here at the honeybee inn. / open

[makopoison]

[ they tell him he won't make soldier. no amount of training can fix a weakness of the soul. the mako doesn't agree with him - he's bedridden for three days after the initial test, and upon discharge, told he'll nnot be allowed to apply again. on the very same day he'd tendered his resignation, apologizing to his squadmates for letting them down, and left a message to the turk who had helped him on the trains as well as zack fair, thanking them for their belief in him, however ill-placed.

he was left with no choice but to improvise. there was nothing to return home to in nibelheim, no reason to quietly endure further ridicule and a lifetime of being ostracized, but no way he could live on the plate with the sky-high rent and the soul-sucking jobs requiring more skill than country boy can provide. he isn't the first SOLDIER washout to be too ashamed to go home, and he knows he won't be the last. the slums are full of them. he'd found himself lost, wandering lost in the shadow of the plate. sector five was bright and flashy but he wasn't equipped to deal with pickpockets and gangs. the better part of the day was spent utterly terrified, certain he was going to die here tonight and no one would ever know because he'd been too damn stupid to tell them his plans.

don corneo's men saw an easy mark for the coliseum. promising big money and a place to sleep - but a hand on his shoulder, a whisper in his ear, i could make you a star, darling - offered him something better.

andrea rhodea had smiled so charmingly and with such faith he'd decided he was in before he even heard the offer.

( they'd suggested claudia for his stagename, not knowing it was his mothers. he'd balked, almost shouting no, because while the rhinestones and glitter were rapidly becoming just another part of his world - he couldn't imagine the humiliation of anyone he knew knowing this. shame had consumed so much of his life, dictated so much of what he enjoyed - he refused to let it ruin this too. )

so cirrus was born. and cirrus was a fucking hit.

and he hadn't been lying. cloud's androgynous features were a smash with the customer-base. he was a quick learner, a hell of a dancer, and not too bad of a fighter. he was a star - and it came with glitz, and glamour, and gil, but no glory.

the usual showstopper was done for the night. cloud, center-stage, dancing to a flashy new routine in a uniform somewhere between the men's snappy suits and the women's bulky bee costume. he's fanning himself in the changing room, huffing out a breath as he counts down the minutes until the end of his shift, when one of the girls tells him he's been requested for a private show. ]

Seriously? I'm almost off the clock. Can't someone else -

[ it's someone important, she says, shaking her head. classified. you know what that means.

the blonde pulls a face.

don't worry, it doesn't look like an exec. she adds hastily. but you better move.

he sighs. turns back to the mirror to wipe away any evidence of exertion and heads for the room. ]

Comments

[beenhad]

[ There is a bar set against the wall for patrons with more refined tastes. It is still wholly incomparable to the luxe spirits in their crystal cages that populate the shelves above-plate, but Tseng manages to procure a richly-brown single malt and two glasses. He pours the first neat. ]

I suppose that we should begin by addressing your suspicions. Yes, I know who you are. And no.

[ Tseng strides across the room to offer Cloud the second glass. His gaze drops, trailing the calligraphy swerve of Cloud's form-fitting attire, taking in the jewels and netting and the pretty haze of rouge on Cloud's cheeks. ]

I have not come here to harm you.

[makopoison]

[ who he is? nobody. a soldier dropout. favored by all of the worst people. nothing, no one.

except, maybe, a retainer of secrets. every awful thing the executives whisper when they want to brag, after they're done absolutely wrecking him. the blonde's brows draw together, concern and fear showing for a heartbeat before he's schooling his expression into something hard and neutral.

this wasn't whoever put in a bid for his time. he'd thought at first that it was some idiot using credentials he didn't have to land himself time he doesn't deserve. but that... that's a turk's suit. that's a turk - one high up the pecking order, if he remembers correctly. it's been a while since he had to really care about any of that.

he takes the glass and finds the strength to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth. ]

Have I... done something?

[beenhad]

[ A smile flickers on Tseng's face, like a candle guttering low. ]

You've made a name for yourself. Or so I've heard.

[ Tseng takes a sip of his drink and mulls over the flavor in his mouth. He raises his hand, gloved and outstretched, and brushes his knuckles along the curve of Cloud's cheek. ]

Now that I've seen you for myself, I can almost bring myself to believe the stories. Which is nothing, I am sure, compared to witnessing you personally.

[ His hand falls away, retreating into the folds of his jacket. The envelope he retrieves looks heavy, flush with gil. ]

Of course, you will be more than generously compensated for your time.

