-interest, abuse, dark!Godric
Word Count: 4,400 (part 2)
Summary: Eric thinks it's time to give back to the community and open a home for wayward boys.
Author's Note: Link to part 1 of this story here. Thanks to Gruochrua for the beta.
The plan was to kick the kid out on the street at a taxi stand, but Eric's enjoying the company. He likes the sound of the boy's voice and the rain beating down on the roof of the car, he's not in any hurry to get back. It's going to be a long night and day. He could go sleep in one of the guest rooms, or the underground coffins, but he won't, even though Godric's in no particular danger tied to his bed. The rope's only made of hemp, no obstacle at all if Godric needs to get free. But Eric will rest on the couch all day with the bleeds, listening to the security guards moving outside and the periodic moans and whimpers coming from Godric's room as he struggles and tries to sleep. Godric can't claw at himself but the gown will be dotted all over with small, dried droplets of blood by the time Eric releases him tomorrow night. He'll be a very good boy by then, quiet and obedient and anxious to please, and Eric will bathe him and take him back to bed for other things, and the following night Godric will wake up and be miraculously back to normal, or what passes for normal as far as Godric goes.
"Where are you taking me?" Matthew finally asks.
"I'm driving you back. Don't you live around where I picked you up?"
The boy nods. "I'm sleeping in one of those empty warehouses."
"It's not safe down there."
"Yeah, I hear there are vampires."
"And worse things. Why don't you rent an apartment?"
"Nobody's going to rent to me. I'm a stupid kid with no references and no job."
"Can't you move in with someone?"
"That's how I wound up out here in the first place." The boy's voice is suddenly bitter. "He threw me out and then kept my stuff."
"You should have a pimp. If you did you'd have a place to live."
"Well, that's the thing, if I have to suck all the cock, I should get to keep all the money."
"You'd be safer. You'd be less likely to get hurt. Or killed."
"Everyone gets hurt, and I could die on the I-30 tomorrow. You could kill me right now and take your money back." The boy stares out the window, frowning. Then he glances at Eric and his expression softens. Eric's not expecting it, isn't prepared for the way it makes him feel. People don't soften when they look at Eric.
"Thanks. That was the easiest cash I ever made. You sure you don't want a handjob or something? I could blow you in the car."
"Your mouth's probably worn out from all that reading." Eric gets the smile he's fishing for.
"I wouldn't mind," the boy says.
"That's heartwarming, when you put it like that. Do you really speak French?"
"I took four years in high school. I don't know how well I actually speak it, but I can read it aloud from a book."
"What the fuck are you doing out here?" It doesn't make any sense. "Why don't you take that thousand dollars and go somewhere else?"
"Nope. I'm putting it all in the bank." Which sounds like a joke except the kid actually has a bank card in his wallet, along with a little money and a driver's license indicating that his name is in fact Matthew, at least as far as the state of Texas can discern.
"Who's the girl? In your wallet?"
"My girlfriend. She's not my girlfriend any more, though, she hates me. But I kept her picture. I like to take it out and look at it and remind myself what an asshole I was in high school." The kid pauses. "It's none of my business, but what was that all about earlier?"
"Honestly?" Eric considers his answer. "I don't really know."
"Really?" The boy's laughing. "That was so strange."
"Not that strange. You must meet strange men all the time."
"You can't even imagine." A cloud passes over Matthew's face. "People are disgusting. Sometimes they're just boring, or pathetic. I try to remember how lucky I am when I'm being bored instead of disgusted. I'm going back to school next fall, I should have enough cash by then to be able to swing a few classes. Maybe I'll meet someone who'll let me move in. I feel like I'm aging in dog years out here." He yawns and leans his head against the headrest. "I could work for you, though. Why aren't you a pimp?"
"Because there's less money in prostitution than you'd think. Your meth-head co-workers are a pain in the ass, and the police are always coming around looking for jailbait or protection money. There's not enough profit in a small operation to interest me, and I'm not going through the hassle involved in a larger operation."
"So it's not just your moral integrity holding you back."
Eric grins at the windshield. He kind of likes this kid, he's bright and self-possessed enough to game Eric a little by the end of their evening.
"Will you ever pick me up again? One of the other guys thought he recognized your car."
"I don't come down here to pick up boys too often. I don't even live here, that's not my house."
"I know. You're from Louisiana."
"How do you know that?"
The kid shoots him an amused look.
"Just a guess. Your car has Louisiana plates. There's no way in hell you drive that Prius in the garage, and this car isn't a rental. You can pull over, it's fine right here." He flips the hood of his sweatshirt over his head in a hopeless effort to ward off the rain and opens the door. "Thanks for the ride." And he jogs off into the darkness.
"All right, then. It's all decided. We're opening a home for wayward boys."
