enthraller | psl - 100% just a shameless teahouse au

Foreign and visiting nobility were hardly uncommon in the capital: or in the Teahouse, for that matter.

Tzilan told himself that as his local hosts, other young men of his age, swept him into the grand, brightly-lit foyer. He was only too painfully aware that the brightly-polished floor cast up no reflection of him back up at himself, and kept his chin high above his stiff, starched collar. Unlike the taller men about him, who rushed in a happy, wine-drunken babble to explain the rules, and the process, he was silent, gliding over the sussurus they made.

This isn't appropriate, he thought, while flashing a pained, faintly awkward smile at one of the men who'd drawn him along. "And so," his quiet voice cut through their chatter, "You... pick which... individual you desire? From the line?"

"Well, ordinarily yes! But we've come to a great agreement today, we were going to be serviced as a group. We often just lo--"

Tzilan's gloved hands twitched at his sides, and his smile slipped a little, just half an instant. And then his dark-skinned features smoothed, and he beamed up. "Now now, that would be quite inappropriate. Before the first transaction, and the ink has dried? In my homeland it's considered bad luck, you know, to celebrate to early," but there was a salacious cast to his eyes, something sharp in his smile--

"So you'll leave us wanting, just for that?" Complained the blonde, wetting his lips briefly as the group of them came to a pause.

"It's only good business to keep you wanting a little," assured Tzilan-- voice pitched to a whisper so that he wouldn't speak over the well-dressed fellow moving forward to greet them across the marble floor. Tzilan's eyes flit from him to the decor, affecting a politely curious interest to mask the anxiety that had his stomach in knots.

Most preferred to go alone when visiting brothels, but groups weren't uncommon either. Such an outing could be considered a bonding activity, or a chance for someone to show off their wealth by buying a night with a whore for each of their friends.

The group that entered the Teahouse was hard to miss, loud as they were being. Some celebration, Saralegui guessed, and a tipsy one at best. Standing from his seat by the fire, he surreptitiously gestured for a passing servant to go gather anyone else who was available. It was already evening, but still early enough that most of them should still have been free.

One of his coworkers was already there by the time he'd made his way over to the group, a pretty brunette who'd quickly attached herself to the arm of one of their guests. Too eager to make a sale, Saralegui thought, to ensure there was enough choice for a party this size or to even greet their customers properly. He wasn't particularly surprised -- she was on the low end of the Teahouse's earnings. So he plastered on a pleasant smile, tucking his long hair back over his shoulder and taking it upon himself to play host while the others made their way in.

"Good evening," he said coolly, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the way his coworker cooed at her young man of choice. "What were you gentlemen interested in this evening?"

Tzilan felt the warmth before anything else, before Saralegui drew close enough to attract the eye, before his lips parted to speak. The radiant, remnant warmth of the fire, slowly dissipating into the air. It was distracting enough that he turned to stare at the pale figure who approached.

He forgot to simulate the act of breathing. How could someone be so beautiful? On instinct, he wanted to draw his hand through that fine, pale hair, see if it was as soft as it looked---

He immediately cast his eyes aside, feigning polite disinterest.

"My companions were interested in quite an arrangement of festivities," he began, but the blonde slipped an arm around his shoulders.

"And this one will need some individual attention-- it's his first time," he laughed and nudged Tzilan in the pale man's direction. "Be particularly good to him, won't you?" He nudged Tzilan forward, turning towards the few others of his party as his name was called--

Tzilan blanched, went faintly wooden.

At least one if them didn't seem drunk. A foreigner, clearly, but perfectly well-spoken. Saralegui almost took him for the leader of this little party, until one of the louder members of the group cut in. Saralegui almost laughed at the look on the foreigner's face as he was interrupted and effectively thrown to the wolves, but he bit his tongue. Most customers didn't appreciate being laughed at.

"It's all right," he said smoothly, one corner of his mouth quirking upwards just a bit in good humor. "I'm good with first timers."

More of the Teahouse's offerings were arriving now, and there was Hazel, who was almost frighteningly good at handing matters of payment without turning customers off. It would be fine to leave things in her capable hands. With a sweet smile, Saralegui stepped in beside the foreigner, sliding his slim fingers around an arm. So stiff, did they mean to suggest he was entirely a virgin? Hard to imagine of such a polite and handsome young man, clearly well-off if the quality of his clothes were anything to judge by, but no matter. With a grip just firm enough to lead a potentially uncertain guest, Saralegui tugged him gently towards the stairs.

