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For the first time in decades, the Lukas family called Jonah seeking a favour. Even more surprising: it wasn’t a favour concerning the Archive or potential victims, but a request for Jonah’s personal intervention in a family issue.
One of the Lukas scions had fled Moorland house, Nathaniel explained. A young woman by the name of Petricia. A promising acolyte and recent admission to Forsaken’s ranks, and one they’d tried and failed to bring home over the past several years.
Jonah didn’t really see what the fuss was about. Even if this Lukas had gone the way of her siblings, she’d already been touched by Forsaken; she would have to feed eventually. Very few people had the mental fortitude to resist the compulsion. Sooner or later, Petricia would do exactly what she’d been made to do.
But Jonah assured them he would look regardless. The Lukas family was one of the institute’s most generous benefactors and he couldn’t have them thinking the institute wasn’t a worthwhile investment. So, after extracting a detailed description of his target and ending the call, Jonah set about locating the wayward child.
The problem with locating those aligned with Forsaken was that they tended to be difficult to find when they didn’t want to be found. On a good day, he'd get an eyeful of fog when he tried to reach for a member of the Lukas family; on a bad day, he’d find himself with a migraine and a strange, staticky hissing accompanying each throb of pain. He’d learned a long time ago not to go poking around the Lukas’ unless he wanted to be popping painkillers for the next several hours.
Not that he had much choice here. He knew he wouldn't find Petricia through conventional methods, and it wasn’t as though he had many conventional methods available to him anyway. His staff might have followed up cases here and there, but he wasn’t running a detective agency.
He popped a few codeine pills to prepare him for the inevitable migraine before sitting down at his desk and reaching out for Petricia. He was met with the predictable: great plums of fog and heavy static, and he made an irritable sound as pain blossomed behind his temples. It came on so fast that it was immediately apparent Petricia was hiding herself. Perhaps not deliberately, since she couldn't be aware someone like Jonah had been sent to find her, but as a protective reflex. That sort of thing was common among newly appointed Avatars.
But Jonah would get through eventually. He just had to keep trying.
So he did, subjecting himself to migraines day after day, week after week, growing progressively more frustrated as he failed to break through the fog. And then, finally, he did.
Ironically, the wayward Lukas hadn’t left the UK. They hadn’t even left London. They were less than an hour away from the Institute, working in a coffee shop nestled between a shoe store and a communal hall.
It was a modest affair, something that looked like it might have once served as a storage facility. Rugged brick walls, worn floorboards, and old furniture that creaked and groaned when people sat in them. A rustic sort of building. Jonah didn’t mind it, but it seemed a very unusual place to find a Lukas that had successfully gone through the family gauntlet and been selected as an avatar. It had a warmth to it, a homeliness that seemed incongruent with what the man behind the counter was.
Jonah ordered a black coffee from the man and sat in a corner of the shop to watch him work. He was average height, with curly black hair and bright blue eyes, and he smiled in a way that fell just short of being genuine. The name on his badge read ‘Peter’. For someone who had grown up under severe neglect and isolation, he was surprisingly personable, speaking to his customers with an easy grace Jonah rarely saw in Lukas children. Some of the older Lukas’ learned to emulate normal social behaviours out of necessity, but the younger Lukas’ - at least the ones that were suitable acolytes - were generally awkward and shy and reluctant to say more than a few words at a time. Peter, meanwhile, spoke so much that he was able to maintain one-sided conversations as he prepared people's drinks and food. It was uncanny, like watching a dog walk on two legs. It was also appealing for the same reason. Jonah had always gravitated toward the unusual.
He drank his coffee slowly while he watched Peter, and he couldn’t help noticing how handsome he was- most of the Lukas’ were, of course, but he was handsome in a way that made Jonah smile lopsidedly as he observed each flutter of Peter’s lashes and the minute movements of his body. A good-looking young man. In all honesty, the sort of young man Jonah would normally invite to his bed, but he wasn’t here to indulge his baser urges. He needed to bring Peter back to his family if he was to remain in good standing with the Lukas’.
By the time he’d finished his coffee, he’d been sitting for thirty minutes doing nothing but staring at Peter. Peter must have noticed, because he came over the moment he noticed Jonah had finished his drink. A few coils of hair fell over his face as he leaned over to take the empty cup and throw it into a nearby bin. This close, Jonah could see the thin slope of a shoulder through his white, form-fitting dress shirt.
“You've been watching me for a while now,” said Peter, his tone light and flirtatious. It caught Jonah so off-guard that he had to pause to process what he’d heard.
“I’m sure you can make an educated guess about why,” said Jonah smoothly, then he looked around at the vacant coffee shop. “Looks like we're alone for the moment. Would you mind sitting down for a chat?”
Peter’s mouth curled at the corners. A small, amused smile. “Well, I do like older men,” he said, like this was a completely normal thing to announce. Jonah stared at him and Peter smiled wider. “Just let me get you another drink first. On the house.”
“Hoping for a big tip, are you?” asked Jonah, and Peter chuckled.
“Something like that.”
The coffee machine whirred. A few minutes later, Peter sat back down at their table with two hot coffees, peeling the lid off his own to sip at it. Jonah licked his lips as he watched Peter’s soft, pink mouth close around the edge of the foam cup.
“So,” said Peter, his eyes flicking up to Jonah’s. “Have you patronized this café before? I don’t recall your face, but I do get a lot of people coming through here.”
“I've seen you in passing before today,” said Jonah. He sipped his drink, the hot coffee lightly searing his tongue. “Just once. I thought I’d drop in and order a drink.”
“And take your shot?”
“Oh, no.” Jonah shook his head. “I have more sense than that. I’m surprised things turned out this way.”
Peter laughed. “Don't get too ahead of yourself. We haven't even gotten past introductions yet. What’s your name?”
“Jonah,” he said, which wouldn’t mean anything to Peter. He might have heard the name ‘James’ in passing, but no one but himself knew that Jonah Magnus was still alive and currently gallivanting about in the body of James Wright.
Peter’s eyebrows jumped. “Jonah,” he said slowly, gaze roving over Jonah's face, taking in every detail, every line and loose hair. “Old fashioned name. I’ve never met a Jonah before. That’s from the bible, isn’t it?”
Jonah looked amused. “I suspect that is where my parents got it from, yes. And yours?”
“Unreligious,” said Peter, waving a hand. “When it came to names, anyway. My family were ardent believers otherwise.”