Godric blinks twice. Eric's just paused mid-stroke and given Godric's generous handful of cock a little extra squeeze of anticipation. They're sprawled in Godric's huge bed, which Eric figures is as close to heaven as he's ever going to get. Eric's embarked on the handjob because he likes watching Godric struggle to resist coming. They have a standing bet on the outcome of this game. If Eric ever loses, he owes Godric a car of his maker's choosing. But Eric isn't going to lose, even though Godric would probably only ask for an upgraded Prius instead of a Ferrari, the standard Dallas male-compensation car. Godric doesn't need to compensate for anything in that department, which is why he drives a Prius in the first place. If Eric wins (when he wins) he always picks the same thing, which is shaving the hair off Godric's lithe body from the neck down, and then rimming him. Godric dislikes being shaved, and finds rimming both hot and disgusting. So, really, everyone's a winner.
"Eric, I'm not following. I thought you'd just decided we were switching cable companies." Godric's standard tactic to try to avoid coming is to start a discussion over something idiotic like his cable bill.
"We are - well, you are, your cable company's screwing you, and not in a way I'm enjoying watching. But you're also doing this other thing for me. Here. In Dallas."
"When you say 'home for wayward boys,' you mean a brothel?"
Eric sighs.
"I wish. But no. I talked to the accountant and it's perfect. Remember that shitty apartment building you made me buy ten years ago? The one that's been sitting here empty ever since, costing me money?"
"You're not still cross about that, are you?"
"No," Eric says, drawing the word out slowly, "but it hasn't turned into the cash cow we thought it would, has it? That neighborhood's still a slum. I have to pay for security just to keep the crackheads from burning the place down accidentally. Well, I have a solution. A humanitarian solution. I thought you'd like that part, since you're such a humanitarian now that you're old and rich and feebleminded."
"Go on."
"It's pretty simple. I went by and looked at it, it's less trashed inside than I'd expected. I'll hire a crew of wetbacks to fix it up and we'll round up whichever rentboys seem the least likely to kill themselves or someone else, and we'll let them live there."
Godric studies him.
"Don't call them wetbacks."
"Oh, for Christ's sake-"
"Also, aren't you supposed to have some sort of building permits?"
"I've looked into that, I just need to toss the cash in the right direction and we're golden."
"And … what's in it for you?" Godric's powers of concentration are remarkable, but waning at this moment.
"Nothing, nothing at all. I'm just a humble soul giving back to the community."
"So it is a brothel."
"It's a fucking tax dodge, is what it is. I should have done something like this years ago, but I thought the real estate market would go up, not crash and burn. I get a big write-off against my allegedly legal income, and you get the deep satisfaction of providing the homeless youth of Dallas with a safe place to live. I haven't figured out all the details, but if it's a thirty-unit building and we stick two kids in each unit, that's sixty kids right there. Surely even you can do that math. And we can't do any worse than the city's doing. Have you noticed how many kids are out there sleeping on the street? Under the bridges?"
"You really are serious, aren't you?"
"Why not? Plus I'm going to hire that kid Matthew to manage the property, if he's still around. He's nobody's fool. We need somebody reliable on the ground, making sure they're not cooking meth or doing something else illegal that'll get me in trouble."
"Are you going to charge them rent?"
"I haven't figured that bit out yet. If they have to pay us cash then they'll keep turning tricks, right? So maybe not. But they'll still need walking-around money, and handing it to them isn't doing them any favors either, look at all the idiots sitting on their asses on welfare. I think we need some kind of jobs program, get them work at the mall or Starbucks, I don't know. Maybe that pimply-faced Christ-lover you've adopted has some ideas -"
"His name's Trey, and Eric, could you please not-"
"--are you fucking that boy yet? Because he needs it."
"I am not … fucking …"
"Are you all right?" Eric smiles, watching Godric arch his back a little, eyes closed, chewing on his lower lip.
"Look, Godric, I'm not trying to save the world here … I don't even know if it'll work," Eric admits. "Consider it a social experiment. If you give them a place to live and some clean clothes, and some food, and a minimum-wage job, what happens? Do they quit acting like scum?"
"I … I don't know…"
"Well, I don't know either. Let's find out."
"No, I meant, I don't know if it's a good idea … Eric, you can't take it out in trade. It's not right."
"You know, your moral high ground seems a bit boggy to me sometimes." Eric fights his own irritation, it's distracting him from the important business of the handjob. "You don't want to screw rentboys any more, fine, but don't think that just because you're not actually fucking them now, they're not getting screwed. Wouldn't Matthew prefer being home drinking a beer and playing Halo? Instead of here eating your stew and having his balls shaved? Not that your stew isn't fabulous."
Godric doesn't answer, and not just because Eric's making good progress in the handjob department. Now Godric's feeling even more ashamed of himself. Eric smiles and presses his advantage.
"So it's settled." He tightens his hand again, watches Godric squirm. "I'm going to go look for that kid Matthew later, after I've made you lick your come off my fingers. Maybe I'll bring him back here and we can work out a business plan while I shave your balls. Do you think he'd like to watch while I stick my tongue in your ass? Maybe he'd want to join in, you never know with these kids. Then the two of us can take turns fucking you. Actually … we don't have to take turns, do we? I can't see any reason why we can't both fuck you at the same time. Can you think of any reason? You can take his sweet cock down your throat while I'm fucking you-"
"-stop-"
"-oh, no you don't- get back here, I'm allowed to talk while we do this, you made the rules … come on, spread your legs for me like a good boy … that's better. Just ignore me and think of something insanely tedious, you do that half the time I talk to you already… think of something totally unsexy. Like Euclidian geometry. Or some girl riding your cock. That ought to keep you from coming."
