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Are you available right now?
I'll pay you for your time.

This is Wriothesley.

Well, this is novel. I think that's the first anyone's ever offered to pay me for my time before.

Though I assume it's not just my time you want.

Should I not compensate you for your time?
Payment can be whatever you wish within reason.

.
I prefer not to discuss matters on devices that are easily tracking our everything.

[Regardless if it actually matters or not given how the house obviously knows what they're up to most of the time.]

Then I'd say let's meet for a drink, but if it's privacy you're after — come up to my room, then. It's secure.

Unless you'd rather rendezvous at one of the resort's...amenities, like before.

[Wriothesley weighs those words for a moment before he replies.]

I'll meet you at your room. I'll knock twice then once more so you know it's me.

[As if Rufus would be expecting anyone else, but Wriothesley is someone if not thorough in making himself identifiable to someone whom he was meeting up with.]

I don't need the resort sticking their nose into my business right now.

The Tens floor, then.

[And really, he's not worried about the security of his own room — Tseng wouldn't let him live anywhere without having sufficiently swept it for surveillance, and he also checks himself on the regular, accustomed as he is to Shinra-grade "supervision" on the part of his father. Of course Wriothesley doesn't know that, and whether Rufus decides to tell him is as yet anyone's guess.]

I look forward to hearing just what business you're bringing.

[Wriothesley doesn't answer the text back, and just heads up from his Rank 7 suite and up to the floor with the Rank 10 suites. There's no reason to say more when they'd be able to discuss anything upon him arriving. He does exactly what he says in text, knocking twice and then once more after a pause.

Arms folded over his chest, while Wriothesley's expression is something neutral, small things betray him. Tension in his shoulders and there's something stormy in his gaze as he waits for Rufus to answer the door.]

[The Tens floor should, by all rights, be a comfortable — even luxurious — place to live. The suites are big, consisting of multiple rooms, and full of sufficient amenities for any average person to feel supremely taken care-of. Which in turn means that for Rufus, it's a couple notches below what he's accustomed to, but...well, it'll do. For a while, anyway, while he bides his time.

The knocks comes just as his guest said it would; even so, he's cautious to check for a visual before opening the door to permit entrance. He's dressed down a little from what he usually walks around the resort in, having foregone his suit and coat for a dark high-neck sweater and crisp white trousers, and a pair of comfortable house slippers instead of his typical boots.]

You're punctual.

[And agitated, clearly. He beckons Wriothesley inside and closes the door behind him, careful to keep his expression even and not try to catch a breath of him as he steps past, just in case he happens to be wearing that ocean-scented cologne.]

And willing to pay to get something out of me, so let's have it.

[Wriothesley had grown used to being in the suites meant for the rank 10s. It helps that he consistently ends up crashing at someone's room just as much as he sleeps in his own. The layouts do differ from room to room, he's finding.

The man looked, well, tired. The lingering smell of cigarette smoke lingers on his clothes. He's dressed in slacks and waistcoat and would look well kept if not for small signs. The slight wrinkling of his dress shirt underneath that implies he hadn't bothered to press it and the way he didn't even bother to button the top most button of his waistcoat.

He nods his head in greeting as he steps inside.]

I wasn't about to make someone wait when it was I who asked for their time. How unbecoming if I did. [He gives a cursory look around, mostly out of habit to quickly access the space. Paranoia runs deep after all.

He purses his lips before turning to look at the other.] I just don't want to think for a little bit. [And while things like drugs could easily get him that, he also was someone who liked a clear mind. It was a frustrating dichotomy.]

You're free to let me know what you would like as payment and we can find a compromise that works for the both of us.

[What a trajectory the world is on, when someone is evidently coming to Rufus Shinra as though he's a fucking therapist. It'd be a lie to say that the stated purpose of the visit doesn't startle him a little; given the...everything that's gone on between the two of them up until this point, he would've assumed that whatever request Wriothesley was bringing with him was somewhat more tangible, and considerably less vulnerable. (Surely, surely, this man has had his fill of being vulnerable around him, reduced to a shaking mess in a collar, reduced to lazy smiles and linked arms —)

And yet — there's something to the way he frames it, I don't want to think. The chance to switch one's mind off is the siren song of the overworked and overburdened, resigned to the necessity of whatever it is they carry, yet desperate to put it down in the short term just to ensure they can survive it a little longer in the greater one.]

You're asking for a repeat performance.

