#discreet private gentlemen's club

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

Crowley, a romantic: I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door...

Aziraphale, a hoe: Slither right in, my dear, slither right in >;)

[aziraphales-library]

Hello beautiful mods! Thank you for the amazing job you’re doing for this fandom ❤️

Do you know any fics about what Aziraphale was doing in the gentlemens club in the late 1880s? Preferably E or M rated 😇

Hi! We have some discreet gentlemen's club fics here. And I've got some E-rated ones for you now...

A dear friend of mine by UnproblematicMe (E)

After his fight with Aziraphale he had taken a little nap, only a few decades mind you, and awoke to the rumors that Mr. Fell was part of an illustrious group of “confirmed bachelors”.

Souvenir by miraworos (E)

Twenty years after their argument over holy water, Crowley goes to the Christmas party at Aziraphale's gentlemen's club to check on the angel. He tries to stay obscured in the shadows, but Aziraphale catches him anyway, and takes him to an out-of-the-way alcove for a private...um...chat.

Gentlemen's Club by Caedmon (E)

"I used to think about you in there, fucking humans, and it would make me nearly insane with jealousy. I wanted to storm in there and scare all of them away from you, then fuck you myself.” “I see,” Aziraphale said from behind his wineglass. His eyes were twinkling. “And that’s the next fantasy you’d like to act out?” “Yeah. I… yeah.” “Well, I’m certainly agreeable. How do you want to go about it?”

Conspire to Ignite by Tangela (E)

They had had their falling out, and Crowley had slept off the rest of the century. Or at least, he'd tried to. Perhaps it was time he visited one of those discreet gentlemen's clubs that Aziraphale had always been trying to invite him to. A short story of longing, miscommunication and an eventual happily ever after. (Or, an alternate take on what happened between 1862 and 1941.)

The After-Hours Do by haleinedelail (E)

Crowley can quite plainly see that Aziraphale has got himself into some kind of trouble, which of course, sets his teeth on edge... but the angel won't say why. All the demon knows is that it's something to do with that discreet gentleman's club in Portland Place. Something there is amiss, and it's more than just a bunch of grown men learning the Gavotte together. Crowley is mischievous but (bite your tongue!) nice, and something about that combination has never allowed him just to let it go, when Aziraphale needs help... even when Aziraphale isn't fully aware he needs help. Spying, bickering, and Victorian-ness ensue.

- Mod D

[a-reader-and-a-writer]

Jake's Destiny: New Client

Fandom: Top Gun, Top Gun: Maverick, Jake “Hangman” Seresin, f!reader, stripper!reader Summary: Jake has finally reached his breaking point and just needs a distraction, even for just an hour. Which is how he finds himself at The Hard Deck Gentlemen's Club. But while he expects this to be just a one-time thing, everything changes when Destiny walks through his door. Word Count: 4855 TW: Grinding, Light Thigh Riding, Stress, Panic Attack, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Issues, Strip Club, Reader's clothes are described Note: Thank you to @green-socks for all of your help and the beta read! Love you!!! 💕

Series Masterlist (but can be read as a one-shot)

Jake wasn’t sure why he was here. While he had been to strip clubs in the past, they weren’t really his thing. If he wanted to see naked girls all he had to do was go to any bar, flash his black Amex as he bought a round of drinks, and he’d have at least three of them begging him to take them back to his place within the hour. But tonight was different. Tonight he was looking for a distraction and he was hoping he could find one here.

He had never been to The Hard Deck Gentlemen’s Club but it had excellent reviews online as well as having a reputation for being incredibly discreet which was a must. The last thing he needed was for his family to find out he was here. He already heard enough about how he was a disappointment who had tarnished the family name; he didn’t need to add any further fuel to that fire.

Looking around, Jake was surprised at the small crowd gathered around the stage. At this time in the afternoon, he had expected the place to be basically empty, however there were at least a dozen men watching the girl currently performing and another four or five standing around the bar. 

Hunching his shoulders and ducking his head in case there was anyone around who might recognize him, Jake searched for where he needed to go. His eyes landed on a shorter man leaning against a podium by the side of the stage. He didn’t necessarily look like the sort of guy to work at a higher-end place like this, but Jake could just make out the staff shirt peeking out from beneath his leather bomber jacket. So, Jake took a chance and walked over to him.

As he got closer, the man looked over to see Jake approaching. He smiled and asked, “Hey there. Anything I can help you with?”

“Who do I see about booking a private room?” Jake asked, forgoing any pleasantries. 

“That’d be me. I just need to see your ID.” The man picked up a clipboard from off the podium. “Anyone or anything in particular you were looking for? A specific girl or request?”

“I don’t care,” Jake grumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets to pull out his wallet. “Just send me whoever you have.”

The man nodded as Jake flashed him his ID. “You got it. Looks like I can have someone ready for you in about ten minutes. Until then you can go back to the room and just get comfortable. Your hour won’t start until she comes in so don’t worry about that.” 

He wrote something else down on the clipboard and then offered it to Jake along with his pen. Jake skimmed the page quickly but it just seemed like a standard waiver with a set of rules he was supposed to follow. Although, Jake did raise his eyebrow at the price at the bottom of the page. Now he remembered another reason why he usually stuck to bars rather than places like this. Yet money had never been a concern for Jake Seresin so he just silently pulled out his wallet and counted out the correct cash. Then he signed the form ‘Jake’ and held it and the money out to the man.

The man took a quick look at the form and shook his head. “Full name on the signature. First and last.”

Jake’s jaw tightened. “I thought this place prided itself on discrepancy and anonymity?”

“We do…. from other people. But one of the ways we keep our girls safe and protected is by knowing exactly who we are sending in to be with them. This way if anyone tries to get out of hand or does something we don’t approve of, we know who did it. However, we don’t share that information with anyone, except the police if they have a warrant but that’s never happened before.”

He gestured to the form once again and Jake reluctantly signed his last name as well. This seemed to be acceptable since this time the man took the clipboard and the money from Jake. 

The man quickly did a count of his own before stuffing the money into his pocket. Then, he stuck out his hand. “Give me your phone.”

Jake blinked in confusion. “What?”

“Seems like you didn’t read those rules before you signed them– no one ever does,” the man muttered under his breath. He held out the sheet Jake had just signed and pointed to a bullet point near the bottom. “There’s no phones allowed in the private rooms.”

Jake scoffed. “Yeah, well, I’m not giving you my phone.”

“Yeah, well, then you’re not going back there.”

“I already paid you!”

The man dug into his pocket and pulled out the cash Jake had just slipped him. He held it out for Jake to take, but Jake hesitated. Would it really be so bad to get an escape from all the numerous texts, calls, and emails that were constantly blowing up his phone? Maybe a single hour of reprieve would be good for him.

Seeing his indecision, the man sighed. “Look, kid. You either hand me your phone or you take your money and go. It’s up to you.”

Jake’s mind quickly flashed to those boring safety seminars all company employees were mandated to take that emphasized never letting your phone out of your sight in public or never allowing anyone else to see it. Especially if your phone contained any sensitive company information– which was about 90% of what was on Jake’s phone. Yet, it didn’t stop him from pulling out his phone, double-checking it was locked, and reluctantly handing it out to the man.

The man took it with a nod. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” He slipped Jake’s phone into the inside pocket of his jacket and gestured to a hallway on the far side of the bar. “Now, go down that hall and into room 3. One of the girls will meet you there in a few minutes. When you’re done, come find me and I’ll give this back to you. If I’m not around, just ask any of the girls for Maverick and they’ll know where to find me.” 

Jake scowled. He couldn’t believe he just handed over his entire life to a man named ‘Maverick’. “Just so you know, that phone has the highest security protection money can buy so don’t even think of trying to break into it.”

Maverick chuckled as he shook his head. “Kid, I’ve got better things to do than to sit here and try to break into your phone. So whatever it is you think you have to hide from the world, believe me, it’ll still be safely hidden when you get back.” He glanced at the stage as the song came to an end and the spotlights dimmed signaling the performer to walk off stage. “Now, if you’d excuse me, I have to get back to those better things. And so do you. Room 3, your girl will join you shortly.” And with that, Maverick turned and left.

Jake watched him walk away and duck through a door marked “Employees Only” before he headed towards the hall. Walking down it, he was soon met with a dead end. To his right was a single metal door with the sign “Security Office” on the front and to his left was another hallway lined on both sides with doors. Each door had a number painted on it in fancy calligraphic font so Jake turned left and headed for the one at the end of the hall labeled 3.

Opening the door, he was pleased with how clean and well-furnished the room looked. Various chairs, an ottoman, a couch, and several tables were scattered around the well-lit room. There was a floor-to-ceiling pole off to one side in front of one of the larger chairs and a small platform that was probably a kind of mini stage on the other side of the room. But Jake ignored all of this in favor of the large red velvet couch.

As he sat down, he eyed the glasses and various liquors displayed on the table across from him. Maverick hadn’t mentioned anything about drinks being provided but then again, Jake had paid a pretty penny for this room. The least they could do is comp him one drink. He grabbed a glass and poured himself a small taste of the whiskey. It wasn’t top shelf by any means, but it was smooth enough and Jake wasn’t in the mood to be picky so he filled his glass and eased back into the cushions to wait. 

It didn’t take long.

A moment later, the door opened and Jake’s heart unexpectedly skipped a beat as you walked in and closed the door behind you. 

You were wearing a pale pink sheer robe with matching pink feathers all along the edges that fell to the floor and brushed against the top of your ridiculously tall heels. Though it was tied loosely around your waist, he could see a set of lingerie a few shades darker than the robe showing through. He was slightly surprised by its style. In the clubs he’d been to before, all the girls wore very skimpy clothing– practically just a tiny piece of cloth held up by a string. But while yours was still revealing, it was also much more suggestive. Clinging perfectly to your body, the material was cut in such a way that it gave a tantalizing tease of what was just beneath without showing off too much. Jake couldn’t take his eyes off where it was molded over your breast or hugged your hips. 

However, whatever hold you had on him shattered the second he glanced up at your face. While you were breathtaking, your blank doe-eyed expression and big pouty lips were an instant turn-off. Jake had been dealing with enough immature babies recently. He didn’t need to pay to deal with another one. 

But before he could say anything, you batted your long eyelashes at him as you bent over slightly- pushing out your breasts as you did so –and bit your lip cooing, “Hey there, baby. What brings you in to see me today?”

Your voice was breathy and dripping with a saccharine charm that Jake was sure worked on some people, but to him just sounded condescending and demeaning. Rolling his eyes, he drained his glass and reached for the bottle in front of him. “You can drop the act. I don’t want it.”

You stared at him for a moment, your eyes wide and innocent. But then your entire demeanor shifted as you straightened up to your full height. No longer this meek, innocent girl looking to please her client, you met his gaze with a self-assured confidence and smirked at him. Now it was his turn to be surprised. It was like he was staring at a completely different woman than the one who had walked in. 

“Oh, thank god,” you sighed in what almost sounded like relief. The breathy quality of your voice was now replaced by a strong, smooth tone that he found very pleasing. “I hate doing the naive little girl thing.”

Sauntering across the room with a flutter of your feather-trimmed robe, you paused in front of the ottoman to the side of the couch. Lifting the top, Jake could see it was actually a storage unit filled with small bottles of water. You picked one up and quickly downed it in a few large gulps. 

Wiping your hand across the back of your mouth, you said, “Before we get started, there are a couple of ground rules you need to know. Are you alright with that?”

“Ye-yeah. I guess,” Jake stuttered, still thrown off guard by your complete 180-degree shift in personality. 

You nodded in confirmation then began to ramble off the rules in a way that made Jake feel as though you had given this speech many times before. “To start with, anything you say while in this room is confidential and I am not allowed to share with any third party so you are free to discuss anything without the fear that it will get back to anyone else in your life. Please remember that I am a stripper, not a prostitute so there is no kissing or sex of any kind. If you have some kink or fetish you want me to perform, you are more than welcome to ask but it is up to my comfort and discretion if I’ll do it. I do allow some touching above the belt but if you try to go too far, you’ll get a warning. On the second warning, we’re done. If that happens, I’ll leave no matter how much time you have left in your hour. If you try to stop me or do anything I or the club does not approve of–” you pointed towards the corner of the room “–the person monitoring the cameras will send security to escort you from the club and you will be banned for life. Also, I don’t date or fraternize with clients once I am off the clock so don’t even ask. Are there any questions or concerns?” 

“No,” Jake muttered.

“Good. Then we are ready to start.” You selected another water bottle before returning the lid to the top of the ottoman.

With the bottle still in your hand, you crossed the remaining distance and stood before Jake. “Sorry about before. They didn’t tell me what you wanted when they sent me in here and usually, men who look and dress like you want one of three types of girls so I took a guess.”

“And what type of girls would that be?” Jake asked.

Dramatically swishing your robe behind you, you sat down on the edge of the table across from him, crossing one leg over the other so your foot just barely avoided skimming his knee. “Oh, you know. Either the sweet, empty-headed young thing who just wants to make daddy happy after a long day at work. Or the submissive who loves being called all those dirty, filthy things a man should never call their wife or girlfriend. Or the dominatrix who loves calling the man all those things a wife or girlfriend should never be asked to call them.” You chuckled ruefully as you shook your head. “If guys would just grow some balls and tell their significant others what they really wanted, what got them off, I would be out of a job in a second. But there is still too much of a stigma about admitting what you want so… here I am.”

Opening your water bottle, you took another small sip. Then, you ran the toe of your shoe up and down Jake’s thigh. “So, which is it? What kind of girl are you looking for tonight?”

Jake shook his head. “None of those. I mean, that’s not… I..”

Putting the bottle down, you leaned forward and gently took his hands between yours. Then, in a soft, kind voice, you said, “It’s alright. I told you, I’m here so you can ask for whatever you need. You paid for this to be a safe place and I won't judge you. But believe me, whatever it is, I’ve seen weirder.”

Looking deep into your eyes, Jake got the strangest feeling that you were right and he could trust you. He might come to regret it later but right now he didn’t have anywhere else to turn. So, taking a deep breath, he muttered, “I don’t know what I want. Or even what I need. I just… I just need a break from it all. It’s just too much.”

Your sweet smile shifted to one of understanding. "Ohhh. You’re right. You aren’t here for one of those kinds of girls. The fancy suit threw me off but you’re just here looking for what everyone really wants.”

“And what is that?”

"Someone to listen. To really hear what’s wrong and tell you it’s all going to be alright. You're a talker. But that's okay. Those are my favorite kinds of clients." You slipped forward off the table and onto his lap so you were straddling one of his legs. Wrapping your arms around his neck and sliding your fingers into his hair, you asked, "So, what is it you wanna talk about, baby?”

Jake flinched and tried to pull back but you held yourself firmly in place. “No. Not that. Don’t.. Don’t call me that.”

“Alright… then what should I call you?”

“Jake. Just…. Just call me Jake.”

