In Which Lives Are Changed, Though No One Involved Knows It Yet
When the blindfold is whipped off, Mike has an impression of a smoky room filled with people drinking, carousing, not giving a damn for courtesy or even basic etiquette. Mike makes out airman's uniforms in between the the rags of the locals and the finery of the nobles slumming it for an evening's entertainment.
"Sisky!" William yells, beer already in hand. "Select a fine young thing for our dear friend here."
Sisky stands on a bench to scan the room. His eyes light up. "Ooh, dark exotic curls, that'll make for a good story!" Before Mike could protest, Sisky was gone through the crowd. He came back, towing a young lad, with the promised dark curls and a hard expression. "Mike, this is..."
"Kevin," the boy supplied, holding out his hand. Mike took it on automatic, and Kevin hauled him to his feet. "And your friends have paid for the room too, so shall we?"
His tone wasn't mean, just...brisk. Businesslike. Mike almost tripped over his feet at the top of the stairs when he realized that, for this boy, it was a business. "They paid you..."
Kevin held open a rough wooden door and pushed Mike inside. There were a few basic sticks of furniture, a stained sheet on the mattress. "Yes, for a full," Kevin said with a shrug, already unlacing his shirt. "So, what do you want?"
Mike backed up until the beams of the wall were digging into his back. Kevin was already shirtless, toeing off his worn boots as he loosened his britches. "Want? But, I, umm, no."
Kevin froze, pants held loosely around his hips with one hand. "No?" he asked, sounding honestly baffled.
Mike swallowed and forced himself to look at the floor so he wouldn't stare at the half-dressed man. "My friends, they think I should...they paid you to...but I never..."
"Oh." It was barely an exhalation of breath, but it conveyed a wealth of meaning. Mike stayed, rooted to the spot, staring at the knot in the floorboard, as cloth rustled. "You can look," Kevin said quietly.
Mike snuck a quick glance, breathing a sigh of relief to see Kevin properly attired once more. "Your friends already paid me," he said hesitantly.
"Keep it," Mike said bluntly. "But, umm, can we stay here, just a bit longer?"
Kevin smiled, and for a moment he seemed like a different person entirely. "Fake it so they stop bothering you about it?"
Mike nodded, relieved. "Something like that. Allow me to introduce myself." He held out his hand. "Michael Carden, but please, for this, you can call me Mike."
Kevin took his hand slowly, like he expected it to explode. "Kevin," he said. He eyed Mike up and down. "And if you want them to believe you've been deflowered, you can't go down looking so prim and proper. And they'll expect stories, y'know." He held out his hands above Mike's head. "May I?"
Mike nodded slowly, and Kevin ran his fingers through Mike's hair, mussing up the careful style. "Good. And undo your top button."
Mike did as he was told. "Stories," he asked, around a swallow.
Kevin gave him a very old look. "Have you never heard a virgin talk about their deflowering?" He laughed delightedly as Mike blushed and looked away. "Okay, come here." He sat down and patted the bed beside him. Mike glanced about, but there was no chair. He sank slowly onto the thin mattress, wincing as the straw stuffing rustled.
Kevin started to talk, matter-of-fact and almost blase. Mike stared at his folded hands. Kevin patted his shoulder. "And the blush is perfectly in character," he teased gently as he stood up. "That should be long enough, virgins rarely last long. Have a good night, Mike Carden."
And then the whore was gone. Mike took a deep breath to brace himself, and went downstairs. William and his friends whooped and cheered and bought him beer. Around him, the crowds surged and ebbed, and occasionally Mike caught a glimpse of dark curls gleaming in the lantern-light.
Mike staggered home alone.