Author's Note: I'm going to drop it here and only here that this fic is going to contain many dark themes such as mental, emotional, and physical abuse, discussions on/of pedophilia, manipulation, and of course, prostitution. If you are sensitive to any of these subjects, I suggest not progressing.
For those of you who have been waiting very patiently for me to get this up, thank you for your constant support and words of encouragement. Here it is, finally!
The Smith House
Chapter 01
When the ladies Petra and Nanaba stepped into the glittering establishment that was The Smith House, they gave each other sideways glances and squeezed each other's hands in reassurance. They'd done it. They were here and they would do what they had come to do. It hadn't been easy to arrive unnoticed (at least they prayed they had not been noticed), but at the lighthearted suite being played out on by an orchestra in what may have constituted as a ballroom, they felt their nerves ease. They'd be safe here.
Everyone was.
"Ladies," came the excited crooning of a woman, sauntering over in breeches and a waistcoat, her shirt cuffs rolled up to her elbows, "how may I help you?"
Petra took a small breath inward, "Um."
"Overwhelming, your first time, isn't it?" the woman joked, adjusting her spectacles and letting out a small hoot of laugher before taking them both by the hand and leading them further into the building. She snapped her fingers and their shawls and gloves were taken from them with a smile and put away in what they only assumed to be a coat closet.
"Are we that obvious?" Nanaba queried, her eyes scanning the activity on the carpeted floor just a few steps below them.
The woman, one Hanji Smith let out a low chuckle. "Oh yes. Every woman who comes walking in here their first time is suddenly a virgin again. It's adorable."
Petra swallowed. It'd been so long since she'd been a virgin she barely recalled what it meant to hold such a thing to her name.
"Darling."
Their attention was drawn from the sprawls of card tables and banquets, of private dances and poetry readings, to their host, and the man who ran the establishment, claiming its name.
Erwin Smith.
With one arm draped around his wife, he gave the ladies before him a warm smile, "Looking for a gentleman then?"
"Yes," Petra breathed, her voice forced yet fanciful. Yes for one night she wanted a gentleman. For one night she would have the illusion of what she had always desired, for this was where the dreams of women came true. The Smith House.
The city's male whorehouse.
It had caused quite a stir when it opened, the male population of society in an absolute uproar over the idea of men selling themselves to women, their woman, as it just so happened. Still, throughout the many tantrums thrown by the elites, The Smith House stood strong and the ladies of the city contented, being able to pay for what they were not able to find in their own beds.
But The Smith House was not exclusively sexual, though the majority of the transactions ended between the sheets. The men offered in the house were to be the very essence of what their female clients demanded of them. They were a fantasy, not a quick tup. It was that idea of fantasy that had the two young women standing before it all tonight.
"If you'll allow me, ladies," he requested, "I will show you to some of our available gentleman."
With a quick, shared smile, they followed the tall, blonde man down to the floor.
"My husband is not for sale!" Hanji called after them, exploding into laughter at the thought, then flitting off to another room.
They passed by ladies engaged in chess matches, gentleman feeding copious amounts of champagne to others, and even two people so heavily engaged in their kisses it seemed as if they had forgotten anyone else was present.
What if I am seen, Petra wondered, her heart throbbing in her chest. She would be might not be punished for this indiscretion, merely mocked and tormented. But if Nanaba, who had so much more at stake, could venture here, then so could she.
"Here we are." With a flourish, Mr. Smith presented four men. Petra scanned them all, standing from their card game, their clothing every bit as fine as hers. If she hadn't known any better, she would have thought them peers.
The first man was tall and slender, a soft smirk turning up the corner of his lips. The charmer type. The second, a dark haired man who stood rigid, in an almost militant manner. Though his lack of smile made him appear to be a dark, devil may care type of man, his nervous eyes betrayed him. The third man was a hulking brute of a man with an oversized well, everything. Petra was certain if his hands wouldn't break her, his nose might.