Eric scoops Godric's balls up in his fist and shifts his grip. "Now, where were we? Oh, I remember. This is how we'll do it. I'll lie on the floor and you can straddle me. Don't worry, I'll spend an hour down there beforehand with your favorite cream, getting you all slick and easy first while Matthew watches you moan - it'll be like making our own porno. Godric, do you think you can take two cocks up your ass at once? I bet you can."
It's been less than a month since Eric had his brainstorm, and things are coming together nicely. Eric's got the right municipal building inspector bought and paid for, he's lined up a contractor who seems reasonably competent and isn't mobbed up, and even the accountant and the lawyer haven't bent him too far over the table. The only thing missing is Matthew, which is frustrating. Eric's come back from Shreveport twice already to troll the strip, asking around, but nobody's seen him out here recently, or if they have they aren't telling. Maybe they thought Eric would buy one of them instead. Eric has more pressing things to do than look for a rentboy, so eventually he threw some money at the problem, hiring a vampire to figure out if the kid had skipped town. Since his bank account's still open and someone's been making small withdrawals from local ATMs, it seems unlikely. Now Eric's got an address, more or less - a building so forlorn on the outside and forbidding on the inside that Eric takes a moment to eyeball the trash-strewn foyer for scum before he ventures toward the piss-soaked stairs. Half the windows are boarded up, and most of the rest are broken. Matthew is apparently holed up somewhere on the upper floors.
Eric tries the third floor, finds nothing but a few crackheads and lots of rats and more garbage. He walks into the stairwell, steps back over a pool of vomit, and emerges one floor up. It's largely deserted and looks straight out of a B-grade horror movie. But Matthew's right there, a bit further down the hallway under a single buzzing fluorescent bulb. The kid wasn't expecting Eric, and this isn't the sort of building you want to chat up visitors, so Matthew starts and leans back with an arm upraised before he sees who it is. He's wearing the same hooded sweatshirt and a pair of dark, dirty sweatpants two sizes too large that drag on the floor over his sneakers.
"Did you lose your pants?"
"… what?"
"Your pants. You haven't been working, did you retire? I've been looking for you."
"Why?" There's fear written on the boy's face, along with something else Eric doesn't like. Something new and hard.
"I have a business proposition. I think you'll be interested. You can put those people skills to work without spreading your legs for actual people." He keeps his voice calm and friendly. "Why don't you come downstairs and I'll buy you some dinner while I tell you about it." The kid's got deep hollows under his eyes and cheekbones, his skin drawn and gray. He's either ill or he's fallen victim to the crack pipe. Eric inhales discreetly. It's hard to pick up the boy's scent in all this filth.
"I … okay. Let me drop this stuff off in my room first." Matthew's carrying a white plastic bag from the drugstore. He turns and begins to shuffle carefully down the hallway. Eric follows, waits until the boy stops in front of a padlocked door and digs into his sweatshirt pocket for the key.
"Is that really going to stop anyone from getting in?"
"I don't have anything worth stealing anyway." The kid fumbles with the lock, his face averted.
"What's wrong with you? Is it your leg?"
"What do you mean?"
"I can tell by the way you're walking." Actually, it's the smell, but that's probably more information than Matthew needs.
"I fell down the stairs."
"You fell down the stairs and burned your leg? That's rotten luck."
"I didn’t - I didn't do anything, it's fine."
"Show me." Eric crosses his arms.
"Why, are you a doctor now?"
"Don't tell me you're too modest to drop your pants. There's nobody here but us, and I've seen all there is to see already. What are you hiding?"
Eric's primed for an argument, Matthew's a cool customer, which makes it all the more surprising when the boy buries his face in his grimy hands and begins to cry.
When the door swings open, Godric's already decided on a shy smile. Humans can have sudden, remarkable flashes of intuition, their survival instincts tell them things are not as they appear, and Godric wants to be invited in. He's already spent an hour out here in the dark, studying the house, listening to the sounds inside. This is a mansion in a desirable Dallas neighborhood where the old human money lives. There should be other people here, a servant or two, but there's just one heartbeat. Which makes sense, the man must have given them the night off after he'd made his arrangements. It wouldn't do to have others around this evening.
The man is in his fifties, sandy-haired, unremarkable in a polo shirt and khakis. He could be on his way to the country club. There's a splash of bright red skin on the left side of his neck which starts just below his ear and runs downward into his shirt collar. Godric is pleased. It's the port wine stain Matthew mentioned, although he didn't call it that. It's a useful distinguishing feature, as the man didn't give Matthew his name, but the boy remembered the address of the house. Matthew, as it turns out, has a very good head for numbers, they tend to drop into his mind without any effort and stay there until he needs to recall them. And this man is confident enough in his own special powers of persuasion that he wasn't afraid to have the boy to his house and let him go afterward.