[He'd made him drink the green potion. He'd put him on his hands and knees and dragged noises out of his throat and again and again it'd always been the same, I want to be good, I want to be a good boy.]

Well. If we're negotiating a bargain, then my compensation is going to be contingent on my obligation. So let's be clear — just how much control are you willing to cede to me?

[He smiles faintly, tilting his head at the slightest angle.]

There must be something you won't let me do to you.

[Wriothesley shrugs in response.] It doesn't have to be a repeat performance. It doesn't have to even be sexual. I just want a moment. [A moment can mean anything. To Wriothesley, he just wants to feel like he can breath easy even if it's for a minute.

He had pointed it out to Tseng once. Sometimes there was something freeing about submitting to someone and letting them hold the reigns. It had already happened once between them. Why not another time?]

A business man, huh? I appreciate that. [It makes it easy for someone to be concise and to the point. He likes that.] You're right though.

[Wriothesley is someone who knows his limits pretty well.] I refuse to have my hands bound. I don't want any kind of drugs. No permanent physical alterations. [The last one was kind of just a precaution. He doesn't think that it would come up, but it was better to be honest than for things to go too far and for him to be dragged back into reality.

But Wriothesley didn't have a lot of things he refused. As long as he felt like he didn't feel completely at Rufus' mercy, giving up control was different than feeling like he lost control, and he didn't like using substances.] I don't think there's anything else.

Edited 2024-08-01 07:04 (UTC)

[There's something unusually resonant in the way he says that — I just want a moment. Not a favor, not an experience, not even an orgasm. Just...a moment, when he can shut his mind off, and not have to think, and leave himself entirely in the care of someone else's direction.

It's a startlingly compelling notion, not least of which because Rufus of all people can appreciate just how much trust is requisite for an ask like that. He certainly wouldn't be so quick to put himself up at anyone's mercy, mostly because he's long since learned to never expect mercy from anyone. And yet...

And yet, there's something to it. Something just compelling enough that he thinks, maybe he wants to explore a little more of this — albeit from the safety of being the one on his feet, and not the one on his knees.]

Then keep your money. I'm not rendering a service like a whore.

[Though the premise really isn't that far off from the sorts of things that go on in Wall Market, dreams sold to paying customers and carried out by charming little honeybees. Not that he's ever been let anywhere near such places, but still.]

But I will do it for loyalty. In a place like this, an ally is worth their weight in chips — so those are my terms.

[He can't help the bark of laughter that escapes his lips. It's something tired but there's something genuine about the laugh. Something he really needed because he definitely struggling with the concept of loss here. It isn't like this is the first time nor the last, but a handful of people whom he had kept close were now gone so quickly caught him off guard. Enough to knock him off his feet.

Rufus' words were amusing though. At least said to him, whom had easily offered services of all kinds while in prison from credit coupons. That, at the end of the day, he was still seeking some sort of service from Rufus. It might not be sex, but the concept was there.]

Monsieur. You already had that.

[Loyalty isn't quite the right word, he thinks. At the end of the day, they still have their own goals and plans. But Wriothesley, despite what hiccups of their relationship, did like Rufus. Sure, he basically barked for the man, but the man seemed to respect him enough not to treat him like shit after. Hell, if his relationship was bad with them, he wouldn't be here in their room asking for their time.

As it is, he didn't intend to not at least treat the other as some respectable business associate.] It's a deal then.

If I already had it, then shouldn't I get to ask for something else?

[There's a note of dry irony in the remark, even as he finally moves into Wriothesley's space and brings his hand up to frame his face, aiming to rest his palm lightly against his cheek. In large part, it's an attempt to see if he can get away with it at all, or if he'll be deflected away; call it an opening foray to test the waters of this agreement they've just struck, to see how willing Wriothesley is to bend — and how hard he's going to have to work to put him under.]

But since you're an ally, let's let it wait until afterward — and you can offer me what you think all this was worth to you. For now, I think it's time you stopped using that clever mind of yours.

[He leans a little closer, his voice taking on a more velvet tone — lulling, deep, and easy to listen to.]

Nod, or shake your head, but no words. You're not going to need them for a while.

Isn't it what you wanted though? [His tone is mostly playful. Rufus should have considered asking for something else. Honestly, though, Wriothesley's loyalty is a vague concept if the both of them were being honest. What actually entailed in something like that was murky water.

Whatever it meant, there was something that was consistent. If Rufus ever needed a helping hand in anyway, Wriothesley would not leave the man wanting.

