Chapter 6
“Abrothel?”
Caspar tried not to act indignant, but he was.
Yeah, he wanted sex. After eight years of feeling nothing but his own hand—and even that was a rarity—he was startled by the strength of his libido.
But he was never the type to just go out and fuck.
Even when he’d had sex with Isabella, a one-night stand in university, it was after a long and drawn-out conversation about the merits (or lack of merit) behind David Lynch’s films. Caspar had bullshitted his way through the conversation, but she was impressed by it, and it had been that playful back and forth that got him hard.
The idea of paying for it—or Malek or Jocasta or whoever was in charge here paying for it for him—made his skin crawl.
Even if this house was gorgeous, with its long red carpets climbing up the stairs, fancy statues of Greek goddesses in the front hallway, and a lounge area with a bar where smooth jazz drifted through the seats, the moment Caspar noticed a woman with candy-pink lips holding hands with a guy with a potbelly, he knew exactly where he was.
“I don’t need to go to a brothel. This is silly. Stupid, even.”
“Hey now.” A woman with gorgeous black skin, long braids, and large eyes appeared from behind a counter.
God, there’s even a checkout counter. How…
seedy. Caspar wanted to run away, but Malek still stood by the doorway.
He held it open for the woman with candy-pink lips and her john before he sauntered inside.
“Twigs. My girl. How you doin’?” Malek held out his arms for a hug from the employee.
Twigs let out a small squeal as she rounded the counter and embraced Malek.
When she kissed him on the cheek, Caspar tried not to be jealous.
She’s a sex worker; she must act like this with everyone.
But the way the two shared a complicated handshake spoke to more familiarity between them than sex.
Are they best friends? Boyfriend and girlfriend?
Can sex workers even have significant others?
Caspar’s head spun. The same headache from behind his eyes came back with a low, throbbing pain. He touched his temples and blinked slowly. When he focused his vision again, Malek was in front of him.
“You feeling okay? There’s a doctor here if you—”
“No. God, no.”
“Hey.” The woman behind the counter folded her arms over her dress.
Lace poked out around the bowline collar and under the skirt that ran to her ankles, and she wore high-heeled boots that still couldn’t rival Malek’s gigantic size.
“You need to cool how affronted you are. You have to know that places like this exist. They do well. And this job is just as legit as any other.”
“Yeah, that’s fine. Different strokes for different folks, I get it.” Caspar snickered when he realized his bad joke. No one laughed, so he calmed his demeanor. “It’s just not for people like me.”
“You’re not interested in anything tonight?” Malek asked.
Caspar bit his tongue. YOU. I’m interested in you.
But that ship had sailed. Malek was clearly involved with this woman named Twigs, and they both wanted Caspar to fuck away his pain from being in prison.
Caspar was too tired to get it up anyway, even if he somehow did get to be with Malek.
His entire body ached from all the tension associated with escaping.
Each time they slowed in Toronto, he’d been worried a cop car would come around the corner, blue and red lights blazing, and he’d be taken in again.
But you’re safe here. And this place is safe.
The more Caspar stood in the front hall, the more it seemed like an okay establishment.
When the woman with candy-pink lips came back in, she made a fake gagging sound to her friend by the elevator and laughed uproariously.
In fact, a lot of people here seemed to be laughing.
The lounge area was bustling with people who seemed to chat pleasantly in between songs.
“I don’t know what I’m looking for right now,” Caspar said, “other than getting away. And as long as there are no cops here, I’m set.”
“No cops,” Malek assured him. He took a step closer to Caspar and put a hand on his shoulder.
“This is a place to be social again more than anything, especially after being locked away for so long. We’re not trying to pressure you into anything that you don’t want to do.
Artie, the owner, even added a bar area when the laws changed and people started to be allowed to come to places like this. ”
“Wait, what? Allowed?”
“We’re regulated,” Twigs said. “Sponsored. Clean. This is all legal.”
“Oh. Oh, right.” Caspar touched his head, pain shooting behind his eyes as he remembered the bits and pieces of a news story some of the guards had talked about.
Sex work was legal now, so they had fewer people in prison for sex crimes, or something like that.