“Oh? What religion?”
“A very insular one, lets say, with something of an ascetic lifestyle.” Peter leaned his chin on a hand. “I'm as much a believer as any of them. But they tried to get me into an arranged marriage some years ago, so leaving was my only choice.”
“Oh dear,” said Jonah, despite the fact he knew all this. He’d seen all the misery of Peter’s upbringing when he’d reached out with Beholding. Every stumble, every foible, every trial and tribulation. To say he’d had a rough childhood would have been a severe understatement. He’d been a girl, who desperately wanted to be a boy, looking at a future where he would spend the rest of his life as a broodmare and neglected wife.
Jonah felt a twinge of regret about needing to hand Peter back to his family, but he’d had a complete tubal ligation - bilateral salpingectomy - in the intervening years, so they weren’t going to get what they wanted out of him anyway. They’d probably throw Peter back out the moment Jonah returned him.
“How did you escape?” asked Jonah. That was something he hadn’t managed to uncover.
“By stealing a lot of money from them before hitchhiking into London,” said Peter with a chuckle. He gestured vaguely around at the coffee shop. “I’ve been using it to run this little place. The former owner... went missing.”
“How unfortunate,” said Jonah, stifling the amusement in his voice. The Lukas’ were of such old money that this was the first he’d heard of a Lukas using the Lonely for something as mundane as improving career prospects. There was just something funny about Peter sending someone to a fate worse than death so he could spend day after day standing behind a counter making small talk with whatever yokel wandered in. “Has your family ever managed to find you?” he asked with faux concern.
“Once or twice,” Peter admitted. He brought his elbows up onto the table and leaned forward, his gaze half-lidded and far too attractive. “But I’ve managed to evade them, for the most part. And I'd prefer to keep it that way, if it’s all the same to you.”
Jonah paused. His face remained placid despite the clear indication Peter knew who he was. "You catch on quick for a Lukas.”
Peter shrugged. “I saw you once when you came by Moorland house. James Wright, isn't it?”
“You’ve remembered me after seeing me once?”
“I’m very good at remembering faces, actually,” said Peter. “Except those of my family, of course. But I don’t make much of an effort on that front.”
“No, I suppose you wouldn’t.” Jonah trailed a finger around the lid of his cup, regarding Peter thoughtfully. “I’m afraid I have to present you to them. We have an arrangement.”
“I don’t have to be there in person for you to present me,” said Peter.
Jonah didn’t respond. He tilted his head, indicating that he was willing to listen.
“I can no longer bear children, and that’s all they want me for,” said Peter. “They were hoping by marrying me to another that had been selected by Forsaken that the children produced would be born already suitable acolytes. A test of eugenics.” He sneered. “But I no longer have the parts necessary for conception, and I have the documentation to prove it." He bowed forward and dropped the volume of his voice. "If you can promise no ill-advised attempts to remove me from my current circumstances, I’ll give you a copy of my medical documentation and the opportunity to take some photos to bring back to my family.”
Jonah considered this. It would be much easier than dragging Peter all the way to Moorland house, and he was somewhat invested in remaining on Peter’s good side after a few minutes of talking to him. The boy was endearing. Interesting. Someone worth maintaining an amicable relationship with. “And if this isn’t sufficient for them?” he asked.
“I'm not unreasonable. If they don’t allow it, I’ll permit you to arrange something in person.”
Jonah pretended to mull it over. In truth, he’d already come to a decision. “Very well,” he said. “I'll return with a camera tomorrow. You’ll have to copies by then, I expect?”
“There’s a library nearby,” said Peter with a shrug. "I’ll make sure to visit it tonight.” He paused, added: “Was there anything else?”
“Just one thing,” said Jonah. He made himself comfortable, crossing his legs under the table. “I’d like to get to know you better, Peter, if that’s agreeable.” Peter would get new customers soon, no doubt, but he was happy to wait until Peter closed for the day to continue their chat. The institute could manage without him for one evening.
Peter looked less than enthused by this proposition. “In what way?” he asked slowly. “Because if this is about sex-”
“It doesn’t have to be,” Jonah cut over him smoothly.
“I would prefer it was,” said Peter, which blindsided Jonah. He’d never known the Lukas' to seek out intimacy. It was usually something they struggled through out of necessity, for the sole purpose of conception.
Since Peter didn’t seem put off by the idea, Jonah made no effort to hide his interest as he swept his eyes up and down Peter. He had a nice body, thin and soft, with a small paunch at his belly and pale skin that would bruise vividly under Jonah’s hands and teeth. “I can certainly accommodate that preference.”
Peter smiled, wide and toothy. “I thought as much,” he said, rising out of his chair and straightening his clothes. There was a new customer at the door. “But that isn't going to happen until I’m sure my family isn’t going to come barging into my life. It would somewhat ruin the mood if they did.”
Jonah very much wanted to hear why it was this life, exactly, that he’d forged for himself. But there would be time to ask about that later. “Fair enough."
Watching Peter work was a pleasure. He moved with fluid practice, his muscles shifting beneath his form-fitting clothes, letting Jonah see every curve, every bulge of flesh. Sometimes he would put on a show for Jonah by swaying his hips as he set about a task, or bending over to pick something up off the floor until the fabric of his trousers tightened around his ass. When he leaned across the counter with his elbows propping him up, like he was waiting to be taken from behind, Jonah’s heart beat a little faster. It had been such a long time since someone had made an effort to seduce him- James' body was on the older side, after all, and he didn't draw people in like he used to when he deigned to go looking for someone to satiate his libido on.
Peter made him one more coffee before inviting Jonah out with a wave of his arm. “It’s cold,” was all he said as he pressed the steaming foam cup into Jonah’s hands. Jonah accepted it gratefully, taking a long sip to warm himself before he stepped out into the evening chill. They walked side-by-side down the footpath with Jonah pressed close to Peter. If Peter minded the proximity, he gave no indication of it.
“You have a story to tell,” said Jonah as they walked. The streets were quiet, save for the occasional car heading home late from work. “I’d like to hear it.”
“I’m sure you would,” said Peter.
He didn’t say anything after that, which disappointed Jonah. So far from a traditional Lonely avatar, save for his reticence. "You seem more...” Jonah considered how best to phrase his observation before he continued. “Sexually liberated than any other Lonely avatar I’ve met.”