"Come on in," the man says. He sounds jovial, like he's hosting a party. Perhaps he honed that skill at the country club golf course. Godric knows a lot of these fine old houses have wine caves which could be expropriated for another purpose. It must be a room in the basement with a heavy door. This man doesn't want the screams disturbing his neighbors, and Godric is quite certain that Matthew wasn't the first. This human is far too confident to be a novice. Also, Eric recalled seeing almost identical marks a year ago on a boy in Las Vegas. The burns had healed into angry scars by then, rather like the one Godric has on his shoulder, which is of a different design but a similarly crude execution.
"Am I early?" Godric asks tentatively. Most of the lights are off and the car is in the garage. He supposes the man wants it to look like nobody's home.
"No, you're right on time. Come on this way." He has a hearty Texas drawl coming from his deep barrel chest. He's a big man, wearing a big gold Rolex, in a big house that shows (albeit tastefully) just how important and successful he is. He doesn't look like the sort of man who'd want to tie a boy up and then hold a heated knife blade to the tender skin of the inner thigh while that boy screams and begs and smells the sickening smell of his own burning flesh. But you simply can't judge by appearances. Nobody knows that better than Godric.
"Have you ever been out this way before?"
"No, I haven't." Surprisingly, this is true. Godric doesn't know of a single vampire residing here, and his human dealings have never required a visit to the area. Godric doesn't care to socialize, it's an effort to make small talk. "It's very nice," he adds politely. He follows the man through the house. They pass the kitchen, the dining room, the library. Eventually they reach the back hall and stairs that lead down. Godric's glad he's here at last; the arrangements were tricky. This man doesn't buy on the street, he solicits his companionship via the internet, and fortunately Eric understands how such things work. None of their exchanges are traceable to Godric, he does not intend to take responsibility for something the humans should have dealt with among themselves.
"I'll give you the money when we're through, is that all right? It's up in my office."
Godric smiles and nods. The man is being deceptive; he doesn't intend to give Godric his fee. Godric's being deceptive about his own intentions, but he's curious nonetheless. It had infuriated Matthew - after all that, he hadn't even been paid. The man clearly can afford it. Paying them off would seem wiser, it might help buy their silence, make them more complicit in what's been done to them. Perhaps it's a reminder of just how lucky they are to be leaving that basement alive. Godric is sure there's a sound strategic reason. Perhaps he'll inquire later if he remembers.
Matthew and Eric are no doubt hard at it by now, they'd been waiting for Godric to leave, although the boy himself has no idea of Godric's plans for the evening. Matthew continues his convalescence at a boutique vampire hotel downtown, with regular visits from Eric, who buys him pretty clothing and good food and, most recently, a computer and other office supplies and equipment necessary for Matthew's work on their project. Despite Godric's clear disapproval these visits also include physical therapy of the sort Eric might be expected to administer. The boy has stated firmly however that he considers fucking Eric to be an employee benefit. Perhaps it's not merely a figure of speech and Eric really does let him top; Matthew seems like a natural. He's drawing a salary now, having proved himself a shrewd negotiator with the design and construction teams. At the end of the month he'll be moving to an apartment.
Eric's unnecessary kindness toward the boy interests Godric, who's self-aware enough to know that his own vestigial humanity is, in truth, long gone. Godric's kindness is intellectually driven, a simulacrum, a good habit he tries to cultivate, like recycling. Eric always has been inherently decent. A millennium of walking the earth free to indulge his baser instincts has somehow failed to extinguish this. It's their secret. In any case, thanks to Eric the boy is well fed and rested, his burns removed, but the human mind is more problematic and must work to heal itself. Matthew seems quite resilient, however. He and Eric were trading insults and arguing good-naturedly when Godric left. It is a deep pleasure watching the boy's face come alive when he talks about what they might accomplish together.
"-you can see okay, the lights aren't working right, there's something wrong with the electrical panel. Goddamned repairman isn't coming until Monday," the man says, intruding on Godric's thoughts with another lie. It's harder to escape if it's dark, and a human wouldn't be able to see the trap he's walking into. Godric imagines Matthew's unease, heading down here.
"I'm holding onto the railing, thanks." The man has a penlight to guide himself. Godric pantomimes night-blindness, his hand on the metal rail, his feet shuffling tentatively on the stone steps. He can see every hair on the balding head before him as he descends into this man's hell.
Godric draws his wandering mind back to his immediate surroundings. Tonight will bring a different kind of pleasure than what Matthew and Eric are enjoying. He sincerely doubts this plump, pampered creature has ever taken the time to feel for himself what he's been sharing out, and that's an unfortunate oversight. You always begin any serious study of the nature of pain by exposing yourself to it, it's the only way you can truly know how to use it most efficaciously on others. Godric's here to perform this valuable service. The night is full of promise. Godric didn't press for details, it seemed both cruel and unnecessary, but he's looking forward to seeing this room which Matthew described as a dungeon. He wonders what implements the man has to work with. When they find the body here in a day or two there will be some excitement, he imagines. He hopes the man brought his knife and his little butane blowtorch to play with. They're useful for browning the tops of crème brulee. Godric doesn't need it to do his work, he's very good at improvisation with the tools at hand, but he'd like a chance to try it out all the same.
Author: Septemberoses
Fandom: True Blood
Pairing: Eric/Godric
Spoilers: none.
