"Now," Jamey clapped his hands and rubbed them together. "First we'll go to a music hall, then supper, then a little club I know of." He cocked his head, studying Jonathan, his nose wrinkling. "You've sweated a bit. You'll need a quick wipe down and a fresh shirt."

Jonathan nodded. "The ones in my bag shouldn't be creased." He started for the door. "I'll just go get one, and..."

Jamey had been sitting on the bed. Now he hopped up and gave Jonathan a quick shove, causing the other boy to sit. "I'll go." He pointed at the pitcher and basin sitting on his dresser. "You go ahead and start sponging down. Won't be but a tic."

Jamey sprinted up the stairs, humming cheerfully to himself. When he'd come back to school early he'd only been anticipating a chance to visit some of his more disreputable haunts without having to go through the motions of presenting a respectable facade to the school staff. Finding Harker here, at loose ends, was a gift, a positive boon.

Harker's traveling case was sitting on his bed. As he opened it, Jamey thought, Narrow little bed. He smiled as he lifted out a shirt. He'll be much more comfortable in mine.

Jamey smoothed his hand over the shirt. It was simple cotton. He wondered if he could get away with buying him something a little nicer. Silk might be a bit much, at least at first--perhaps some good linen. He'd probably protest. Jonathan wasn't easy with accepting gifts--not that he'd had much experience with it. "Well, I'll just tell him it's an early Christmas present," he murmured.

He started to turn away, but paused, glancing back at the open case. He set down the shirt and reached into the bag, lifting out a neatly folded pair of drawers. He shook them out.

They were much smaller than his own, since Jonathan was more slender. He rubbed a pinch of the fabric between his fingers. It was cotton, too, but it was much thinner, worn soft and smooth by many washings. Good. He should have soft things next to his skin.

Not really hoping, Jamey brought the garment up and pressed it to his face, inhaling deeply, hoping for a scent of the sweet body that it had encased, but there was only the faint smell of soap. He sighed regretfully, lowering it again. Jamey slid his hand into the drawers. The material was so thin and light that he could clearly see the shadow of his hand. He imagined seeing Jonathan clad in these. His hair was so dark, he'd be able to see the shadow of his nether hair, perhaps even the outline of his cock. Jamey felt his own cock stir in appreciation as he contemplated this.

Why didn't I do something before now? He's been here almost as long as I have. Christ, the time I've wasted. Well, I don't think he'd have been ready before now. Jamey was tempted to take the drawers and try to persuade Jonathan that he needed a change of underwear as well as a fresh shirt, but he knew he wouldn't have much of a chance. Instead he folded the garment and replaced it. Hell, he may not be ready now. Jamey picked up the shirt, smiling to himself. Ah, well. Ready or not--here I come.

When he opened the door to his room, Jamey paused. His gaze was riveted to the scene on the other side of the room. Jonathan's shirt was draped across the bed, leaving him stripped to the waist. He had his back turned, and had one arm lifted, elbow crooked, and was wiping the sparsely furred pit with a damp cloth. Jamey admired the smooth play of muscles across his back and shoulders as he moved. Clothed, Jonathan Harker looked a bit thin--unclothed he was revealed to be slender, but well muscled.

Jamey cleared his throat as he shut the door, and Jonathan turned. A faint flush mounted the other boy's cheeks as he quickly crossed his arms over his chest. Jamey could just see the coppery disks of his nipples, soft and flat against his chest, and he had to hold back the wolfish smile he could feel trying break out. Instead he drawled, "Oh, stop acting like a dewy maiden, Harker, and finish your wash. One would think you hadn't spent the last ten years living in close quarters with other men."

Jonathan hesitated a second longer, then lowered his arm and dipped the cloth back into the basin. Jamey admired the flex of his long, elegant fingers as he twisted the excess water out of the cloth. "I thought I'd be finished before you came back," he confessed. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be silly." He watched as Jonathan wiped his other pit, then swabbed his chest. The cool swipe of the damp cloth made the skin of Jonathan's nipples crinkle slightly, and Jamey had to resist the urge to go to him, push his hand away, and explore. He wanted to see which would most quickly draw them up into sweet, stiff points--his fingers or his mouth. He had to shift slightly as Jonathan wiped his belly, cloth skimming the flat plane over his waistband.

Jonathan dropped the cloth back into the basin. "Do you have a towel? I can't very well just walk about half naked until I dry."

"Oh, I don't see why not. There should be a hand towel in the top drawer, but," he got up, approaching the other boy, "you're not done yet." He took the cloth, wringing it out briskly. "Turn around." Jonathan looked at him, his head tipped slightly down so that his hair tumbled across his forehead in a dark wave. Jamey sighed, twirling his finger. "Around! You need your back washed, idiot child."