Peter looked amused. “Yes, well. Much of my life has revolved around comfort – or lack thereof – with my body, and once I finally had the body I wanted...” He glanced at Jonah meaningfully. “I enjoyed seeing other people want it too."
Jonah stared openly. “I’d like a closer look.”
“You’ll get one,” said Peter, laughing softly. “Eventually.”
“Do you often seduce older men?”
“Oh, all the time.” Peter’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “Married husbands, more often than not. Lonely wives too, sometimes. It’s delectable, knowing there’s a lonely partner out there waiting for their dutiful lover to return. Or perhaps lying awake, knowing of the infidelity.”
The enthusiasm in Peter’s voice amused Jonah. “You really are a Lonely avatar after all.”
“There are many ways someone can be isolated,” said Peter as they walked. “I’ve just expanded the methods employed by my family.” He peeled the lid off his own coffee and took a large gulp. “There’s no commitment, of course, and I’ve no genuine interest in other people- except for you.”
“Except for me?” Jonah looked bemused.
“Well,” said Peter, grinning. “A more genuine carnal interest, at the very least. My assessment of the rest of you is still in progress.”
Jonah scoffed. He should have known better than to expect anything different from one of Forsaken’s faithful. “I’d be glad to hear your rating once you’ve finished.”
“Don’t be so sure,” said Peter, but he was smiling in a way that almost suggested burgeoning fondness.
“Oh, but I am,” said Jonah simply. “I’m sure you’ll come to the right conclusion."
“Hmm,” was all Peter said to that.
As they continued to walk, the frigid winds weaved through the folds of their clothes and provoked shivers. Peter shivered less than Jonah despite having fewer layers on; those bound to the Lonely always had better endured this kind of weather. He cast his eyes down Peter's body for the umpteenth time that night and wondered if Peter was as cold inside as he was outside. He’d never gotten close enough to a Lonely avatar to check.
“My apartment isn’t far from here,” said Peter, breaking his quiet contemplation. “What time will you be dropping in tomorrow?”
That was his cue to leave. He slowed his steps. “After work,” he said as he downed the remainder of his coffee and threw the crushed cup into a nearby waste bin. “Your work, that is. Don’t forget the medical documents.”
“As long as you don’t forget the camera.”
“I’ll bring my best,” said Jonah with a wink, then they parted ways. No departing wave, nor farewell; just a turn of their heels and quiet receding footsteps. Exactly what he’d expect of a Lukas. Though this was by far the strangest one he’d ever met and he was throttled by intrigue.
Those associated with the Lonely were such cold, stagnant creatures, always operating within a strict doctrine, and for the first time since meeting Mordechai Lukas, he’d met a product of his family that lived by their own set of rules – and successfully, at that. Severing himself from his family hadn’t hindered Peter’s connection to Forsaken in the slightest, nor his fealty to his god, and Jonah was looking forward to uncovering all the minute details of how he operated. Especially if some of those details happened to involve Peter being spread open on his cock.
A few days later, Jonah stopped by Peter's coffee shop with the camera and Peter led him into a small, plain staffroom at the back of the building, where he'd tucked furniture against a wall in preparation for their little photoshoot. Peter didn't hesitate to peel his shirt off and put his chest and stomach on display, the scars from his surgeries just barely visible. Jonah wanted to touch them, to kiss them, to test their sensitivity, but he restrained himself. There would be time for that later.
Peter’s face remained set in a grin while Jonah snapped pictures to deliver to his family. First of his face and profile, then of his chest and abdomen, but he didn’t put down the camera once he had what he needed. He adjusted it in his grip and stepped closer, letting the camera pan down his perfect body.
“Trousers and underwear off,” he purred. “And I want you to pose for me.”
“In- in here?” asked Peter, stammering uncharacteristically as his gaze jumped from one wall of the staffroom to the other. It wasn’t the most titillating of locations, even with a sheet up to serve as a background to Jonah’s photos, but Jonah was far from bothered. He'd been alive a very long time and had sexual experiences in far less pleasant places than this. Such was inevitable while living in the 1800s.
He made an impatient motion with his fingers. “Undress, Peter. I want to see you.”
Colour rose into Peter’s cheeks at that command. “If you insist,” he said, reaching down to undo the belt on his trousers and toe out of his shoes. He placed each item to the side upon removing it, until only his underwear remained. Small black briefs, a stark contrast to Peter’s alabaster skin. He drew the underwear down his legs and stepped out of them, tossing them onto his pile and leaving him bare before Jonah’s hungry gaze.
He took in his chest first, the gentle swell of Peter's pecs and the pink of his nipples, and the light smattering of hair in the middle of it all. His gaze drifted down to Peter’s belly, to the slight paunch there and the prominent jut of his hips, then lower, to the thickness of his thighs and what lay between them. Peter’s engorged little cock poked out from between pink folds, the plump lips of his cunt just hiding his opening from view. He was beautiful, perfect. Jonah wanted to take him into his mouth and suck until he shuddered and came apart, and he just might have if he hadn’t had centuries in which to perfect his self-control.
Jonah’s cock swelled in his trousers as he snapped a shot of this most private part of Peter. “Now then,” he said, smiling at Peter beneath his camera. “I want you to spread your legs and lean against the wall behind you.”
“You really are perverse,” said Peter, but he obliged without a hint of self-consciousness. The lips of his cunt parted slightly as his legs fell open and Jonah’s saliva thickened in his mouth.
“And you’re indulging me.” He snapped another photo of Peter in this position. This was going to make for a nice little album. “So what does that say of you?”
“That I enjoy the company of perverse old men,” said Peter, and Jonah laughed.
"How was your relationship with your father?”
“Not as torrid as it was with my mother.”
“Well, I’m sure it left its own set of footprints.” He made a turning motion with a hand. “Bend over and look back at me.”
Peter did as he was told, and Jonah stared openly at the hint of his pink, furled hole between the generous slope of his cheeks. He wanted to lick a wet stripe over both of Peter’s holes to leave them wet and glistening under the overhead light, so he threw his camera strap over a shoulder and stepped forward. He couldn't have sex with Peter tonight, but that didn't mean he couldn't get a quick taste of what was to come.
“Push your hips out a little further,” he said.
"James, I told you before that I'm not going to-"
"I'm not going to put anything in you," he said smoothly, then repeated his command: "Push your hips out, Peter."
