psl - 100% just a shameless teahouse au

[enthraller]

Once upon a time in the country of Ivore, there was a little brothel called the Teahouse.

~~~
Arguably the finest establishment of its kind in the capital city, the Teahouse, owned by a Mr. Xanthe Atros, sits neatly at the edge of the noble's district. It offers a range of pleasures suited to any customer, upper class or common, provided they have the coin. For the right price, customers can enjoy the services of its courtesans, be it for a few hours, a night, or a more lasting arrangement. The men and women of the Teahouse are highly regarded for both their attractiveness and their "talents" even outside the city itself, or so its most dedicated patrons would have one believe.

Upon entering, customers are greeted by a lavish main hall with lovingly polished marble floors and grand, sweeping staircases leading off to a number of private rooms. A handful of servants keep the place in pristine condition, fit for even the royal family were they to ever deign to visit. A quiet and professional bouncer stands vigil unobtrusively out of the way, protection in the odd case of a violent visitor, and at any hour at least one or two of the brothel's courtesans are lounging on the main hall's plush seating in wait of potential customers. It pays to be proactive, after all -- the higher earners are granted the best ammenities and perhaps the occasional outing into the city, sweet treats for those whose lives belong to the Teahouse.

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[enthraller]

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.

[serpentking]

"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."

[enthraller]

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.

[serpentking]

"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?"

[enthraller]

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.