Rating: R for hurt/comfort, pillow talk, sexing, enlightened self-interest, abuse, dark!Godric
Word Count: 4,400 (part 2)
Summary: Eric thinks it's time to give back to the community and open a home for wayward boys.
Author's Note: Link to part 1 of this story here. Thanks to Gruochrua for the beta.
The plan was to kick the kid out on the street at a taxi stand, but Eric's enjoying the company. He likes the sound of the boy's voice and the rain beating down on the roof of the car, he's not in any hurry to get back. It's going to be a long night and day. He could go sleep in one of the guest rooms, or the underground coffins, but he won't, even though Godric's in no particular danger tied to his bed. The rope's only made of hemp, no obstacle at all if Godric needs to get free. But Eric will rest on the couch all day with the bleeds, listening to the security guards moving outside and the periodic moans and whimpers coming from Godric's room as he struggles and tries to sleep. Godric can't claw at himself but the gown will be dotted all over with small, dried droplets of blood by the time Eric releases him tomorrow night. He'll be a very good boy by then, quiet and obedient and anxious to please, and Eric will bathe him and take him back to bed for other things, and the following night Godric will wake up and be miraculously back to normal, or what passes for normal as far as Godric goes.
"Where are you taking me?" Matthew finally asks.
"I'm driving you back. Don't you live around where I picked you up?"
The boy nods. "I'm sleeping in one of those empty warehouses."
"It's not safe down there."
"Yeah, I hear there are vampires."
"And worse things. Why don't you rent an apartment?"
"Nobody's going to rent to me. I'm a stupid kid with no references and no job."
"Can't you move in with someone?"
"That's how I wound up out here in the first place." The boy's voice is suddenly bitter. "He threw me out and then kept my stuff."
"You should have a pimp. If you did you'd have a place to live."
"Well, that's the thing, if I have to suck all the cock, I should get to keep all the money."
"You'd be safer. You'd be less likely to get hurt. Or killed."
"Everyone gets hurt, and I could die on the I-30 tomorrow. You could kill me right now and take your money back." The boy stares out the window, frowning. Then he glances at Eric and his expression softens. Eric's not expecting it, isn't prepared for the way it makes him feel. People don't soften when they look at Eric.
"Thanks. That was the easiest cash I ever made. You sure you don't want a handjob or something? I could blow you in the car."
"Your mouth's probably worn out from all that reading." Eric gets the smile he's fishing for.
"I wouldn't mind," the boy says.
"That's heartwarming, when you put it like that. Do you really speak French?"
"I took four years in high school. I don't know how well I actually speak it, but I can read it aloud from a book."
"What the fuck are you doing out here?" It doesn't make any sense. "Why don't you take that thousand dollars and go somewhere else?"
"Nope. I'm putting it all in the bank." Which sounds like a joke except the kid actually has a bank card in his wallet, along with a little money and a driver's license indicating that his name is in fact Matthew, at least as far as the state of Texas can discern.
"Who's the girl? In your wallet?"
"My girlfriend. She's not my girlfriend any more, though, she hates me. But I kept her picture. I like to take it out and look at it and remind myself what an asshole I was in high school." The kid pauses. "It's none of my business, but what was that all about earlier?"
"Honestly?" Eric considers his answer. "I don't really know."
"Really?" The boy's laughing. "That was so strange."
"Not that strange. You must meet strange men all the time."
"You can't even imagine." A cloud passes over Matthew's face. "People are disgusting. Sometimes they're just boring, or pathetic. I try to remember how lucky I am when I'm being bored instead of disgusted. I'm going back to school next fall, I should have enough cash by then to be able to swing a few classes. Maybe I'll meet someone who'll let me move in. I feel like I'm aging in dog years out here." He yawns and leans his head against the headrest. "I could work for you, though. Why aren't you a pimp?"
"Because there's less money in prostitution than you'd think. Your meth-head co-workers are a pain in the ass, and the police are always coming around looking for jailbait or protection money. There's not enough profit in a small operation to interest me, and I'm not going through the hassle involved in a larger operation."
"So it's not just your moral integrity holding you back."
Eric grins at the windshield. He kind of likes this kid, he's bright and self-possessed enough to game Eric a little by the end of their evening.
"Will you ever pick me up again? One of the other guys thought he recognized your car."
"I don't come down here to pick up boys too often. I don't even live here, that's not my house."
"I know. You're from Louisiana."
"How do you know that?"
The kid shoots him an amused look.
"Just a guess. Your car has Louisiana plates. There's no way in hell you drive that Prius in the garage, and this car isn't a rental. You can pull over, it's fine right here." He flips the hood of his sweatshirt over his head in a hopeless effort to ward off the rain and opens the door. "Thanks for the ride." And he jogs off into the darkness.
"All right, then. It's all decided. We're opening a home for wayward boys."
