Charles sat in a dim corner of Brook’s, the gentlemen’s club in St. James, nursing a brandy and waiting. He heard Erik clearly in his mind before he saw him.
«Is the gentlemen awaiting some company for this evening?» Erik’s voice was smooth and predatory, and his suit was impeccable; the high, dandyish ascot was cheeky and Charles loved it.
Charles leaned forward, allowing his suit coat to open to flash his wallet; Erik’s eyes followed and then continued down to Charles’ crotch meaningfully.
“I would indeed like to make an arrangement,” Charles said, playing along with their charade, since the idea of Erik allowing himself to be bought was simply too complex and enticing for words.
Erik tilted his head in acknowledgement and leaned in close, again speaking directly to Charles. «Does the gentlemen prefer something high class or a £20 whore?»
Tonight, Charles might prefer the latter.