Stephen Day (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thejusticiar) wrote2020-04-19 11:58 am
thejusticiar) wrote2020-04-19 11:58 am
sample
Stephen stands in the doorway of his room. The boarding house he lives in is cramped and his room on the top floor is drafty. It's also more or less empty, devoid of signs of life save for a small pile of books and his clothes in the wardrobe.
It is a far, far cry from Lucien Vaudrey's luxurious flat on the Strand. There is no plush furniture here, no hot water, and certainly no servants. The latter he could do without, but the rest...
Being introduced to any kind of luxury had been a mistake. Stephen should have put his foot down at Piper, should have simply broken this off once their sexual tension was satisfied. Lucien lived in an entirely different world, and their stint at Piper had only proven that. High society was no place for Stephen Day, son of a country solicitor. A ruined one, at that.
He sighs quietly and steps into the room so that he can close the door. His hands ache as he undresses: parts of his suit are irreparably stained from the evening's work. Stephen is certain not even Merrick could save the blood-stained jacket, though maybe he'll ask all the same. He would rather not throw the suit away, especially when it would be perfectly serviceable for future work. There's no need for him to look fashionable while he does his job, and it's usually the last thing on his mind when he can afford new clothes. No, he needs functional, substance over style. He could never wear the kind of flash Lucien did. First of all, he would never be able to pull it off the same way: he's too short. And beyond that, he doesn't have the refinement to wear something that expensive without being painfully aware of that expense.
Stephen drapes his ruined jacket over a chair, followed shortly by his waistcoat and shirt. He finds something fresh to put on and catches himself in the small mirror he uses to shave. His hair's finally grown out into curls again and he no longer looks like the walking dead. How could Lucien ever have been attracted to him when they met? Stephen had practically stripped himself of life chasing down a warlock and he hadn't yet recovered when he took Lucien's case. And how long would that attraction last now that they were back in London? Lucien could have his pick of the town, that's clear enough. Best not to get used to any of it.
He sits on the edge of his small bed and flops backward, staring at the ceiling. At least it didn't leak. He'll need to report to the Council tomorrow and he should really try to sleep, but the bed is so empty. Another luxury he should never have allowed himself: sleeping next to someone. Before Lucien, he'd resigned himself to a life alone, save for the occasional quick dalliance. He should remember that.
Still, he reaches to touch his shoulder where a magpie tattoo spreads its wings. One of Lucien's tattoos, magically transferred to Stephen's body after the last time they had sex. He feels marked and is mildly concerned about the transfer. He'll have to send a note to Lucien to arrange a meeting - at the very least, he should give the man his tattoo back.
It is a far, far cry from Lucien Vaudrey's luxurious flat on the Strand. There is no plush furniture here, no hot water, and certainly no servants. The latter he could do without, but the rest...
Being introduced to any kind of luxury had been a mistake. Stephen should have put his foot down at Piper, should have simply broken this off once their sexual tension was satisfied. Lucien lived in an entirely different world, and their stint at Piper had only proven that. High society was no place for Stephen Day, son of a country solicitor. A ruined one, at that.
He sighs quietly and steps into the room so that he can close the door. His hands ache as he undresses: parts of his suit are irreparably stained from the evening's work. Stephen is certain not even Merrick could save the blood-stained jacket, though maybe he'll ask all the same. He would rather not throw the suit away, especially when it would be perfectly serviceable for future work. There's no need for him to look fashionable while he does his job, and it's usually the last thing on his mind when he can afford new clothes. No, he needs functional, substance over style. He could never wear the kind of flash Lucien did. First of all, he would never be able to pull it off the same way: he's too short. And beyond that, he doesn't have the refinement to wear something that expensive without being painfully aware of that expense.
Stephen drapes his ruined jacket over a chair, followed shortly by his waistcoat and shirt. He finds something fresh to put on and catches himself in the small mirror he uses to shave. His hair's finally grown out into curls again and he no longer looks like the walking dead. How could Lucien ever have been attracted to him when they met? Stephen had practically stripped himself of life chasing down a warlock and he hadn't yet recovered when he took Lucien's case. And how long would that attraction last now that they were back in London? Lucien could have his pick of the town, that's clear enough. Best not to get used to any of it.
He sits on the edge of his small bed and flops backward, staring at the ceiling. At least it didn't leak. He'll need to report to the Council tomorrow and he should really try to sleep, but the bed is so empty. Another luxury he should never have allowed himself: sleeping next to someone. Before Lucien, he'd resigned himself to a life alone, save for the occasional quick dalliance. He should remember that.
Still, he reaches to touch his shoulder where a magpie tattoo spreads its wings. One of Lucien's tattoos, magically transferred to Stephen's body after the last time they had sex. He feels marked and is mildly concerned about the transfer. He'll have to send a note to Lucien to arrange a meeting - at the very least, he should give the man his tattoo back.