AN: Fair warning here, this story IS a lemon and should only be read by those who are teens or older. I haven't written anything in a really long time, and I've never written a lemon before at all, but this just got stuck in my head for some reason after reading The Wind Through the Keyhole and I just had to do it. I thought it would be nice to publish something for the first time in a long time, it feels good to write again :) Read and Review if you feel it's deserving, I'm always appreciative!

Eleanora wasn't quite sure what to do with the young man sitting on the bed beside her. He held his hat between his hands, and was leaning over, studying it thoroughly. He seemed intent upon it, and color flourished into his ears and around his hairline as he made himself busy looking anywhere but at her. His face was fair, but seemed so young, with an air of innocence and boyhood left behind in it.

Steep Harling, the proprietor of this particular establishment, had brought him up to her moments ago, as everyone else was already engaged in celebration of the day's victories over the terrible monster known to them as the 'skin man'. Here sat one of the heroes of the day at that, a gunslinger from far Gilead, seeming barely more than a lad with no hair in his hidden places.

Eleanora had read of them of course, and far Gilead itself, in the books at her grandmother and grandfather's home, in what seemed like a time some many years ago. She had taken to reading and writing easily, and how she had loved looking at all the things in the books at their house. Her grandmother and grandfather had kept them in the far back room, as if to hide their treasure away from prying eyes. People had notions in Debaria, and her grandparents knew it.

All the same, they had both died within weeks of each other the previous year, at which time she was shuffled to the care of a distant great uncle and aunt she had never met, who hadn't much use for her.

"We've not the means to feed ya." said the old woman, with her eyes looking haughtily out of her saggy, ill tempered face. "So don't get to comfy here."

Eleanora hadn't. It had only been six months now since they sold her to Steep Harling, and at a pretty penny, too.

"She's young, and has many a working year ahead of her." her aunt had gloatingly told Harling, while looking at Eleanora with sleek and hardly concealed hatred. "A decent looking face, and skin still soft and white. We're loathe to give her up this way you realize, but it's what has to be done. We're too old to keep her up, even for another half a year." she had said, feigning regret. No words were passed between them as she left, she had only given Eleanora a look of malevolent triumph as she walked through the doors of Harling's place. Afterwards, she had actually been amused at her own shock when her aunt led her through the doors of the brothel on their trip to town that day. It had been the last time she had laid eyes on the woman. She had stayed, for there was nowhere to run, no guarantee of anyway to keep herself from starving in the world. Sometimes she wondered if that was better.

She was surprised at just how quickly she had become numb to this new life, if it was to be called such a thing. The first night a towering stack of a man had come to her, and shoved her face-down on the bed as she stared at him, unmoving with fear. He had grabber her hair to pull her head back at her cry of pain when he entered her, and told her to hush it up or he'd give her worse. He was finished and gone in less than five minutes, and walked out without a word and her drying virgin's blood on his groin.

She ate little and talked less after that night, until one of the other ladies, older than her by a ten year likely, came to her one day.

"Just don't think about it." she had told her. "Don't, or you're not long for the world. Why give this hateful world the pleasure of getting the best of you? Laugh in it's face and make fun of the fools that fuck you behind their backs." she had said, her voice laced with a kind of glee and resolution, and more than a little spite.

So, she didn't think about it much. She didn't think about anything much anymore. Not her life now, or her grandmother and grandfather, who would have died a thousand deaths to keep her from this fate. No more.

The days were the same. Sometimes customers, sometimes none. In truth, she was surprised just how often the poor men of Debaria seemed to have enough money to visit Harling's. Mostly she sat and listened to the other women bustle and cluck about when there was no one in her bed. It was all the same to her. The men came, did their business quickly, and left just as quickly. Never was there pleasure in it for her, at times an inkling, a stirring, or a hint, but never anything close to the pleasure the beasts in her bed seemed to feel from her body. Sometimes she wondered if she spited it from being so.

She stared at the young man, with color still creeping steadily into his young face. The muscle in his jaw was working as he clenched his teeth, and his eyes still stared unblinking at his hat. What did he want from her? Maybe his friends were mistaken, and he didn't have a taste for women? She certainly didn't know how to ask. She had never had a problem with anyone coming through her door being hesitant about the job at hand, so she never had to think of a way to arouse them more than they already were when they arrived.

The young man stood up, nearly dropping his hat and stumbling against the bed in his haste. "I-I have to go." he said quietly, yet with an air of what sounded like fright. "I-I'm sorry, miss."

