Upstairs, Downstairs, Out the Back Door

[stbattenberg]

Sebastian St. Battenberg was still unmarried at age 30, a fact that his mother bemoaned at least once a week, and more often than that if there was company in the house. His considerably older brother had landed himself a suitable wife at 25, and now had produced no less than four children, firmly entrenching himself as the favored son. Not that the younger brother ever stood a chance. The only thing he'd ever really been good at was sport, and while that was perfectly acceptable for a boy in his teens, it was no longer the done thing for a man his age. So Sebastian was left as the useless younger son, and only his father seemed willing to give him some responsibility around the estate. It was all going to go to Edmund in the end, of course.

But without a family to attend to, or more taxing responsibilities at home, Sebastian was often left at ends. And he was generally the one who took up residence in their London home during the season, bringing his valet, Alfred, with him, and attended only by the man he had known since he was a child, and a housekeeper/cook. Sebastian was very fond of Alfred, but also found him a bit stodgy. He never came out drinking with his master, no matter how many times Sebastian asked, and often went to bed far earlier than Sebastian, despite the fact that he was only a few years older. He supposed his valet didn't sleep very well, because despite this, the man often seemed tired during the day. Not that it was ever obvious, but Sebastian knew him well enough, after all these years.

The valet didn't have a wife or children, either, but Sebastian had always vaguely assumed that Alfred was married to his work. It certainly never occurred to him that the man might harbor the same secret he himself had. Not long into his mid-teens, Sebastian had come to the realization that he didn't have any romantic interest in girls whatsoever. It had taken more years than that to come to terms with it, but despite his mother's pushing, he had never agreed to marry any of the numerous, suitable young women he had been introduced to. The fact was, Sebastian liked a few of them, and to take away their opportunity to marry someone who could love them and give them children seemed cruel and dishonorable. He might never be able to admit the truth to his family, but he wasn't going to damn anyone else, either.

It was however, only within the last few years that Sebastian had discovered he didn't simply have to content himself to a life of celibacy. While there were certain no prospects in the village back home (or at least none that he knew of), London was a different story altogether. And it was in the molly house, the taverns in the rougher parts of town, that Sebastian could be free. If the brief affairs (sometimes, more often than not, really) were motivated by some financial gain for the other party, the big man didn't mind. Perhaps he might long for something different, but even this was more than he'd ever expected to have, and Sebastian was, after all, a cheerful sort at heart. He'd make the best of what he was given.

Tonight, though, he wasn't feeling even the slightest lack. He'd just seen a new play in one of the smaller West End theaters, a bombastic, vibrant production that he'd thoroughly enjoyed. Sebastian was no great patron of the arts, but he did love a good story, with lots of fighting and declaiming and death and the right people winning out in the end. He had cheered the loudest throughout the whole thing, and now he was talking to anyone in the tavern who would listen about what a fantastic show it was, causing multiple men who thought they might land an ox in their beds tonight to reconsider.

"And that blond fellow! What a showman! I haven't seen him before, but that voice!" Sebastian gushed to the barman, who simply placed another glass of whiskey in front of the excitable man indulgently.

Comments

[stbattenberg]

Sebastian has to laugh at the thought of himself on stage - it's such a ridiculous image to him. He certainly wouldn't be able to memorize all the things actors had to, and then delivering those lines with any eloquence? Absurd. His laugh is as hearty as the rest of him, though, a genuine expression of emotion in a room more prone to coy chuckles.

"I'm a terrible liar," he admits, "I don't think the stage is for me."

But his attention is all for Thaddeus as the man continues, nodding along enthusiastically. He laughs again, amused at the thought of hiding a key with a person, and it does take him a few moments this time before he realizes that particular flirtation is aimed at him. It's almost charming to watch as that realization hits, everything is so plain on the man's face. The color rises in his cheeks again, and whatever comment he was going to make is neatly derailed while he gathers his wits. It isn't as though Sebastian's never had innuendo directed at him before, it just usually isn't from a man like the actor. Someone he'd immediately admired, and found intensely attractive, if he's being honest.

"Do you ... usually stay here?" he asks finally, the question both awkward and a bit shy, but it's definitely not a rejection of any proposal the blond might be making.

[inforapound]

Christ, that laugh. He missed hearing it honestly. It takes him back to their childhood together, when they'd been growing up. Before his position as the help's son had removed him from the social warmth that was Sebastian's playmate. He hides his accompanying laugh behind his hand and tries not to feel utterly guilty.

Guilt because he is lying. He's lying right now to Sebastian. He's in too deep already and he wants this. He wants to have this. Even if it's only one night, he wants to revel fully and completely the company of the large man. After all, His master is so charmingly thick. He wonders if other men have such a challenge in flirting with him. He wonders how many has Sebastian accompanied, not out of jealousy but sheer curiousity. He can't believe he's been serving as a valet this long and missed something so important as this!

"I do. When I'm in town at least. You see, I travel with the Season. I trod the boards in Paris in the colder months. But this is my home." London he means. "I've a standing agreement with the keyman here that I'll always have a room here." That at least is true. It's a good deal of money to have arranged it, but he needed it if only because he couldn't get caught making himself up to be Thaddeus in the St Battenberg residence.

"And should you want, I'm rather keen on leaving my key with a handsome man tonight." With a little flourish, he fishes it out of his pocket to place on the bar between them. He then returns to his drink trying to look nonchalant and not too eager and hopeful that Sebastian will take the key.

[stbattenberg]

Well. There's absolutely no way he can ignore that offer, and his eyes are immediately drawn to the key and settle on it as it's placed on the bar. No misinterpreting that, certainly. His fingers itch to take it, the only thing stopping him from snatching it up immediately are the manners his mother beat into him. That, and his nerves.

He had intended to find a likely fellow at the end of the evening, spend a little coin and get a room for a few hours. But he never expected that fellow to be such a public figure as an actor, and a really excellent actor at that! Thaddeus was probably very experienced, and used to having his pick of men, which was both flattering and intimidating.

But those thoughts only stay his hand for a few seconds, all told. He tries for dignity and gravitas when he reaches out and takes the key, tucking it away in a waistcoat pocket, but rather spoils the effect by clearing his throat as he does so.

"Well," he says, in the awkward tones of someone not used to making jokes, "I'm afraid I've rather spoiled that plan for you. You shouldn't be so careless, Mr. Crane."

[inforapound]

There is a moment when the key sits there on the table that his heart settles keenly in his throat. It's only though his acting ability and the presence of his slowly dwindling gin that he manages not to look nervous about this all. He keeps fearing that Sebastian will burst out with the truth. That he knows. But instead of suddenly declaring him Pennyworth, the man finally takes his key and tucks it away.

His nerves evaporate. He's certain he can keep the man very distracted and occupied enough not to draw comparison between himself and well, himself. His smile goes bright and he chuckles again. "My my. I really shouldn't, should I? Well, I'm afraid, good sir, that I enjoy living dangerously." Says the man finishing his fizzy cocktail.

He slides gracefully off his stool to pull in far too close. So that his lips almost brush Sebastian's ear when he husks into them. "I'll be making my rounds now. Thank you for the drink, kind sir. When you're ready, it's room 203." It's with a bold abandon that he just kisses Sebastian's ear. There's a tiny graze of teeth. Then 'Thaddeus' flits away, vibrant and warm, a thousand times more social than the butler, eager to talk and laugh, holding court readily.

Even so, his gaze will flicker back to Sebastian. He's not forgotten who he leaves with tonight and the gazes are eager and a bit hungry.