You smiled and scooted down his leg closer to his chest. “Okay, Jake. You can call me Destiny.” He snorted at the name before he could stop himself. But luckily, you didn’t seem offended. Instead, your smile widened. “Alright, you’re not a fan of that either. How ‘bout you call me Des? Normally I only let my friends call me that. But I think I can make an exception in your case.”

It was still ridiculous, but at least it wasn’t such a blatant reminder of where he was or who you were. “Yeah, okay, fine. I guess it’s nice to meet you, Des.”

“It’s nice to meet you too, Jake.” 

All the snark and attitude from before had melted away and you had once again transformed into another person. Where before the sweet breathiness of your voice had been cloying, it was now calming and reassuring. Almost as if you were whispering each word so only the two of you could hear. And the way your eyes locked onto his with such compassion and interest, he truly felt as if he were the only person in the world at that moment.

Slowly, you began to rock gently against his thigh while at the same time, your nails began to scratch at the base of his neck. “Now, Jake, do you wanna tell me what’s wrong?”

Jake felt all the tension and stress of the last few weeks slowly ebbing from his body and you continued to lightly caress his head and grind down on his leg. The repetitive motions were soothing and relaxing and he soon found his eyes growing heavy until he was unable to keep them open any longer– not asleep but just more relaxed than he remembered feeling in a long time.

You continued your gentle grinding for what seemed like an eternity before leaning closer and brushing your nose against his ear. With a soft coo, you asked, “Come on, Jake. What’s wrong? You came here for a reason, so what is it?”

Jake opened his eyes to see your face hovering just inches from his. If he tilted his head slightly, his lips would brush against yours. But instead, he took a deep breath before letting it out really slowly. Then he opened his mouth and everything he had been holding back suddenly came flooding out. “It’s everything. It’s my work, and my family, and my life, and just… just all of it! I can’t get two seconds to myself where I’m not being hounded for answers or opinions or I’m expected to put out another fire yet being told I always do it wrong! I can’t breathe! It’s too much and I– I can’t–”

“Shhh, shhhhhh. It’s okay. You’re okay.” Jake didn’t even realize his voice had begun to rise to a frantic pitch and he was hyperventilating until you placed your hands on the side of his face and forced him to look at you. Your voice maintained its same soothing tone and though you were no longer scratching the back of his head, you continued to rock against his leg as if nothing had changed. 

With the same understanding gleam in your eyes, you smiled softly. "You can breathe here. It's just you and me. No one else. No other demands or expectations, no one asking you for anything. Just whatever you want and you need. That's all."

Jake’s eyes darted up to the corner where you had pointed out the camera earlier, but you turned his face back to face you. “It’s okay. Believe me, they try to avoid watching what happens in here as much as possible. Just enough to make sure us girls are safe. And I can tell I’m safe with you. In fact–” You turned towards the corner and gave a thumbs up before flipping off the camera. Turning back to Jake, you said, “There. Now they’re not even watching.”

“What was that?” Jake asked with a small anxious chuckle.

Grinning, you gave him a thumbs up. “It means ‘I’m all good’—” You put your thumb down and stuck your middle finger straight up “—‘now fuck off’.”

“Clever system.”

“Thanks. We think so.” You skimmed your fingers lightly up his cheek to brush a fallen strand of hair off his face. “Now… back to you. I meant it, Jake. Whatever you need. And if that is for us to just sit in silence while I continue to do this, that’s fine. Or, if there’s something you need to get off your chest, I’m here to listen. It’s whatever you want.”

“I don’t know what I want,” Jake admitted. “And I guess that’s part of the problem.” He hesitated as he considered his next words carefully so as to not give too much about himself away. “My family owns a very large, very successful company based here in Texas. It was started by my great-great-grandfather and has since become very…. profitable. And with all of that comes a lot of responsibility to not fuck it all up. And yes, I made some stupid mistakes in my past, but since my dad had a heart attack last year and I’ve taken over, I’ve tried everything I can to grow up and do what’s best for the company. But nothing I seem to do, no decision I make, is ever right in my family’s eyes. I’m trying everything I can to live up to my family name and expectations but…. I keep failing. And I just…. I don’t know what to do.”

Jake knew this was ridiculous. You weren’t some strategic advisor or psychiatrist. You were just someone he had paid to be currently grinding against his thigh. And yet, you quirked your head and began to chew on your bottom lip like you were deep in thought. Like you actually wanted to help him solve his problems. And once again, Jake was hit by a wave of emotion at actually being seen and listened to by someone.

After pondering his predicament for a moment, you finally spoke. “Let me ask you a question. Are you happy with the work and choices you’re making? Like, do you think they were the best ones you could have made at the time?”

“Yes,” Jake reluctantly admitted.

“And how do others outside of your family think you’re doing? Co-workers, employees, others in charge, people like that.”

Jake shrugged. “Fine, I guess. I mean, they mostly seem happy with how things are going.”

“Then sweethear– Jake. I don’t think the problem is you. I think the problem is your family.” Seeing Jake’s furrowed brow, you explained. “It sounds like you’re doing a great job so maybe your family’s constant criticism and degradation is their fucked up way of trying to remain relevant or in control. That they don’t like the fact you are succeeding without them or their help. Or that they don’t want to admit you’ve grown from your mistakes in the past and become someone worthy of this position you’ve been given.”

It felt as if you had just punched him in the chest. For a minute, Jake actually struggled to catch his breath. It was a thought that had frequently nagged at the deepest corners of his mind but he had refused to entertain. But hearing someone else say it, hearing the words uttered out loud, he was no longer able to pretend it wasn’t possible. Maybe he wasn’t the fuckup his father seemed to think he was. Maybe he wasn’t leading the company into failure and ruin like his mother always loudly whispered to her friends when Jake walked in the room. Maybe Javy hadn’t just been a great friend when he told Jake the rest of the board was very pleased with his latest decisions and changes. Maybe this wasn’t all on him after all.

As Jake opened his mouth to share this revelation with you, a large red light above the door lit up but you ignored it as you continued to stare at Jake expectantly. He nodded towards the light. “What does that mean?”

“That means your hour is up. But we’re not done talking so we’re ignoring it for now. It seemed as if you just had a breakthrough of some kind.”

Jake gave you a small smile. “I think I did. But, uh, I think for now I need to process things first before I talk about it. Can I… Can I come see you again when I’m ready for that?”

You smiled back as you ran your hand down his face and lingered over his lips. “Jake, you can come see me anytime you want, whether you’re ready to talk about it or not. I’m sure we can find other things to occupy the time.” 

You rolled your scantily-clad body into his one final time and stood up off his lap. Holding out your hand, you helped him to his feet. Then, looping your arm through his, you walked with him towards the door. 

When you both reached it, you slid your arm out of his and took a step back. “I have to stay and straighten up a few things but just head back down the hall and you’ll get back to the main room. And I do honestly hope to see you again sometime, Jake.”

“Me too, Des.” Jake reached for the door handle, but he paused just before opening it. Taking a deep breath, he asked, “You’ve known who I was since you walked in here, haven’t you?”

You winced as you grinned sheepishly. “Yeah, I’ve known who you were. It’s hard not to recognize Jacob Seresin when his face is plastered all over the tabloids every few months. But I promise you, it doesn’t change anything. What we say or do in here will always be completely just between us. I promise my clients a safe space, and I mean it. It doesn’t matter who you are.”

Well, thank you for being the person I needed tonight.” Jake reached into his pocket and pulled out three bills that he held up. “Just my way of showing my appreciation.” Then he placed them on the table near the door and walked out into the hallway.

As Jake exited into the main room feeling lighter than he had in almost a year, he noticed the man with the clipboard from earlier standing at the other end of the bar laughing with the young brunette bartender. As he approached, the man – Maverick, Jake suddenly remembered – caught his eye and turned to him. “Well, you look like you had a good time.”

Jake smiled softly to himself. “Yeah. I actually did.” Though he had planned on never returning to this place after tonight, his mind flashed to the tender look in your eyes as you promised him he could relax with you. “In fact, I’m going to be making this a weekly thing.”

Maverick chuckled as he picked up his clipboard off the bar. “Sounds like you really enjoyed your time. Alright, I’ll mark you down as one of our exclusive Platinum members. Basically, it guarantees you a room and discounts on drinks and dances, that sort of thing.”

Jake nodded. “Yeah, fine, whatever. I don’t care about any of that. However, when I come in, I only want Destiny.” 

Maverick paused mid-note with his pen still pressed against the clipboard as he looked up at Jake. “Sorry, kid. I can’t promise that. It all depends on her schedule and if she’s in the middle of seeing someone else and–”

“I’ll pay triple her rate.”

The other man raised an eyebrow as he continued to stare at Jake. “Damn. I’ve seen plenty of guys hooked before but it usually takes more than one dance.” Shaking his head with a grin, Maverick scribbled something else on the clipboard. “Alright. I’ve made the note.” He looked back up at Jake. “You must see something really special in her, huh?”

Yeah. Jake thought as he remembered your smile and your soft, soothing whispering in his ear and the way you really seemed to see him instead of just a tool to be used despite knowing who he was and the feel of your nails scratching at the base of his neck as you rocked back and forth against his leg and— Oh fuck. What have I gotten myself into?

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[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

Jake's Destiny: New Client

Fandom: Top Gun, Top Gun: Maverick, Jake “Hangman” Seresin, f!reader, stripper!reader Summary: Jake has finally reached his breaking point and just needs a distraction, even for just an hour. Which is how he finds himself at The Hard Deck Gentlemen's Club. But while he expects this to be just a one-time thing, everything changes when Destiny walks through his door. Word Count: 4855 TW: Grinding, Light Thigh Riding, Stress, Panic Attack, Family Issues, Strip Club, Reader's clothes are described Note: Thank you to @green-socks for all of your help and the beta read! Love you!!! 💕

Series Masterlist (but can be read as a one-shot)

Jake wasn’t sure why he was here. While he had been to strip clubs in the past, they weren’t really his thing. If he wanted to see naked girls all he had to do was go to any bar, flash his black Amex as he bought a round of drinks, and he’d have at least three of them begging him to take them back to his place within the hour. But tonight was different. Tonight he was looking for a distraction and he was hoping he could find one here.

He had never been to The Hard Deck Gentlemen’s Club but it had excellent reviews online as well as having a reputation for being incredibly discreet which was a must. The last thing he needed was for his family to find out he was here. He already heard enough about how he was a disappointment who had tarnished the family name; he didn’t need to add any further fuel to that fire.

Looking around, Jake was surprised at the small crowd gathered around the stage. At this time in the afternoon, he had expected the place to be basically empty, however there were at least a dozen men watching the girl currently performing and another four or five standing around the bar. 

Hunching his shoulders and ducking his head in case there was anyone around who might recognize him, Jake searched for where he needed to go. His eyes landed on a shorter man leaning against a podium by the side of the stage. He didn’t necessarily look like the sort of guy to work at a higher-end place like this, but Jake could just make out the staff shirt peeking out from beneath his leather bomber jacket. So, Jake took a chance and walked over to him.

As he got closer, the man looked over to see Jake approaching. He smiled and asked, “Hey there. Anything I can help you with?”

“Who do I see about booking a private room?” Jake asked, forgoing any pleasantries. 

“That’d be me. I just need to see your ID.” The man picked up a clipboard from off the podium. “Anyone or anything in particular you were looking for? A specific girl or request?”

“I don’t care,” Jake grumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets to pull out his wallet. “Just send me whoever you have.”

The man nodded as Jake flashed him his ID. “You got it. Looks like I can have someone ready for you in about ten minutes. Until then you can go back to the room and just get comfortable. Your hour won’t start until she comes in so don’t worry about that.” 

He wrote something else down on the clipboard and then offered it to Jake along with his pen. Jake skimmed the page quickly but it just seemed like a standard waiver with a set of rules he was supposed to follow. Although, Jake did raise his eyebrow at the price at the bottom of the page. Now he remembered another reason why he usually stuck to bars rather than places like this. Yet money had never been a concern for Jake Seresin so he just silently pulled out his wallet and counted out the correct cash. Then he signed the form ‘Jake’ and held it and the money out to the man.

The man took a quick look at the form and shook his head. “Full name on the signature. First and last.”

Jake’s jaw tightened. “I thought this place prided itself on discrepancy and anonymity?”

“We do…. from other people. But one of the ways we keep our girls safe and protected is by knowing exactly who we are sending in to be with them. This way if anyone tries to get out of hand or does something we don’t approve of, we know who did it. However, we don’t share that information with anyone, except the police if they have a warrant but that’s never happened before.”

He gestured to the form once again and Jake reluctantly signed his last name as well. This seemed to be acceptable since this time the man took the clipboard and the money from Jake. 

The man quickly did a count of his own before stuffing the money into his pocket. Then, he stuck out his hand. “Give me your phone.”

Jake blinked in confusion. “What?”

“Seems like you didn’t read those rules before you signed them– no one ever does,” the man muttered under his breath. He held out the sheet Jake had just signed and pointed to a bullet point near the bottom. “There’s no phones allowed in the private rooms.”

Jake scoffed. “Yeah, well, I’m not giving you my phone.”

“Yeah, well, then you’re not going back there.”

“I already paid you!”

The man dug into his pocket and pulled out the cash Jake had just slipped him. He held it out for Jake to take, but Jake hesitated. Would it really be so bad to get an escape from all the numerous texts, calls, and emails that were constantly blowing up his phone? Maybe a single hour of reprieve would be good for him.

Seeing his indecision, the man sighed. “Look, kid. You either hand me your phone or you take your money and go. It’s up to you.”

Jake’s mind quickly flashed to those boring safety seminars all company employees were mandated to take that emphasized never letting your phone out of your sight in public or never allowing anyone else to see it. Especially if your phone contained any sensitive company information– which was about 90% of what was on Jake’s phone. Yet, it didn’t stop him from pulling out his phone, double-checking it was locked, and reluctantly handing it out to the man.

The man took it with a nod. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” He slipped Jake’s phone into the inside pocket of his jacket and gestured to a hallway on the far side of the bar. “Now, go down that hall and into room 3. One of the girls will meet you there in a few minutes. When you’re done, come find me and I’ll give this back to you. If I’m not around, just ask any of the girls for Maverick and they’ll know where to find me.” 

Jake scowled. He couldn’t believe he just handed over his entire life to a man named ‘Maverick’. “Just so you know, that phone has the highest security protection money can buy so don’t even think of trying to break into it.”

Maverick chuckled as he shook his head. “Kid, I’ve got better things to do than to sit here and try to break into your phone. So whatever it is you think you have to hide from the world, believe me, it’ll still be safely hidden when you get back.” He glanced at the stage as the song came to an end and the spotlights dimmed signaling the performer to walk off stage. “Now, if you’d excuse me, I have to get back to those better things. And so do you. Room 3, your girl will join you shortly.” And with that, Maverick turned and left.