Jonathan turned obediently. "That's better. May you always be so co-operative." Jamey wanted to take his time, but he knew that he'd get excited if he allowed his hands to linger on the smooth skin, and it was too soon to try anything. So he just gave Jonathan's back a quick, efficient wipe, then pulled the hand towel out of the top drawer and dried his back. Instead of handing the towel over to his friend, though, he took Jonathan's shoulder, turning him, and continued to scrub him briskly, from shoulders to waist.

He was about to stop when he noticed something intriguing. Harker's nipples were half hard now. Just before finishing he ran the cloth over Jonathan's chest again, teasing with the slightly rough fabric. Jonathan didn't quite gasp, but his breath was drawn in a little more deeply. When he laid the towel on the dresser, the nipples were firm buds. Before he could do anything more and panic the younger boy, Jamey picked up the fresh shirt and pushed it into Jonathan's hands. "Here. Hurry up, or we'll miss the first act. I'll be out flagging down a hansom. Meet me on the street." He left.

Jonathan finished dressing quickly, borrowing Jamey's silver backed brush to neaten his hair. He paused for a moment, examining his reflection in the mirror, frowning. He combed the hair back down so that it fell over his forehead, studying the effect. The hair would almost cover his ears if he didn't brush it back--it was time for a haircut. It should be longer, he thought. He'd like the way I look with longer hair. Jonathan wasn't sure who he meant by he--though the thought that it might be Jamey never entered his mind. It was just that for as long as he could remember he'd felt that there was someone out there that he belonged to, someone who belonged to him.

He also knew that this someone was a man. At first, as a child, he had just accepted this unquestioningly. It seemed right. As he'd grown older he'd learned that such feelings were not acceptable if the person was of the same gender, and he was still confused by that. How could what seemed to be so natural and integral to his nature be wrong? He never discussed it with anyone, and tried to push it from his mind. When he realized that Wilhelmina Harker liked him more than just a little, he'd been relieved. She was a sweet, pleasant girl, and she became his friend. She hinted that she wanted to be more than his friend.

Jonathan didn't really like to think about that. While he knew that marriage was the accepted way of the world, the idea of sharing his life with Mina... Well, it just wasn't anything that he truly wanted. He supposed that he would marry her in a year or two. They got on together, were even fond of each other, and they were well matched socially. It meant nothing, Jonathan told himself, that when he looked into Mina's eyes he kept thinking of cool blue instead of brown.

Jonathan quickly pushed the vague musings back into the corner of his mind where he'd locked them away when he first began to mature. When he'd been thirteen, and his body had begun changing, reacting in strange, wonderful, and frightening ways, he'd turned his back on the dreams and daydreams he'd had all his life, trying to ignore them for what he knew was the more conventional leanings of his classmates. He swept his hair back into place ruthlessly and went downstairs to join Jamey.

Jamey was waiting at the curb, chatting to the hansom driver. As Jonathan arrived the man quickly hopped down from his perch and opened the cab door for them. Jamey might be a student, but his dress and manner marked him as affluent--he would receive much better service than the obviously middle-class Jonathan had.

Jonathan watched the street, wide-eyed, as they moved into the seedier section of London. He'd passed through it like this a time or two, but he'd never actually spent any time in any area that wasn't thoroughly respectable.

The traffic, both of carriages and of walkers, increased till the cab had to creep along. Jamey watched with amusement as the different emotions flitted across Jonathan's open expression.

Jonathan was fascinated by the gaudy dress of both the men and the women. All the more mature women in his life had worn almost painfully respectable gowns. He hadn't spent much time with younger women, and their dress hadn't been much more exotic. Besides the neutral shades there were ladylike pastels and a few deeper jewel tones, but this... Screaming reds, bilious greens, even an orange that rivaled the tangerine he'd once found in the top of his Christmas stocking. And the men did not leave the peacock shades to their companions. He saw some patterns on vests that he wouldn't have believed existed except in someone's fevered imagination.

The hansom slowed to a stop, and the little door in the roof opened. The driver peered down and said, "You 'ave a bit more to go, guv, but it'll take me till th' show's 'af over, what wiv this crowd."

"Very well, we'll get out here." They exited the cab and Jamey began to rummage in his pockets for the fare while Jonathan looked about with wide-eyed interest.

He didn't go unnoticed. A young, clean, neatly dressed, obviously well bred young man was a rarity in this area, guaranteed to attract attention. A couple strolling on the sidewalk paused, studying him and Jamey. The man whispered in the woman's ear, and she nodded. Letting her shawl slide down her arms to show off her bare shoulders, she sauntered over to the dark haired young man and gave him a wide smile. "'ello, ducks."

Jonathan looked at her in surprise. He wasn't used to strange women speaking to him, but he instinctively responded with courtesy. "Good evening, Miss."

She laughed, "Oh, Miss, is it? Yer just as perlite as yer are pretty. Want some company?"

Jonathan felt confused. "I'm sorry, but my friend is taking me to the show. I can't leave him," he explained.

"Thas' awright." The woman was studying Jamey as he tossed coins up to the driver. "'e looks like a toff. I could keep yer bofe company, easy enough."