"It's alright," he said again, a low murmur this time, leaning in and pressing himself just a bit closer as if to make the words private. "Come along, sir."

Don't let them see you. Don't let them see what you are.

The stiffness in his back relaxed, and he forced his face to smooth from tension into the brow-furrowed awkwardness of a disconcerted young noble. His lips parted as if to ask, 'first timers?' only to stop halfway and lift a hand, rubbing it on his face. He let himself be led away, tilted his head close as if lured by the quietness of the reassurance.

But he parted his lips to breathe in the scent of this pale stranger, and pressed close more for his heat than to hear.

"I thought taking them here would be... courteous, at least, after such a long night out; they were desperate to come," he lied, sighing quietly, turning his face to look into Sara's as they walked. "What... should I expect, from my time with you...?"

Further in, the Teahouse quickly grew quieter. The walls were thick to ensure privacy for even its loudest guests, and the noise from the rest of the cheerful group faded fast. Still, Saralegui kept close. There was no need for formalities and polite distance here.

"That's very generous of you." He subtly glanced his customer for the night over, trying to piece together a more complete picture, something easier to work with. A young man, apparently quite well-off, but not here to show it off. His clothes were nice, but not extravagantly so. And that hint of hesitation seemed sincere. What he was looking for here continued to evade Saralegui, though. Not boasting, but probably not desperation, because a rich, handsome, and pleasant-enough young man shouldn't have been lacking in options that didn't require pay.

Simple shyness, maybe? A fear of fumbling a first attempt with a real lover and so wanting to "practice", so to speak?

"I'm the one who should be asking what to expect," Saralegui said, carefully light and good-humored. "You're the customer, after all. Getting to do whatever you want is sort of the point."

Reaching the door of his room, a handsome dark oak the same as all the rest except that it was the closest to the end of the hall, he paused with one hand on the knob and the other caught around his guest's arm. He shot the young man a sly glance, squeezing his arm just faintly.

"If you're...uncertain, though, I could always makes a few suggestions."

"What would you... suggest?"

The words, carefully measured, fumbled near the operative word, just a small hitched breath designed to complete the imagine of himself as unpracticed. And that, all on its own, would have been enough.

But there Saralegui stood, a stranger, pale as a phantom against the dark and gleaming oak, a soft floral scent clinging to his soft skin and shining hair. Tzilan's hand turned, covetous despite himself, and touched the ends of Sara's hair with just his fingertips. His throat tightened as he swallowed.

In place of an answer, he simply smirked and pushed the door open, pulling his customer in after him.

The room itself was fairly large, dominated mostly by a grand bed covered in rich red sheets. The walls were lined with shelves of books and various curiosities, a tall mirror in one corner and a pair of plush armchairs in another. Saralegui didn't leave much time to examine it very thoroughly, however. He tugged the doors closed behind them, and then in one smooth motion he slid an arm over the man's shoulder to pull him close, leaning in to press a kiss to his jaw.

Some wanted to jump right to the main course, but most preferred a bit of buildup. Something to convince themselves they were with a lover rather than a whore, maybe. Saralegui certainly had theories. He caught the young man's hand with his free one, guiding it to the back of his head. If this particular customer seemed to like his hair then he might as well exploit it.

Pressing close, warm and sensually slow-moving, Saralegui let a hot breath ghost across the sharp curve of a jaw.. His lips were soft, feather-light when he spoke against dark skin.

"Getting any ideas yet?"

His eyes widened just a fraction... and then closed, a soft, cool breath shivering out of him while he tipped his jaw towards the kiss. Sudden heat lanced through him, white and searing-- like lightning, or wildfire. His skin, where Saralegui touched it, was also cool, and his fingers flexed, neatly and swiftly gathering the silken fall of Sara's hair into his firm grip.

He used it as leverage to turn the line of Sara's profile by just a few small degrees, so that he could press their mouths more neatly together, tangling in a kiss more savage than sweet, while a soft, hungry sound kindled in his throat.

Well. Someone seemed to have an idea of what they wanted, finally.