[makopoison]

[ to his credit he doesn't flinch. doesn't show any outward reaction, really, a careful mask of indifference on his face.

does anyone know this man is in here? does it matter, could they honestly stop him if he's not meant to be? he's seen the turks in action before, every single one of them a powerhouse. what they lack in soldiers freakish strength they make up for by being masters of each of their craft.

even if he tried to run, if this guy wanted, he'd probably be dead before he got to the door. that's the price you pay when you kneel at shinra's feet. ]

I'm already off the clock for the night. [ he says, eyeing not the envelop but tseng's eyes. he isn't going to simper or cower. ] But I can make an exception for you, just this once.

[beenhad]

[ All Turks have a certain steelness in their eyes, as much a part of the uniform as the black suits and leather gloves. But there's a touch of something more upon the clashing of their gaze, something like a cat watching a mouse writhe beneath her paw, delighted and detached all at once. ]

Thank you for accommodating me. Shall we, then?

[ Tseng is chivalrous enough in taking Cloud's hand for the short distance to the red leather booth that lines the gallery wall. It's a garish thing designed for garish acts, but Tseng occupies the space like a throne, one arm draped over the back, his drink delicately dangling between the tips of his fingers, the endless lines of his silhouette poised in watchful repose. His eyes burn into Cloud, wordlessly conveying that he would rather not be kept waiting for very long. ]

[makopoison]

[ this isn't the first time he's lain with an executive. they're all freaks, all of them, most of them possessing a cruel streak and almost all enjoying seeing some form of tears in the eyes of their conquest. proof of their power.

but they almost always tip their hand. show what they want. scarlet wants a victim for her whip, heidegger wants someone to cower beneath his fading strength, and palmer simply wants someone beautiful to give him the time of day while he paws at their body.

this one... he has no idea. ]

Before I start, do you have any preference? A type of music you like?

[beenhad]

[ Tseng takes a slow drag from his glass, but his eyes do not leave Cloud. Whether that is because he enjoys the sight or expects him to run is absolutely unclear. The expression on his face—muted to hardly a whisper—does not tip the scales either way. ]

Whatever moves you is fine.

[ The last of his drink's flavor is wicked from his lips with a slowly sliding tongue. And he tips his head back, watching, expectant. ]

[makopoison]

[ maybe just... a lapdance to start? some simple to try to suss out what he actually wants and how far he actually wants to go. he trails his fingertips along the finery of the suit, feeling the texture between his fingers as he presses a button to set the music. ]

[beenhad]

[ The music kicks on like a fading pulse, low and languid. Tseng can feel the percussion rumbling in his chest. It complements the inherent grace in every move that Cloud makes, turns those drifting fingers and that slow advance into languid choreography.

Tseng reaches out, his hand sliding down Cloud's back until it becomes a feather-light weight upon his waist. He draws him in, not unkindly, but commanding all the same. ]

[makopoison]

[ he goes easily, feeling the command of that movement. not unlike a knife against his throat, delicate and precise, just enough pressure to know who is in charge here. he moves easily, practically in tseng's lap on his leather throne.

his hands slide along his shoulder, grasping his tie to pull him just a little closer. ]

[beenhad]

[ There is an amused quirk at the corner of Tseng's lips, as if he has not often had the occasion to be treated so forwardly. Usually, it's trembling fingers, bowed bodies, eyes squeeze so tightly shut. If Cloud was not already so far beyond them simply by virtue of his beauty, that alone would set him apart. ]

Very good.

[ Tseng does not have the occasion to make many corrections. The sway of Cloud's hips between his legs is perfectly on beat. The captivating cover of his blue eyes is exquisite. But still, he draws him nearer, inviting him on to his lap with one hand sliding under Cloud's thigh to support him. ]

[makopoison]

[ one arm bracing itself on the back of the couch, settling onto the turk's lap without missing a beat.

he'd met a turk once. she'd been absolutely nothing compared to this man - she'd been human, and touchable, readable even in the midst of a crisis. i know who you are could mean that he knew all of this... no. there was no could about it. his story isn't terribly unique - soldier washouts either went back home, took other positions within shinra, or eventually found their way to the don's arena. the only difference was that he'd started taking his clothes off for a living instead of beating people bloody for sport.

but that sort of remained a hobby.

his fingers skim down the man's chest, before he reaches back up to start undoing the clasp of the first layer of this stupid costume, hand returning to rest against his shoulder. an open invitation to take it off. ]

[beenhad]

That won't be necessary.

[ Unreadable as this man may be, direction is still needed. Tseng has always had a soft spot for trashy little upstarts in need of guidance. Cloud doesn't realize that all of his power in this room is commanded by his netted thighs and the slick silhouette his bodice cuts him, and that is a travesty.