Jake watched him walk away and duck through a door marked “Employees Only” before he headed towards the hall. Walking down it, he was soon met with a dead end. To his right was a single metal door with the sign “Security Office” on the front and to his left was another hallway lined on both sides with doors. Each door had a number painted on it in fancy calligraphic font so Jake turned left and headed for the one at the end of the hall labeled 3.

Opening the door, he was pleased with how clean and well-furnished the room looked. Various chairs, an ottoman, a couch, and several tables were scattered around the well-lit room. There was a floor-to-ceiling pole off to one side in front of one of the larger chairs and a small platform that was probably a kind of mini stage on the other side of the room. But Jake ignored all of this in favor of the large red velvet couch.

As he sat down, he eyed the glasses and various liquors displayed on the table across from him. Maverick hadn’t mentioned anything about drinks being provided but then again, Jake had paid a pretty penny for this room. The least they could do is comp him one drink. He grabbed a glass and poured himself a small taste of the whiskey. It wasn’t top shelf by any means, but it was smooth enough and Jake wasn’t in the mood to be picky so he filled his glass and eased back into the cushions to wait. 

It didn’t take long.

A moment later, the door opened and Jake’s heart unexpectedly skipped a beat as you walked in and closed the door behind you. 

You were wearing a pale pink sheer robe with matching pink feathers all along the edges that fell to the floor and brushed against the top of your ridiculously tall heels. Though it was tied loosely around your waist, he could see a set of lingerie a few shades darker than the robe showing through. He was slightly surprised by its style. In the clubs he’d been to before, all the girls wore very skimpy clothing– practically just a tiny piece of cloth held up by a string. But while yours was still revealing, it was also much more suggestive. Clinging perfectly to your body, the material was cut in such a way that it gave a tantalizing tease of what was just beneath without showing off too much. Jake couldn’t take his eyes off where it was molded over your breast or hugged your hips. 

However, whatever hold you had on him shattered the second he glanced up at your face. While you were breathtaking, your blank doe-eyed expression and big pouty lips were an instant turn-off. Jake had been dealing with enough immature babies recently. He didn’t need to pay to deal with another one. 

But before he could say anything, you batted your long eyelashes at him as you bent over slightly- pushing out your breasts as you did so –and bit your lip cooing, “Hey there, baby. What brings you in to see me today?”

Your voice was breathy and dripping with a saccharine charm that Jake was sure worked on some people, but to him just sounded condescending and demeaning. Rolling his eyes, he drained his glass and reached for the bottle in front of him. “You can drop the act. I don’t want it.”

You stared at him for a moment, your eyes wide and innocent. But then your entire demeanor shifted as you straightened up to your full height. No longer this meek, innocent girl looking to please her client, you met his gaze with a self-assured confidence and smirked at him. Now it was his turn to be surprised. It was like he was staring at a completely different woman than the one who had walked in. 

“Oh, thank god,” you sighed in what almost sounded like relief. The breathy quality of your voice was now replaced by a strong, smooth tone that he found very pleasing. “I hate doing the naive little girl thing.”

Sauntering across the room with a flutter of your feather-trimmed robe, you paused in front of the ottoman to the side of the couch. Lifting the top, Jake could see it was actually a storage unit filled with small bottles of water. You picked one up and quickly downed it in a few large gulps. 

Wiping your hand across the back of your mouth, you said, “Before we get started, there are a couple of ground rules you need to know. Are you alright with that?”

“Ye-yeah. I guess,” Jake stuttered, still thrown off guard by your complete 180-degree shift in personality. 

You nodded in confirmation then began to ramble off the rules in a way that made Jake feel as though you had given this speech many times before. “To start with, anything you say while in this room is confidential and I am not allowed to share with any third party so you are free to discuss anything without the fear that it will get back to anyone else in your life. Please remember that I am a stripper, not a prostitute so there is no kissing or sex of any kind. If you have some kink or fetish you want me to perform, you are more than welcome to ask but it is up to my comfort and discretion if I’ll do it. I do allow some touching above the belt but if you try to go too far, you’ll get a warning. On the second warning, we’re done. If that happens, I’ll leave no matter how much time you have left in your hour. If you try to stop me or do anything I or the club does not approve of–” you pointed towards the corner of the room “–the person monitoring the cameras will send security to escort you from the club and you will be banned for life. Also, I don’t date or fraternize with clients once I am off the clock so don’t even ask. Are there any questions or concerns?” 

“No,” Jake muttered.

“Good. Then we are ready to start.” You selected another water bottle before returning the lid to the top of the ottoman.

With the bottle still in your hand, you crossed the remaining distance and stood before Jake. “Sorry about before. They didn’t tell me what you wanted when they sent me in here and usually, men who look and dress like you want one of three types of girls so I took a guess.”

“And what type of girls would that be?” Jake asked.

Dramatically swishing your robe behind you, you sat down on the edge of the table across from him, crossing one leg over the other so your foot just barely avoided skimming his knee. “Oh, you know. Either the sweet, empty-headed young thing who just wants to make daddy happy after a long day at work. Or the submissive who loves being called all those dirty, filthy things a man should never call their wife or girlfriend. Or the dominatrix who loves calling the man all those things a wife or girlfriend should never be asked to call them.” You chuckled ruefully as you shook your head. “If guys would just grow some balls and tell their significant others what they really wanted, what got them off, I would be out of a job in a second. But there is still too much of a stigma about admitting what you want so… here I am.”

Opening your water bottle, you took another small sip. Then, you ran the toe of your shoe up and down Jake’s thigh. “So, which is it? What kind of girl are you looking for tonight?”

Jake shook his head. “None of those. I mean, that’s not… I..”

Putting the bottle down, you leaned forward and gently took his hands between yours. Then, in a soft, kind voice, you said, “It’s alright. I told you, I’m here so you can ask for whatever you need. You paid for this to be a safe place and I won't judge you. But believe me, whatever it is, I’ve seen weirder.”

Looking deep into your eyes, Jake got the strangest feeling that you were right and he could trust you. He might come to regret it later but right now he didn’t have anywhere else to turn. So, taking a deep breath, he muttered, “I don’t know what I want. Or even what I need. I just… I just need a break from it all. It’s just too much.”

Your sweet smile shifted to one of understanding. "Ohhh. You’re right. You aren’t here for one of those kinds of girls. The fancy suit threw me off but you’re just here looking for what everyone really wants.”

“And what is that?”

"Someone to listen. To really hear what’s wrong and tell you it’s all going to be alright. You're a talker. But that's okay. Those are my favorite kinds of clients." You slipped forward off the table and onto his lap so you were straddling one of his legs. Wrapping your arms around his neck and sliding your fingers into his hair, you asked, "So, what is it you wanna talk about, baby?”

Jake flinched and tried to pull back but you held yourself firmly in place. “No. Not that. Don’t.. Don’t call me that.”

“Alright… then what should I call you?”

“Jake. Just…. Just call me Jake.”

You smiled and scooted down his leg closer to his chest. “Okay, Jake. You can call me Destiny.” He snorted at the name before he could stop himself. But luckily, you didn’t seem offended. Instead, your smile widened. “Alright, you’re not a fan of that either. How ‘bout you call me Des? Normally I only let my friends call me that. But I think I can make an exception in your case.”

It was still ridiculous, but at least it wasn’t such a blatant reminder of where he was or who you were. “Yeah, okay, fine. I guess it’s nice to meet you, Des.”

“It’s nice to meet you too, Jake.” 

All the snark and attitude from before had melted away and you had once again transformed into another person. Where before the sweet breathiness of your voice had been cloying, it was now calming and reassuring. Almost as if you were whispering each word so only the two of you could hear. And the way your eyes locked onto his with such compassion and interest, he truly felt as if he were the only person in the world at that moment.

Slowly, you began to rock gently against his thigh while at the same time, your nails began to scratch at the base of his neck. “Now, Jake, do you wanna tell me what’s wrong?”

Jake felt all the tension and stress of the last few weeks slowly ebbing from his body and you continued to lightly caress his head and grind down on his leg. The repetitive motions were soothing and relaxing and he soon found his eyes growing heavy until he was unable to keep them open any longer– not asleep but just more relaxed than he remembered feeling in a long time.

You continued your gentle grinding for what seemed like an eternity before leaning closer and brushing your nose against his ear. With a soft coo, you asked, “Come on, Jake. What’s wrong? You came here for a reason, so what is it?”

Jake opened his eyes to see your face hovering just inches from his. If he tilted his head slightly, his lips would brush against yours. But instead, he took a deep breath before letting it out really slowly. Then he opened his mouth and everything he had been holding back suddenly came flooding out. “It’s everything. It’s my work, and my family, and my life, and just… just all of it! I can’t get two seconds to myself where I’m not being hounded for answers or opinions or I’m expected to put out another fire yet being told I always do it wrong! I can’t breathe! It’s too much and I– I can’t–”

“Shhh, shhhhhh. It’s okay. You’re okay.” Jake didn’t even realize his voice had begun to rise to a frantic pitch and he was hyperventilating until you placed your hands on the side of his face and forced him to look at you. Your voice maintained its same soothing tone and though you were no longer scratching the back of his head, you continued to rock against his leg as if nothing had changed. 

With the same understanding gleam in your eyes, you smiled softly. "You can breathe here. It's just you and me. No one else. No other demands or expectations, no one asking you for anything. Just whatever you want and you need. That's all."

Jake’s eyes darted up to the corner where you had pointed out the camera earlier, but you turned his face back to face you. “It’s okay. Believe me, they try to avoid watching what happens in here as much as possible. Just enough to make sure us girls are safe. And I can tell I’m safe with you. In fact–” You turned towards the corner and gave a thumbs up before flipping off the camera. Turning back to Jake, you said, “There. Now they’re not even watching.”

“What was that?” Jake asked with a small anxious chuckle.

Grinning, you gave him a thumbs up. “It means ‘I’m all good’—” You put your thumb down and stuck your middle finger straight up “—‘now fuck off’.”

“Clever system.”

“Thanks. We think so.” You skimmed your fingers lightly up his cheek to brush a fallen strand of hair off his face. “Now… back to you. I meant it, Jake. Whatever you need. And if that is for us to just sit in silence while I continue to do this, that’s fine. Or, if there’s something you need to get off your chest, I’m here to listen. It’s whatever you want.”

“I don’t know what I want,” Jake admitted. “And I guess that’s part of the problem.” He hesitated as he considered his next words carefully so as to not give too much about himself away. “My family owns a very large, very successful company based here in Texas. It was started by my great-great-grandfather and has since become very…. profitable. And with all of that comes a lot of responsibility to not fuck it all up. And yes, I made some stupid mistakes in my past, but since my dad had a heart attack last year and I’ve taken over, I’ve tried everything I can to grow up and do what’s best for the company. But nothing I seem to do, no decision I make, is ever right in my family’s eyes. I’m trying everything I can to live up to my family name and expectations but…. I keep failing. And I just…. I don’t know what to do.”

Jake knew this was ridiculous. You weren’t some strategic advisor or psychiatrist. You were just someone he had paid to be currently grinding against his thigh. And yet, you quirked your head and began to chew on your bottom lip like you were deep in thought. Like you actually wanted to help him solve his problems. And once again, Jake was hit by a wave of emotion at actually being seen and listened to by someone.

After pondering his predicament for a moment, you finally spoke. “Let me ask you a question. Are you happy with the work and choices you’re making? Like, do you think they were the best ones you could have made at the time?”

“Yes,” Jake reluctantly admitted.

“And how do others outside of your family think you’re doing? Co-workers, employees, others in charge, people like that.”

Jake shrugged. “Fine, I guess. I mean, they mostly seem happy with how things are going.”

“Then sweethear– Jake. I don’t think the problem is you. I think the problem is your family.” Seeing Jake’s furrowed brow, you explained. “It sounds like you’re doing a great job so maybe your family’s constant criticism and degradation is their fucked up way of trying to remain relevant or in control. That they don’t like the fact you are succeeding without them or their help. Or that they don’t want to admit you’ve grown from your mistakes in the past and become someone worthy of this position you’ve been given.”

It felt as if you had just punched him in the chest. For a minute, Jake actually struggled to catch his breath. It was a thought that had frequently nagged at the deepest corners of his mind but he had refused to entertain. But hearing someone else say it, hearing the words uttered out loud, he was no longer able to pretend it wasn’t possible. Maybe he wasn’t the fuckup his father seemed to think he was. Maybe he wasn’t leading the company into failure and ruin like his mother always loudly whispered to her friends when Jake walked in the room. Maybe Javy hadn’t just been a great friend when he told Jake the rest of the board was very pleased with his latest decisions and changes. Maybe this wasn’t all on him after all.

As Jake opened his mouth to share this revelation with you, a large red light above the door lit up but you ignored it as you continued to stare at Jake expectantly. He nodded towards the light. “What does that mean?”

“That means your hour is up. But we’re not done talking so we’re ignoring it for now. It seemed as if you just had a breakthrough of some kind.”

Jake gave you a small smile. “I think I did. But, uh, I think for now I need to process things first before I talk about it. Can I… Can I come see you again when I’m ready for that?”

You smiled back as you ran your hand down his face and lingered over his lips. “Jake, you can come see me anytime you want, whether you’re ready to talk about it or not. I’m sure we can find other things to occupy the time.” 

You rolled your scantily-clad body into his one final time and stood up off his lap. Holding out your hand, you helped him to his feet. Then, looping your arm through his, you walked with him towards the door. 

When you both reached it, you slid your arm out of his and took a step back. “I have to stay and straighten up a few things but just head back down the hall and you’ll get back to the main room. And I do honestly hope to see you again sometime, Jake.”

“Me too, Des.” Jake reached for the door handle, but he paused just before opening it. Taking a deep breath, he asked, “You’ve known who I was since you walked in here, haven’t you?”

You winced as you grinned sheepishly. “Yeah, I’ve known who you were. It’s hard not to recognize Jacob Seresin when his face is plastered all over the tabloids every few months. But I promise you, it doesn’t change anything. What we say or do in here will always be completely just between us. I promise my clients a safe space, and I mean it. It doesn’t matter who you are.”

Well, thank you for being the person I needed tonight.” Jake reached into his pocket and pulled out three bills that he held up. “Just my way of showing my appreciation.” Then he placed them on the table near the door and walked out into the hallway.

As Jake exited into the main room feeling lighter than he had in almost a year, he noticed the man with the clipboard from earlier standing at the other end of the bar laughing with the young brunette bartender. As he approached, the man – Maverick, Jake suddenly remembered – caught his eye and turned to him. “Well, you look like you had a good time.”

Jake smiled softly to himself. “Yeah. I actually did.” Though he had planned on never returning to this place after tonight, his mind flashed to the tender look in your eyes as you promised him he could relax with you. “In fact, I’m going to be making this a weekly thing.”

Maverick chuckled as he picked up his clipboard off the bar. “Sounds like you really enjoyed your time. Alright, I’ll mark you down as one of our exclusive Platinum members. Basically, it guarantees you a room and discounts on drinks and dances, that sort of thing.”