He allowed a faint gasp to "slip" out at the sudden grip. Nothing uncomfortably painful or rougher than average, but customers liked to hear a reaction. The key was in keeping it subtle enough to be believeable. Letting Tzilan take control as he pleased, Saralegui slid his hand down over the fine fabric of the man's shirt, pausing at the bottom to toy with the hem while he pressed into the kiss, pliable but not without a total loss of initiative.

Subtly, he turned his hand so his knuckles would brush against the skin just above Tzilan's waistband. What seemed like an accidental touch as first, until he let the length of one finger trail along the cool skin at the man's hip.

So warm.

So deliciously warm and searing, and the heat of Saralegui's gasp puffed along his skin, as perfect as a second kiss. And all at once, the hollow ache of hunger wracked him, made his jaw ache, made his hands want to clench harder on the pretty man before him. Beautiful as a shaft of moonlight, as dawn touching mist--

He slipped his hand down along Saralegui's hair, loosing his grip, and leaned back from the kiss-- though not to gasp for breath.

"Tell me what you like best," he commanded, in a voice not hitched or shy but cold and certain as steel. He pressed towards the small, subtle touch near the skin of his hip, and pressed one leg a little between Saralegui's knees, using his posture to herd Saralegui, forcing the other man to take a step back. And then another, and then another, 'till the backs of Sara's thighs touched the bed.

"Tell me what makes your toes curl, what makes your blood run hot as molten metal. What makes you forget to breathe."

That one-eighty had been far too drastic -- he'd had customers who eased and gained absurd confidence in private despite public shyness, and customers who went from swaggering braggarts to meek and subservient behind closed doors. But there was always a period of hesitation, testing the waters as they figured out how they best liked it or how well that might be recieved. He could always tell which was the more honest side and which was a matter of public face or embracing a role in private.

Here, suddenly, he was uncertain, for once opening a book and finding the words inside in some foreign language. Gods, was that just a play at shyness before? Or was this a role being tried on with the confidence granted by knowing anything would be accepted? Was--

He nearly stumbled back, surprised to realize how far back he'd been crowded. Saralegui steadied himself, but found himself pinned between the bedframe and the leg between his. For a moment he just blinked, hips shifting almost uncertainly as if unsure whether to back off or pursue the friction.

Shit. He was hesitating too long. What did this customer want, then? Had he liked the bit of teasing, or was he seeking a chance to dominate? He swallowed, paused a moment too long for his own liking.

"I--" The word caught in his throat, and the decision felt made for him. Betting on shyness, he let his gaze drop and tried to convince himself the redness in his face was all intentional. "You embarass me, sir. I couldn't..."

No whore at such a reputable brothel could realistically be so easily flabbergasted by forwardness-- as a matter of simple mathematics. But the attempt was so good, so thoroughly convincing otherwise, that it made him smile.

"How neatly we've reversed roles. An exceptional performance. In a different setting, I'd even believe it."

He leaned a little, his slim-fingered hands curving around the backs of Saralegui's knees. It cost nothing of his strength to give them a small upward tug, nudging the other man off his feet and onto the edge of the bed. He pressed his own body between Sara's legs, and smoothed his hands with careful cunning up Sara's thighs.

His lashes lowered over his eyes, almost coyly. His voice was just a whisper.

"But you'll answer my questions."

He couldn't have anticipated the strength in those slim arms. What should have been an exploring touch flips him onto his face far too easily, and a soft yelp of surprise escapes him. Instinctively, his knees try to press together, but they meet resistance in the form of the body between them.

"You're quite the performer yourself," he breathed, more to buy himself a moment to think than just to quip. What to say? What did he most enjoy...?

Guests who let him do as he pleased, teasing and tormenting until they were begging him with teary eyes. Guests who did the same to him, those rare few who both enjoyed playing with a partner more than racing towards a finish line and simply took what they wanted. The former seemed unlikely given the current flow of events, but the latter...his face burned, just thinking of having to ask for it.

Flushing, Saralegui turned his face against the sheets like he could potentially hide in them. "...Drag it out," he said after a painfully long moment. "It's no fun if you rush to the end. And--" Fuck. How to say it without wanting to die? He bit at his lip, turning his head a bit more despite the uncomfortable way it stretched his neck. "...Don't be too nice."