And Rufus apparently didn't intend to leave him wanting either. Wriothesley shivers and he opens his mouth to respond before snapping his mouth shut. A half-lidded gaze before he nods in silent affirmation.]

[Ah, so that landed, did it? Interesting — he really does want to just...stop thinking, evidently. And that's something that Rufus will dwell on later, will turn over and over in his head as he contemplates it from all angles, but for right now settling into the helm of control is easy and as natural as breathing.]

You're not as cute without your tail, puppy. I wonder if you're still as obedient without it.

[Just a moment, he'd said, and it didn't have to be anything sexual. Just a means of getting outside of his thoughts, then — yes, all right, Rufus can certainly work with that.]

Let's see how much you remember. Sit.

[He makes a slight, almost imperceptible motion with his hand — evidently, it's habitual for him to give nonverbal commands along with spoken ones, for some reason — and yes, seems to indicate that Wriothesley ought to lower himself down to the ground right there in the midst of the carpet.]

[What Wriothesley probably needed rest. Not sleep. Rest. Just some time to catch his breath and maybe relax and not feel like the weight on his shoulders felt so heavy. And he can maybe get that right now. He's not the Duke or the Administrator of the Fortress of Meropide or even Wriothesley.

Hell, right now, he's apparently just some dog taking orders. And he was alright with that.

He doesn't hesitate to obey, getting down to his knees until he's seated in front of Rufus. He looks up at the other and waits for Rufus' next order.]

Good.

[There's a different air to this than the last time; it's a subtle change in atmosphere that Rufus isn't oblivious to. But that only makes sense, really, when the last time was about tensions running hot and the fervent burn of desire, and this variation on the theme is meant to be quieter, slower.

It's that thought that guides his decisions of how to move next, of how to exercise the level of control Wriothesley seems to want without injecting an overtly sexual component into it. It's that notion that has him thinking of what he has available around the room, and what he can best make use of with it.

What he decides on, ultimately, is another of those quick hand commands — though he doesn't speak it aloud, this one most likely interprets to stay — and briefly leaves the room in the direction of his bedroom before returning with the soft plush tie from his luxury bathrobe.]

Close your eyes.

[He flicks the squarish end of the cloth against the tip of Wriothesley's nose, letting him feel its sleek caress — and buying a second for him to indicate whether this is out of bounds, if for some reason he doesn't want to be blindfolded.]

[ previous birthdays have always been easier to arrange, mostly because tseng has always had some level of access to rufus' living space. not so, here. he can't get in to rufus' room without rufus there to open the door, and asking him to do so would rather defeat the purpose of a birthday surprise, wouldn't it?

so instead, tseng settles for what he can manage. a cinnamon roll wrapped first in wax paper and then in tinfoil to keep it warm and moist; a thermos of coffee, although rufus is surely capable of making his own, but on your birthday it's nice if you don't have to. and in a small black box wrapped in dark grey ribbon, the actual gift: two golden coins, the same size and weight as gil would be, embossed with darkstar's likeness on one face so rufus knows which side is heads.

these all get put in a plain black gift bag and handed over to a staff member to be delivered to rufus at 10am sharp, along with a note from tseng, folded in half and tucked inside: this probably isn't how you wanted to spend it, but happy birthday, nonetheless.

no "sir," this once. ]

[Everyone knows his birthday in Midgar, it feels like. It'd be difficult not to, when for years upon years it's been treated as all but a national holiday — ironic, really, in how even something as personal as that was never really about him, but about what his father could leverage toward his own benefit. The summer of 1977 had been one victory after another for Shinra: the first anniversary of Midgar's completion, the birth of the next generation of the company, the day Reactor One was approved to come online for the very first time.

And those were just the ones that the general population was permitted to know about.

Everyone knows his birthday in Midgar, but naturally most of his memories of the day itself are sour ones. Sour, that is, except for one tradition that never seems to fade — how even in confinement and disgrace, there would be at least a text and some understated kindness, inconspicuous and easily-overlooked by everyone except its intended recipient. Rufus would forget his own birthday before Tseng overlooks it; as in all things, Tseng is steadfast and predictable and consistent.

But even so, he's still just a little bit surprised when the knock at his door turns up, late enough in the morning that he gets to sleep in and luxuriate extravagantly in his bed, but early enough that he hasn't yet had time to wonder or doubt whether some sort of message will show up at all. That the bag and its contents come in nondescript black and shades of gray are classic Tseng: sleek and unassuming, and he's almost instantly curious about what could be inside as he takes the bag from the staffer and returns inside with an almost dragonish desire to covet the experience.

