Printed flyers advertising what was on at the theatre littered the streets, smeared ink and mushy paper lined the cobbles more and more thickly the closer they got to the theatre.
“Watch ‘Enry Feildin’s comedyThe Mock Doctor‘ere!” a young man clutching a wad of the adverts shouted. He spotted the two of them approaching and directed his yelling towards them. “Come watch the brilliant comedy ‘ere, gents, it’ll be right up your street. You two look like you’re looking for a good laugh,” he waved a flyer at them and Gabriel took it. “Just a half crown each and you can ‘ave a seat in the gallery, fit for kings.”
Lazarus looked at Gabriel, wide eyed. “Five shillings?” He couldn’t imagine spending so much money on something so frivolous. He’d worked for less in a month, yet here they were, about to spend so much on two seats for a play. Gabriel ignored him, however, steering him inside. “Gabe, it’s too expensive. We can do somethin’ else,” he protested.
“My treat, remember?” he said, handing over all five shillings to a clerk before Lazarus could argue any further. He led the boy to their seats in the balcony near the stage, smiling as he saw him glancing around, intrigued and excited.
Lazarus was still giggling over the play by the time they got back to their room at the inn. He sprawled out on the bed, sticking his arms up in a silent demand for attention, almost the same way a child would. Gabriel obliged, lying down beside him and kissing the top of his head as he wrapped him in his arms.
“Thank you for taking me to see that,” Lazarus hummed contentedly, moulding himself comfortably against the contours of Gabriel’s body. When he was pressed up against him as close as he could get, he relaxed his head into the crook of Gabriel’s neck, he was more at him than he had ever felt before.
“There’s no need to thank me, Lazarus,” he smiled, playing with the blonde locks that his fingers had tangled themselves in, “I told you I was going to treat you, so that is exactly what I shall do.”
“I know, but that was an expensive treat, Gabriel.” Lazarus was prepared to protest further, but Gabriel had placed a finger over his lips, silencing him. Smiling, Lazarus kissed his finger. Encouraged by the chuckle this earned, he worked his way up to Gabriel’s mouth, adorning his neck and jaw line with countless kisses.
The young lord’s tender lips waited for him and he savoured them, memorising their touch as he tentatively engaged their tongues in a dance of passion. Lazarus felt himself beginning to grow and strain, eager to engage their bodies in an equally passionate dance.
Unfortunately for Lazarus, Gabriel wasn’t quite as enthusiastic. Though he didn’t let his actions or manner betray him, he was actually rather nervous. He had never done more than kiss before. He’d had many opportunities to go farther, but he had always held out on the notion that he was waiting for the right person, the one he would marry. He’d barely recovered from the fact that this person he wanted to be in his life was in fact a man. He didn’t know if he was ready to totally give into that yet. His previously strict beliefs were rebelling against the man laid out against him, pressed into him so close. Lazarus pulled back and tilted his head a little.
“Sorry,” Gabriel’s face flushed a deep crimson and he looked at the floor, “I just... I’m not-” he stammered, his confidence falling. Lazarus brushed his dark hair back and planted a kiss on his forehead.
“It’s fine,” he smiled, “I don’t mind, silly man. I’ll wait if you’re not ready.”