"The only thing people know about a person is what you allow them to see. There is a certain power, in being unknown. You are free to be..." His dark eyes roved over the form stretched on the bed before him, flushed, struggling to speak, and his smile grew a small measure.

"Unpredictable."

He smoothed along the side of the bed, watching Saralegui, not bothering to obfuscate his hunger, raw and wanting. His hand was cool, and it slipped between the fall of Saralegui's beautiful hair, and the warm back of his neck. Flexed, the pad of his thumb stroking along the edge of Sara's jaw.

"How nice I am will depend on you," he murmured, setting one knee onto the bed so that he could lean closer. It didn't so much as creak under his careful weight. He set his other hand on Sara's hip, helping turn the young man a little so that he could lean, lips brushing along his brow.

"How good you are."

His fingertips smoothed from Sara's hips towards his belt. Gave its excess length a deft jerk to work the tongue of the buckle loose. He watched Sara's face, held his eyes, while his skilled hands with just a small little push worked the belt loose, its undone ends dangling down near the tops of Sara's thighs.

His dark eyes blazed in the high-cheeked planes of his face. And he leaned to whisper in Sara's ear, breath barely stirring his fine hair,

"So don't be too good."

Edited 2017-10-02 16:16 (UTC)

When he lets himself look back up, it's with a frown on his reddened face. Being lectured on the benefits of acting well, when doing so makes up the better part of his job... Saralegui lifted his chin, neck arching against Tzilan's cool fingers, expression almost petulant.

"A brothel isn't the place to come in lying about what you want," he said, shifting slightly to resituate himself, trying to regain a bit of dignity. "Not everyone here handles being pushed around well."

The attempt at posturing was somewhat spoiled by his involuntary shiver, whispered words against the shell of his ear so delicate he felt the vibration of it more than any warmth or breath. As if to counter it, he caught at the back of his guest's shirt, finding the hem once more and only briefly toying with it before sliding his hand up underneath over still surprisingly cool skin. All this, and his customer still didn't seem worked up in the least. It hardly seemed fair.

"I'm afraid you'll have to instruct me on the proper behavior, in that case," he murmured, nuzzling along Saralegui's temple. The tip of his tongue flit, just touching the lobe of the other man's ear, while his hand slid up underneath the hem of Sara's shirt, fingers splayed, to smooth up his abdomen and chest. The fabric of Sara's shirt rucked up around his wrist, and in the same moment, his back arched a little toward the heat of the other man's hand.

"Because otherwise I'm afraid the only impression I've gained is that you enjoy it."

"I'm just adaptable," he breathed, stubborn. "I can handle anything. I'm only trying to be considerate of what my client wants."

Tzilan's explorations exposed his stomach to the air, and a slight chill ran through him. He felt far too warm, and he could only attribute it to the contrast of the heatless hands on his body. He certainly wasn't that worked up yet, after all.

Letting his other hand join the first, he tried for boldness. Slid both hands up Tzilan's back, pushing his shirt up as he went, curiously running his palms over the ridge of spine and jut of shoulder blades.

"You're cold," he murmurered, frowning.

Tzilan's eyes closed, and he went quietly still for a moment, intent on feeling the track of Saralegui's hands.

"I am," he agreed, after a moment. He spoke more, voice very quiet, his body arching faintly to encourage the movement of the other man's hands. "I hadn't meant to indulge this, only to pay for their romp and then depart... but you were so striking to look upon, so clever when you leaned close, even that small kiss so warm..."

Like a cat, Saralegui thought, watching those dark eyes close contentedly and feeling the subtle shift of muscles under his fingers.

"Ah, forgive me," he said after a moment, all apology and concern while his hands stilled in their sliding exploration. "You're so cold, and here I am halfway through stripping you down."

With a sweet smile touched with just an hint of slyness, he retrieved his hands, taking only enough time to tug his customer's shirt back down properly.

He tipped his head back and laughed, a very soft, almost purring sound, warm and palpable and very earnest.

"Too clever by half, aren't you?" His laughter faded into a smile that was more in his eyes than the spare curve of his mouth, and he smoothed his fingertips along a silken lock of Saralegui's hair.

The laughter was soothing to hear. It eased some knot of tension in his chest, some quiet lingering worry that he was misjudging everything and botching this evening.