He finds the food first; not surprising, when the thermos is an obvious shape and the heat of the roll draws his notice. It's gooey and sticky and a little bit mashed from the trip up, and there's no one around to see or scorn Rufus as he pulls it apart with his fingers and shoves a piece into his mouth, licking the remains of the sugar away and sucking on them for good measure.

The box — what must be a gift — is small and light. Jewelry? Some sort of accessory? Cufflinks, maybe, or a watch chain. A keychain would suggest a sense of humor about the day out of Tseng that he has his doubts about, but still, not entirely unheard of.

He shoves another piece of roll into his mouth, wipes his hands, opens the box — and finds himself instantly at a loss, clutching the box in frozen fingers as he tries his damnedest not to drop it.

What gets him isn't, in and of itself, the coins — though the thought inherent in the gift absolutely gets him. It isn't that they're the perfect weight, the perfect size. It isn't that he can pluck one up and roll it effortlessly down the backs of his fingers and it feels just right, this tiny piece of familiarity that he'd been willing to sacrifice just like everything else, on the altar of his time spent here, and yet now all of a sudden he doesn't have to.

What gets him is —

It's the fact that someone had to make these. That Tseng had someone make these. That Tseng went out of his way to put Darkstar's image on these coins, for him, and made the likeness so exacting that he knew what it was from the moment he laid eyes on it. That she's not here, and he aches for how much he wishes she was, but now he has this. Now he has her, just this little bit of her, just like always.

Still idly toying with one of the coins, he opens his coffee and sips it, feeling the heat of the still-warm liquid go all the way down his throat and pool in the pit of his stomach, a physical echo of the warmth already buzzing over his nerves as he silently processes the reality of his gift.

Eventually, and perhaps not unexpectedly, he reaches for his watch.]

How should I spend it instead?

[No preamble, but he doesn't really need one. The confirmation of receipt is all inherent in the way he initiates the conversation as though they're already partway into it to begin with.]

[Wriothesley doesn't say anything nor questions Rufus' actions as they leave the room for a moment. He sits there, perfectly still, waiting obediently for the other to return. Despite having a nature that wasn't tamable, Wriothesley knew how to be an obedient dog.

He closes his eyes at Rufus' words and waits. There's a stiffening of his shoulders as Wriothesley seems to be making out what he was feeling and what the implication meant. Eventually, the man lets his shoulders relax, hands settling on his lap.

Relaxed. Accepting. He waits for Rufus to tie it around his eyes.]

That's better.

[When no reluctance comes, he carefully ties the long, narrow strip of cloth around Wriothesley's head, leaving the knot to sit at the back of his skull while the soft expanse of it fits snug but not tight against his eyes. A little sensory deprivation can go a long way toward enhancing obedience, he muses to himself, reaching to free the ends of Wriothesley's bangs from the trap of the makeshift blindfold and let them return to dangling comfortably instead.]

It's quieter in the dark, isn't it, puppy?

[ it's only when his watch buzzes with the message from rufus that tseng realizes he was waiting for something like this, a confirmation that rufus had received the gift. he'd never needed a confirmation in years previous, again because of his access to rufus' living space and his ability to ascertain that the gifts would be left in places rufus would certainly find them—but now, relying on a staff member to get the bag where it's meant to go, he finds himself relieved by the message that clearly indicates the gift was received.

the relief immediately turns to... something, not quite anxiety, but perhaps some strange kind of anticipation once tseng has read and understood the question. how should rufus spend his birthday? one answer, which tseng can't bring himself to say; another answer, which calls back to something tseng said during that fateful morning in his suite's master bath, although tseng can't know for sure whether rufus will interpret it how it's meant. ]

Any way you want.

[It's funny, how rapidly his birthday gifts find use, as he sends his message and awaits Tseng's reply. Funny how without even thinking about it he's picked one up and started rolling it down the backs of his fingers, flipping it off the last knuckle, catching it in his palm to start over again.]

And if I know what I want, you'll give it to me?

Of course.

[ not referring to rufus as sir in every text feels strange, but the birthday gifts have always been a gray area between them professionally, so it would feel even stranger to lean on that professionalism now. ]

IC Inbox | goldenet

text; un: cerberus (Backdated a bit to July 21st)

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( 8/13, morning )

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