This time, Peter did as he was told, cocking his hips so his ass was presented to the air. With little ceremony, Jonah knelt down and seized Peter by either leg, parting them just enough to get his tongue between the soft, wet folds of his cunt. Peter gasped at first contact and trembled as Jonah drew his mouth slowly, slowly through his folds and then between his pert cheeks. He spread Peter open to make sure Peter was nice and wet before standing again and retrieving his camera. Peter was shaking now, his thighs trembling. It was a good look on him.
“Stay just like that,” he said pleasantly before snapping two more photos. One of Peter's entire body, and another of Peter's saliva-slick cunt and hole. “Can you grab your ankles?”
Peter scoffed. “I'm not that flexible." Still, he did bend as much as his limited flexibility allowed, which was enough to make Jonah's cock harden the rest of the way. He snapped a photo of Peter in this position as well and took a deep breath, blood rushing as thick in his ears as it was below.
"You can pose as you like, this time," he said.
"How generous," said Peter wryly. He lowered himself to the floor and onto the sheet he'd hung up as a backdrop, adjusting his legs so they were bent suggestively and the curve of his thigh and ass were on display. His hands came up, curling into fistfuls of the hanging sheet, putting his chest and abdomen on display. A proper pinup pose, and Jonah thought he looked delectable.
"Very good," he murmured as he snapped three photos in quick succession, all from different angles. The corners of Peter's mouth twitched at the praise- he seemed to enjoy it, and Jonah filed that information away for later. That was the sort of thing that could be relentlessly exploited.
Though he could have done this all day – Jonah did have a thing for observing people, for cataloguing them – he knew Peter would tire of this exercise eventually, so it was here that Jonah finally tucked the camera safely away in its case. “That should do for now,” he said as he zipped it up. Peter was already reaching for his underwear. “I’ll have these photos in your mothers' hands within the week. The first ones, that is.”
Peter’s face contorted briefly at the mention of his mother, but it was such a fleeting expression that Jonah wasn’t given enough time to extract its meaning. “If I’m freed of my familial obligations, I expect a celebration.”
So demanding, appropriate for someone his age. Jonah cast him an indulgent smile. “What did you have in mind?”
Peter’s teeth closed over his bottom lip and his gaze flicked down to the prominent bulge Jonah’s cock. Peter wasn’t making any attempt to hide his interest, and when Jonah caught Peter looking, he smiled, all teeth. “Ah,” he said, setting his hands on his hips. “You really are quite the little whore, aren’t you.”
Peter didn’t seem put off by the label. Instead, he coyly wiggled his ass as he slid his trousers up his legs. It was no wonder this man had successfully persuaded so many into his bed. He knew how to be seductive, to use his body to beguile the ignorant, like a spider weaving a web. He wondered how many Peter had abandoned in the night after inviting them into his ass and cunt and mouth and whispering sweet nothings into their ear, and how many of those he’d banished into the Lonely as they started the lonely trek home.
“Convenient for you, isn’t it,” said Peter.
“Very.” Jonah ventured closer and slid a palm up Peter’s bare back, fingers catching on the bobs of his spine. He was so soft, smooth, unblemished, a rich boy through and through, and Jonah wanted dearly to ruin that, to litter his skin with scratches and bites and bruises. “And if your family insists on seeing you...?” he murmured.
Peter leaned into his touch like a cat being pet. “Then celebrations will have to be postponed.”
“As long as they come eventually,” he said as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the nape of Peter’s neck, breathing his next words hot against Peter’s skin. “You’ve given me very good motivation to argue your case."
“And I’m sure if anyone can convince my mother...” Peter trailed off and turned to reach for his shirt, letting his chest glide on Jonah’s palm before hiding it away behind scratchy fabric. Jonah took a step back. “Would you like to walk?” asked Peter as he pulled his socks and shoes back on.
“Do I get a free coffee out of it this time?” he asked, tone playful.
“And a slice of cake, if you like. I didn’t sell out today.”
Jonah’s expression brightened at the mention of cake, an indulgence he’d maintained through and beyond the nineteenth century. It was exceptionally decadent these days, with all these new advancements in technology and composition. “I would gladly have some cake. Did you make it yourself?”
“Oh, no,” said Peter. “I’m not a good cook in the slightest. A bakery nearby provides them for a nominal price.”
“Nominal?”
“Yes,” said Peter as he did up a shoelace. “I slept with the owner, and that was his attempt to persuade me into a relationship.”
“My,” said Jonah, amused. “You really don't have any reservations, do you?”
“Why would I?” Peter smoothed down his trousers and stood. “You should know that the Lukas’ aren’t burdened by sentiment.”
“I’ve never seen a Lukas in these circumstances.”
“And now you have,” said Peter simply.
Jonah picked up the camera case and documents before following Peter into the back room, where he leaned against the counter to watch Peter prepare his coffee and a slice of cake. It was chocolate, dripping with frosting, and exactly the kind of cake Jonah would have eaten every lunch if the Eye made him impervious to metabolic diseases. Unfortunately, he had to work to keep his vessels in good shape, especially once they reached middle age, as he had recently with poor James Wright.
Peter stepped from behind the counter with their drinks and food and handed Jonah his. Jonah decided to show a modicum of self-control by not devouring the cake right then and there, waiting until they were outside and walking to begin unwrapping it.
“You seem to know a great deal about me, while I know very little about you,” said Peter conversationally. “Which is a little unfair, don’t you think? So, how did you come into the position of head of the Institute?”
“You’ll find out that in time,” said Jonah. He wouldn’t tell Peter his origins at this early period, but he was interested in keeping Peter as a fixture in his life long-term. An emancipated Lukas who still maintained ties to Forsaken seemed like someone worth keeping in the repertoire. There was no telling when he might need someone like Peter. “Now, now, Peter. Don’t pout,” he added upon seeing Peter’s disgruntled expression. “You didn’t expect I’d start divulging my secrets within a few days of meeting you, did you?”
“I didn’t realize it was a secret.” For now, the knowledge that Jonah had a secret to divulge seemed to satisfy Peter. He dropped the topic with a sigh and a dismissive wave of his hand- the one holding his coffee, rather than the cake he was currently nibbling on. “Are you willing to divulge anything, or are you going to drag this out as long as possible?”
“Oh, I’ll absolutely drag it out,” said Jonah, taking a bite out of his own cake and chewing and swallowing with relish. He didn’t speak again until he could see frustration burgeoning on Peter’s face. “I’ve lived in England my entire life," he began. "I enjoy cake. I enjoy consistency. I believe in a positive working environment and treating my employees well. Every so often, I’ll go across the street to a bakery and order myself something sweet to have with my coffee. I have several ties with eyes on them.”
