Something Old, Something New: The Musings of a Rent boy
Disclaimer: I do not own Rent boy, he belongs to himself (Or the movie big- wigs, whatever takes your fancy). However, the two Lords are, I'm ashamed to say, from my imagination. I shall be nice and say that they belong to themselves (We all know that is not the truth though). Also the story and story idea is all mine and comes from my little warped brain, please don't steal! (Not that you'd want to anyway.)
'The good ended happily, and the bad unhappily. That is what fiction means.' The Importance of Being Earnest (1895) act 2
He stared out of the window at the street below longing to be out there and away from all 'this'. He regarded the room behind him, his eyes lingering on the double bed. Two sleeping forms lay sprawled out, one on top of the other. He smiled at the sight, his infamous cocky grin that earned him the nickname: 'Wolf' from Oscar Wilde. He had informed him that he thought wolves were so sure of themselves, like he was, and they had a mysterious air about them, also like him. He had of course accepted the name willingly. To be given something so personal and earnest from Oscar was an honour, or so Charles thought. Nobody else called him that name, nobody else knew of that name. To his friends, the few that he had, he was Charlie and to his clients he was simply called Rent boy. To them he had no real name, he was just an object. Yet Oscar Wilde had been different he had made him feel so much more than what he really was, despite being 'one of them'.
But like the other people in his life that he had loved he was taken from him. He was there the day Oscar was in court, he watched as they sentenced him. No one had known he was there though and that was the way he had wanted it to stay. Through-out the trail he had confined himself to the shadows and he had left before anyone dared move from the court room. Not before Oscar had seen him though. He looked up at Robbie Ross then as he did he saw him and smiled, Charles wasn't able to smile back, he had felt too numb to. So he had slipped away quickly heading for the nearest bar, where he could sit alone and no one would dare approach him. He hadn't wanted to talk, the grief was too much.
He lit a cigar that one of the boys was going to have later on but they'd forgotten and left on the windowsill. They didn't have to remember anything though. They were above all that. Charles guessed that if they wanted anything remembered then they would pay someone to do it for them.
They had boasted to being Lords and heirs to estates that he couldn't even imagine existed. They'd promised him once they'd inherited everything they would pull him up from the gutter and let him stay with them. He would be their live-in whore. Of course they'd marry, have children but they'd never be rid of their thirst for something not ordinary to the 'normal' society. Whatever that was. And he would be there for that. Charles agreed, he had to, but really he was planning to travel to America or France. He had plans to open up his own whore/Renters house, as that was the only thing he was educated for and believed that was the only job he was worthy of.
He had worked out that he only needed to please the two Lords, that lay on the bed, for a few more nights then he'd have enough. He wouldn't have to wait long, they seemed to have more money than brains. They always had, well ever since he had been acquainted with them.
They were both 19 when they had laid eyes on him. Their fathers had raised their allowance and they wanted to blow it all. Like reckless fools. At first they were unsure what on, then they saw Charles. He didn't even need to Rent them, they came over on their own accord and dragged him away to a dingy hotel. The same hotel they had used since the start of their sessions, the same hotel they were using now. They liked it because no one asked questions, your business was your own and they would lose their respectability if they were seen by their friends with a Renter. So no upper class hotels, ever.
"Fucking snobs," he muttered, throwing the rest of the cigar out the window. He was desperate for some form of relief from everything but he couldn't stand the cigar any longer.
Oscar hadn't been that keen on cigars and always offered him this exotic brand of cigarette. It left an unforgettable after taste and Charles favoured it. It was addictive. If it was taken from you it left you bitter and on-edge.
He stiffened as something kissed the back of his neck, like he had done to Oscar not so long ago. He hadn't heard anyone rouse but it had to be them, the person smelt of cigars and rich spices. Arms snaked around his hips and held him as the Lord continued kissing his neck.
"Do you love me, Rent boy?" he asked, his voice like gravel. It was the Lord whose parents had originated from France. "As much as I love you?"