Teasing was good. A bit of shame was fine. Overt shyness was not. Or maybe it was just distaste for the obvious shift in attitude. That had been a mistake. Most customers were content to ignore anything that seemed off if the situation was to their liking, but this one seemed more observant than that and less easily mislead.

"I'm not sure there's such a thing as too clever," Saralegui answered, smiling thinly. But he left his hands where they were, half-curled against the sheets, and turned his face against Tzilan's fingers in his hair. Let his lips brush just slightly against the skin but didn't kiss it, just let his breath ghost warmly over it.

"You like my hair," he said. Not a question at that point. "Is that something you were interested in...?"

Gods, he hoped not. A guest had wanted that once before, and Saralegui wouldn't soon forget the smell of it drying before he got to go wash, or the struggle to get it all out.

His fingers trembled under that brief heat; went still.

"Oh, all of you is uncommonly beautiful-- but surely you hear that many times a night. And I've never been especially good at any kind of intimacy... almost especially not physically. And your hair is so gorgeous and soft; like light spun into silk. Easy to presume I could hardly be blamed for wanting to touch it."

He made a quiet, thoughtful sound in the back of his throat. "Does it ever frustrate you, the liberties people take with your body?"

Saralegui reddened just slightly under the compliments, frowning slightly. Not good at intimacy his ass. He sure as hell didn't believe this man might be a virgin anymore, or even at all inexperienced. Inexperienced men didn't pull a one-eighty out of nowhere once in a whorehouse and ask the whores all their secret desires.

"They're just getting what they paid for," he said carefully. Speaking so bluntly about the reality of the arrangement with a customer... This whole evening felt off, almost specifically designed to trip him up. Customers didn't want to acknowledge that they were only getting what they wanted because money was being exchanged, that there could never be a no in place of any enthusiastic yes. Or that plenty of others got the sane deal each night. "Your boots don't complain about being laced up, do they? If you tried and they weren't cooperating, you'd simply toss them and get a new pair."

"I suppose I should congratulate you on making me feel conflicted attraction for..." His eyes flit down Saralegui's figure, mouth suppressing a smile, "...boots?"

He gently smoothed his fingertips down Saralegui's slim chest.

"If our situations were reversed," he inquired gently, smoothing one shoe off of Saraelgui's feet, "What would you want?"

He followed with the second, carefully set them aside. Turned a little away from Sara's face, his long-fingered hands carefully curving along the other man's elegant leg. He supported the back of the knee of the nearer leg, and used the fingers of the other hand to neatly nudge up the hems of his pants and skirts toward the knee. He cupped his hands along Sara's calf, slowly and skillfully massaging down toward his ankle-- and then further, along the heel of his foot, careful to avoid touches that might be ticklish.

"If you were the client, and here to throw yourself into a few moments' temporary pleasure."

If their positions were reversed, he wouldn't be here at all. He'd find his pleasures elsewhere, with someone that didn't require pay to be willing. It would be easy enough; enough people did compliment his looks, every single night, that he had no doubt about that. This situation could never satisfy him, knowing his partner didn't really want him. Feeling wanted was the best part. There was nothing he enjoyed so much that he'd trade that feeling for it, nothing that he couldn't find a chance to try with some regular fling or lover.

His frown deepened just slightly. This man had been asking him for honesty, but he couldn't give it. Honesty like that was just begging for a complaint to the owner.

"Not boots, surely," he said, evasive, adopting a hint of a smirk and lifting his leg slightly to better accomodate the touches. He tried to focus instead on the feeling of the firm grip around frequently-abused muscles, achingly pleasant. "And probably not playing the footservant and treating my host for the evening to a massage. But I won't judge how you spend your money."

He laughed again, the sound silver and chiming, threading through their conversation. He smiled down at the work of his hands, thumb drawing down the line of Saralegui's shin.

"So you can tell me what you wouldn't do, but not what you would?" He lifted his brows over at Saralegui over the slim slope of his shoulder.

His hands moved gingerly around faint bruises left by a strong grip, shadowed in the vague shape of of a far wider hand than his own. He leaned, hands lightly guiding, pressed his lips near the shape of its palm.

"You come in here putting on a performance and yet expect honesty and straight answers? Hypocrite."

This was alright. This, he could work with. He smirked and just barely managed to restrain a grimace at the first touch to the old bruising, more irritation at himself than pain. Damn, he'd forgotten about that. He should have covered it with makeup or sonething. Most guests didn't want to see evidence that others had come before them.