Fear gripped Eleanora. She didn't know what would happen if he just left. He (or more likely, his friends) would probably ask for their money back, which certainly spelled trouble for her. Steep Harling was a man of no nonsense, and this counted as such. He had never hurt her, nor any of the other girls that she knew of, but his temper was short and his understanding even shorter. She certainly didn't put a beating past him if he felt it was needed in order to keep his finances in line.

"Wait!" she said, surprised at how desperate her voice sounded. "You...you already paid money to be here didn't you?" she asked him, not knowing what else to say. "Harling won't give it back easily or without a fuss. Why don't you stay and..." she didn't know what else to say after that. Ironic as it was, she felt heat creeping into her own face at the thought of what came after "and". She tried her best not to think about these things in her life, let along speak of them to anyone else.

"I just...don't know what to do." the young man said in a rush. "I've never been with a woman."

"Oh."

Eleanora was taken aback. They had sent the lad here as prize for his good work, surely the hero of the day couldn't leave town without a good night with a woman? Eleanora was struck with sympathy for the young man. He was embarrassed. She was certain other young men would have jumped at the chance to finally become a man in this way, but this young man was hesitant. Why?

"Do you want to be with a woman?" she asked with caution.

"I do, but," he said, running his hand back and forth over his hair, "it's just that you seem, well, so young and pretty. To be in this place. I mean a place like this." he told her, casting his eyes around the room. His voice was barely more than a whisper, and she heard the constriction in it when he spoke.

Young? Maybe so. She figured however, that she had at least eight seasons on the young fellow.

"How old are you?" she asked him.

"I turned fifteen 2 seasons past." he told her. His demeanor relaxed a bit. Some of the color began to ease from his face and ears, and he sat back down on the bed.

"I'm seventeen." she told him. "So, older than you, if not by much."

"You don't look like you belong here." he said, his tone sincere.

"But I am anyway." she answered. It was her turn to look at the floor. Don't think about it. Don't.

She stood up and faced the young man. "What's your name?" she asked, to pry her mind away.

"Jamie." he said. "Jamie DeCurry, do it please ya." he told her, looking up at her where she stood.

Eleanora couldn't help but smile a bit at his use of manners in the situation.

"It pleases me very well. Mine is Eleanora." she told him.

He couldn't sit on the bed forever, and she didn't want to risk him leaving, after all. She had snatched trouble from her doorway, she thought, and it was best to keep it away. She began to unlace her bodice, and felt her hands shaking, fumbling, as she undid the ties in the back of it. Finally it fell to the floor with a thump, and her skirt rustled to the floor behind it. She stared over the top of sai Jamie's head, out the window that overlooked the street. She saw nothing but darkness, and the faint glow of the streetlights outside. The sounds of celebration were dulled coming up from the street in the quiet of the room. Muffled hooting and yelling drifted up to her ears from outside, along with a few pop-fires that the children likely had. She listened intently, fixated on the darkness outside that crept around the edges of the celebrating citizens of Debaria.

She flinched a bit with shock in response to his unseen and warm hand touching her; it too was trembling slightly.

"Is it alright if I...touch you?" he asked, pausing to try and swallow the lump she heard in his throat.

"Of course." she said, but her voice was hollow, and her eyes still stared absently out the window. (Don't.)

He ran one hand, and then the other along her middle, and then along her sides. They crept slowly upward, and she heard him swallow hard again. His breath was short now, and fast. Was he nervous or aroused? She didn't know. Part of her wished she cared, but that only made the hollow feeling inside her worse.

She reached down to unbutton his shirt, admiring the shiny white buttons on his shirt as she did so, and the soft cotton of the worn fabric. It felt comfortable and safe somehow. His breath mounted still, shallow though it was, but his face flushed no more. He reached down himself to unbuckle his pants, his hands fumbling as hers had done moments ago, barely rising from the bed for a moment long enough to let his pants and breaches fall to the floor beside her own clothes. His hands reached up further, and she felt his rough palms covering her breasts. Gingerly, he stroked them a bit, with a sharp intake of breath.

Finally, Eleanora looked down at him and noticed that he was hard, enough so for his manhood to stand erect. She guessed that was an indication that he had gotten past his previous uncertainties. She leaned forward, putting gentle pressure on his shoulders and guiding his back onto the bed, then knelt astride him. Surely it was best to teach the boy what to do, since he had no experience. Yes, a teacher. That's what she would be to young Jamie. At least it was something more than a warm body, for once.