Instead, he licks his lips to a razor's edge shine. Leans forward to breathe in the lovely heat at the base of Cloud's throat in a way that gives his kiss connection, an inextricable lock. And always, those hands on Cloud's hips are guiding him to rock this and that way, to lift upon his lap and descend slow, slower, the murmurs he's embedding deep into Cloud's skin reaching a particular vibrato when he gets it just right. ]

[makopoison]

[ there's a fire pooling in his belly, a white hot spike of arousal as those soft lips meet his throat. his back arches prettily, arms going around the turk's neck.

the kid is a good dancer. not great at seduction, not great at seeming like he really wants it. he grinds their hips together, eyes fluttering shut with the breathiest of moans parting his lips. ]

[beenhad]

[ Tseng's hands slide down to cradle Cloud's arching back. It's a solid, strong place to lean while he runs his mouth down Cloud's chest—down, down, and further still, until he's working his tongue between the unclasped part of his bodice. He hated it before, but he thinks he likes it now, the half-undone, trashy look of it.

The sounds Cloud makes are decadent. And they have only come this far; Tseng's head is swimming with possibilities. ]

What whorish sounds you make.

[ He says it the same way he's said everything tonight: a deceptive politesse in his tone, something that is too courteous to not be cut-throat. ]

Do you like to be treated like one too?

[makopoison]

[ he doesn't.

but they don't pay to hear that, he knows that. the clientele from shinra come to play hard with a pretty doll they can put back on the shelf when they're done, something they aren't responsible for fixing. under ordinary circumstances he knows what he's to say - to cant his hips down and press his lips to tseng's ear, breathe that he wants to be used like the two-bit slut he is. there's a reason there are full cure materias in the back, magical potential maxed out from extreme use.

but the way he asks strikes the wrong nerve. rubs raw against pride he shouldn't still have, arrogance that he should have dropped long ago.

whorish isn't a new term. he's heard it a thousand times, but never in thaat tone of voice. never so in such cloying tones, deceptively pleasant despite the under. tseng's voice is the sweet nectar, his eyes the infinite depths of the flytrap. cloud's used to disassociating, taking pleasure where he can get it and counting down the clock when he can't. he's used to it, to compartmentalizing, to gently sparing himself further pain by not opening his mouth.

his fingers walk a path up tseng's arm, trailing through the silky curtain of his hair. he'd always liked long hair, though he prefers silver to onyx. ]

Do you really care what I like?

[beenhad]

Of course I do.

[ Spoken like it's obvious. He doesn't bat an eye at this obvious plaything speaking out of turn; if anything, that wicked sense of delight in his roaming gaze transforms into something more vivid, more intrigued.

And his hands are still gentle, even as they soar across the vulnerable netted flesh of Cloud's inner thighs, coaxing them open wider, until he's bowed and splayed across Tseng's lap. There is a very deep sound in the pit of Tseng's throat, which on anyone else would sound like approval. His is that, but something more, a different beast waiting in the dark. ]

I'm obviously going to tear you apart.

[ The fingers drifting down Cloud's chest do not pause in their descent; they sink lower, his palm clasping over the bulge in his little outfit. Those fingers beckon beneath him, stroking hard through fabric so that Cloud can really feel it through the barrier between them. Tseng starts rubbing him down, hard and soft at the same time, one arm hooked over Cloud's shoulder to keep him trapped in it. ]

I want you to hate how much you like it.

[makopoison]

[ his thoughts fizzle briefly in his mind as the turk puts those skillful hands to work, eyes shutting while a huff parts his lips. one hand rests against tseng's chest, trying to steady himself in their new position.

the man has beautiful eyes. deadly and venomous, but lovely from afar. it's only this close that he can see the true danger.

he brings his free hand up to brush that lovely dark hair back from his face, using that small gesture to try to slow his own racing heart. tear you apart could very well be literal. he wouldn't be the first bee to go missing, and he surely won't be the last. ]

I can act however you want me to act. [ he strokes a thumb alone one fine cheekbone. ] But I don't know if you can make me hate something I'm going to like.

[beenhad]

I want nothing from you but perfect candor.

[ There is an emphasis on 'perfect'—not overt, but a slight lean into each consonant until they become a collective hiss in Cloud's ear. His hands have slowed, turned to toying with the lovely impression Cloud's cock makes against the taut fabric of his uniform. That is where his gaze lingers for just a moment, as his fingers swerve and pull and crush with fine enough pressure to feel how engorged he has become. ]

Cloud.

[ he says, tongue sliding over his lips to wet them at the sight upon his lap. Tseng's hand drifts to carefully undo a button on his trousers and slide down the zip with a muted purr. His hands do not stay away for long; they flutter right back again, fingers tangling in Cloud's hair, one hand cradling his cheek as he presses him down. ]

Would you be so kind as to show me what you can do?