At the last thing, Peter snorted. “Ties with eyes on them? Seems a little obvious.”
“I never said I wore them often,” said Jonah with a chuckle. He licked some frosting from the corner of his mouth and hummed appreciatively as the sweetness burst on his tongue. “I’m not announcing my association to the Eye to anyone who might cotton on.”
“Do you really believe in treating your employees well?” asked Peter with a raised eyebrow.
“Until I need to do the opposite,” said Jonah. He saw no reason to mistreat his employees in the meantime. You draw more flies with honey and such.
Peter took another bite out of his cake, chewing and swallowing, then a sip of coffee. “Mmm, I should probably hire someone myself, at some point. I just don't particularly relish the thought of working with someone.”
“You deal with customers every day,” Jonah pointed out, curious to hear Peter’s explanation for that. Needless to say, most Lonely avatars weren’t the sort of people who would subject themselves to customer service.
“Fleeting figures in my life,” said Peter dismissively. “I don’t remember any of them."
“Do you enjoy it?” asked Jonah.
“The empty small talk? I do.” Peter grinned. “It’s surprising just how much you can say without saying anything at all.”
Exchanges between service workers and customers were very vapid. "Perhaps the rest of your family has missed their true calling,” said Jonah, tickled as he pictured Nathaniel’s scowling face behind a counter. He doubted many other Lukas family members would be able to pull off what Peter had. They didn't exactly have friendly dispositions; in fact, Peter was the first Lukas Jonah had seen smile in years. Nathaniel’s face seemed set in a perpetual scowl, while Conrad only ever exhibited disgust and discomfort. He wasn’t even sure they knew how to work the appropriate muscles.
“I don’t think most of them would survive a few minutes in my position, frankly,” said Peter, clearly finding the thought humorous. “Someone would cast them a friendly smile and they’d storm right out. They don’t seem to weather those things as well as me.”
“And why do you?”
“Well, it’s not unheard of for Lukas’ to have a temperament better suited for this kind of work or the Lukas’ wouldn’t be as wealthy as they are. I'm not the only outlier." Peter shrugged. "But I will grant that this - being the friendly face of a service business - isn’t the sort of work I can imagine any of them getting used to. I never imagined it myself until I had to do it out of necessity, and I'm not actually sure how or why it worked out." He regarded Jonah thoughtfully. "But I think there must be other Lonely acolytes in my situation, because it has all worked out incredibly well. Far better than I anticipated when I first acquired that place.”
“I doubt you’re the first of your kind, no.” Jonah had heard a few statements about Lonely avatars taking advantage of their workplace to sow isolation. Generally CEO's, business tycoons, people who could make workers subsist on the bare minimum and in horrible conditions and get away with it. “But you’re certainly a first Lukas,” he said. "I believe you’re the first to have escaped your family without having any intention of escaping Forsaken.”
“Why ever would I want to?” Peter sighed wistfully. “My god understands my heart so well. People are always desperately grappling to have something to believe in, and I have something that believes in me in turn.”
“I suppose you do,” said Jonah indulgently. It always bemused him how a group who so reviled connection could be so clearly connected with an entity, to the point of worshipping them as a deity. And that was to say nothing of the whole family they'd built around their devotion.
Come to think of it, perhaps he’d been looking at this the wrong way; perhaps Peter had become the most Forsaken of the Lukas’ by breaking away from his family to worship on his own, in isolation. A true believer. The Lukas’ own little Carthusian monk. It was worth bringing up to his family... though he doubted Peter's mother and uncle would see it that way. They expected fealty from their members despite the tenants of their cause.
“Well,” said Jonah as they neared Peter’s apartment complex. “I should be getting these photos developed so I can deliver them to your family. Should I encounter... pushback, I think I have a new angle to approach the conversation from.” Jonah carefully adjusted the bag strap and tossed his empty cake wrapper and cup into a nearby bin.
“A new angle?” Peter asked with cocked eyebrows.
“You may be the best of the Lukas’, Peter,” said Jonah, and he smiled at the way colour rose on Peter’s cheeks.
“Oh, well...” Peter cleared his throat into a fist and resumed the trek to his apartment. “Let me know what their answer is as soon as you hear one. I’m eager to know whether or not I should be expecting one of them at my door in the coming days.”
“Of course,” said Jonah, and that was that. They parted ways, both heading home through their respective routes. Jonah took the tube, as was always easiest and safest, and made a detour to a nearby film lab to have his camera roll developed. Thankfully, you only needed pay a little extra to have the employees be mum about the exact contents of the roll.
Peter’s mother, Rowena, regarded the photos with dismay curling on her brow. It was a fleeting expression, and then she sighed and tucked the photographs back into the manilla envelope Jonah had handed her.
“This is going to put back our plans by decades,” she said quietly. “So few are endowed with the gifts Petricia was. Is there no way to reverse the procedure she underwent?”
“I’m afraid not,” said Jonah patiently. “He doesn't want children and he's made sure he'll never be at risk of having them. He’s no longer a suitable candidate for your experiment.”
“Petricia should be brought here regardless,” said Nathaniel gruffly, hovering over his sister's shoulder. “To be disposed of, since she’s not going to make herself useful.”
“Peter,” began Jonah, pausing for effect. “Is as much a believer in Forsaken as any of you. He’s simply taken a different tact to providing victims to Forsaken, one a little more hands-on. And one that seems very effective.”
“She still serves?” asked Rowena slowly. “Willingly?”
“He does,” said Jonah. “And he's doing quite well on that front, too. I wouldn’t be surprised if he decided to attempt a ritual, eventually.”
“Without our resources?” asked Nathaniel with a scoff.
“I doubt he'd say no to them if it was to facilitate a ritual,” said Jonah. “Should I tell him your door is open if he needs financial assistance?”
“Yes,” said Peter’s mother, before Nathaniel could get out the caustic ‘no’ that was forming on his lips. That surprised Jonah, but pleasantly so. “As long as she continues to serve, I don’t see why we should deny her the opportunity to make herself more useful to this family,” she added, eyeing Nathaniel. “But should she ever drift away from our patron...”
“Even avatars aren’t impervious to harm,” said Nathaniel, wearing his characteristic scowl. “Pass that on for me, Wright.”