Caspar never liked paying attention back then because it meant the outside world was changing and he didn’t get to see it.
Caspar surveyed the bar area, the lounge, and then the man coming out of the elevator where the woman with candy-pink lips had come from.
He was about as tall as Caspar, maybe an inch or two shorter.
Skinny, but not frail. His arm muscles flexed under his casual T-shirt and jeans.
He greeted Twigs with a smile and then set his eyes on Caspar.
Caspar looked away, unsure how to tame his feelings. Malek seemed to notice and gave him a quick squeeze for encouragement. “Don’t worry. You really don’t have to do anything. But being in prison is hard, and if you just want to have a conversation tonight, I’m sure Sully would be up for it.”
“Sully?”
“The guy you made eyes at—and who’s making eyes at you. Nice guy. Really knows his opera, if you’re into that.”
Caspar made a face.
“Well, I’m sure he knows some good punk bands, too.
Go and sit with him in his room. Just for an hour.
Whatever happens, happens. And if all you do is complain about me and my erratic driving, well, then maybe it’s all you need.
” Malek’s grin was wide and self-deprecating.
Caspar had to laugh, because Malek was going to be the first thing he complained about—just not the driving part.
How dare Malek be so cute? How dare he be so nice? How dare—
“Hello?” Sully encroached on Malek and Caspar’s conversation. His skin was clear and pale, but his hair and eyes were dark. He extended his hand and Caspar took it in a shake. “You okay to come up to my room with me? Or we can have a drink by the bar—”
“Your room sounds nice, actually.”
Sully smiled. He gestured toward the elevator. “On the fourth floor. Let’s go.”
Caspar headed to the elevator as Sully told him in short, practiced sentences about the history of the house.
He wanted to listen—God, he also wanted to fuck Sully in the elevator—but he shot another glance out to see Malek.
He and Twigs leaned close across the counter, exchanging something Caspar couldn’t see.
Then the door closed, and he and Sully were alone, going up.
The closed space made Caspar’s heart pound. His mouth went dry. For a moment, the same kind of flashing from that night—no, shimmering—came into his vision.
Sully’s hand on his elbow knocked it all away as he led them both down a hallway toward his room. “Are you okay, Caspar?”
“Yes. I’m just… wonky.”
“Come and sit down on my bed. Or chair.”
Caspar nodded and followed Sully into his room filled with books and a dozen kinds of Turkish rugs. Caspar smiled, recognizing some of the patterns as similar to the ones his parents used to have. When Sully produced a water bottle, Caspar drank from it greedily.
“So,” Caspar said. “You know my name. Do you know a lot about me, too?”
Sully laughed dryly. “I do have your file.”
“Does everyone here?”
“No, just me. My boyfriend helped get you out.”
“What?” Caspar didn’t know what to question first. “You have a boyfriend?”
“Yeah. Chaz Solomon. He’s a PI now for Jocasta, and often works with Katja Suljak.”
“Oh. Okay,” Caspar tried his best to remember all the names and what roles they represented. “I guess that makes sense. Chaz is the vampire guy, right? I think I’ve heard of him. The big deal?”
“Suppose you could put it that way.”
“Are you a vampire?”
“No. Human.”
“Huh. Like me.” Caspar knocked back the rest of the water bottle. When he finished it, he gestured around the room with the empty plastic. “And he doesn’t mind you doing… this?”
“Doing what?”
“You know.” Caspar gestured vaguely to the bed.
“Oh, sex work? You can say it out loud, you know.”
“I know. It’s just… different.”
“And so is brain surgery. That’s a job.”
“Come on now. Don’t be obtuse. You know what I mean.”
Sully took in a deep breath before he nodded.
“Maybe that’s true, but people pay for a lot of different things when they come to a place like this.
Companionship is one of them. Blood, another.
That’s how my boyfriend and I met. It’s a long story, how we got to here, but it’s been good. He works hard, and I help when I can.”
“How? By grilling former convicts?”
The smile on Sully’s lips told Caspar that was partly true.
He went to drink some more water, but there was nothing left.