The last man was not putting on any sort of airs to impress the two ladies who stood debating in front of him. Short in stature (particularly compared to his colleague), he wore disinterest as he did his own skin. Make your choice and be on your way, said his cold, cobalt eyes. Still, through that, there was something that interested Petra, something painful, something familiar.
"Him," she whispered, feeling quite rude, pointing at the man as if he were a pastry, "I would like to book him for one, no, two hours, if at all possible."
Mr. Smith quirked a brow but said nothing, writing up her receipt.
"And if you wouldn't mind," Nanaba put in, "might I spend two hours with the largest?"
At this, Erwin's eyes darted to the lady's neckline where ugly purple and brown splotches poked out from the lace that trimmed it.
"My Lady," he said, his brilliant blue eyes twinkling, "Perhaps Mr. Church would better suit you. You are so. . .lovely and delicate I fear that Mr. Zakarius may—"
"Please," she interrupted, fear filling her features. She took a small breath and lowered her voice, "he has kind eyes."
He said nothing further, nodding to the two gentlemen and taking payment from the ladies. They offered their arms and went their separate ways, Petra taking a moment to glance back at her friend on the arm of such an enormous man. Would he be gentle with her? Certainly he must. It was his duty to be as she requested.
She would be fine.
Petra, on the other hand, wasn't quite sure where to go from here. Was it up to her to decide where they went? Or was he, the professional, able to predict what she would please her? No, she doubted he could read why she was here tonight. She would have to take the initiative.
"How will we entertain ourselves for our time together?" she asked, doing her best to hide the trembling in her smile.
The short man shrugged. "You came to me."
She slid her eyes over to his face, bored and unamused. Flirting with him would get her nowhere and if she was honest with herself, she wasn't up for idle flirting to begin with.
"Take me to your room," she requested, raising her head a little higher and pretending she was still the lady her name claimed her to be, and that she wasn't in a brothel, on the arm of a prostitute. "And tell me your name."
"Levi," he grunted, leading her up a gilded spiral staircase, "Levi Ackerman."
Petra paused, gripping his arm a bit tighter, "An Ackerman?" she asked, "as in, The Ackermans?"
He stiffened at the mention of his family name and clenched his jaw. She wanted to pry, to know how an Ackerman had found himself in the business of selling his body, but she could see the the colour that had left his face and decided it was best not to pry into his personal business.
"Here," he said, pushing down on a brass handle and swinging open a carved wooden door. Petra took one last sweep of the hallway, being sure no one was milling about that might recognize her, and stepped into the room.
It wasn't anything like she had imagined it to be. From what she had heard of brothels, rooms where bare, dirty, and of questionable safety, but this was decked in every luxury she herself had. It wasn't an overly large room, but it was fitted with a large bed decked in furs and crimson velvets, an ornate wardrobe, a sitting area, and even a copper tub, towels, and fresh dressing gowns.
Petra inhaled as she looked about the room, and when she breathed outwardly, it rattled in her stays.
Levi stood by the bed, resting against one of the four posters, arms crossed, waiting for her next command.
"It's lovely," she complimented, throwing him a nervous smile. He didn't return the expression.
"Are we going to fuck or not? Two hours is a lot of time to fill in a place like this."
Surprise flashed across her face and she looked away, cheeks burning. What was she doing here? She shouldn't be in a place like this. She should be at home, or at the party she had been invited to, not dallying with young men of his kind.
"You've never done this before."
His words came out flat and factual, with no room for concern, warmth, or reassurance. She smiled again and shook her head and he let out an annoyed sigh. He wasn't any good with women so the ladies that chose him knew what they wanted. They came to him for a quick bit of pleasure and went on their way, not wasting time on false sentiment and fairy tales. This girl, however, had no idea what she had gotten into with choosing him. He was not going to play the prince just because she was having doubts.
"You're married, aren't you?" he asked, looking her up and down. There was no way she was a virgin. She held herself too well. She wasn't giddy or giggly looking for her first taste at a man. She was young, but not inexperienced.
"Yes," she replied with a whisper, "I am married."