Jamey turned back to find a whore trying to chat up Jonathan. He was amused by the woman's cheek, trying to solicit his friend almost before his feet struck the pavement, but her sort of entertainment wasn't on the slate for tonight. He stepped over to them, taking Jonathan's arm. "Sorry, Judy. Not tonight."

The woman cocked a painted eyebrow, pursing her lips as she eyed Jamey's possessive stance. "Oh, it's that way, is it? Awright, ducks. Dint mean to poach on yer territory."

She strolled back to her companion, shrugging expressively. The man shook his head, frowning, and called, "Yer sort take the bread from poor workin' girls mouths," before herding his woman toward another man.

Jamey steered Jonathan up the street toward the music hall. "Move, lad. If you stand there and gawp the dollymops will be over you thick as flies on honey."

"She wanted to join us," Jonathan said. "Is she a friend of yours, Jamey?"

"Good lord, no! Whatever gave you that idea, Harker?"

"Well, you knew her Christian name."

Jamey laughed. "Oh, you are an innocent! Harker, a Judy is a woman of low repute, a fallen woman."

Jonathan's eyes rounded, "You mean a... a..."

"Prostitute. Yes, Harker, she was trying to solicit you."

"But, I don't understand. She said something about both of us." Jamey cocked an eyebrow. Jonathan reddened. "Oh. And her friend..."

"Was her pimp. Don't be so shocked--they're just providing a service. Here, stick close to me while I get the tickets." He laughed. "You know, many of these acts are promoted as being educational. I think your education has already started."

Jamey bought tickets for the best seats, in a box close to the stage. They had to share it with only four other people, all of them men of approximately their class. They were greeted with casual friendliness, the other men extending the camaraderie of men out on the town.

Jonathan had a wonderful time. The variety of the acts astonished him. There were acrobats who piled themselves into tremendous human pyramids and threw their bodies about in amazing and alarming ways. There was a juggler who could keep an astonishing number and variety of objects in the air at once. There was a dog act where the animals danced, leaped through hoops, and seemed to answer mathematic questions with barks. Jamey wasn't impressed. He said that if anyone could ever train cats to do the same thing, that would be a sight to see. There were singers, some of who encouraged the audience to join in. Jonathan couldn't, as he knew none of the popular songs, but Jamey sang along lustily. The dancers all wore scandalously skimpy costumes--arms, shoulders, and even legs quite bare. These women seemed to intrigue his box companions, and he heard the men discussing the possibility of getting backstage to meet this one or that one.

When the show was over they had no trouble finding another cab. Cabs were not frequent in this neighborhood, but the drivers knew there would be some more affluent customers looking for transportation. Jamey instructed the driver to take them to where the business district began to give way to a residential area, and they alighted before what looked like a substantial building of flats.

The door was answered by a very large, stern looking man, who eyed them carefully. He apparently decided they might be acceptable, and bowed slightly. "Good evening, gentlemen. Have you a reservation?"

"No, but I do have this." Jamey extracted a card and handed it over.

The attendant scrutinized the card, and his expression relaxed into a respectful smile. "Indeed, sir!" Then his expression became grave. "We were greatly saddened to hear of your uncle's death, sir." He stepped aside, inviting him in. "Of course there is a place for you and your friend. Please enter."

Inside, Jonathan examined the interior with great curiosity. It looked like a perfectly normal upper class home, though perhaps there were a few more doors along the long front hall than he would have expected.

The attendant said, "Common room, sir?"

Jamey shook his head. "No, no, I'll want a private dining room." The attendant glanced at Jonathan, and Jamey said, "Just the dining room."

The attendant bowed again. "Very good, sir. This way, please." They were led down the corridor, almost to the back of the house, and ushered into a very small, but elegantly appointed room. It held nothing but a sideboard, a small table, and two chairs, but the rug was rich, the wallpaper tasteful, and the paintings on the wall, while not old masters, were well done.

They sat, and the man produced a menu, the bill of fare written in a clear, neat hand. He handed it to Jamey, then stood, awaiting their order. Jonathan was a little puzzled when he did not receive a menu also. "What would you like, Harker?" Jamey asked.

"I can hardly know, till I know what they offer," Jonathan couldn't keep a faint tone of reproof from his voice.

"Oh, sorry. Here," Jamey stood and moved his chair till he was sitting on the side next to Jonathan, rather than across from him. He showed his friend the menu.

There was quite a selection, but Jonathan frowned. He whispered, "Jamey, there are no prices. How can I tell what it costs?"

"You can't. You're not to think about price, Harker. This is a treat--remember? In any case, you needn't worry--I won't be paying for this tonight. Uncle set up an account for the family, and the solicitor will take care of it at the end of the month. Now, show me what you want." He leaned his head closer to Jonathan's, murmuring, "I only want you to be happy, dear boy." He patted Jonathan's cheek. There was something about his smile that made Jonathan feel a touch uneasy. "Please remember that."