Love? Charles smiled wryly. Love is an empty word, before it was used sincerely but now it is just a word tossed about like a possession. Most say it to everyone and anyone. The word love is now favourite among lovers who lust over one another, when before it was saved for marriage and family. What could he say though? Surely not the truth. How could he possibly bring himself to say 'I love you' to a wretch like this though? He had never been faced with this question before. None of the other men, whom he'd slept with, asked this of him. They were not after his heart, they simply wanted his body.
"My love, the nights beauty pales in comparison to yours."
Oscar had used a similar speech on him to hush him. It hadn't worked quite as effectively as Oscar would've hoped for but it would on either one of the Lords, Charles was sure.
"Your tongue is as sweet as honey boy," the Lord smiled. "Come to bed now, we shall speak more later."
Charles allowed himself to be led over to the bed and laid on his back as the Lord straddled him. He looked leeringly down at Charles before speaking: "We shall hear more of that honey voice as you scream out my name." Charles decided that he would not give him the pleasure of hearing him do that. He would remain silent.
"My Lord, I do not know your name."
The Lords top lip curled back and looked as if he would strike Charles with his hand for his pure ignorance towards him. His lips, fortunately, then twisted into a smile. If it could be called such a thing. Perhaps a smirk would be a more fitting description for it.
"Edward, my name is Edward."
As Edward lowered his head so their lips could touch Charles closed his eyes let his mind wander. He thought of the journey to America and arriving there. As Edwards hands roamed hungrily over his body he let his mind wander further. He thought of the place where he would set up his business; it would e a mansion with an endless amount of rooms. As another set of, cold hands joined Edwards his mind was no longer aware of reality. He thought of how he and his business would become famous and everyone would know his name. He would actually have a name and a proper place in society. He would never have to be scum again.
A/N I wasn't really planning on a sequel to the first one but this idea suddenly came to me. I know it's like the first one a load of babble, thoughts, cigarettes and sex but I was thinking of adding one last one to this 'series' that actually has a plot. * Looks pleadingly at her muse and starts to shower it with compliments * * Muse glares at her and mutters something about working over time but with no pay.. * I think I'll have to get back to you with that then! ^_^
And many thanks to: L, Luciana, Plato's Tragedy, Violet Raven and Kurttu. Who have all been very gracious to me (Muse take note!) and given my story positive compliments.
Disclaimer: I do not own Rent boy, he belongs to himself (Or the movie big- wigs, whatever takes your fancy). However, the two Lords are, I'm ashamed to say, from my imagination. I shall be nice and say that they belong to themselves (We all know that is not the truth though). Also the story and story idea is all mine and comes from my little warped brain, please don't steal! (Not that you'd want to anyway.)
'The good ended happily, and the bad unhappily. That is what fiction means.' The Importance of Being Earnest (1895) act 2
He stared out of the window at the street below longing to be out there and away from all 'this'. He regarded the room behind him, his eyes lingering on the double bed. Two sleeping forms lay sprawled out, one on top of the other. He smiled at the sight, his infamous cocky grin that earned him the nickname: 'Wolf' from Oscar Wilde. He had informed him that he thought wolves were so sure of themselves, like he was, and they had a mysterious air about them, also like him. He had of course accepted the name willingly. To be given something so personal and earnest from Oscar was an honour, or so Charles thought. Nobody else called him that name, nobody else knew of that name. To his friends, the few that he had, he was Charlie and to his clients he was simply called Rent boy. To them he had no real name, he was just an object. Yet Oscar Wilde had been different he had made him feel so much more than what he really was, despite being 'one of them'.
But like the other people in his life that he had loved he was taken from him. He was there the day Oscar was in court, he watched as they sentenced him. No one had known he was there though and that was the way he had wanted it to stay. Through-out the trail he had confined himself to the shadows and he had left before anyone dared move from the court room. Not before Oscar had seen him though. He looked up at Robbie Ross then as he did he saw him and smiled, Charles wasn't able to smile back, he had felt too numb to. So he had slipped away quickly heading for the nearest bar, where he could sit alone and no one would dare approach him. He hadn't wanted to talk, the grief was too much.
He lit a cigar that one of the boys was going to have later on but they'd forgotten and left on the windowsill. They didn't have to remember anything though. They were above all that. Charles guessed that if they wanted anything remembered then they would pay someone to do it for them.