Jake nodded. “Yeah, fine, whatever. I don’t care about any of that. However, when I come in, I only want Destiny.” 

Maverick paused mid-note with his pen still pressed against the clipboard as he looked up at Jake. “Sorry, kid. I can’t promise that. It all depends on her schedule and if she’s in the middle of seeing someone else and–”

“I’ll pay triple her rate.”

The other man raised an eyebrow as he continued to stare at Jake. “Damn. I’ve seen plenty of guys hooked before but it usually takes more than one dance.” Shaking his head with a grin, Maverick scribbled something else on the clipboard. “Alright. I’ve made the note.” He looked back up at Jake. “You must see something really special in her, huh?”

Yeah. Jake thought as he remembered your smile and your soft, soothing whispering in his ear and the way you really seemed to see him instead of just a tool to be used despite knowing who he was and the feel of your nails scratching at the base of his neck as you rocked back and forth against his leg and— Oh fuck. What have I gotten myself into?

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[ineffable-rohese]

Thinking a bit about how I gender Crowley and Aziraphale in my writing, and why. Now, what I write is rarely trying to be canon compliant, or trying to exactly replicate canon characterization. I'm also writing what I like (or at least what the brain weasels want me to write), and I am an Aziraphale at heart, so I write a lot through his POV. And because a lot of what I write is smutty, that involves some degree of objectification, especially of Crowley.

So, that said... I definitely see canon Aziraphale as technically agender but also gay in a very mlm way, and Crowley as gender fluid in a broadly queer way. I think these interpretations are backed up by canon evidence.

Aziraphale: Learned to gavotte at a discreet gentlemen's club (AKA, a private gay club). Dresses somewhat flamboyantly, but in roughly period appropriate men's wear. It's often somewhat to a lot outdated, but even that Bastille outfit with the lace was fashionable men's wear in the mid 1700s. He is somewhat effeminate, but in a male way. This angel is gayer than a tree full of monkeys on nitrous oxide and THE southern pansy.

Crowley: Has presented female at a couple points in history. Nanny Ashtoreth was definitely a Role for a Job, but there was no unease in it. There's possibly a job-related reason for him to be in women's attire at the crucifixion, but we're not given one in canon; the Flood look is the same minus a headscarf, but everyone is in robes so I think that one's open for interpretation. In modern eras, some to most of the actual clothing pieces he wears are marketed to women (especially pre-Armageddin't). The pants, the glasses, the scarf, the S1 vest... Honestly, the whole 2008 outfit is such a queer female look and it overlaps with the Nanny timeframe. The 1827 Edinbugh look, from what I can tell, is basically men's wear, but the cut of that overcoat is, if not a women's coat pattern, verging really, really close to one. 1862 and 1941 are definitely masculine looks, like so much so in 1941 that it feels like an I Am Masc Today statement. 2023 also feels more masc in overall cut of the clothing (though the glasses and scarf haven't changed). Not canon, but I resonate with someone's suggestion that Crowley presents more masculine when he wants to be connected with Aziraphale, because Aziraphale is so obviously gay. All that together says fluidity to me. So that's what I see in canon, and I tend to default to those when I'm writing. When I'm staying closer to canon, I'm more likely to write them both as he/him, because that's what we see. For Pretense, they also both have penises, under the assumption that societally they may need them to blend in (we're in Rome in a time where some form of public nudity would be more common). I have written Ineffable Wives - in fact, that was what got me writing, was wanting to write them as female - and they both had vulvas in that one. For my post-canon/non-canon AUs, Aziraphale has so far been male-presenting and he/him and Crowley is variously presenting with a variety of pronouns. Either of them can have any variety of body configurations, just depending on my mood and what feels like it will best serve the story. At least one of them often has a vulva just because I feel like there isn't enough cunt love out there and I think it's hot.

I've thought about doing more female-presenting Aziraphale. If I'm writing what I find hot, it would make sense for me to write her. I'm not normally attracted to men/masc people with Aziraphale's body type but I am very attracted to women/femme people with that body type. Why? Who knows, but it is what it is. But the Aziraphale that lives in my head seems to resist being feminine in a female way, so he gets to be feminine in a male way, and the Crowley that lives in my head helps me write him as hot, even if I wouldn't normally see it. Crowley, on the other hand, seems totally fine with whatever I want to do with him/her/them, up to and including Demon and Snake forms. I'd like to write more of Fem Aziraphale (again, because I write what I find hot, and she's so hot), but I think she'd be an entirely different character to Gay Aziraphale, and she hasn't been as loud about having her stories told. Perhaps I need to try writing Butch Aziraphale instead and see where that takes me...

So anyway, that's way too many words on something no one asked me to talk about, but what is the internet for than spouting your opinions to people who didn't want or need them?

[bluebirdsongs16]

Given we know Aziraphale was acquainted with the members of 19th century London's queer society (via the "discreet gentlemen's club in Portland Place"), my headcanon is he has a section in the bookshop dedicated to LGBTQ+ works from that time (and onward, given the 20th century was even more oppressive than the 19th).

Certainly he would have a prized and unmatched collection of first editions by the well-known authors at the time (Shakespeare, Hans Christian Anderson, Byron, Tchaikovsky, Balzac, Proust, Gide, Wilde, Dickinson, Whitman, etc., etc.), but beyond the famous works, there were so many private letters, diaries, works of poetry, novels, smut books, etc. existed at that time but weren't spoken of. Many were shamefully hidden away, only distributed clandestinely within trusted circles, or destroyed completely. Others were publicly denied and denounced (sometimes by the authors themselves who would rather sue for libel than be outed), or used as "evidence" at indecency trials, or locked away time capsule-style, only to be published posthumously...

I could see Aziraphale having a soft spot for these people living double lives and and their deep wells of feelings they kept locked away inside—their loves that from an angel's perspective carried no difference from any other kind of human love—but at the time only dared speak its name through references to Ganymede and Achilles and Sappho.

I could see him fastidiously collecting and preserving the diaries and letters written by ordinary people just trying to live their lives and express their truths via the means available to them. However he could come by those precious primary sources, whether passed into his hands in confidence or rescued from estate sales, Aziraphale would show them the love, attention, and respect that human society wasn't able to at the time they were written.

[This headcanon brought to you by the book I'm currently reading, which is Strangers: Homosexual Love in the Nineteenth Century by historian Graham Robb.]

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Crime of passion

So, to finish February...The pseudo-crime-story :D

Words: 2.3 k

Characters: Angbang (Melkor x Mairon)

Prompt: Meeting the family

The first thing Mairon noticed about Melkor was how cleverly he was cheating at cards.

No, that was a cowardly lie; the first thing he had ever noticed was how frighteningly and unconventionally handsome that man was, and it was only after being thoroughly mesmerised by his breath-taking deportment that Mairon–unable to detach his curious, intelligent gaze from the other patron–had caught on to the sleight-of-hand and the affable smile accompanying it.

In his trade, he had, of course, met his fair share of thieves and robbers of all classes and thus he was not overly fazed by the fact that even amongst the most notable peers of the realm one inevitably stumbled upon a few rotten apples.

Indeed, had Lord Melkor–renowned and fabled even in these halls of hushed excellence—been but a common crook, Mairon would have been able to deplore his unlucky taste in potential partners in silence and drown his temporary sorrow in a glass of first-class scotch.

Unfortunately for that discreet P.I., Melkor seemed to swindle his companions for the thrill of it rather than for any gain as he generously paid his plundered comrades’ drinks with as much glee and enthusiasm as he exhibited while defrauding them.

“I have noticed your particular and pointed interest in my dealings tonight,” a low, rumbling voice resounded behind Mairon’s armchair just as he was about to open a letter he had received earlier that day and which he had stowed away in his waistcoat pocket for later perusal. “May I ask if I can be of any assistance?”

Mairon’s bright, shrewd eyes flew up but his hands did not still on the paper he was in the process of meticulously tearing open.

“I should not think so,” he gave back in his sharp, impatient tone; no matter how fascinated he had been with the stately and yet lithe demeanour of the other man, he would not be goaded into a dangerous fling with one of the most powerful men in the land.

“Let me buy you another drink,” Melkor drawled, already waving an indolent but authoritative hand at a passing waiter. “I have seen you here before, but I’ve never had the pleasure of making your acquaintance.”

“Being part of the same gentlemen’s club does not necessarily mean that one frequents the same social circles,” Mairon replied not without a hint of bitterness; he had been born for great things, he was sure of it, but hitherto, he had clawed himself up the steep, slippery ladder of society by the skin of his teeth.

“So you know who I am, good,” Melkor grinned, grabbing the letter in Mairon’s hand quickly and inspecting it. “A private investigator? How charming…and tempting. Tell me, good man, do you enjoy a proper mystery?”

Cocking one eyebrow, Mairon waited in dignified silence while his senses and his impossibly quick mind took stock of the gentleman sitting in the armchair facing him.

Melkor was a tall man of an undeterminable age with long, dark hair and bright, sparkling eyes that almost seemed violet in the dim light of the fireplace in the corner of the room; far from being insipidly “pretty”, he possessed a wild, intimidating, rough beauty that commanded respect and inspired awe, and–judging by the cocky, lopsided smile he flashed Mairon now–he was more than aware of that.

“Why don’t you come up to the House this weekend?” Melkor purred under his breath, leaning closer and batting his lashes at Mairon invitingly. “There is always a mystery or two to solve there. Something is lost. Something is stolen. Something is destroyed. It bores me to death, but–if you were to come and play–it might even be fun.”

Long training and an almost feline disposition for calm observation helped Mairon in keeping his face expressionless with the exception of a tiny twitch of the corners of his mouth.

“Indeed,” he then muttered and, retrieving his letter, returned the missive to his pocket unopened. “I am most intrigued. Are you inviting me to solve a crime you are sure will happen? Are you the perpetrator then?”

“Sometimes,” Melkor admitted good-humouredly, “even though I will say that the others do not need my aid to make a proper mess of things. You’ll see. Do come up and enliven the mausoleum of my father’s fossilised dreams, yes?”

When he extended his hand to Mairon, a sleek, black card had materialised between his strong, broad fingers.

“I’ll think about it,” Mairon conceded and tucked the card away alongside his letter without so much as looking at it once.

“I can’t wait to see you there,” Melkor smirked, radiating with confidence and good cheer. “So long, old chap, so long.”

Having risen through the ranks at a dizzying speed, Mairon felt just a shiver of apprehension travel down his spine as he stood at the foot of the broad marble steps leading up to the main entrance of the sprawling estate he had been invited to.

Even now as he made his way to the heavy door and closed his long, sensitive fingers around the ponderous brass knocker, he was not entirely sure why he had come. Usually, he was not one for social games; he preferred to be regarded–and feared–for his ruthless competence and his uncanny ability to wrestle even the most chaotic of facts into a neat arrangement that revealed the hidden meaning of the whole picture.

Failing to restore order, Mairon had been known to threaten, bully, and manipulate people into betraying themselves in their flustered state of nervous upheaval; he was not a saint, but he was exceptionally good at his job which made his superiors turn a blind eye to his less orthodox habits and techniques.

“Ah,” Melkor gently pushed the pale young woman opening the door out of the way and took Mairon by the elbow to steer him into the bowels of the house. “I am delighted that you have come. Meet the dramatis personae!”

With a flourish, he threw open the heavy double doors at the end of a long corridor containing some of the most exquisite paintings Mairon had ever seen.

“What is it now?” A woman stepped forward but stopped, one hand pressed to her chest as if to clutch her very heart, as she saw Mairon. “Melkor! What is the meaning of this?”

With the singsong voice of a circus ringmaster, Melkor started to introduce everyone within the room as well as a few persons clearly visible through the large French windows in rapid succession.

Thankfully, Mairon had no trouble memorising names and faces and so, he let his polite mask slip and focused solely on filing away the information Melkor so zealously heaped upon him; his eyes were bright and cold over a grimly set mouth as he greedily absorbed his surroundings.

Something about the house or its mood made him think of Melkor’s prediction; at that very moment, as he stood in the middle of a large sitting room, Mairon was intimately convinced that his host would be proven right before long. The air was brimming with just the right kind of tension to breed festering resentment, explosive passion, and–of course–crime.

“Welcome, make yourself at home,” a tall, well-built man with hair as startlingly pale as Melkor’s was dark said in a slightly despondent tone; Manwë, Mairon remembered instantly, the brother and co-heir of his charming host who, meanwhile, was leaning against the wall in a corner like a sleek, lethal, black panther.

“A drink?” His wife–of course, a man like Manwë would have a wife who looked as if someone had cut her out of a magazine–said in a tone that was nowhere near interrogative. She was tall and slender with a frightening intensity in both the rigidity of her gaze and the severe set of her generous mouth.

A dangerous vixen, Mairon decided within a single heartbeat, and steeled himself in anticipation.

“A whiskey, neat,” he then replied suavely, his own blazing eyes locked onto her cold beauty with something midway between admiration and disgust; the smile she gave him as she floated over to the small wooden counter was perfunctory and as cutting as a shard of ice.

“Have a seat, my man,” Manwë invited and waved a vague hand towards the sofas strewn around haphazardly in an otherwise perfectly laid out room.

“No doubt our guest wants to freshen up before dinner,” Melkor interjected so suddenly that everyone turned to him. “I’ll see him to his room.”

The barely held-back energy in his movements and the undeniable authority in his voice brooked no resistance and so, Mairon was ushered out as soon as he had accepted the glass the lady of the house extended with perfect politeness and very little amiability.

As they passed into the corridor, Melkor had the audacity to wink at him as if they were sharing an exquisite joke. “What do you think of our little ménage? Just wait until you meet the Big Man; everything becomes clearer after you make the acquaintance of my esteemed pater.”

Mairon swirled the golden liquid in the thick-walled glass slowly as he recalled all the people he had met to the forefront of his mind as one summoned the actors of a play to the centre of a stage; it was an interesting group, even he couldn’t deny that, and he in fact had to admit that he was almost looking forward to the evening meal.

“I’ll come to pick you up later?” Melkor purred, leaning against the doorframe and interrupting Mairon’s distracted musings by the sheer presence of his massive body filling the space between them. “I wouldn’t want you to get lost in these long, dark hallways.”

“That would be ever so appreciated, thank you,” Mairon replied politely and–struggling against the insane impulse to invite, for reasons he could not yet fathom, that sharply smiling quasi-stranger into the room allotted to him–he resolutely shut the door.

Melkor, he enumerated in his head as soon as he was alone, brother to Manwë who–according to the former–was a dunce and a dangerous disgrace. Manwë was married to Varda–cold, distant, and mesmerising as the night sky bespangled with diamonds–and that matrimonial bond gave him an edge over his bachelor brother for Varda was an accomplished hostess and a paragon of propriety and thus held considerable sway in the community.