Sully walked over to a small fridge tucked into a space where a closet seemed to be and produced another bottle.
“The fact is, I don’t always have sex with people who come through my bedroom door because not all sex work is sex.
But because it’s work, I can separate it from my personal life, and Chaz and I are fine. Great, even.”
“Well, then. I’m happy for your happy ending. Someone should have one.”
“I think you could have one, too.”
Caspar didn’t know what to say. The idea that this guy had a boyfriend made him not want to have sex—even if the boyfriend was cool with it.
Caspar wanted the happy ending, and he’d held out hope for it, but all he could feel was disappointment.
Caspar had wanted Malek tonight, and it hurt to not have something he wanted after being denied for so long.
“Take as long as you need,” Sully said after the silence went on for longer than a standard pause. “I may not be your happy ending forever, but we can have a good time tonight. Whether that’s from having fun or me listening to you talk, it’s up to you.”
Caspar chuckled bitterly. Nothing felt up to him.
Even this set-up started to feel staged so he wouldn’t want sex, and would merely spill his guts about his incarceration.
They want to grill you. Make sure you’re not an actual fiend or demon or ghoul.
Caspar sighed. Maybe that wasn’t it, or maybe it was.
It was hard to tell. He’d spent so much of the last eight years being observed in courts and then observed in prison.
The idea of real, substantial privacy made him shudder. It made him suspicious.
And angry, for some reason.
“You want to lie down?”
“I don’t want to have sex.”
“I know. I can tell,” Sully said. “But I think you want to be held.”
“What?”
“You’re touch-starved. I can’t imagine that there was much cuddling in prison.
Come to the bed with me. I’ll cuddle you.
That’s all we’ll do, if you want. But trust me, it feels good.
After not being held for so long… your body craves it.
You almost don’t have a choice in the matter, because your body needs it so much. ”
“That’s a fact, huh?”
“Yeah, it is. I know.”
Sully’s deadpan expression communicated far more than his words could. Caspar nodded. He finished the second bottled water and placed it with the other on Sully’s desk. As he rose, he noticed the stereo in the corner.
“Can we put on music?”
“All I have is opera on CD,” Sully said. “But if you want, we can put on the radio.”
“No, no. I don’t really like opera, but if it’s what you have…
” Caspar pressed play. The deep sonorous voice filled the speakers.
It didn’t sound like it was in English, and there was something very comforting about that.
He felt like he was a kid again, lying on the fancy rugs in his dad’s office while his dad watched his favourite movies and TV shows in Arabic.
“This is nice,” Caspar said.
“I believe you’re the first person other than Chaz to tell me so.”
“That’s a shame.”
“It is. Come here.”
Sully lay down on the bed without pulling the sheets down.
He also kept his clothing on. It made Caspar feel better.
So did Sully’s insistence that they do this.
Not in a cold or rough way—but in a way that made Caspar feel seen.
Sully’s gaze was sharp and looked through him, towards some shared past where they had both been touched without being loved and stared at without being seen.
They could touch each other now, Caspar knew.
He could touch him and let himself be touched.
This yearning was not sexual. It was beyond it, almost religious. Like waiting to see eternity.
“I… Can you, um…” Sully’s gaze was so intense Caspar had to look away. “I want…”
After some awkward negotiating, Caspar finally removed his shoes and lay down at the edge of the bed.
Sully wrapped his arms around him and tucked his chin under Caspar’s neck.
Sully seemed so much smaller than him in that moment.
They were stiff together at first. Then, all of a sudden, both of them relaxed into one another.
The way they melted into each other’s skin, the way their breaths even fell into sync, it was startling.
Wonderful. With the opera playing in the background, their actions were simple, easy, and yet…
Caspar was struck by how much he wanted Malek instead.
It’s because he’s familiar. It’s because he got you out of jail.
He’s bound to you… A million more excuses came into his mind, but none of them worked.
Caspar wanted Malek for some unknown reason that defied all logic, but seemed buried deep inside him or stitched onto his skin, more permanent than a tattoo.
“Is this okay?” Sully asked during a lull in the music. “Comfortable?”
“Yeah, yeah. Everything is fine.”