She guided him inside her and lifted her hips toward him, and found that it wasn't as uncomfortable as it usually was, and she smiled a bit as she swayed forward again. Jamie clutched the bedclothes and gave a a shuddering gasp. For a moment, she thought it was going to be over as quickly as it had started, but he relaxed and closed his eyes, moaning softly. Something began to build within Eleanora, that inkling of pleasure so fleeting that always eluded her. Forward and back she moved, until the pleasure had turned into a need made of heat in her belly and between her thighs. Her breath too, was now becoming quick and ragged.

After a moment, she moved to the side and pulled him down to her when he rolled over. He was looking at her with confusion bordering on frustration, quizzical as to why she had stopped. His eyes were glazed over a bit, and she could see in his eyes not the same boy who had entered her room, but a man full of a man's need. She guided him again, and after a few faltering strokes, he found his rhythm fully.

He breathed hard and fast now, as a man at a dead run would, his movements becoming quicker and harder. Eleanora did not mind; there was no pain or discomfort now, and she slid her arms around him. She moved one hand up to wrap her fingers into his soft hair at the base of his neck, and the other clutching his lower back. Thought began to leave her; she was drowning in her need, in a burning sensation of hunger she had never felt until now. Even this realization left her, and she felt her body clench and her neck arch toward the ceiling as the end to hunger came in waves that drowned her mind. Her thoughts only returned a bit as she realized with surprise that her own voice was making a strange sound, almost wanton in it's pleading, as she moaned outside of her own will.

She heard Jamie gasp again, as she still clenched tight around him, and this time he cried out as man might that had been struck. His entire body froze above her, she looked up to see his teeth clenched and the sinew and muscle in his neck straining. After a moment, he drew breath again and fell to the bed beside her.

Eleanora stared at the ceiling as the world began to filter in around her again. She could hear the breath of the young man beside her, easing back into a normal rhythm. She drew a deep breath herself and closed her eyes. Her mind was still blank, and it was wonderfully soothing to have nothing to think about, even if for a few moments. She felt a soft pressure on her abdomen, and reached down to find Jamie's hand there. She placed her own over it gently; neither of them spoke.

She was unsure how many moments had passed before a sharp pounding on the door broke the silence. Jamie sat upright quickly, and made as though he might he get to his feet, every muscle tense. Eleanora realized he might have been dozing for having be startled this way, but he only stared at the noise coming from the door, his jaw set.

"Come on, young 'un, time's up!" Harling shouted through the door. "Come on! Time's money, and time's a' wastin'! Couldn't have taken you that long anyway!" he jeered.

Jamie stood up and stared at the door, his eyes narrowing. He seemed to consider the situation for a moment, looking at Eleanora, then to the door, and back again. On his face was an expression that Eleanora couldn't place. It looked as if he wanted to say something, but she wasn't what it might be or to whom. The door shook again with Harling's knuckles.

"I guess you have to go." Eleanora finally said. The last thing she wanted was Harling coming through the door and bawling at both of them. The truth of the world flooded in at last all around her; it seemed as though she had been spared it for hours if not days, and now it fell upon the room to the sound of a loudmouthed whoremaster's fist and shouting.

Jamie said nothing, but put his clothes on quickly, his eyes still full of unfathomable expression. He was watching the door closely, as if daring Harling to actually come through it. His hand began to reach for the knob, when Eleanora spoke again.

"Jamie," she said, as he turned to look at her, "it really was nice to meet you." she told him. She heard how odd and off it sounded under the circumstances, but she couldn't think of anything else complimentary to say that expressed any sort of gratitude. She was grateful, for his innocence, his hesitation, his gentle touch, even just lying beside her for a few moments after the night's business was over. Decency in a human being wasn't something she encountered anymore.

Jamie said nothing, but his expression softened and he nodded at her, his jaw still tense. He still looked as if he had more going on his mind that was unspoken. When he said nothing, she turned her face into the crook of her arm where she lay, to hide the stinging and glare of tears in her eyes from him. She heard the door open and close in a swift motion, and she was alone. Quieted voices outside the door trailed off as they walked away down the hall. The silence of the room rang around her and her skin pricked with goosebumps as a chill air took the place where Jamie had lain moments ago. For the first time in six months, Eleanora wept.