The young woman who had first let Mairon in had been Nienna. She and her two brothers were counted amongst the oddities of the manor and–if Melkor was to be believed–his father had built them a gloomy lodge within the sprawling park where her brothers resided with their respective spouses.

Mairon could only surmise that they fulfilled some function and were deemed useful or beneficial to the family in a less self-evident way because, otherwise, it would hardly have been sensible to sustain two couples and a maiden out of pure philanthropy.

Somehow, Mairon doubted that either one of the men of this house would easily be seduced into doing anything for less than perfectly valid, rational, and self-serving reasons; he could respect that for he valued a sound mind over a bleeding heart.

The sweet, effaced Nienna was a spinster though and as such, she was apparently considered the gentle minder and caretaker of all the needs of the other inhabitants of the household.

Hovering around the core group like a benevolent ghost, she probably lived within the manor itself to make sure that she’d always be at the beck and call of whatever whimsy or mood befell the young lords or their prestigious guests.

She was pretty enough in her slightly vague, translucent way and she certainly seemed agreeable and pleasant to the highest degree; maybe, Mairon thought with a smirk as he finally drained his tumbler, that was the very reason why Melkor had elbowed her out of the way so quickly.

He had not yet seen Irmo, the youngest of the three, but he had noticed Námo, Nienna’s oldest brother and the undisputed head of their little family unit.

A morose, somewhat judgemental silhouette in the background of an oddly domestic scene, Námo had thus far done nothing to endear himself to Mairon or win any favours in the young detective’s eyes.

Setting his glass down on a beautifully varnished and dutifully polished dresser, Mairon let his thoughts wander on.

To these colourful characters were added Aulë and Yavanna, groundskeepers and friends of the house more than actual servants; Mairon had caught but a momentary glimpse of them, entertaining a gaggle of dishevelled local kids with their expertise.

By the time Melkor came to fetch Mairon for dinner, the elusive investigator–known and dreaded for his shrewd ability to see right through people’s façades down into their most intimate core–had a pretty good overview of the inhabitants and dependents of the manor.

The ruggedly handsome face of his mysterious benefactor was drawn and pale, and Mairon instinctively knew that something had gone awry while he had been changing into his perfectly tailored evening garb.

“You are in for a treat,” Melkor said with a smile that might have fooled a less perspicacious onlooker. “The hunting party has returned a day early.”

“Hunting party?” Mairon’s gaze fell onto a pile of hunting and fishing gear–messily thrown into a corner of the foyer–as he strode down the broad staircase confidently by Melkor’s side.

“As I said, we had not expected them yet,” Melkor explained sombrely; from the salon, raucous voices–raised in excitement and anger–boomed in a rapid exchange of profanities that were interrupted periodically by the pacifying interjections of the female onlookers.

“Moreover,” the tall, stern man continued, “my father has disappeared. He’s not been seen since before your arrival and he’s nowhere to be found on the grounds.”

“Disappeared?” Mairon echoed, all his senses alight with the thrill of finding a precious and unlooked-for gift addressed to him.

Melkor merely nodded and pushed open the door with a forceful flourish in a grotesque déjà-vu.

“Here are your suspects,” he whispered in a strained voice, “happy hunting.”

I've slightly dropped the ball on this, but (if I get time later today), I might drop another Angbang to at least get Bingo on both sheets.

@fellowshipofthefics here is my (potentially) last entry for this year's February Bingo.

Thank you so much for this amazing event!!!

Lots of love

[deluxesensations1]

Romantic Dinner Companions | deluxe-sensations.ch

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[ao3feed-ineffablehusbandz]

[Podfic] Souvenir

by Djapchan

miraworos' summary:

Twenty years after their argument over holy water, Crowley goes to the Christmas party at Aziraphale's gentlemen's club to check on the angel. He tries to stay obscured in the shadows, but Aziraphale catches him anyway, and takes him to an out-of-the-way alcove for a private...um...chat.

Words: 38, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 1 of [Podfic] A More Perfect World by miraworos

Fandoms: Good Omens (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens)

Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)

Additional Tags: Discreet Gentlemen's Club (Good Omens), Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Podfic & Podficced Works, Podfic, Podfic Length: 30-45 Minutes

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/35587429

[nomanwalksalone]

THE LEAST OF ALL CASUALTIES 

by Réginald-Jérôme de Mans

I’m thinking, for some reason, of the late Adnan Khashoggi and of a host of dead playboys and nabobs, shrouded in the finest custom shirts money, so much money, could buy. Adnan Khashoggi, who so clearly wanted to be the Basil Zaharoff of the late twentieth century, an international man of mystery dealing arms and other items from the shadows, a figure of luxury legend, a man with whom I have nothing in common, save that life occasionally humbles us…

Yes, Khashoggi, who nicknamed his Korean bodyguard “Mr. Kill,” who reportedly kept $100,000 cash handy in an attaché case on board his private jet to sweeten any deal or grease any palm, who ordered the largest yacht in the world (Queen wrote a song about it! It was the villain’s yacht in a Bond film!), came undone. Iran Contra, Imelda Marcos, BCCI, a host of 1980s names of tarnished glitz like the hidden grime in a Helmsley hotel… He had to sell the yacht; Donald Trump briefly owned it before Trump’s own financial problems forced him to sell it yet again, to a Saudi prince.

Adnan Khashoggi, yes, that Khashoggi, uncle of the intrepid journalist Jamal Khashoggi, assassinated in sordid circumstances a year after Adnan died in wealth but not splendor. Assassinated and unavenged.

I am even less Adnan’s spiritual heir than that serious, dedicated nephew. It’s a strange contrast between the thoughtful engagement of one and the freewheeling, flamboyant capitalism of the other, a flamboyance of fairy tales, fairy tales because at their best they make us momentarily forget their foundations of exploitation and graft.

Like robber baron James Goldsmith (who inspired Terence Stamp’s character in Wall Street), Khashoggi was a famous customer of the bespoke services at Lanvin, the oldest couturier in Paris and for a long time the best shirtmaker there. Stories filter out, unattributed in magazines or relayed by friends in the know, stories that made him the last of the nabobs. He ordered a thousand custom shirts at a time! The workrooms (until a few years ago on-site on the Faubourg Saint-Honoré, some of the most expensive real-estate in the world!) were busy for months! Because he only wore his Lanvin custom shirts once! What a way to save on laundry bills!

What happened to them? Did he hand them down to his sons, or to Jamal? Like the King of Morocco with his Smalto custom suits, once worn did he pass them on to his staff?

Those days of excess are gone. They were long gone when I pushed the door at Lanvin, curious to try what knowledgeable friends had called the best shirtmaker. The shirtmaker and his staff must have known that, as clients go, I could not be at a farther remove from that man and those days, a gloomy wallflower anxious to make sure that my centimes counted, that what I received would last, gratefully accepting their suggestion to provide extra cloth to remake the collar and cuffs of the one shirt I initially ordered, for whenever those would wear out. For I was interested just in a single shirt from that maker, not thousands to strew in the wake of conspicuous consumption. No matter. They treated me as politely and patiently as they would their most extravagant client, and produced a shirt that fitted closely, marvelously, with handmade buttonholes that a much more famous shirtmaker exclaimed were worthy of a museum. In other words, a gem as precious as the daydreams I had burnished.

I was to be only a sporadic client, sometimes ordering only after an absence of years, surprised at how well they remembered my tastes, at how well my patternmaker carried out the refinements I wanted, indeed at how, over years, we nurtured a polite friendship over shared snark and tastes in old movies and Art Deco.

Art Deco. Lanvin’s Paris men’s shop is an entire building, opened in 1926 dedicated only to custom tailoring and shirtmaking. Prior to that it had been the headquarters of Lanvin Décor, designed with the unmistakable flourishes of Armand-Albert Rateau. A gorgeous luxury. For decades, Lanvin Tailleur et Chemisier retained Rateau’s stylized gilt découpé designs and furniture, before renovation banished those motifs only to tie patterns and other accessories. It wasn’t until the 1970s that Lanvin offered any men’s ready-to-wear. While it had embraced worldwide licenses for garments bearing the Lanvin name by the 1980s (my father has a poly-cotton Lanvin dress shirt from that period), its flagship was one of the only places in the world where – decades before Berluti made this boast – a man could be outfitted in bespoke literally from head to toe, Assiduous hands at  the Lanvin-owned hatter Gélot (magically transposed from the Place Vendôme to a shop-in-shop on the Lanvin bespoke floor) still crafted and fit the finest headwear, while one of the Corthay brothers themselves created Lanvin custom shoes. As for Lanvin custom tailoring? In 1901, Jeanne Lanvin herself had designed Lanvin very first men’s garment, her friend Edmond Rostand’s elaborately embroidered uniform for his initiation into the Académie Française, the first of over 70 such custom-made uniforms Lanvin would make, along with every sort of conventional tailored garment – including suits and sportcoats for certain French politicians who could not patronize their British tailors while in office.

Those days are gone. In the ’60s Lanvin had advertised its bespoke with elegant cartoons of well-appointed gentlemen’s clubs, yacht marinas, luxury hotel suites and trophy-bedecked hunting lodges, all captioned “For a certain class of men.” Those men are mostly gone. So, too, are their replacements, the rootless international men of mystery like Khashoggi. Even intellectual poseurs (yes, I’ll grant him the “u”) like Bernard-Henri Levy stopped ordering their casually unbuttoned white shirts from Lanvin.  Middle-class punters like myself, in love with the ritual of cloth selection, of fitting, of being escorted to the bespoke floor with its own little escalator, the month-long wait pregnant with anticipation for an elaborately-packaged single shirt, are too few.  No more sprawling bespoke floor but a small if tasteful salon, with what remained of the ateliers on the same floor, behind a discreet door. The hidden of the hidden: at a time brands all over heavily advertised their custom services (however spurious), not a single vitrine at 15, faubourg Saint-Honoré carried the least hint that one of the finest tailors and shirtmakers in Paris resided there. Resided, for they did not travel – unless a customer flew themout. Even the shop Lanvin opened on Savile Row a few years ago didn’t bring them over, instead offering a sort of customized stock special service on its ready-to-wear designs.

This is the least of all casualties, to lament the end of something that only the most entitled of us could ever use. For even if I’ll never set foot on a yacht, I recognize how privileged I was to indulge in the affectation of a custom shirtmaker, of the fetish of its product. Of the last days of this particular legend. Ninety-five years after its founding, the custom tailor and shirtmaker defected to another life, and Lanvin bespoke is now dead. Ninety-five years! They could not put up with five more years in the shadowy recesses of their employer, a small, ever-shrinking habitat, where I hoped their remaining an afterthought would shelter them from corporate extinction, and round out a century.

The least of all casualties, for what ended is just an idea, the idea of a permanence, a waning best, a classic. For those who want the concrete, various lines of ready-to-wear remain. Lanvin was one of the classic old guard of tailors that the legendary Groupe des Cinq, including Camps, rebelled against in the 1950s. Today, whether rebel or classicist, what is left of bespoke rallies together – tailors from the supposed old guard migrate to those former iconoclast hellions, and vice versa.

The least of all casualties, like an arms dealer dying, finally, in a Harley Street clinic. No reason to weep for him, when we live among the casualties he and his colleagues may have wrought, his financial heirs likely preferring fleece vests, athleisure, performative populism. What the rest of us inherit is casualty, this daydream’s passing worthy of no more than a moment’s thoughtful pause in our current nightmares. At least allow it that.

[alexanderlightweight]

Cryptids of Brooklyn

(somehow the text got deleted so putting it back in.  Malec (shadowhunters) prompt fill for @crispyoperawolfdean​.  Might not be quite what you were expecting but I hope you like it!  I had a lot of fun with it and thank you for the prompt!

If there was one thing anyone knew about Alec Lightwood -and almost everyone at least knew of him- it was that he was cold, eviscerating and just about the most vicious attorney in New York.

His clients thought of him with an almost alien sense of distant and somewhat terrified adoration.  He had little charm to speak of, instead working with blunt facts and ruthlessly twisting words and happenstance to sound as though what he said was the law.  

There were rumors -well hidden ones- that at one point in time, one of his clients had actually decided to plead guilty rather than work with him.  No one was sure if that was truth or a myth, but there was little doubt that it could have and probably had happened.  

For all the rather redundant and overused jokes made about lawyers and sharks, never was such a comparison or joke made concerning Alec Lightwood, as there was one glaring difference between the two ruthless predators.

Sharks smiled, Alec Lightwood didn’t.  

-

In the same city, but quite a different world from the one Alec Lightwood resided in, was Magnus Bane.  A young man with a brilliant mind and after quite a bit of hard work, a small kingdom made up of a variety of businesses.  Magnus was beloved by many, inspiring to all and even those who hated him tended to admire him with the reluctance of someone knowing they were being petty out of jealousy, rather than a justified dislike.  

His most well known and popular business was Pandemonium.  A thriving club that was a close distance away from yet another one of Magnus’ enterprises, Edom.  An upscale, classy and frankly gorgeous hotel that Magnus was rumored to live in, he didn’t.  Magnus Bane instead lived in a very discreet but wonderfully luxurious Brooklyn penthouse that only six people knew the address of.  The floor of Edom that he kept reserved for himself was where he had his parties and occasionally, where he stayed when his schedule became a dungeon filled with paperwork manacles designed to entrap him for hours on end.

All in all, the two men had such drastically different careers -not to mention lifestyles- that such a story containing both of them should normally have been titled in such similar fashions as to some of the great classics; The Two Towers, A Tale of Two Cities, The Road Not Taken and such on and so forth.  However, the eye of the beholder is often led awry and that is why this written articulation is not so aptly named.  Instead, the most fitting name for our tale is more likely to run along the lines of: Besotted, Ardent Admiration, Disaster Gay and Dad Jokes: A Guide to Accidentally Wooing Your Soulmate.  

-

To the world and the masses who thought it their business to know everyone else’s, Alec Lightwood was chronically single the way other people chronically breathed.  It was his way of life, he clearly didn’t know any other way to live and no one who knew him -or of him- could fathom it changing.  Ever.

Magnus Bane had a very different history.  A beautiful tapestry of love gained and lost and set aside that broke many hearts not his own and had many in mourning when he shifted his focus from romantic whimsy to that of business.    

It would be then, quite a surprise to many, to find that not only was the public perception of both gentlemen so vastly erroneous, it in fact bordered on blasphemous.  

No, the fact was that it was providential intervention that Magnus Bane had little to no reason to jaunt about New York’s finest court rooms, as his poor husband’s workplace persona would have quite melted in his presence.  For while he could in fact smile, even with that particular trait Alec still did not quite make the parameters to be inferred as a shark.  No, Alec Lightwood, or Lightwood-Bane as his legal name happened to be, rather turned into a jellyfish when his husband was nearby.  A rather useless but electrified blob all around.  