"He's a nice guy," Levi supposed, "an advantageous match and a comfortable life for you, but you grew bored. You're bored so you came here looking for adventure." He scoffed, adjusting his arms, "but now you're having second thoughts because your husband's poor heart would be just broken if he ever discovered his beautiful little bird was unfaithful. And that thought is just too fucking hard for you to cope with, isn't it, my lady?"
Petra stared ahead at him, mouth agape, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. "No," she breathed, "that isn't it at all."
He gestured for her to humor him and she wrapped her arms around herself, trying to force the chill from her bones.
"I was a child bride," she told him, "sold into marriage at twelve years old. I hadn't even experienced my first bleed yet. My husband was, at the time, fifty-seven and though I knew nothing of men, I couldn't escape him. Every night, afternoon, morning—it didn't matter. It was my duty and there was nothing I could do about it. No matter how afraid I was, I was bound by our laws to let him do as he pleased."
She took a pause, looking back on what she had considered her childhood. "As I grew older his affections waned and I was thankful for this. When I was old enough to recognize what that meant, however, I. . ."
Levi stared ahead at the woman in his chamber, trying to understand how a man at such an advanced age could prey on such a small girl. He himself had just passed the age of thirty, significantly younger than fifty-seven, and the idea of even looking upon a child with lust had his throat tight and his stomach in knots.
Petra turned away from him, hands covering her face, shoulders shaking as she spoke. "I have two girls, Mr. Ackerman," she told him, "my eldest is eight. Eight, and I see the way he looks at her. I'll never forget that look."
Levi took a step forward, brow knit in disgust. He was disgusted with her husband and his lewd appetite, but most of all he was disgusted with himself for assuming her reasons for seeking him out, for lacking the understanding that someone of her stature could be just as he was. Chattel.
"She isn't his wife," she said, her words trembling as tears spilled from her eyes, "she is his daughter. She is a child." She took another breath, fanning her eyes to compose herself.
"I'm sorry," she sighed, "I just. . .I felt safe here and the words simply tumbled out. What a ninny I am."
"What do you want with me, then?" he asked. They both knew he couldn't solve her problems at home and he was certain she didn't expect him to. She had needed a listening ear and by contract, he happened to be available.
"I want what you can't give me," she replied, throwing him a hopeless smile.
"There's got to be something you want or else you wouldn't be here."
She didn't respond right away, moving across the room to admire some of his personal effects, arranged perfectly on a dustless shelf.
"I have one wish," she replied, running her fingers down the silk of the dressing gown that hung on a hook besides the bath, "that for one night I might feel the touch of a man not driven by perversion. I want to take comfort in strong arms, for my body to be kissed tenderly and my hair stroked with no ill intentions. I want, for one night, to be in love."
Petra smiled again, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Even if it is nothing more than pretend."
Levi took a breath, crossing the room to stand behind her, the backs of his knuckles stroking the sleeve of her gown. His heart, so hardened and callous, broke for her plight, even if it were just for this moment. She wasn't so unusual, not moreso than any of the other women who paid for his time. Every one of them was escaping in some way.
But there was something different in her. She wasn't running away from boredom or loneliness like so many others. She wasn't running away from anything. She simply wanted a break. One night, she had said. One night. That was all he had with her.
His fingers slid upwards, sliding across the delicately soft skin of her neck and his lips pressed against her back, exposed by the daring cuts of high society fashion.
"I am not romantic," he told her softly, "I can not be what you need."
The feel of his hands, strong and unwrinkled on her flesh set her body aflame, and his kisses trailing up her neck and under her ear turned her knees to water. She didn't need flowery words or playful banter over tea. She needed understanding.
"No," she said firmly, spinning on her heel to face him, shoving her hands into his hair, so soft and welcoming. His eyes bore no amusement, but she pulled him forward, her lips a mere breath away from his own as she whispered into his mouth.
"You are exactly what I need."
She closed the distance between them and he reached forward, hands planted firmly on her hips as he drew her closer, welcoming her kiss. He'd never allowed a woman to kiss him so quickly before, if at all. He wasn't there to be a prince, to romance a girl into his warm embrace. His job was pleasure. Quick, straightforward pleasure with no emotion, no feeling, and no lingering questions of 'what if'.
