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Introduction:

Camorra finds out a little more about Benjamin, and vice versa.
Benjamin dressed quickly, and made his way downstairs. Threading his way through the passageways, he followed his nose, and found the kitchen. There, he was greeting in a noisily friendly fashion by the cook, who insisted on calling him 'young Master Benjamin', which made him embarrassed. She bustled over the stove for a moment, before producing a plate with bacon, eggs, and sausage upon it. He took the plate from her and sat at the table she motioned too, and she brought him a toast-rack with two slices in it, and a pot of the same tea he had drunk the night before. As he tucked in, she fussed around him, wiping surfaces and generally being cheerful. As he finished up and wiped the crumbs from his mouth, she looked at the clock and exclaimed, "Gracious, dearie, it's almost nine! You're to report to the Library, Master Camorra said, at nine, to sort your effects out. You best run you don't want to be late!" With a motherly push, she sent him off.

In the Library, Camorra sat and mused. The recollections of last night came unbidden to his mind, and his fingers tightened on the edge of the armchair as he remember the boy's lithe body, his taut muscles, his groans, his anguished frown as he lost all control. He knew that Benjamin would remember the dream, and would see the mark that he had left, but knew not how he would react. Unknowingly, he licked his lips, as if searching for remnant of the boys sweet taste, and a hand drifted downwards to press upon the growing hardness arising in his crotch.

Luckily, enveloped in memory and fantasy as he was, his acute hearing remained, and he straightened up in the chair as he heard Benjamin approach. There was a knock at the door, and, at Camorra's command, Benjamin entered. He bowed awkwardly, and stammered, "Good morning, Camorra, sir. I trust this day finds you well?" As he made eye contact, the faintest of blushes suffused over his cheeks. Camorra stifled a groan at the sight of it, and returned, "Yes, young man, very well. I trust you were not troubled by unwelcome dreams? I know what disturbances an unfamiliar bed can wreak upon the mind, especially if one is prior troubled." Camorra was almost stunned at the words that escaped him, but the sight of that blush returning more vigourously clouded his mind with lust and banished any regret at his choice of words.

Quashing his desire, he stood up, striding past Benjamin to the door. As he moved down the corridor, he said over his shoulder, "Come now, we must be away. We have much work to do. Firstly, I have a cab ready at the door. Take your coat, and we shall depart for your former lodgings, to claim your effects and move them here. After that, we shall have you measured for some proper clothes fit for your position. Now move yourself, lad, and tell the cab driver your address." Benjamin hurried to the cab, clutching his coat, almost tripped down the steps to the street in his hurry. Under the pretence of locking the front door, Camorra stealthily stole a look at the boy's taut buttocks under his breeches as he ran. Shaking his head, he grinned to himself, the tips of two pearly white canines nipping deliciously at his full lower lip. Pulling his coat on, he leapt gracefully from the step, landing improbably near the cab, and swung himself up next to the driver, his coat trailing behind him. With a nod to the driver, the cab departed for Benjamin's uncle's house.

It was a bumpy ride over the cheap cobbles as they approached the poorer end of London, but a mercifully short one. The cab halted outside a run-down tenament block, and Benjamin stepped down from the cab, and made his way to a doorway, sidestepping the drunk sleeping in his own vomit. An expertly aimed kick to the door sprang it open with a wrenching noise, and he disappeared into the hallway. A pricking sense of foreboding twitched at Camorra, and he descended carefully from the cab, and followed Benjamin inside.

He strode through the mess in the corridor, his boots echoing on the worn stone, and followed Benjamin's flapping coattails up the stairs at the end. At the second landing, Benjamin stopped, and shouldered the door open. He looked at Camorra, and explained, "The damp makes it stick, sir it's the same for all the buildings round here. I don't have many effects, thankfully, so I hope this won't be too much trouble for you." Camorra shook his head, answering, "It is no great hardship, lad. Let us be quick about it." Benjamin led the way to his small boxroom where he slept.

Quickly, they gathered together Benjamin's belongings into a small trunk. Camorra found himself sifting his clothes through his hands as he packed them, his acute nose picking up the scent of the young man like a wave of heat. As they packed the last of his effects and closed the lid of the trunk, a noise outside made them both look up.

"That'll be my uncle, sir," Benjamin explained. "I hope he's in a fit state for a gentleman such as yourself," he continued. Camorra shrugged. "I have seen men in all their depraved stages, young lad. I am sure that I shall be able to cope with your uncle." He pushed open the door to the adjoining kitchen, when he was confronted by Benjamin's uncle.

The uncle gazed blearily at Camorra for a second, before lurching into action. Smashing the base of an empty bottle off the table, he waved it unsteadily at Camorra. Camorra merely leant against the doorframe, a look of sardonic amusement spreading across his features at the sight of the man. At that point, Benjamin slid around Camorra, his arms out to placate his uncle. "Calm down, please. This is the gentleman Camorra, who has offered me board, lodging, and a respectable job with generous wages. We have just dropped by to collect my personal belongings, for I shall be living in his household from now on." His uncle grunted and sat back down. He eyeballed Camorra for a second, then rasped, "A gentlemen, huh? Don't often see the likes of you round here; no, you're all too damned posh for this dump, aren't you?" With that, he rasped into a hacking laugh, greatly tickled by his own perceived wit. Camorra's sarcastic smile merely broadened. Receiving no response, the uncle turned to Benjamin.

"Now look what the blazes you've got yourself into, you idiot. The man could be a murderer, or worse. You won't be the first little fool to be taken in by gold and cotton sheets, that ended up dead. You're damned well staying here, d'you hear?" Benjamin stood his ground, and shook his head. "No, uncle, I am leaving now, and you cannot stop me." The uncle laughed. "Can't I?" He picked up the broken bottle, and flung it as hard as he could at Benjamin's chest.

The speed at which Camorra intercepted the bottle, which had a bare 4 feet of space to cross between the two men, was, Benjamin reflected afterwards, nothing short of inhuman. Without seeing him move at all, Camorra's hand was suddenly in between the two of them, with the bottle in his grasp. Benjamin gasped, and looked at Camorra in shock. Camorra was looking at Benjamin's uncle, however, and looked absolutely murderous.

"If you ever ever threaten this boy's life again, I shall take yours from you. Make no mistake, you fool. I am more dangerous than you can possibly imagine. Have a care, sir, for you know not with whom you deal." His warning was met with a snorted retort, and the man exploded from his chair and dove for Camorra, moving unexpectedly fast for a man of his bulk.

Calmly moving out of the way, Camorra reached out his free hand and lifted the man off the floor by his shirtfront. Eying him dispassionately for a second, he shrugged and tossed the man away. It appeared as though no effort had been made, but Benjamin's uncle flew several feet across the room before hitting the wall.

Dropping the bottle onto the floor, Camorra dusted his hands off, picked up the case they had packed, and strode out of the room. As he stepped lightly down the stairs, Benjamin caught up with him. The moment he started to speak, Camorra cut across his abruptly. "It's a matter of simple anticipation, and leverage. Nothing out of the ordinary for those who are trained in this art of Bartitsu." With that, he made it clear that the conversation was over.

The journey back was taken in silence. When they reached the house, Camorra strode off without a word or backwards glance, motioning to the doorkeeper to see to Benjamin's case. Before he left, he muttered something in his ear, then disappeared into the darkness of the hallway. Benjamin stood, stunned and speechless, before following the doorkeeper as he carried the case up the stairs to his room. Dumping it unceremoniously on the floor, the doorkeeper said, "Sir says you're to change, find yourself something to eat, and meet him in the Library no later than one o'clock this afternoon." Benjamin could only nod.
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