It was pure happenstance that their paths remained uncrossed in the public eye.  Alec being something of a private person, only in the fact that he cared little for others opinions and Magnus far too busy to deal with one more detail.  The secrecy of their romance and the obscuration of their marriage were all quite unique and coincidental happenings.  

Their first meeting was during a major power outage that attracted far more attention than they did and which had in fact turned into a first date which quickly became a slippery slope of tender and intimate romance and quite ridiculous gestures.  Their engagement was short and, while Alec loved his family dearly and Magnus loved his friends, both agreed that they could do an anniversary party later down the road.  This wedding was for them and if they told those they loved, it would be less about Magnus and Alec and more about everyone else knowing better and attempting to take over.

There was a very good reason why Alec’s family didn’t have their address and it was going to stay that way.

Out of all of this, the crux of how they stayed decidedly so under the radar came down to one abstract point of reality.  Human infallibility.

It was a struggle for people to comprehend the fact that someone like Magnus Bane even existed on the same plane of reality as someone like Alec Lightwood.  Therefore, the idea of them interacting -let alone being acquaintances- was so far outside their realm of understanding that it was concluded to be impossible.

Therefore, a number of people had what they assumed to be rather strange and oddly timed hallucinations, such as: ‘oh look, there is Magnus Ba-... no.  Nope, never mind.  That isn’t him.  That can’t be him.  I’m fairly certain I saw Alec Lightwood with him.  This is a delusion.  I must be ill.’  As such, in order to not be buried under vitriol by their online peers for their hallucinations, such sightings were never reported and instead were buried deep in the mental abyss of things one does anything not to think about.

In other words, Magnus and Alec Lightwood-Bane were the cryptids of Brooklyn.  

-

It would come as no surprise that Magnus knew more people than he didn’t and had more favors owed to him than he himself owed.  As it were, he continued to do favors.  It left other people quite in his debt, while he himself mostly managed to benefit from it.  As it were, he had been doing a long time acquaintance, Luke Garroway, the favor of letting his step-daughter and  pseudo-step-son work at his main office.  

It was temporary work that they split between themselves as they were both still in school.  It was also a decision that he regretted immediately.  

While his relationship with Alec was carefully contained, the rest of Alec’s family did not seem to share the same ability when it came to their personal lives.  A few months after hiring the duo Magnus learned that he had hired what may someday be Alec’s sister.  Either by way of Clary’s father marrying Alec’s mother, or because one of Alec’s siblings was besotted with her.  

As Magnus had a firm policy on not mixing business with his personal life, he felt rather disgruntled.  It didn’t help that neither of the two were particularly suited for office work and were more inclined to impulsive choices than anything involving well-reasoned decisions.      

The way he found out involved a rather alarming mixture of tea.  Both verbal and liquid.

It was a maudlin office day.  One that had started far too early and Magnus had been forced to leave a large and beautifully comfortable bed and a delightfully warm and sleep-muddled husband to get ready for a tedious day at work.  A quick exercise, a hot shower and a perfected beauty regime had passed in the blink of an eye and yet had been only just long enough for him to enjoy coffee and toast with Alec before he left.

As was the usual go of things, he was one of the very first to arrive.  It meant he could look over a few of the other offices, see that things were in place and settle down to make a rather large pot of soothing tea that he would take with him to his office and settle into an armchair as he perused his schedule for the day.

As Magnus adored plants, he’d had his designer include a very active and flourishing plant decor.  Which meant that when Clary and Simon both entered the outer office where they worked, the fact that his door was open was obscured by a rather gorgeous and lustrous monstera named Augustus.  

“Alright Fray, spill.  How was dinner with your new fam?”  Simon said, as usual he was overly loud and unfortunately Magnus could invision his eyebrows dancing as he teased Clary.

“It was really good, mostly good.  Great even!”  And that was the ever excitable and somewhat self-absorbed Clarissa.

“So why did you text me so many key smashes?”  Simon asked and Magnus mentally waged a very small skirmish on whether or not he wanted to get up and shut his door.  He was very comfortable where he was and he wanted to finish his tea rather than alert them to his presence.  They both had an appalling -he was working on it- lack of office etiquette and had decided he needed to be inundated with questions and that it was their right to barge into his office.  

“Well Maryse,” Clary started and Magnus nearly spilled his tea, “her last name is Trueblood so I thought that was her kids name too.  Turns out her kids are Alec, Izzy and Max Lightwood.”  

Magnus could hear the way Simon choked at that tidbit.  Also, he was going to strangle Lucian.  

“No fucking way, Fray!  You’re future bro is Alec Lightwood?  Guess you have a new bestie to bail you out of trouble.”  Simon teased.

“No, I won’t.  Because he’s a complete asshole and emotionless jerk.”  Clary exclaimed and Magnus’ grip tightened on his cup.  “He didn’t even pretend to smile at me and when I tried asking him about his life he wouldn’t tell me and then when Izzy tried to share stuff, he shut her down every time she started talking about him.  And, he said it was because he didn’t trust someone he’d just met to keep it to themselves!  The nerve of him.”

Considering the fact that Clary was currently spilling everything to Simon, and had a notoriously bad habit of telling everything to everyone, Magnus couldn't see why she was so offended.  It seemed a rather intelligent choice on his husband’s part.

“Rude,” Simon agreed, “wow. I always thought that maybe he was nicer with his family.  So he just doesn’t have a personality?”  

“If a personality can consist of a miserable lump of a human being who is never going to find love or happiness and just enjoys making other people feel terrible, than no.  He doesn’t.”  

“Savage.  I love it.”

In any other situation, Magnus might have felt indignant on his husband’s behalf.  However, Alexander could be quite standoffish and Clarissa’s rather... abrasive need to insert herself into everyone else’s everything would clash with Alec’s indifference to new people.  Especially since he knew this was the first time Maryse had seriously dated since her divorce and he remembered Alec coming home from that dinner, miffed on being interrogated by a little girl who had started in on why he was wearing a band on his ring finger.  Alec did not like it when people demanded things from him.

Instead, Magnus took a very long sip and decided that he was very much looking forward to whenever Alec’s next surprise visit to the office was.

-

It ended up being a few weeks.  Magnus was busy with travelling and Alec had a few very intense and complicated cases.  

It was Magnus’ good fortune that only Clary was working that morning and while he missed the first part of their interaction, he definitely was aware of something amiss when he heard Clary’s voice rise in volume with a, “no, I am not going to check and see if he’s busy.  You don’t have an appointment and I don’t care who you are Alec, you can’t just waltz in here and think you can use my connections to Magnus Bane because our parents are dating!”

When Magnus pushed his door open, it was to the sight an indignant Clary standing at her desk with her arms crossed.

“If I wanted an appointment with Magnus I wouldn’t ask you,” Alec said and Magnus admired the way his voice dripped with derision and the mocking arch of his eyebrow.  

Deciding to spare them all even more of a headache, Magnus smoothly interjected, “that’s because Alexander never needs an appointment, hello darling.”  

If there was one thing Magnus could be proud of, it was the way Alec’s complete demeanor changed for him.  All irritation ebbed away, as smooth as a tide flowing back home to the depths of the ocean.  Alec’s face transformed into the tenderest altars of adoration even as Magnus cupped his cheek and was gifted with a kiss to his palm.  

They both ignored Clary’s stuttered shock and Magnus pulled Alec in for a kiss before wrapping an arm around his waist.  

“Ah yes, Clary I think you’ve met my husband before,” Magnus said.  At his side, Alec pressed a kiss to his hair and Magnus could feel him shaking with laughter.  

[nevergiveupneverrun]

Bodyguard - Chapter Twelve “The memory of the body” Part One

Hello, I hope you’re all doing great. Here is chapter twelve of my Story Bodyguard. I’m sorry in advance for the mistakes… English isn’t my first language and I do my best. Here is the link to the previous chapter: Click Here.

I hope you will enjoy this chapter :) 💛

A week had passed since the reception for Amelia’s foundation and this chase. A week that Amelia’s stress was climbing with each passing day… not so much because of the threats, she had regained the upper hand in record time… but because of the upcoming concert, which was only a few days away. She kept repeating and I didn’t count the number of trips back to the Conservatoire or the studio. Richard was even worried about Amelia’s diligence, so much that he had imposed today on a day off, which had the effect of annoying Amelia noticeably. She was not particularly happy and had spent much of her day in her composition room playing and humming her songs.

I was looking for her in the house, no longer hearing any melody escape from the end of the corridor. Approaching the room, I soon perceive two distant voices: those of Amelia and April who were be installed on the terrace. - It will change your ideas! - I don’t know April, a quiet evening at home would do me good too, I think… - Not at all… an evening between us, where we drink more than reason and where we dance all night, it is the best remedy for your state of mind… you are a too anxious sweetheart! Even if the best remedy is not the best expression: it is a good remedy but not the best… - Oh yes, and what is the best remedy, doctor? I hear Amelia’s smile through her voice as she challenges her friend. - You know Amelia… but you can not do it alone… April’s mischievous tone echoes in my ears. - April Kepner, you will never change! - Stop, you know that it’s effective, and besides, you don’t have to look far! - Clearly, men are jostling at my door right now… I’m about to move away from their discussion when April’s sentence suddenly stops me in my movement. - Maybe not, but there is a man 24 hours a day at home… - And who works here…Amelia adds. - You should take things more lightly sometimes… frankly, I saw some of the bodyguards on the filmings where I was able to work and they look more like Schwarzy than Ryan Gosling… I’ll pay a lot for a ride with Mr. Hunt… - You know it’s a very bad idea April… - Stop thinking from time to time… - You will not make me believe that you don’t like him? - I didn’t say that… - What do you say then? - He is… I listen carefully despite me but she doesn’t finish her sentence. - Anyway, it’s my bodyguard and I’m not… Amelia stops again without revealing her thoughts clearly. April remains silent a few moments, then I hear her voice again soon, but more weakly than before. - Everyone will not let you… just one person… just fall on the right… then you should take over Owen’s contract and add a clause so that he takes care of you in every sense of the word, ends April in a laugh. I slip away on this remark; I should not have heard this conversation let alone the colorful comments that knew so well April. I had always noticed certain looks from women: I knew that I could count on real ease in contact with them, but this kind of opinion about me always made me feel uncomfortable. I didn’t see at all what seemed to fascinate them. I go down the stairs to join the kitchen and serve myself a glass of fresh fruit juice while trying to chase the conversation out of my mind. I finish my drink quietly when I hear steps down the stairs and a question that reaches me from the stairs. - We will ask him, we will see what he answers, right? April and Amelia step into the kitchen: April first, with a decided step and Amelia behind her, a little less assured. - Owen, we were looking for you, April launches. Amelia told me that my idea of soirée was not compatible with your rules, so I just check with the expert? - I listen to you… - Here: Richard asked Amelia to relax today and decompress a maximum… and for me, it is necessary that Amelia takes a little air and has fun: hence the soirée that I propose, a soirée in a night club for her to let go a little! A soirée in a night club?! I remain silent after April’s announcement. Nightclubs were some of the places I feared the most in my profession: noise, crowds, lack of space. I had always managed to avoid this environment that combined all the risks. - You see April, it’s not a good idea, whispers Amelia taking her friend by the hand. The distant and weak voice of Amelia calls me, she carefully avoids my eyes. Her face strikes me, however: more dull and closed than usual, so that I consider in spite of me the suggestion of April. - Is it really important to you? Amelia stops in her movement and finds my gaze while April moves forward again. - Of course, it’s important… - I ask the question to Amelia, April… Amelia hesitates a few seconds then answers me in a voice almost shy while fixing me. - April knows how to be convincing… and that could change me a little the ideas actually… I look at her for a long time, she really didn’t look better today. I would have like to detect a glow in these two pupils that I could recognize between a thousand henceforth… enjoy a frank smile on her face… April’s idea was perhaps complicated to manage but if it could give a little energy and confidence to Amelia… and revive the joy of life that I missed at this moment by seeing her in front of me. I think quickly reviewing the details of such a soirée. - Are you aware that you can not go out alone? - Yes, of course, that’s why we talk about it, says April. - Well… I’m not going to say that you make my job easier… but if it’s important to you… - Thank you, Owen, you make two happy, exclaims April. - Some small remarks, however… have you already a place in mind? I prefer that it’s not a night club accessible to anyone. A place that already makes a minimum of sorting… and that we can enter through discreet access… - No problem, we expected to go to a friend’s night club: a pretty select place… and since we know the owner well, she can arrange all the necessary details… she can keep us a table in a corner a little less discovered, privatize a VIP zone… - Good, and agree with her that she keeps a table near the exits while giving a view of most of the room… and that we can enter by the entrance of the staff and not the official entrance. - Ok, I will call her, it should not be a problem… - Are you sure, April? Saturday night, she often has a stage with bands playing live… and well-known DJs who mix… tables are often booked well in advance. - She will make us a little place, don’t worry, Amy… something else Owen? - At with time do you plan to leave? - Around 10:30 pm… are you ok? April asks turning to Amelia. Amelia just nods her head. - Okay, I’ll tell Jackson, I said going back to my room.

4 hours later.