Jonah smiled tightly. Nathaniel was always his least favourite Lukas to deal with. “Of course. Anything else?”
Rowena paused. “She’s always welcome at funerals,” she said simply, then turned to retreat into Moorland house, her long black dress sweeping behind her. After casting Jonah a penetrating glance, Nathaniel turned to follow her.
Jonah didn’t linger at Moorland house. It was always cold there, and getting lost among the surrounding footpaths and streets was all too easy. While he could navigate his way out of the Lonely, Jonah didn’t really want to have to spend hours – potentially days – wandering around the cold and dim until he reached an exit. He left quickly and was glad to see the house fade in his rear-view mirror.
It took his train just under an hour and forty minutes to reach the station closest to Peter. Jonah stepped off, manilla envelope tucked under an arm, and headed out into a dimming street. Instead of stopping at Peter’s coffee shop, he passed it, walked the fifteen minutes it took to get to Peter’s apartment complex, took the elevator to Peter’s floor, and knocked on his door. Peter answered after a moment of shuffling and some frantic meowing.
“Peter,” greeted Jonah.
Peter blinked at him. He was wearing nothing but a gown and a long, comfortable t-shirt. “James. I expected you earlier. And not here.”
“It took me some time to arrange a meeting with your family,” said Jonah as he casually wedged himself through the gap between Peter and the door, inviting himself inside. A small black cat sped away from him, hurtling under the nearest piece of furniture. “You have a cat?”
“The cat,” said Peter, glancing over his shoulder. “Yes. It comes and goes.”
“From a fifth-story apartment?”
"Well, it’s not dead, so I assume it has some way of doing that safely.” Peter didn’t sound like he cared one way or another, though Jonah could see cans of cat food stacked up on a kitchen counter that belied his disinterest in the cat's wellbeing.
Jonah ventured deeper into the apartment. It was on the modest side, but still showed signs of affluence. Plush, new furniture, modern appliances, a view overlooking London, and it was very clean. The Lukas were rather fastidious people. Most of their living spaces looked thoroughly unlived in, and Peter's wasn't entirely devoid of that influence.
“I spoke to your family,” said Jonah as sat down on Peter's couch.
Peter wandered into the kitchen and flicked on his electric kettle. “Tea?”
“No sugars, thank you.”
“Alright.” Peter reached into a cupboard for two mugs, drawing them out and putting five spoonfuls of sugar into one. That was atrociously sweet. “Do you have good news?”
“I do,” said Jonah as he made himself comfortable, crossing his legs at the ankle while Peter tottered around his kitchen. “Your family has agreed to leave you to your own devices, provided you continue to serve Forsaken.”
“That won’t be an issue,” said Peter. “Anything else?”
“Your uncle will probably kill you should you ever stray.”
Peter sighed and rolled his eyes. He looked neither surprised nor distressed by the thought; just exasperated. “Of course." Peter turned, leaning the small of his back against the counter. “Well, as long as he isn’t intending to make an attempt anytime soon.”
“As far as I’m aware, no,” said Jonah. The kettle began to steam and hiss. “I’ve also been told to mention that resources will be provided, should you ever decide to host a ritual.” He watched Peter’s face closely, since a lot of avatars weren’t forthcoming about these kinds of plans. But there was nothing on his face to suggest he had any intention of hosting a ritual soon.
“I’ll keep that in mind.” The kettle automatically flicked off and Peter got to work on preparing their tea. A few seconds later, he placed a sugarless Earl Grey on a coaster in front of Jonah, then sat down to drink his own syrupy sweet tea.
As far as Jonah knew, the Lukas’ didn’t actually... keep sugar in their household, or at least didn’t use a lot of it in their meals, and it seemed like Peter had gone hog-wild with the privilege the moment he’d been free to decide his own meals.
The cat peeked out at them from under one of the chairs as they drank. Peter made a quiet, chittering sort of sound and the cat ventured out further, eventually gliding up against Peter's legs, purring like a freight train and jingling with every movement. The cat didn't touch Jonah; just regarded him with suspicion.
“I really never would have imagined you as a pet owner,” said Jonah, smiling against the rim of his mug.
“Oh, shut up,” said Peter as he leaned down to stroke the cat's back. “I don’t own it. It lives here.”
“You feed it.”
“It could feed itself if I didn’t.” Peter sniffed. “I’m just being a good host. Do you like the tea? I buy the expensive tea bags.”
Jonah couldn’t actually tell the difference between these and the cheap tea bags, but he didn't say as much. Just sipped his drink and nodded his approval. “I believe you promised a celebration if I brought you good news,” said Jonah.
“So I did,” said Peter, continuing to sip at his tea. He brought his legs up onto the couch in a smooth, sweep of his legs and laid them over Jonah’s lap, making himself comfortable. “We’ll get to that shortly. I want to finish my tea first.”
“Of course,” said Jonah. He idly ran a hand up one of Peter’s legs as he sipped his own tea, enjoying the fine hairs under his palm. “Are you wearing anything under here...?” His hand ventured a little further up, sliding along the inside of Peter’s thigh, and Peter took a shivering breath as Jonah's fingers grazed over his clothed cunt. “Well, you won’t be shortly.”
“You can take them off once I've finished my drink,” said Peter, trying and failing to sound casual. His voice shook with each steady stroke of Jonah’s fingers.
“I can be patient," said Jonah as his steady, exploratory stroking of Peter’s cunt and legs continued, his nails raking thin lines into the quivering flesh of Peter’s inner thighs. He was such a reactive man, so sensitive. While Peter had apparently had a lot of sex, Jonah imagined foreplay was something he'd limited experience with. Most people weren't any good at it. “How did the cat come into your life?” he asked, because yes, he was still curious about that, and Peter might be more forthcoming while Jonah had a hand between his legs.
Peter exhaled heavily. “It just wandered in and refused to leave. I got accustomed to its presence.”
“I notice it has a collar on.”
Peter’s cheeks coloured faintly. “It was sneaking in dead birds whenever I let it in. You might also notice there are three bells attached to the collar.”
“Must have been quite the struggle to get them on.”
“You have no idea.”
Jonah idled a thumb along the crease of Peter’s groin. “I hope it’s not going to be trying to cuddle while we’re having sex.”
