WIP Wednesday
This may be the best part of sugar baby AU if I'm honest. Continuing from the "interview" snippet I posted forever ago.
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Katsuya shrugged with a lazy roll of his shoulders. "You paid for the hour, Kaiba-san. How we spend it is up to you. 'Sides, I get the sense you don't care for the desperate and clingy ones. If you've already made up your mind about me, I doubt there's anything I can say to change your mind."
Seto's gaze dipped to Katsuya's chest again, focusing on the neatly knotted crimson-pattern tie that popped against the white of his form-fitting shirt. The color appeared to be his sole concession to his profession, because it was too garish for conventional office settings.
"Do you own a suit?" he asked.
"A few. They kinda run the gamut in style. I do try my best to dress to both the occasion and my client's tastes. My closet might be even bigger than yours. Occupational hazard." He laughed again. His body language was relaxed and open, signaling he had nothing to hide. Except for the fact that everything he did was purposefully calculated.
The tension bled from Seto's shoulder. Client; the verbiage reframed their conversation on more familiar grounds. Katsuya was offering a service, and Seto was considering purchasing. Neither harbored delusions as to why they were here. This meeting was due diligence.
"What about a tuxedo?" Seto locked eyes with the man once more.
"Hmm. Don't got one of those. But I can rent one if there's the need."
Seto clucked his tongue in disapproval. "No, it'll need to be bespoke. Otherwise, it'll look shoddy."
For the first time, Katsuya's forehead creased, but he papered over it with an overly bright grin. "Does that mean I got the job? If you have something specific in mind, you can lay it all on the table. I'm flexible in many ways."
The innuendo and double entendre should annoy Seto. But that was a host's job, right? To flatter and flirt? He should consider himself lucky that Katsuya didn't do so in a manner that grated on Seto's nerves.
Far from it.
He wouldn't go as far as to say he was charmed by the host. But Katsuya was unexpectedly sharp, both in his wits and looks. Seto could certainly find far worse company for an evening social. "Next month, I'll be attending a charity gala. At present, I lack a plus one for the evening."
Katsuya's expression turned coy. "I would love to help you with that, Kaiba-san. I'm a rage at parties, especially corporate gigs." He winked.
"This isn't any 'corporate gig.' It's a black-tie gala with a formal wear dress code," reminded Seto.
Katsuya jutted his chin stubbornly. "I can handle it. I talk to people from all walks of life, y'know."
"Including the prime minister?" asked Seto, arching an eyebrow in question.
Katsuya's mouth opened, then snapped shut again. It was gratifying to see him caught off-guard, even if for only a short while. "Okay, you got me there. Never rubbed elbows with the PM before," he acquiesced, then straightened his posture again. "You said I need a tux, right? I'll go check out some places as soon as you confirm the time and date. The reservation system is first-come, first-serve. Can't guarantee my availability otherwise." Then with the hint of a predatory smirk, he added, "Or I can block off the whole night for you."
There it was: the hard-sell paired with time pressure. Basic sales tactics, but Seto didn't begrudge him that. A bead of sweat trickled down the back of Seto's neck and into his collar.
"Why would I need the whole night?" he asked flatly.
For some reason, Katsuya's grin widened a fraction. His expression hung on the edge of leering, complete with hints of bedroom eyes. "I am full-service. If you catch my drift."
Something warm nudged his pinky. Seto jolted, wide eyes flying to the tabletop where Katsuya's fingertip brushed against his knuckle. The first fleeting instance of direct skin-on-skin contact. It was electric. He fully expected the other man to remove his hand, but the seconds dragged on and Katsuya's finger remained flush on Seto.
"Full-service," repeated Seto. His voice sounded distant, hundreds of kilometers away. "Good to know."
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Sylvia Legris is a plenty successful poet as is but I do feel that she should have more Tumblr cachet. Like. Locked Tomb girlies look at these bone verses
Details of Articulated Skeletons, c. 1510
Memento marrow. The treacherous thread of the unnamed. The flourish-stripped reunion of broken parts.
The polymathematician (the osteo-horoscopist) plumbs the anonymous bones, the forlorn unspoken-for. Lead white, bianco di piombo, the poisonous orbit. An algebraic
of discrete desecration. Cancellous bone, cortical bone, an innominately rising hip bone. The acrimonious split of the acromion from the scapular spine. Explode the view . . .
Exploit the post-medieval zodiac. A moon-distending thorax; the gibbosity of the humeral head. The anteriorly tilting ascent of the pelvic girdle. False false ribs and the acute
angle of descent of rib one and rib two. Memento mori. Woe betide the Renaissance bonesetter. Bone-beset.
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