One last look at my outfit and I decided to leave my room. I had finally left my tie on my bed, judging that it would have been the accessory of too much for the soirée: shirt and jacket of the suit were amply enough. I go back to the entrance and I’m surprised discovering Jackson at the foot of the stairs. - Hi Jackson, how did you come home? - I have a key you know now, it was Richard who gave me it a few days ago. - Did you see the girls? - Uh… I saw April… she was coming out of the kitchen… and see a woman welcome me in bra and panties, dress in hand, I didn’t have this pleasure fifteen times in my life… you must not be bored, tell me! He said laughing. - If you knew… He smiles a little more in front of my answer before resuming his seriousness. - In any case, you surprised me when you told me where we were going. Are you sure? - Yes, I’m well aware, but we will take all the necessary precautions and everything will be fine. - What made you accept? - Amelia needed to get some fresh air and I’m not here to stop her from living. - Not so long ago, though, you would have categorically refused these kinds of outings… Jackson observes me for a few seconds, when heels slam a few meters away from us, at regular intervals, to the rhythm of the stairs. I turn around and discover April and Amelia come down and walk towards us. I can not help but quickly note their outfits and the difference between them that expresses through their look. April is dressed in a sleeveless white dress, extremely short, arriving at mid-thigh, with black heels. Amelia has opted for slim black jeans with a red silk top, revealing her shoulders and knotted visibly behind her neck. - Good evening, gentlemen, launches April in a singing voice while advancing towards the coat rack to detach a light jacket. Amelia follows her and just smiles, turning around. And the top she wears is actually much less wise at first sight, revealing her whole back… and I realize that the tie behind her neck is the only link hold this piece of fabric against her. A black suit jacket that she puts on, stops me quickly in my observation. - We can go? Can you give me the address? Asks Jackson by my side. - Yes, we are going to Belltown, on the edge of Western Avenue, I will tell you where to go when we were nearby. - All right, let’s go there. Jackson walks out of the house first, followed by April, as I bring up the rear with Amelia. I notice that she almost reaches my height. A look at her shoes quickly gives me the answer to these many centimeters that she had won for the soirée: a pair of stiletto heels at least 12 centimeters to her feet in which she seemed incredibly comfortable. I see her eyes, looking up and she smiles at me having noticed my observation. - I cheat a little… I’m not lucky enough to have a mannequin size. - You should not pay to much attention to these pseudo-standards… but I remain admiring in your mastery of balance, I will be unable! - Ha, something that I know better than you, I’ll remember, she replies in a burst of laughter. I join her, laughing in my turn, happy to have won this sweet melody. The girls both sit in the back and then we head straight for Western Avenue, under the bright, twinkling lights of a Seattle night, worthy of the most beautiful postcards. April and Amelia chat loudly behind us: however, we remain focused with Jackson on the road and especially on the vehicles surrounding us… Jackson taking care not to take the shortest drive to have time to see if a suspicious car was lurking around us. He finally nods to me saying that there is no warning and continues on the road until arriving on Western Avenue. - April, we are there, says Jackson with a look backward. - Okay, then go up the avenue again and you will take the next right at the light you see in front of you. The night club is at the corner and the « discreet » entrance is from the back, we can leave the car, says April. Jackson follows April’s directions and we head down the small street, cutting off Western Avenue, and skirting a glittering signboard showing “Rainbow World”. Jackson parks in a nook in the back of an imposing building where I guess a door marked “staff only”. - It’s here? - Yes, mission accomplished, announces April with a wink. We can enter through this access, we will arrive by the offices and the owner will let us pass. - Okay, …wait until I go out, ok? - A quick question… what will Jackson do? Jackson looks at me for a few seconds, surprised by the question, before answering to April. - I will wait here as usual. - Are you going to wait for hours alone in this car? Frankly, it will not help much, you should accompany us. - April… - You run fast, you will be quickly in the car less than a minute if we had to leave quickly… - I don’t… - And it might be more prudent to have to former agents with us than one, right? April’s last remark makes me seriously consider her suggestion. Jackson looks at me for a moment again not knowing what to say. - As long as you’re driving when I need you… the rest is up to you… - Ok, so if I can keep company to O’, why not? I think it’s not going to be easy… Jackson and I get out of the car at the same time and open the door respectively to April and Amelia. We go all four towards the « Staff Only » door facing us, a door that I open to let April then Amelia enter first. The heat of the place is stifling from our first steps inside. The light is weak and almost less pronounced than the street lighting we had just left. We walk in the corridors, leaving several doors on both sides of our passage, while I quickly see a silhouette in the background. As I go, I gradually distinguish a young woman, small and thin in front of us, dressed in a long black dress slightly slit on the side and put on… caster shoes. - Hi girls, she said while we are still a few steps away. Her voice is soft and cheerful which is a stark contrast to her assured look. - Hello Ari, April answers by making her a kiss on the cheek. - Good evening Arizona, continues Amelia imitating April. - Access is right for you? - Yes, it’s perfect, thanks… by the way, I present to you Owen and Jackson who are with us tonight. - Good evening sirs. Arizona Robbins, the club owner.

Thank you so much for reading. 💛

[uzumaki-rebellion]

Black Boys Bloom Thorns First Chapter 20

"When my love comes down, I don't have to run around

I've got you and you know just what to do

to fulfill all my needs and satisfy me

But I'd like to know if the sexual healing is mutual,

do you feel what I'm feeling?

Do I please you? Do I fill the need? I know I might sound bold,

but I'd just like to know

Is it good to you? I want to know

Is it good to you? Oooh, I got to know, yeah

Is it good to you? C'mon and tell me, boy, yeah

Is it good to you?"

Tammy Lucas – "Is it Good to You?"

Damn near shit-faced.

That's how N'Jobu felt sitting around the V.I.P. table with his friends. Drinks flowed, the music was out of control, and it felt so good to curse with Birnin Zana slang without having to check himself. He had known these guys since he was six years old. They were loyal, discreet, and fucking funny as hell.

Once N'Jobu caught up with the current happenings in and around Birnin Zana, and who was screwing who on the down low and in public, the conversation took a turn when he discovered that it was Jax going through the pregnancy scandal with the newly divorced socialite and River Tribe noblewoman.

Tossing back more plum liquor shots, N'Jobu heard the sordid tale straight from the jackass's mouth.

"Like, damn, Jax. Why the hell didn't you use protection? Ngqundu wako!" N'Jobu scolded.

"I'm an ass? Masende kayihlo!" Jax cursed back grabbing at his balls to insult N'Jobu.

"Eh, my father's balls? Nyo kanyoko!" N'Jobu shot back using his fingers to tap his tongue as a counter insult towards Jax's mother's private parts.

The other guys laughed and balled their fists up to their mouths at the bickering of two best friends.

"She said she had it covered. What can I say? I was doing it and thinking she would handle all of that. She's a noble. Those women should know better. Plus, she just got divorced. Ikaka, it might be her ex-husband's," Jax said.

"She keeping it?" N'Jobu asked.

"She can't."

"What if she does? What are you going to do?"

Jax sipped on a bottle of beer.

"She's not having it. I'll make sure she doesn't."

"She can get a DNA test you know," N'Jobu said.

"Not my problem. Plus, I hear her ex wants her back."

"Man, still…wouldn't you want to know if the child is yours? I mean if she keeps it, and it's yours, won't your families want legitimacy?"

"Ohhh, noooo, don't try to put that marriage yoke around my neck. You're the guy that has to get tied down for King and country! Filial obedience!" Jax hollered, slapping N'Jobu on his back.

N'Jobu only stared at Jax in disbelief.

"How many of your choices came to that dinner tonight?" Jax asked.

"We are talking about you, not me."

"Let's stop talking about him. I don't think she's pregnant anyway. I saw pictures of her drinking here last week for a birthday party. Pregnant women don't drink," said Odwa, His twin brother Paki was nodding his head.

"I saw those pictures too. She's playing you Jax," Paki said.

A popular song blasted the conversation and Jax jumped up shaking his hips, his thin twisted locs bouncing around his head.

"This is our cue, gentlemen. Our Prince has returned from fucking American women…don't roll your eyes at me N'Jobu, we know you! Odwa, look at his face, he's sitting here trying to act like he's been a good schoolboy in America."

"I know your comm tab has been blowing up since you got home. Who has been calling you to split them open before you go back, eh?" Paki said.

"Let's go dance, this is the song!" Their friend Chisulo said, dropping his body low and twisting his feet to the massive bass rumbling throughout the club.

Sekani, N'Jobu's third cousin on his mother's side took a long drag from a bottle of peach vodka. He wiped his mouth after drinking and stared at N'Jobu, his bald head shiny under the club lights. "Cousin, let's go," he said.

N'Jobu stood up and followed them as they walked past several elite sections. As N'Jobu sauntered through, he felt eager eyes on him and saw people giving head nods out of respect for his presence. Before they reached the stairs, he had to stop and use the restroom.

"I'll meet you guys down there," he said.

His Dora Milaje were discreet, but still watching his movements closely.

After relieving himself in the restroom, N'Jobu circled around towards the stairs.

"Prince N'Jobu!"

N'Jobu's head snapped to his right and he saw Zinzi and a group of women sitting in their own section. He recognized several of the women, their parents had eaten with him at the palace earlier.

Zinzi wore white skin-tight pants and a white leather corset top that showed off her ample bosom. N'Jobu didn't feel any shame when he let his eyes dip low to check out her breasts. She wasn't shy about showing them off. Oba Oba's was the place to see and be seen. She caught his reckless eye-balling and smiled.

"Zinzi," he said, stepping to her. He reached for her hand and kissed it. The women with her watched him with fierce sparkling eyes.

"Hello Ladies, you all look amazing," he said, acknowledging them. The one sitting closest to him, a pretty woman with dimples and a baby afro who he didn't recognize, kept biting her lip as she gazed at him.

"How come you didn't come over to my section?" he asked, placing his hand over his heart and pretending to look offended.

"You looked like you were in deep conversation with your friends. I didn't want to disturb your reunion."

"You disturb me? Never! Come, dance with me," he said, clasping her hand in his. He felt her fingers squeeze his a little. Her friends looked gobsmacked by how familiar he was acting with Zinzi, his informal Wakandan inflections scandalous to their ears. She did ask him to be seen with her so that the gossip could get back to her lover.

"Sure, your Highness," she said.

"Ladies, excuse us please," he said.

He led Zinzi down the stairs and through a boisterous crowd of dancers. They both could feel more covetous eyes on them. Zinzi's fingers felt warm and smooth interlaced with his, quite comfortable in fact.

He could see his boys throwing down already with women who were serving them hips and dips. The music was funky and not for the rhythmically challenged.

N'Jobu wasted no time grabbing Zinzi's waist. She was already tossing her ass back at him in that slow teasing way that women from this part of town were famous for doing. One leg up and bent, then the other lifted, bent at the knee, tiny steps alternating left to right, hip twisting, ass cheeks jiggled in precise isolations. River tribe women were known for those type of moves, but a dance craze that caught on a year ago filtered over into Birnin Zana from that region. Now everyone was doing it.

N'Jobu had to create an artificial barrier between him and Zinzi. Yes, he was connected to a woman in the States, and yes, he was committed to being faithful to her, but he was also a man who had a body that reacted to fine women. And Zinzi was fine as Ethiopian honey wine. When her ass got too close to his groin, he made sure not to press into her.

She turned around and raised her hands in the air, and that was a problem because now he could not stop looking at her chest and the way her breasts bounced to the music. He quickly forced himself to keep dancing but focused his eyes elsewhere as if he were taking in all the sights and sounds of the club.

A popular song called "Zana Highlife" came on, and N'Jobu really cut loose with Zinzi. She was fun to dance with and actually kept up with him.

"You're good, Prince N'Jobu!" she said, moving around him.

He smiled at her as he worked his shoulders in time with his hips.

"Okay your Highness, I see you!" she called out, trying to match his moves.

They partied to five songs and then N'Jobu took her hand and walked her over to a bar and ordered drinks for them. All the drinks were on the house for him. He asked for two house wines, and when they arrived, he took them and had Zinzi follow him to an open table in a booth. The other tables near them were empty because people were on the dance floor. From the corner of his eye, he saw Yejide and Ometeko positioning themselves near him. No one would bother them at the table or in this section.

Sipping their white wine, N'Jobu kept eyeing Zinzi. She might actually be the one for his family's legacy. They got along so far as adults. He had known her when they were kids, but that was a long time ago. She was a woman now. An amazing one.

They did a little small talk about her current work organizing counseling for mental health and advocating for geriatric outreach. They spoke of his education and the excitement of the new royal baby. He showed her pictures of his friends in California on his comm tab. Always group shot photos, and usually he was in the back of the pictures trying to be obscure. He made sure not to show her any photos that he had of Califia and him together. Those were his private stash, mostly selfies of them kissing.

Califia seemed to adore photos of them tonguing each other down. Kissing between them was almost as good as intercourse. It had turned into a necessary extended act of foreplay that he enjoyed very much, especially when paired with his licking her all over from her front to her back. They once had an intense kissing session on her grandmother's couch when everyone had gone to bed. Califia had worked him up so bad that when they stopped twisting their lips and tongues together after forty minutes, he had soaked a section of his pants with pre-cum and he thought he had ejaculated because the stain was so big.

"Any girlfriends out there in America?" Zinzi asked.

"No," he said sipping on his wine, hoping his face didn't betray him.

"But you are seeing women, right?"

"Yeah. I date. But school is pretty intense."

"I hear you're a top student."

"Always. That's an Udaku trait."

"Okay, I guess," she said.

"You and Captain Gcuma…?"

He was curious.

"You were great tonight. Thank you."

"So, what's the deal with that? Why don't you two just get married? I can tell he is into you. He looked shocked when he saw me stepping up."

"My parents. He's older. Divorced. No children. They think being divorced is a sign of bad character and because he never had children with his wife, he must be infertile."

"Who was he married to?"

"Wananeya Duzi."

"The Duzi family? Whoa. How'd he screw that up?"

Zinzi punched his leg.

"Be nice. He fell in love with me."

"You were messing around with a married man?"

"They were separated for three years before he and I…"

"I understand," N'Jobu said.

"I was finishing up my military stint. He was my commanding officer. He just…we just…"

"Easy, Zinzi. You don't have to explain. The picture is clear."

"To be fair, he is descended from the Oni family. His mother is an Oni. He has noble blood."

"But the whole divorce, and maybe him being a lot older is an issue, eh?"

"Yes. But I don't care. My family wants to be in the palace. You know this. But I'm in love. I just want to get married and make that man some babies."

"Does he want to marry you?"

"I know he does. But he's scared to ask. Scared of losing his rank if my family goes after him because they disapprove. That's why I asked you to be seen with me openly. I want him to see that he could lose me. I want him to get a taste of seeing me with someone else."

"And that's supposed to do what? Make him propose?"

"Yes!"

"Well, if I were him, I would say screw the military and elope with you."

Zinzi's face lit up. "Yeah?"

"Of course. Look at you. Beautiful. Smart. Funny. You remind me a lot of my…."

He caught himself.

"I remind you of what?"

He sipped from his wine glass. Her eyes got big.

"You have a girlfriend, don't you? In the States."

"Keep this to yourself."

Zinzi studied his face.

"What?" he said.

"I knew something was up with you."

N'Jobu quirked his lips like she was talking nonsense.

"No, really. I noticed something about you when you were at the dinner. You seemed preoccupied but in a good way. And the way you are in this club right now, with all these beautiful women? I know for sure that when I throw this ass back on a man, they try to catch it. Are you in love, Prince N'Jobu?"

He sat back in the booth seat and sighed.

"Yes. I am."

Zinzi smiled.

"Can I see a picture of her?"

"You must keep this to yourself," he said.

"I've told you my deepest darkest secret that I don't want anyone to know about. You can trust me. I'm not looking for trouble."

N'Jobu pulled up one of his favorite photos of him and Califia together. She is straddling his lap and looking up at his cell phone while he is kissing her cheek. His eyes are closed and his arms are around her and squeezing her tight. Her hair is a big thick ball of fury and her freckles are so vivid on her face. But it's her smile that melts him. Those luscious lips. Her teeth. That cheeky twinkle in her eye. The love of his life at this moment.

"My Bast, Prince N'Jobu. She is striking. No wonder…no wonder."

Zinzi is quiet and they both watch the crowd dance. N'Jobu can see his buddies still cutting up, the life of the party on the dance floor.

"Do your parents know about her?" Zinzi finally asks.

"No one. It's a new relationship. I've dated a lot over there. But this…this is something…I don't even know how to act sometimes. I mean, that girl…that girl has got me. What's crazy is, I wasn't even looking for this. I was happy just screwing around…and then, I don't know… something changed. I've never felt like this before, Zinzi. And it bothers me. It weighs on me. Because I can't keep her. I have fallen in love with someone for the first time in my life, and it's with a foreigner. I can never bring her here, and I can never stay there. I'm fucked."