The cat continued to wander below them, its long black tail flicking as it found various things – body parts and furniture – to rub its cheek against. Peter sighed and made a shooing gesture, and surprisingly, the cat zipped off without so much as an affronted look at being made to leave. Peter must have done that often. A rather funny thought, that Peter would tire of the cat and send it away like a bored king banishing its court jester.
“There. Satisfied?”
“I am, thank you. It seems well trained.”
Peter chuckled. "Tuna has been a good motivator. But I've just about finished this tea, so..."
At last, Peter put his tea aside, and Jonah immediately reached up to grab the hem of his underwear and pull them off. He threw them aside before slotting himself between Peter’s legs.
"Oh," said Peter, startled by the speed with which Jonah moved. "You're very spry for an old man."
"I'm only in my fifties," said Jonah. Or James was, rather.
After getting his legs wedged under Peter’s thighs, Jonah curled his hands around Peter's waist and marvelled at how well they fit around him. He was such a thin, pretty man, soft in all the right places, a sharp contrast to Jonah’s current ragged and worn looks. In a few years, there’d be no more brown left in his hair; just silver, but Jonah didn’t intend to wear James for too much longer.
Until then, however, he would enjoy the way his calloused hands felt on Peter’s smooth, unblemished skin and how plush Peter’s mouth was under his weathered lips when he leaned forward for a kiss. He kissed Peter slowly, savouring the sweetness of Peter’s breath and the softness of his tongue and how his hard palate felt as Jonah licked inside. He dragged his tongue over Peter’s incisors, his molars, his gums and lips, tasting every inch of him, and they were both breathing hard when he finally drew back.
“You really have far too much sugar in your tea,” murmured Jonah.
“At least I taste pleasant,” Peter retorted, and he had a point.
Jonah grazed his lips down Peter’s jaw and neck, his hot breath fanning over the pale column of Peter’s throat. He applied his tongue to the hollow there, just to get a taste of Peter, then reached down to hitch up Peter’s shirt so he could secure his mouth onto a nipple.
“Yo-you’re being very slow about this,” Peter murmured, but it didn’t sound like a complaint. One of his hands came to rest on the back of Jonah’s head, threading into his salt-and-pepper hair.
Jonah swirled his tongue around the nub of Peter’s nipple until it hardened, then gently closed his teeth over the mound of flesh, leaving pink divots in Peter’s skin. He dipped his head lower and traced his lips over the hint of a scar under Peter’s areola before applying another bite a little further down. He tasted good, clean. The boy must have just gotten out of the shower.
Lower still, he sucked a bruise over Peter’s ribcage and smiled at the little gasp he got in return, then proceeded to suck a trail all the way down to Peter’s quivering thighs. He was wet. He could feel it, smell it, and he was preparing to taste it too. He slid his hands down Peter’s hips to grasp him by the thighs, pushing them apart to unveil the boy's cunt to his hungry gaze. He was practically dripping.
“Has anyone ever put their mouth here,” he asked, flicking his tongue over Peter’s cock.
“Uh, yu-yes.” Peter sucked in a shaky breath. “A few times. Not much of a priority, though, with most partners.”
“Well then, I can definitely promise you that they didn’t do it nearly as well as I can.” Two centuries was a long time in which to accumulate experience, after all.
He didn’t close his lips where Peter needed him most right away. He took his time, gliding his incisors over the soft insides of Peter's thighs and licking lines along the creases of his legs and sucking bruises into the skin surrounding Peter’s cunt. The more he postponed the main event, the more Peter squirmed and moaned and tugged impatiently at his hair, and Jonah enjoyed the steady loss of composure.
“Please,” Peter said finally, and that was when Jonah mercifully closed his lips over Peter’s cunt and began to lightly suck and swirl his tongue. The impact was immediate: Peter jolted in his grip, his hands tightening in Jonah’s hair and a long, breathy ‘haa’ streaming from slack-jawed lips. His entire body went taut before collapsing in quick succession. Clearly Jonah had done a good job of working him up.
He smiled against the lips of Peter’s cunt and slid his tongue slowly and deliberately up his small, sensitive shaft, paying particular attention to the smooth head. He applied his tongue and lips and a most delicate graze of his teeth until Peter was quivering, and then Jonah paused to let Peter recover, his breath gathering like mist between their bodies. Only when the quivering subsided did he resume his work, sliding his tongue deftly between Peter’s wet folds and sucking gently on his cock. He enjoyed the taste of him. Salty, sweet, with faint traces of whatever soap Peter had used last. All the work he’d done to get them to this point had been well worth it.
The pink on Peter’s skin steadily grew darker in colour and he closed his eyes, lashes dark on his flushed cheeks. Jonah drank in the sight of him as he worked him over with his tongue.
“Stop that,” Peter murmured somewhere after the third time Jonah had edged him. “Stop teasing.”
“Ask politely,” said Jonah against him.
Peter groaned, tugging at Jonah’s hair to the point of near pain. “Please stop teasing.”
“Please stop teasing...?” In the silence, he looked at Peter meaningfully. It didn’t take Peter long to realise what Jonah wanted to hear.
“Please stop teasing, sir.”
Smart boy. In this respect, at least.
"Good boy."
Finally, finally, Jonah allowed him to finish, applying his tongue and lips until Peter gasped and shuddered and tore so hard at Jonah’s hair that he grunted. He didn’t mind, though; not when Peter looked so good, tasted so good. He was willing to sacrifice a little comfort just to watch Peter's eyes turn glassy and his lips part in a pleasant little ‘o’ as his climax rocked through him. Peter fell limp against the couch after, but Jonah didn’t stop. He had no intention of stopping until Peter was on the precipice of collapse, and then he would slide his cock into him and barrel through the remains of his defences. He was practised at taking people apart, and this was a particularly enjoyable method of doing just that.
He brought Peter to finish again and again, until he was raw and throbbing and so wet and open that Jonah would be able to glide into him with ease. He slid his tongue through Peter's folds one last time, dedicating to mind the taste and feel of him, before reaching down to unzip himself and positioning the head of his cock at Peter's waiting cunt. His palms closed over Peter’s thin shoulders to keep him still while he guided his cock into the man’s trembling body. He was so soft inside, so wet, and surprisingly warm for a Lonely avatar. Within a few thrusts, Peter’s body temperature was even more hospitable, growing steadily hotter with the gentle friction produced between them.
Peter whimpered and writhed with each rock of Jonah's hips and he curled his legs around Jonah’s waist, securing himself there with his ankles.