Why then was he pulling her forward as he maneuvered them through his room? Why did he lower himself into the armchair, letting out a soft masculine groan of displeasure when she pulled away momentarily for air? Why was he pulling her up onto his lap, and why was he feeling the pull of desire when she was the one who had come calling?
"Levi," she breathed, disregarding all propriety and allowing herself to express the blissful sensation rippling through her body. It was nothing she'd experienced before, fast and demanding, his hands on her face, in her hair, sliding down her back, but it was practiced, almost choreographed—a complete contrast to the sloppy oafish love of the man who took what he felt was owed to him.
Levi said nothing in response, his nose pressed against her temple, his mouth opened but unmoving on her flesh, breathing her in, desperate to imprint the memory of how this woman felt beneath his hands.
As he stopped moving, his fingertips resting on her neck, Petra leaned forward, kissing the side of his face, lips lingering for longer than was necessary.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Thank you he echoed back in his own head. What he was thanking her for, he'd never know, but when she rustled her skirts and lifted herself from his lap, he felt a small sting of disappointment. She'd been so warm.
"Should we undress?" he suggested. It wasn't what he wanted to do with her, Hell it wasn't what he wanted to do with most of the women who visited him, but the idea of laying with her for the sake of it put a sour taste in his mouth. She'd been tossed around and used for so long, it didn't feel right adding to her loveless encounters. Still, she had come to him. One didn't walk into a pleasure house not looking for pleasure.
"No," she told him, drumming her fingers against one of the bedposts, "I won't make love to you."
For a moment, Levi's pride was stung. Certainly he was a far more attractive prospect than the wrinkly old man she kept, but when he saw her eyes, drawn again to his personal belongings, he knew it wasn't her disgust that kept her clothing close to her body.
"Why."
It was curiosity that poked at his brain, causing the word to spill from his lips as he leaned back in the chair, crossing a booted ankle over his thigh, replacing his wonder with a haughty indifference, being sure to keep all of his walls in place.
She smiled, though she didn't look at him, quirking her head at a small leather pouch, attached to it, a string that looked ready to turn to dust.
"Because you don't want to," she replied, her voice calm and soft, maternal and gentle.
"You paid for me."
"I paid for your time," she told him, turning to face him once again, "I believe it is my choice as to how we use this time."
"This is a whorehouse," he stated, annoyance coming through his tone, "you know what whores do, don't you?"
"Of course I know what whor—what goes on in a pleasure house," she huffed, "but that doesn't mean everyone under their employ wants to engage in such activities every time."
"And what makes you think I'm so against doing my job?"
Petra paused for a moment, lowering her lashes briefly before looking directly at him. "Because the look you bear is the one I have worn for the better part of ten years."
Levi snorted, shifting in his seat. As if this woman had any idea. "Yeah?" he challenged, "what's that?"
"Obedience."
His eyes flashed, but she didn't recoil.
"If you hate your husband so much then leave," he snapped, "divorce isn't so uncommon here."
"No, it isn't," she agreed, lowering herself onto the bed, "and I could leave him if I had the strength to."
"Then what's stopping you?"
She sighed, caressing one of the posters, "Even though I can leave, my girls can't. They belong to him. If I were to set myself free, I'd have to give them up forever."
Levi's jaw tightened and he let out a humorless breath of air. "That's what happens when you let yourself get sold," he told her, failing to make light of either of their situations, "they trap you."
Petra lifted her head slightly, tilting it to one side. "So you were sold too. By your family? The Ackermans?"
He set his lips into a thin line, standing and taking her chin in one of his hands, steely gaze bearing down into her eyes, wide and golden.
"I'm not a real Ackerman," he whispered, drawing her close to him and tickling her mouth with his own, the tease of a kiss, "or so they love to remind me."
xxxx
Author's Note: I know a lot of you from tumblr have been waiting a long time for this to finally drop and I hope I haven't left any of you dissatisfied!