He hadn't meant to lay all of that at Zinzi's feet. But it felt good talking to Zinzi. She made him feel open and trusting. She reached out her hand and cradled his fingers in hers.

"Your secret is safe with me. Although our situations are different, I do understand what you are going through."

"Thank you," he said, giving her a half smile.

"What time is it over there now? You should call her."

"It's around five."

"Call her," Zinzi said getting up, "I'm going to rejoin my friends for a bit."

She hesitated for a moment.

"Zinzi?"

"Before you leave, make sure we talk again. There's something I want to hip you to. A rumor you should be aware of."

"Okay. Is it about me?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Give me a few minutes. I'll come find you."

She nodded and eased back into the crowd.

Tapping his comm tab and placing his earbuds on, N'Jobu hit Califia's cell number.

"Filter background," N'Jobu whispered, and the earbuds worked on blocking out much of the loud music and background voices. It was pretty loud, but he hoped the noise reduction filter would do enough so he wouldn't have to move.

He almost gave up on the ninth ring when he heard her pick.

"N'Jobu!" she exclaimed, and the excitement in her voice made him close his eyes.

"Califia," he said, his voice a gentle whisper.

"How is everything? Is your family thrilled to have you back? What's the weather like—"

"Califia, I love you too."

The music in the background was still a little loud and he thought she didn't hear him.

"Baby?" he said looking down at his fingers. They were trembling.

"I wanted to tell you before you left. But I chickened out. I was going to wait until you came back home to me and tell you in person. But…it just came out like that, and maybe, I dunno, maybe I was scared to say it in person—" she said.

"Say it to me now," he said.

"I love you, N'Jobu. I love the hell out of you."

He released a loud exhalation of breath. He let his eyes drift across the dancers and the bright lights and the wonderful chaos that was his favorite club. His friends were at the bar lifting their drinks to him, their smiles wide and grateful that he was here with them once more. But at this moment, his heart and mind were far away.

"I think I have loved you since the first time I saw you, Califia. When you touched my hand that first time…when you were checking out my bracelet…you looked up at me and …and there was something in your eyes that just caught me. Baby, this is so new to me. But I will do my best to make you happy. Okay?"

"Yeah," she whispered, her voice trembling over the call.

"I'm going to be thinking of you every day here."

"Same."

"I'm hanging out with my friends right now. We're at a club, and it looks like we're about to hit the dance floor again. Or drink some more I'm guessing. They are holding up shot glasses for me."

"Get off this phone and go have fun!"

Her laughter thrilled him. He would survive this trip. He didn't miss the fact that she had said coming back home to her. She was home. She was where he wanted to be.

"My schedule is going to be a bitch, so I may not be able to get at you until a few days from now."

"Maybe we can face chat next time?"

"I'll try to make that happen. A lot of political stuff is happening and my family is involved, so my time is really messed up. I'm glad to be back. Everyone is well."

"Good," she said.

"Talk soon?"

"Yeah."

He heard her give him a big wet kiss over the phone and then the call was done.

A stirring of confidence filled up his chest and he strolled over to his boys with a serious dip in his step.

###

After spending time at the bar drinking, N'Jobu let his friends return to the dance floor as he bounded up the steps of V.I.P.

He found Zinzi talking with her friends in her private section and he spirited her away to his V.I.P. section where they could be alone together.

"Spill it," he said, fingering a glass of water.

Zinzi tossed her braids over her shoulder.

"There has been talk about you and Princess Bathandwa. The entire country knows your family wants an heir. Everyone also knows that your brother and sister-in-law have been trying for awhile to have a baby."

"So? What does that have to do with me?"

Zinzi's eyes went downcast. She fidgeted with an ornate ruby ring on her index finger.

"There's a story going around that when Princess Bathandwa went to visit New York last June with the Women's Delegation, you flew there to see her because a month after she returned, it was announced she was a few weeks pregnant."

N'Jobu thought back to June. Bathandwa was part of a global women's movement to help neonatal health in so-called Third World countries. They were having a big conference near the U.N. and Bathandwa was giving a speech on African women's progress in East Africa. It was part of Wakanda's political maneuverings in the outside world, feigning the appearance of being a struggling nation with health issues.

During that time, N'Jobu had been messing around with a dish water blonde who taught at Mills College, a professor who he met at a university mixer who talked so much shit to N'Jobu that made him think she was cool that he ended up rearranging her guts in her apartment until he realized later in the situationship that she had a fetish for Black men. Especially dark-skinned men like him who had prowess in bed.

He had screwed the professor and missed a flight to JFK airport where he was to meet Bathandwa and her delegation for a quick hi and bye over dinner. They never met up and she flew home right after her speech.

"We never saw each other," N'Jobu said.

Zinzi shrugged.

"It doesn't matter. She leaves Wakanda after years of trying and comes back announcing a baby on the way. People started talking. There's also your reputation too."

"What is my reputation, hmm?"

"Playboy. Heartbreaker. Party monster. Womb wrecker."

"Womb wrecker? Damn."

"Listen, the people love that about you. No offense, but Prince T'Chaka is like the uptight country Uncle, and you are like everyone's favorite city nephew. They're going to talk."

"How long has this rumor been going?"

"Honestly, at first, it was like a big joke, you know, the stuff people say to poke fun of nobles. But then it started gaining traction, and I am afraid it has reached the ears of the palace. I am quite sure your brother is aware of it."

N'Jobu drank his water and pondered her words.

"I noticed tonight that Princess Bathandwa is very affectionate with you."

"And?"

"You may want to be very careful of how you two interact, especially during this time of the coronation. I do not mean to be rude, but people are watching you closely, and not just because of the betrothal march. Some people really believe that her baby is yours."

"Great," he said sighing heavily.

"This will pass. The good thing is, you will return to the States, and once the baby is born, everyone will see that the royal couple finally received the child they have been praying for."

"Let us hope so," he said, "any other gossip I should know about?"

"Your friend Jax, he is not the father of the baby that Yasmin is having. Your other friend Odwa is."

"Oh, shit."

"I know. You did not hear it from me."

"Hey…I talked to my girlfriend."

"Good. How is she?"

N'Jobu beamed.

"She sounded great."

"You are so cute when you are in love. Just all teeth right now."

N'Jobu smiled wider, then stared at Zinzi with a more somber expression. He rubbed his chin.

"Can I ask you something else, and be honest with me?"

"Go ahead."

N'Jobu glanced around to make sure they were still afforded privacy.

"In your opinion, how are the people taking the change. Are they for or against my brother?"

Zinzi's eyes squinted a bit and she pressed her lips together.

"From what I gather, and this is coming from my parents and other nobles, the change is viewed as a good thing among people under forty. It's the older people who are not thrilled. They are accustomed to our Kings and Queens ruling until they drop dead. No offense, your Highness."

"None taken."

"People generally like Prince T'Chaka. He has a level head, but, some feel that his crowning should come later when he is more mature. How do you feel about it?"

"It seems fast to me. But I will trust my father's judgment."

"It lessens your time being a playboy I bet," she joked.

"Look whose showing teeth now," N'Jobu said.

"You know they weren't going to let you dangle out here for long."

"Lady Zinzi!"

Jax stepped back into the V.I.P. along with the rest of N'Jobu's crew. Zinzi stood and greeted all the guys.

"I'll see you later, Prince N'Jobu."

"I'll call you for lunch."

"Do that," she said, leaving their private space.

Jax and the others watched Zinzi's hips sway as she walked around to rejoin her party.

"Sekmet in heaven. Please tell me you are choosing her, N'Jobu," Odwa said.

"I have tried for years to get that woman to look at me. I think she's stuck up," Jax said, grabbing his crotch in a crude manner.

N'Jobu thought about asking his friends about the rumor, but if it were that serious, one of them would've pulled his coattails by now.

All he knew was that if what she said was true, and the rumor had reached T'Chaka, that may be part of his stress besides becoming King.

The guys were ordering more rounds of shots, and the music was getting hotter.

He'd worry about T'Chaka later.

###

N'Jobu rolled back into the palace way after six in the morning.

He sent his mother a message that he would not be joining the family for brunch, but would be sleeping in before attending the planned evening outing, the opening of a brand-new opera in the West Zana district. The royal family would be having dinner at a chic new restaurant so that the press and paparazzi could get pictures. One of his other top picks for the betrothal march would be joining them for dinner and attending the opera with the family.

Once inside his suite, N'Jobu showered, slathered his body in freshly made cocoa butter, and sat inside his sauna to let the rich body butter soak into his skin. His limbs felt sore and heavy from dancing long and late. He was proud that he wasn't hung over.

The heat softened his skin and he ran his hands up his thighs massaging his muscles. A viewscreen popped up on the glass of the sauna door, and N'Jobu stood up from the wooden bench of the sauna to check it. He forgot he had set a reminder alarm for himself to go jogging in the royal garden.

He reset the alarm for the next day, changed his mind, and set it for later in the afternoon. His wet fingers slid across the screen as he checked for messages. He opened an app for his computer and looked for his private Califia folder. The heat of the sauna woke up his skin. He ran his hand across his pecs, then double tapped the folder. He searched for a particular clip that he filmed with his kimoyo beads. He saw the thumbnail for the clip he wanted and tapped it.

Califia.

As big as life, projected into the sauna in full 3D.

She's on her knees facing him, naked on his bedroom floor. She has her hands on her breasts. He hears himself tell her to play with her tits, and she does, her eyes watching him. He feels bad for a second because it's the only clip he has of her face, and he wasn't trying to film it, he just got caught in the moment and he wasn't using his cell to tape, so the kimoyo beads captured everything.

N'Jobu stepped back from the projected image and just watched, his hands at his sides, the steam in the sauna causing Califia's image to look real. He watched her hands slide up her waist, circle around her stomach and then reach her chest. Her fingers toyed with her nipples first, and N'Jobu fought the urge to touch himself. He simply wanted to observe her.

She pushed her breasts together once her nipples hardened, and he felt his dick stir, blood rushed to help thicken it.

"Turn around, face down. Show me that ass," he said in the video.

Califia pivoted and crossed her arms on the carpet and laid her head on her hands, right on top of a pillow that was on the floor. Her ass sat up in front of him.

"Arch that back," his video voice commanded, and she used those dancer skills that trained her body to bend with complete control to pop that ass up higher. Her thighs parted and her ass cheeks separated enough so that her pussy was visible to him.

In the sauna, N'Jobu was weakened, his cock jutted out more as his eyelids drooped from the blessing that sat before him.

"Hhhhmm….baby," he slipped between his gritted teeth. The bulb of his cock was fully fleshed out. He reached his hand up above his head towards a shelf that housed a small black box. He reached inside the box just when Califia's right hand reached between her legs and rubbed tight counterclockwise circles on her clit.

"Oooooohmmm…" N'Jobu groaned as his dick bobbed. It felt so heavy.

"Let me see those hands," N'Jobu commanded on video, and Califia pressed her face on the pillow. Both her hands reached back and pulled open her cheeks. Her fingernails were painted a satiny dark maroon, and they looked so pretty against her skin.

N'Jobu moaned again when he saw her opening give a small spasm and he saw her tasty pink pussy gap open wider. This woman is fucking art, he thought. There should be paintings of this fat juicy vulva throbbing open on museum walls. This is why men waged wars for centuries. Just to have the power to control this pulsing, throbbing, dripping wet and divine thing. Looking at Califia, even in a digitized state, he knew what a living Goddess looked like.

"Babb..byy…" he stuttered, slipping his fingers out of the black box and pulling out the item he needed. A red cock ring.

He slipped the red band over his dick and rolled it all the way around his balls. His sack was very sensitive when he touched it, and when he released his balls, they felt massive hanging from him even with the new constriction placed on them.

"Jobu…Jobu…" Califia was panting out his name.

"Keep your hands where I can see them. Don't you let go," he said out loud to himself in the sauna as he stroked his erection, the shaft slick from the cocoa butter and steam, his stomach muscles taut, and his pecs flexing from the strain.

"Please….please…Jobu…fuck me…" she begged, spreading her cheeks wider.

"Shit…"

N'Jobu reached back into the box and pulled out a silver glans ring and twisted it around the girth of his frenulum. When he released it, he felt his glans swell more. He stopped touching his erection and just watched Califia begging for his dick. It was torture, an excruciating test of self-control. The more she begged for his cock, the more his dick jumped. He used his own muscles to make his dick move, the sweet pain of the cock rings constricting him building up his intense pleasure.

He watched himself slap Califia's sensitive clit with his hand, sharp strikes that made her yelp as he watched her own body's natural lubricant ooze out of her glistening center.

"Dammit," he muttered, watching her squirm and not touching himself.

He watched himself move into the scene and grab her waist, slowly sinking his cock into her pussy. N'Jobu found himself being even more turned on watching his own dick placate his woman who had been begging and pleading for that moment of entry. Now he was listening to her cry out in pleasure as he forced her to keep that back arched by pressing one hand down on her lower back.

"Jobu…huhhnn…s'deep…hmmmmnn…you in so deep…s'deep…fuck…DADDY…you in there…you in there…"

She was wailing and squirming harder, but he kept his dick deep inside her with a repetitive short slow thrust. The movement made his balls just smash softly against her clit.

N'Jobu began to stroke his erection, because now what he was waiting for was coming up soon. He watched himself jump from doggy to froggy style as he kept that agonizing deep thrust. Califia was lying back on her hands again, trying her best not to collapse from overstimulation and no release. His balls would press into her clit and she would wiggle to try and get the friction to offset her orgasm, but the swivel in N'Jobu's hips prevented that. He was torturing her on purpose.

And he was torturing his real self too as he watched. He gripped his cock tight. A thick stream of pre-cum spilled out in a long clear drizzle down to the sauna floor. His climax was in sight. He watched himself plunge down deeper into Califia and hold still.

"Cum on this dick!" his video self barked at her.

Califia's ass jiggled and then he watched her entire vulva spasm and pulse around his cock.

N'Jobu's eyes shut tight as he shot hot ropes of cum onto the glass door of the sauna. His voice bellowed and grunted freely in the soundproof space as he coated the door with so much cum, it looked like someone had thrown a glass of milk on it.

When his eyes opened, he caught the last part of the video where he pulled out of Califia with his jizz spilling behind him from the release.

He leaned against the glass and gulped in as much air as he could, but he had to exit the sauna because it wasn't enough to revive his breath with the heated air going into his desperate lungs.

He pulled off the cock rings and dropped them on the sink in the bathroom. He stared at himself in the mirror and saw his blown pupils gazing back at him.

"Shit!" he yelled out, trying to gain his composure as he gripped the edges of the marble sink.

He staggered into his room and flopped onto his bed, still winded.

He fell asleep in a matter of minutes.

Chapter 21 HERE

Read “Black Boys Bloom Thorns First” from the beginning here.

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