“Lovely,” Jonah murmured as he leaned down, brushing his lips against Peter’s. “What a lovely boy you are, Peter.”
Peter smiled lopsidedly at him, his cunt tightening around Jonah. “For the moment,” he said with difficulty, winding his arms around Jonah’s shoulders so the man could rock into him with greater ease. “Harder. You’re being too soft.”
Jonah laughed. “If you insist,” he said, then seized Peter by the hips to oblige the request.
Their panting breaths and the wet sound of their bodies meeting filled the room. He thrust into Peter at a rough, punishing pace that rocked the entire couch, and Peter revelled in it, his face flushed and taut with bliss and all his limbs moving like he couldn’t quite stand the onslaught of sensation. Jonah only needed to touch his cock mid-thrust and Peter unravelled as though pulled apart at the seams, every part of him quivering and tense and his eyes wide and his pink lips parted around a cry. It was by far the most explosive finish Jonah had seen, and between that and Peter’s cunt squeezing reflexively around him, he came hurtling over the precipice almost immediately after Peter. He gave a few more hard, mindless thrusts as Peter’s cunt milked him for everything he was worth, then simply collapsed atop Peter, pliant and satiated.
That might have just been the best sex he’d had in decades. And he’d had it with a Lonely avatar, of all people.
“So,” he said after some time, adjusting his body so Peter would have more room to breathe. “You’re free of your family. What are your plans?”
Peter snorted softly, tiredly. “That’s your idea of pillow talk?”
“After that performance, I think I deserve to have my curiosity indulged.”
“You would think that.”
Jonah gave a wry sort of smile. “Well, Peter?”
Peter sighed and carefully unwound his limbs from around Jonah, making himself comfortable. Jonah was still buried in him and he didn’t seem inclined to change that. “Hire an employee so I can draw more people to my café, I suppose. You would be surprised by how many lonely people it attracts – or perhaps you wouldn’t be?” His eyebrows cocked in a lazy sort of way. “I chose that place specifically for its location; the communal hall hosts a lot of trauma groups, you see, and a lot of those people drop in for a drink. Something to warm them after the chill of that place.” There was more energy in his voice now, more enthusiasm. The man had a clear passion for his work. "There's an elderly home nearby too, and they'll venture here for coffee and cake on occasion. That one's practically a buffet."
Jonah smiled. “I would tell you your family would be proud, but I don’t think they have the capacity.”
Peter laughed at the mere suggestion. “Thankfully. Such a thing would thoroughly ruin the achievement."
Jonah made an amused sound and shifted a little more, manoeuvring their bodies so he was on his side with Peter held against his chest. The man was surprisingly tolerant of his affection, though he made no effort to reciprocate. “Tell me more about this arrangement you have.” He wasn’t particularly interested, in truth; he was more interested in the sound of Peter’s voice, which was soft and sweet in the afterglow of their sex.
Peter was happy to indulge him.
They didn’t have a relationship. There was a fondness between them, an attachment, but nothing either of them couldn’t shatter if the occasion called for it, and they both knew the likelihood of that was high. It was an arrangement that suited their respective commitments and it didn’t change throughout the two years they knew each other.
Still, Jonah couldn’t resist testing how well he’d inserted himself into Peter’s life by inviting Peter to James Wright’s funeral. He watched from one of the scarcely populated front pews as Peter stared down into James' casket, his brow delicately furrowed and lips pressed into a thin line. Not sadness, exactly- dismay? Which was profound, coming from a Lukas.
Peter tucked a bouquet of lilies under James’ slack hands and neatened James' clothes before turning to take his leave. He hadn’t been present for most of the service; just this part, the goodbyes, and it didn’t look like he would be lingering for the burial either. Jonah smiled at the gloomy slope of his shoulders as he strode for the exit. Once Peter had reached the door, he rose himself, following Peter outside into an appropriately overcast day.
Peter didn’t look at him. He trudged on toward a black Rolls-Royce waiting for him in the church car park. One of the more expensive cars on the market, big and square like a casket.
“Peter,” said Jonah once he was within a few feet of Peter. His current vessel towered over Peter. Unlike Wright's, which he'd needed to crane the neck of.
Peter turned when addressed and did something of a double-take when he met Jonah’s eyes. A few expressions crossed Peter’s face: confusion, irritation, disbelief, uncertainty.
“Yes?” he said.
“Did you enjoy my funeral?” asked Jonah, his cadence unmistakable.
The uncertainty flew from Peter’s face and back into irritation, his hands curling at his sides. “James?”
“Jonah, actually. But I'll be going by 'Elias Bouchard' in this one.”
“Jonah-” Peter looked a little like he was considering slapping the smile from Jonah’s face, but he refrained. “Jonah Magnus?” he asked, his tone somewhere between curious and infuriated. “And how does that work, exactly?”
“How do you think?” He gestured to the grey eyes that had once occupied James’ skull.
“That doesn’t actually tell me a lot,” said Peter. He leaned in, hand hovering in the air between them like he wanted to touch the only part of Jonah that bore any familiarity. “What do you do? Shove them in there?”
“More or less.”
Peter wrinkled his nose at him. “You could have told me this earlier.”
“I’m telling you now,” said Jonah with a shrug, and he gently slid a hand between Peter’s shoulder blades to encourage him to continue walking. “Unless something goes horribly wrong with this one, I don’t expect I’ll be changing bodies again anytime soon.”
“I hope not,” said Peter, eyeing Jonah. He didn’t try to resist Jonah’s efforts to get him moving. “You know I'm not fond of change.”
They strode side-by-side down to Peter’s car, grass and gravel crunching under their feet. Jonah had chosen a very discreet location for the service and burial. It would be a long drive back to London.
Peter gestured him into the passenger seat as he went to sit behind the wheel.
“Your place?” asked Jonah as he slid into his designated seat and pulled on his belt.
Peter sighed and turned the ignition. “I suppose. But I’m still annoyed you waited until the funeral to tell me.”
“I’m sure I can make it up to you,” said Jonah with a sly smile.
Peter pursed his lips at Jonah- an expression that just made Jonah smile wider. “You’d better,” Peter muttered before peeling off into the gravel road, heading back in the direction of London.
They were both dressed in suits, driving away from a church, entering a new period of their lives together, and Jonah couldn’t help likening it to a wedding. Perhaps he was getting a little smitten. But it wasn’t the first time that had happened, and it wouldn’t be the last.