Godric blinks twice. Eric's just paused mid-stroke and given Godric's generous handful of cock a little extra squeeze of anticipation. They're sprawled in Godric's huge bed, which Eric figures is as close to heaven as he's ever going to get. Eric's embarked on the handjob because he likes watching Godric struggle to resist coming. They have a standing bet on the outcome of this game. If Eric ever loses, he owes Godric a car of his maker's choosing. But Eric isn't going to lose, even though Godric would probably only ask for an upgraded Prius instead of a Ferrari, the standard Dallas male-compensation car. Godric doesn't need to compensate for anything in that department, which is why he drives a Prius in the first place. If Eric wins (when he wins) he always picks the same thing, which is shaving the hair off Godric's lithe body from the neck down, and then rimming him. Godric dislikes being shaved, and finds rimming both hot and disgusting. So, really, everyone's a winner.
"Eric, I'm not following. I thought you'd just decided we were switching cable companies." Godric's standard tactic to try to avoid coming is to start a discussion over something idiotic like his cable bill.
"We are - well, you are, your cable company's screwing you, and not in a way I'm enjoying watching. But you're also doing this other thing for me. Here. In Dallas."
"When you say 'home for wayward boys,' you mean a brothel?"
Eric sighs.
"I wish. But no. I talked to the accountant and it's perfect. Remember that shitty apartment building you made me buy ten years ago? The one that's been sitting here empty ever since, costing me money?"
"You're not still cross about that, are you?"
"No," Eric says, drawing the word out slowly, "but it hasn't turned into the cash cow we thought it would, has it? That neighborhood's still a slum. I have to pay for security just to keep the crackheads from burning the place down accidentally. Well, I have a solution. A humanitarian solution. I thought you'd like that part, since you're such a humanitarian now that you're old and rich and feebleminded."
"Go on."
"It's pretty simple. I went by and looked at it, it's less trashed inside than I'd expected. I'll hire a crew of wetbacks to fix it up and we'll round up whichever rentboys seem the least likely to kill themselves or someone else, and we'll let them live there."
Godric studies him.
"Don't call them wetbacks."
"Oh, for Christ's sake-"
"Also, aren't you supposed to have some sort of building permits?"
"I've looked into that, I just need to toss the cash in the right direction and we're golden."
"And … what's in it for you?" Godric's powers of concentration are remarkable, but waning at this moment.
"Nothing, nothing at all. I'm just a humble soul giving back to the community."
"So it is a brothel."
"It's a fucking tax dodge, is what it is. I should have done something like this years ago, but I thought the real estate market would go up, not crash and burn. I get a big write-off against my allegedly legal income, and you get the deep satisfaction of providing the homeless youth of Dallas with a safe place to live. I haven't figured out all the details, but if it's a thirty-unit building and we stick two kids in each unit, that's sixty kids right there. Surely even you can do that math. And we can't do any worse than the city's doing. Have you noticed how many kids are out there sleeping on the street? Under the bridges?"
"You really are serious, aren't you?"
"Why not? Plus I'm going to hire that kid Matthew to manage the property, if he's still around. He's nobody's fool. We need somebody reliable on the ground, making sure they're not cooking meth or doing something else illegal that'll get me in trouble."
"Are you going to charge them rent?"
"I haven't figured that bit out yet. If they have to pay us cash then they'll keep turning tricks, right? So maybe not. But they'll still need walking-around money, and handing it to them isn't doing them any favors either, look at all the idiots sitting on their asses on welfare. I think we need some kind of jobs program, get them work at the mall or Starbucks, I don't know. Maybe that pimply-faced Christ-lover you've adopted has some ideas -"
"His name's Trey, and Eric, could you please not-"
"--are you fucking that boy yet? Because he needs it."
"I am not … fucking …"
"Are you all right?" Eric smiles, watching Godric arch his back a little, eyes closed, chewing on his lower lip.
"Look, Godric, I'm not trying to save the world here … I don't even know if it'll work," Eric admits. "Consider it a social experiment. If you give them a place to live and some clean clothes, and some food, and a minimum-wage job, what happens? Do they quit acting like scum?"
"I … I don't know…"
"Well, I don't know either. Let's find out."
"No, I meant, I don't know if it's a good idea … Eric, you can't take it out in trade. It's not right."
"You know, your moral high ground seems a bit boggy to me sometimes." Eric fights his own irritation, it's distracting him from the important business of the handjob. "You don't want to screw rentboys any more, fine, but don't think that just because you're not actually fucking them now, they're not getting screwed. Wouldn't Matthew prefer being home drinking a beer and playing Halo? Instead of here eating your stew and having his balls shaved? Not that your stew isn't fabulous."
Godric doesn't answer, and not just because Eric's making good progress in the handjob department. Now Godric's feeling even more ashamed of himself. Eric smiles and presses his advantage.
"So it's settled." He tightens his hand again, watches Godric squirm. "I'm going to go look for that kid Matthew later, after I've made you lick your come off my fingers. Maybe I'll bring him back here and we can work out a business plan while I shave your balls. Do you think he'd like to watch while I stick my tongue in your ass? Maybe he'd want to join in, you never know with these kids. Then the two of us can take turns fucking you. Actually … we don't have to take turns, do we? I can't see any reason why we can't both fuck you at the same time. Can you think of any reason? You can take his sweet cock down your throat while I'm fucking you-"
"-stop-"
"-oh, no you don't- get back here, I'm allowed to talk while we do this, you made the rules … come on, spread your legs for me like a good boy … that's better. Just ignore me and think of something insanely tedious, you do that half the time I talk to you already… think of something totally unsexy. Like Euclidian geometry. Or some girl riding your cock. That ought to keep you from coming."