They had boasted to being Lords and heirs to estates that he couldn't even imagine existed. They'd promised him once they'd inherited everything they would pull him up from the gutter and let him stay with them. He would be their live-in whore. Of course they'd marry, have children but they'd never be rid of their thirst for something not ordinary to the 'normal' society. Whatever that was. And he would be there for that. Charles agreed, he had to, but really he was planning to travel to America or France. He had plans to open up his own whore/Renters house, as that was the only thing he was educated for and believed that was the only job he was worthy of.
He had worked out that he only needed to please the two Lords, that lay on the bed, for a few more nights then he'd have enough. He wouldn't have to wait long, they seemed to have more money than brains. They always had, well ever since he had been acquainted with them.
They were both 19 when they had laid eyes on him. Their fathers had raised their allowance and they wanted to blow it all. Like reckless fools. At first they were unsure what on, then they saw Charles. He didn't even need to Rent them, they came over on their own accord and dragged him away to a dingy hotel. The same hotel they had used since the start of their sessions, the same hotel they were using now. They liked it because no one asked questions, your business was your own and they would lose their respectability if they were seen by their friends with a Renter. So no upper class hotels, ever.
"Fucking snobs," he muttered, throwing the rest of the cigar out the window. He was desperate for some form of relief from everything but he couldn't stand the cigar any longer.
Oscar hadn't been that keen on cigars and always offered him this exotic brand of cigarette. It left an unforgettable after taste and Charles favoured it. It was addictive. If it was taken from you it left you bitter and on-edge.
He stiffened as something kissed the back of his neck, like he had done to Oscar not so long ago. He hadn't heard anyone rouse but it had to be them, the person smelt of cigars and rich spices. Arms snaked around his hips and held him as the Lord continued kissing his neck.
"Do you love me, Rent boy?" he asked, his voice like gravel. It was the Lord whose parents had originated from France. "As much as I love you?"
Love? Charles smiled wryly. Love is an empty word, before it was used sincerely but now it is just a word tossed about like a possession. Most say it to everyone and anyone. The word love is now favourite among lovers who lust over one another, when before it was saved for marriage and family. What could he say though? Surely not the truth. How could he possibly bring himself to say 'I love you' to a wretch like this though? He had never been faced with this question before. None of the other men, whom he'd slept with, asked this of him. They were not after his heart, they simply wanted his body.
"My love, the nights beauty pales in comparison to yours."
Oscar had used a similar speech on him to hush him. It hadn't worked quite as effectively as Oscar would've hoped for but it would on either one of the Lords, Charles was sure.
"Your tongue is as sweet as honey boy," the Lord smiled. "Come to bed now, we shall speak more later."
Charles allowed himself to be led over to the bed and laid on his back as the Lord straddled him. He looked leeringly down at Charles before speaking: "We shall hear more of that honey voice as you scream out my name." Charles decided that he would not give him the pleasure of hearing him do that. He would remain silent.
"My Lord, I do not know your name."
The Lords top lip curled back and looked as if he would strike Charles with his hand for his pure ignorance towards him. His lips, fortunately, then twisted into a smile. If it could be called such a thing. Perhaps a smirk would be a more fitting description for it.
"Edward, my name is Edward."
As Edward lowered his head so their lips could touch Charles closed his eyes let his mind wander. He thought of the journey to America and arriving there. As Edwards hands roamed hungrily over his body he let his mind wander further. He thought of the place where he would set up his business; it would e a mansion with an endless amount of rooms. As another set of, cold hands joined Edwards his mind was no longer aware of reality. He thought of how he and his business would become famous and everyone would know his name. He would actually have a name and a proper place in society. He would never have to be scum again.
A/N I wasn't really planning on a sequel to the first one but this idea suddenly came to me. I know it's like the first one a load of babble, thoughts, cigarettes and sex but I was thinking of adding one last one to this 'series' that actually has a plot. * Looks pleadingly at her muse and starts to shower it with compliments * * Muse glares at her and mutters something about working over time but with no pay.. * I think I'll have to get back to you with that then! ^_^
And many thanks to: L, Luciana, Plato's Tragedy, Violet Raven and Kurttu. Who have all been very gracious to me (Muse take note!) and given my story positive compliments.