But the following touches were gentle as can be. The bruises were faint enough now to barely be tender anymore, but Tzilan's fingers on them were infinitely careful. A faint tremble ran through him at the press of lips to discolored skin, and his smirk shrank just slightly.

"...And what would you do?" he ventured after a moment. "If our positions were reversed. If you were the one entertaining such a strange client."

Edited 2017-10-04 19:41 (UTC)

"Aren't we all, at one time or another?" He mused, thoughtfully.

He kissed the plane of Saralegui's knee, cradling the shape of the other man's heel in a hand, massaging slowly along the narrow shape of his foot.

"Difficult to say. What was your day like, yesterday? Did you come to this feeling frustrated? Bored? Excited? Anxious?" He glanced to Saralegui, mouth pursed. "I wouldn't qualify myself as a risk-taker... but I'm also terribly curious. I'd likely attempt to continue with courteous restraint, 'till I knew a little better where things were headed. Try to tread the lines which intersect between accommodating, congenial, and... safe."

Saralegui hummed thoughtfully, looking up at Tzilan with searching gold eyes. For a moment feeling bold, he prodded at his guest's side with his free foot.

"And what do you consider safe, in this situation?" he asked. "What are you protecting yourself from?"

Violence was never the real danger. Roughness would only be allowed to a certain degree before a customer was banned. But a substandard perfomance might lose future patrons. Being infrequently requested might make one's position in the house shaky. Being complained about, if some comment was taken the wrong way or some guest was upset enough, could be disastrous no matter how well one typically performed.

Saralegui was beginning to feel like this one wouldn't pose such a danger, evidently more aware than most of the realities of a courtesan's position and unphased by allusions to themz But he could never be sure.

"In this hypothetical, where I am you, and you are me?" His eyes smiled, lingered on Saralegui's face.

"What I'm protecting myself from depends upon very much that's all hidden behind my smile. Why am I in this situation, a handsome young man, a kept pet, a carefully-trained courtesan? Was I sold as a youth? Forced into an arrangement by debt, poverty, or other concerns? What is my hope, for the future?"

Utterly unflappable and unperturbed, he slipped a hand underneath the arch of the foot Saralegui had nudged him with, and lightly stroked up to its slim ankle.

"Do I intend to find some regular, to take me in when I lose my contract as time erodes me? Someone doting and fond and wealthy? Do I sneak savings away? Do I lean too-far into these nights, trying to forget that the future exists? If it were me, I'd be the planning sort. Determined to eke the most out of my contract, and dependent upon good review. I'd do whatever it took. Whatever damned, distasteful, disgusting debasement it took, and protect my place tooth and nail. And I'd do it perfectly, and beautifully, and smiling."

Saralegui's stare lingered too long, more stunned with every word. All too perceptive, too knowing. It felt more like an interrogation and left him wanting to squirm, feeling more exposed than he did most nights while fully naked.

Eventually, he had to break the eye contact. He dropped his gaze to Tzilan's fine shirt, lifting his hands again to distract himself fussing with the lowermost button, taking far longer than needed to slip it through the buttonhole.

"You would make a good whore." Too honest. Too blunt. But he had the feeling it would be alright.

"I've been one, a time or two."

He smoothed his hands along the lines of Saralegui's thighs, unshy, watching the other man's face while his avoidant gaze lingered on his shirt.

"Why did you become one?"

Just as he quit wasting time and moved to work open the rest of the buttons, Tzilan dropped that comment in and Saralegui's hands stilled, his gold eyes looking back up with surprise he failed at first to disguise.

Tzilan's gaze staring rught back at him reminded him quickly enough to mind himself, though. Saralegui schooled him expression, shifting his focus back to the closures of his guest's shirt but glancing back up at him intermittently through eyelashes far too long and dark for someone so fair.

"I think I'm far more interested in hearing those stories than recounting mine." Slipping the last button free with deft fingers, he slid his hand between the open halves across the cool, smooth skin beneath. Without any hint of heat or any of a body's tiniest movements, no breath expanding the chest that he could detect, or faint tremble in the muscles from holding a position too long, it seemed almost unnaturally still. If not for the slight give of flesh, he might have thought he was running his hands over a statue.

psl - 100% just a shameless teahouse au

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