Eric scoops Godric's balls up in his fist and shifts his grip. "Now, where were we? Oh, I remember. This is how we'll do it. I'll lie on the floor and you can straddle me. Don't worry, I'll spend an hour down there beforehand with your favorite cream, getting you all slick and easy first while Matthew watches you moan - it'll be like making our own porno. Godric, do you think you can take two cocks up your ass at once? I bet you can."
It's been less than a month since Eric had his brainstorm, and things are coming together nicely. Eric's got the right municipal building inspector bought and paid for, he's lined up a contractor who seems reasonably competent and isn't mobbed up, and even the accountant and the lawyer haven't bent him too far over the table. The only thing missing is Matthew, which is frustrating. Eric's come back from Shreveport twice already to troll the strip, asking around, but nobody's seen him out here recently, or if they have they aren't telling. Maybe they thought Eric would buy one of them instead. Eric has more pressing things to do than look for a rentboy, so eventually he threw some money at the problem, hiring a vampire to figure out if the kid had skipped town. Since his bank account's still open and someone's been making small withdrawals from local ATMs, it seems unlikely. Now Eric's got an address, more or less - a building so forlorn on the outside and forbidding on the inside that Eric takes a moment to eyeball the trash-strewn foyer for scum before he ventures toward the piss-soaked stairs. Half the windows are boarded up, and most of the rest are broken. Matthew is apparently holed up somewhere on the upper floors.
Eric tries the third floor, finds nothing but a few crackheads and lots of rats and more garbage. He walks into the stairwell, steps back over a pool of vomit, and emerges one floor up. It's largely deserted and looks straight out of a B-grade horror movie. But Matthew's right there, a bit further down the hallway under a single buzzing fluorescent bulb. The kid wasn't expecting Eric, and this isn't the sort of building you want to chat up visitors, so Matthew starts and leans back with an arm upraised before he sees who it is. He's wearing the same hooded sweatshirt and a pair of dark, dirty sweatpants two sizes too large that drag on the floor over his sneakers.
"Did you lose your pants?"
"… what?"
"Your pants. You haven't been working, did you retire? I've been looking for you."
"Why?" There's fear written on the boy's face, along with something else Eric doesn't like. Something new and hard.
"I have a business proposition. I think you'll be interested. You can put those people skills to work without spreading your legs for actual people." He keeps his voice calm and friendly. "Why don't you come downstairs and I'll buy you some dinner while I tell you about it." The kid's got deep hollows under his eyes and cheekbones, his skin drawn and gray. He's either ill or he's fallen victim to the crack pipe. Eric inhales discreetly. It's hard to pick up the boy's scent in all this filth.
"I … okay. Let me drop this stuff off in my room first." Matthew's carrying a white plastic bag from the drugstore. He turns and begins to shuffle carefully down the hallway. Eric follows, waits until the boy stops in front of a padlocked door and digs into his sweatshirt pocket for the key.
"Is that really going to stop anyone from getting in?"
"I don't have anything worth stealing anyway." The kid fumbles with the lock, his face averted.
"What's wrong with you? Is it your leg?"
"What do you mean?"
"I can tell by the way you're walking." Actually, it's the smell, but that's probably more information than Matthew needs.
"I fell down the stairs."
"You fell down the stairs and burned your leg? That's rotten luck."
"I didn’t - I didn't do anything, it's fine."
"Show me." Eric crosses his arms.
"Why, are you a doctor now?"
"Don't tell me you're too modest to drop your pants. There's nobody here but us, and I've seen all there is to see already. What are you hiding?"
Eric's primed for an argument, Matthew's a cool customer, which makes it all the more surprising when the boy buries his face in his grimy hands and begins to cry.
When the door swings open, Godric's already decided on a shy smile. Humans can have sudden, remarkable flashes of intuition, their survival instincts tell them things are not as they appear, and Godric wants to be invited in. He's already spent an hour out here in the dark, studying the house, listening to the sounds inside. This is a mansion in a desirable Dallas neighborhood where the old human money lives. There should be other people here, a servant or two, but there's just one heartbeat. Which makes sense, the man must have given them the night off after he'd made his arrangements. It wouldn't do to have others around this evening.
The man is in his fifties, sandy-haired, unremarkable in a polo shirt and khakis. He could be on his way to the country club. There's a splash of bright red skin on the left side of his neck which starts just below his ear and runs downward into his shirt collar. Godric is pleased. It's the port wine stain Matthew mentioned, although he didn't call it that. It's a useful distinguishing feature, as the man didn't give Matthew his name, but the boy remembered the address of the house. Matthew, as it turns out, has a very good head for numbers, they tend to drop into his mind without any effort and stay there until he needs to recall them. And this man is confident enough in his own special powers of persuasion that he wasn't afraid to have the boy to his house and let him go afterward.
