“Want another?” Jonathan asked, brandishing the baton.
Jonathan knew full well that he wasn’t a fighter and didn’t have the kind of strength to do much real damage with his weapon, but his presence was enough to convince the lad that the blond wasn’t worth it. He stood, spit at Jonathan, made a rude gesture, then ran off.
Jonathan watched, hand clenched around the baton, until he was certain the assailants were gone and didn’t plan to return. Then he looked down at the man at his feet.
The blond had curled into a ball in the muck and was shaking like a leaf. Tiny, wretched sobs rose up from him, breaking Jonathan’s heart. And damn him, but Jonathan had far too much heart that was too easily broken.
“They’re gone,” he said, crouching and brushing a hand over the blond’s hair. “You’re safe now.”
The blond shook his head and rolled into a tighter ball. His sobs became more pronounced. Of all things, he rested the side of his face on Jonathan’s boot.
A dozen heated emotions rushed through Jonathan all at once. Compassion was only one of them. Desire outweighed that purer emotion by a lot. Wicked, intense, and ever so slightly shameful desire.
“Come on,” Jonathan said, brushing his hand through the man’s hair so he could get a better look at his tear-streaked face. “Up you come. Let’s see the damage.”
He shifted back slightly, tucking his baton back into his coat, and stood, bringing the young man with him.
Jonathan’s heart beat faster as the young man stood, unfurling his limbs and body like a flower blossoming. He wasn’t as slight as Jonathan had first thought, or rather, he was smallish and lithe, but not emaciated. His skin had a healthier glow than most wretches from the street. He kept his face downcast at first, but Jonathan grasped his chin and tilted it up so he could get a better look.
As soon as the man’s shocking blue eyes met his, Jonathan lost the ability to breathe. There were universes in the young man’s eyes. He might have had the stooped shoulders and limp stance of defeat, but those eyes held explosions. They contained the secrets of the gods in their wide, dark pupils.
“I have a proposition for you,” Jonathan said, the same as he’d said to a dozen young men before him, but with a new and tantalizing feeling. “Have you ever had your photograph taken?”
The young man was nothing but confusion for a moment. So much that Jonathan wasn’t sure he’d actually heard him.
Finally, he shook his head.
“Would you like to?” Jonathan asked.
The young man merely blinked at him, as if words were a foreign concept.
“I am a photographer,” Jonathan explained. “I take a very specific kind of photograph that I sell to a unique sort of gentleman. I pay five shillings, I’ll feed you and give you a bath, and you never have to pretend to know me if you see me again.”
The young man’s face pinched in confusion, but still he said nothing.
“I photograph nudes,” Jonathan said, wanting to be honest without saying too much and frightening the man. “In particular positions,” he added, checking to see if the young man understood.
After a few seconds, the young man drew in a sudden breath as comprehension dawned.
Jonathan smiled. “So you understand?” he asked.
The young man nodded. His eyes danced like the flames in the lamps hanging from the pubs.
“Are you interested?” Jonathan asked. He desperately hoped the young man said yes.
He didn’t usually care, and yet, he was on tenterhooks as he waited for the swirls of thought and consideration to coalesce into something in the young man’s eyes.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the young man nodded.
“Good,” Jonathan said, letting go of the man’s jaw at last. He turned with a gesture for the young man to follow him, but quickly pivoted back and asked, “Are you older than eighteen?”
The young man nodded.
Jonathan smiled. “Perfect,” he said. “Follow me. I think this will be an arrangement that we’ll both benefit from.”
He walked on with the blond following, already planning the different ways he would capture his youth and vulnerability for all time.
Chapter Two