"Come on in," the man says. He sounds jovial, like he's hosting a party. Perhaps he honed that skill at the country club golf course. Godric knows a lot of these fine old houses have wine caves which could be expropriated for another purpose. It must be a room in the basement with a heavy door. This man doesn't want the screams disturbing his neighbors, and Godric is quite certain that Matthew wasn't the first. This human is far too confident to be a novice. Also, Eric recalled seeing almost identical marks a year ago on a boy in Las Vegas. The burns had healed into angry scars by then, rather like the one Godric has on his shoulder, which is of a different design but a similarly crude execution.
"Am I early?" Godric asks tentatively. Most of the lights are off and the car is in the garage. He supposes the man wants it to look like nobody's home.
"No, you're right on time. Come on this way." He has a hearty Texas drawl coming from his deep barrel chest. He's a big man, wearing a big gold Rolex, in a big house that shows (albeit tastefully) just how important and successful he is. He doesn't look like the sort of man who'd want to tie a boy up and then hold a heated knife blade to the tender skin of the inner thigh while that boy screams and begs and smells the sickening smell of his own burning flesh. But you simply can't judge by appearances. Nobody knows that better than Godric.
"Have you ever been out this way before?"
"No, I haven't." Surprisingly, this is true. Godric doesn't know of a single vampire residing here, and his human dealings have never required a visit to the area. Godric doesn't care to socialize, it's an effort to make small talk. "It's very nice," he adds politely. He follows the man through the house. They pass the kitchen, the dining room, the library. Eventually they reach the back hall and stairs that lead down. Godric's glad he's here at last; the arrangements were tricky. This man doesn't buy on the street, he solicits his companionship via the internet, and fortunately Eric understands how such things work. None of their exchanges are traceable to Godric, he does not intend to take responsibility for something the humans should have dealt with among themselves.
"I'll give you the money when we're through, is that all right? It's up in my office."
Godric smiles and nods. The man is being deceptive; he doesn't intend to give Godric his fee. Godric's being deceptive about his own intentions, but he's curious nonetheless. It had infuriated Matthew - after all that, he hadn't even been paid. The man clearly can afford it. Paying them off would seem wiser, it might help buy their silence, make them more complicit in what's been done to them. Perhaps it's a reminder of just how lucky they are to be leaving that basement alive. Godric is sure there's a sound strategic reason. Perhaps he'll inquire later if he remembers.
Matthew and Eric are no doubt hard at it by now, they'd been waiting for Godric to leave, although the boy himself has no idea of Godric's plans for the evening. Matthew continues his convalescence at a boutique vampire hotel downtown, with regular visits from Eric, who buys him pretty clothing and good food and, most recently, a computer and other office supplies and equipment necessary for Matthew's work on their project. Despite Godric's clear disapproval these visits also include physical therapy of the sort Eric might be expected to administer. The boy has stated firmly however that he considers fucking Eric to be an employee benefit. Perhaps it's not merely a figure of speech and Eric really does let him top; Matthew seems like a natural. He's drawing a salary now, having proved himself a shrewd negotiator with the design and construction teams. At the end of the month he'll be moving to an apartment.
Eric's unnecessary kindness toward the boy interests Godric, who's self-aware enough to know that his own vestigial humanity is, in truth, long gone. Godric's kindness is intellectually driven, a simulacrum, a good habit he tries to cultivate, like recycling. Eric always has been inherently decent. A millennium of walking the earth free to indulge his baser instincts has somehow failed to extinguish this. It's their secret. In any case, thanks to Eric the boy is well fed and rested, his burns removed, but the human mind is more problematic and must work to heal itself. Matthew seems quite resilient, however. He and Eric were trading insults and arguing good-naturedly when Godric left. It is a deep pleasure watching the boy's face come alive when he talks about what they might accomplish together.
"-you can see okay, the lights aren't working right, there's something wrong with the electrical panel. Goddamned repairman isn't coming until Monday," the man says, intruding on Godric's thoughts with another lie. It's harder to escape if it's dark, and a human wouldn't be able to see the trap he's walking into. Godric imagines Matthew's unease, heading down here.
"I'm holding onto the railing, thanks." The man has a penlight to guide himself. Godric pantomimes night-blindness, his hand on the metal rail, his feet shuffling tentatively on the stone steps. He can see every hair on the balding head before him as he descends into this man's hell.
Godric draws his wandering mind back to his immediate surroundings. Tonight will bring a different kind of pleasure than what Matthew and Eric are enjoying. He sincerely doubts this plump, pampered creature has ever taken the time to feel for himself what he's been sharing out, and that's an unfortunate oversight. You always begin any serious study of the nature of pain by exposing yourself to it, it's the only way you can truly know how to use it most efficaciously on others. Godric's here to perform this valuable service. The night is full of promise. Godric didn't press for details, it seemed both cruel and unnecessary, but he's looking forward to seeing this room which Matthew described as a dungeon. He wonders what implements the man has to work with. When they find the body here in a day or two there will be some excitement, he imagines. He hopes the man brought his knife and his little butane blowtorch to play with. They're useful for browning the tops of crème brulee. Godric doesn't need it to do his work, he's very good at improvisation with the tools at hand, but he'd like a chance to try it out all the same.