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[manincharge]

[do dee doooo open post]

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i heard u like... dads.

[barold]

[He hadn't thought this kind of place was where he'd end up, but. Here he is.

Takes a lot out of you, losing a loved one. Takes a lot out of you to walk around, day after day, with that stupid ring on your finger like it still means something, even years after she left. A parting can be as amicable as you'd like, it will still never take away that sting, that rush of near visceral pain at just the thought of the years you used to share, the years she's now getting to spend with someone else. The years you're spending alone.

So he's lonely, alright? Barry is lonely and damnit, all he wants is some company, just. just for tonight. That's how he ends up in a place like this, after swallowing his pride and doing some research and leaving his ring at home. That's how he's ended up at the front desk of the Hotel, considering the beautiful lobby, the adjoining bar, wondering how to make himself look less out of place.]

i owe u my life

[manincharge]

[Corrigan mostly doesn't pay attention to the customers at the front desk -- not unless they're his own personal guests. But it's a slow time of night, just after dinner but before the bar really gets crowded, and Solstice is mysteriously absent, off reapplying her eyeliner or something, and Corrigan's a good host. He doesn't want to leave someone so clearly nervous and unsure fidgeting in the lobby like that.

...or maybe he was just drawn in by the fact that the fidgety man is wearing an entirely denim outfit.

Either way, he diverts his route from elevator to door to include the front desk, leaning against it and giving the other man a very long, slow up-and-down look.]

...can I help you?

[barold]

[Okay, so maybe going All Denim wasn't the most subtle choice. Maybe if he'd wanted to stay fairly incognito, he wouldn't have paired the bluejeans with the denim jacket. But in his defense, fall is creeping up on them, the weather is getting colder, okay, denim is just a sensible choice!

The man looks him over from head to toe, eyes slowly raking over him, and Barry is ready to melt out of his skin with shame. What is he doing? Why did he think going to a brothel was a good idea? The handsome man in the crisp, tailored suit must he able to take one look at him, with his salt-and-pepper hair, his receding hairline, his prominent belly framed on either side by an open jean jacket, and just know what a loser he is.]

I, uh... [Barry clears his throat, trying to fight down the bright red flush creeping over his skin. He's here now, right? Might as well go for it. This gorgeous man won't ever see him again anyway.] I was wonderin' if it was possible for me t'use some of your... services. For the night.

[manincharge]

[Cute.

The thought flickers through Corrigan's mind, quick and intense and enough to make both his eyebrows quirk upwards. After however many years in this profession, and however many partners in and out of his bed (or on and off his couch, or in and out of his luxury bathtub...), he's narrowed down his type to a pretty all-encompassing "enthusiastically consenting and eager". Corrigan knows better than anyone that attraction isn't really something you can predict. Sometimes his interest is stirred by a seven-foot-tall supermodel, sometimes by a sixty-something widower with a passion for woodcarving.

Or by a walking advertisement for denim with a simultaneously rough and timid drawl and a furiously blushing face.

Well. Why not?

Corrigan shifts a little, leaning forward just enough to cross the line between "congenial host" and "predatory bird".] Mine, personally? Or did you have something else in mind?

[barold]

I, wh-- um--

[And this is why you're single, Barry J. Bluejeans. You're incapable of talking to people. Of course, this man works at a brothel, it's his job to be flirty and personable, to make the client feel good, but Barry just isn't used to this kind of attention.]

That's, y'know... Tell ya th'truth, bud, I-I wasn't really sure what I had in mind.

[The man is really tall, Barry realizes then. Tall and tan and beautifully built, his voice gentle but firm, his expression equal parts playful and powerful. As he looks him over, he's so completely different from what he'd imagined someone working at a brothel would be. So beautiful it's almost unreal, like the people on magazine covers. Something about the way he leans in, the way he speaks makes Barry weak in the knees, makes him want to surrender and give this man everything he has to offer. Which isn't much more than money and maybe forty-five minutes if he paces himself.]

I... sure wouldn't mind, though. If you're offerin'.

[manincharge]

[Something in Corrigan's expression turns bewildered for a fraction of a second at the "bud". He's been called so many things, both favorable and insulting, but that...that is a new one. For that brief moment his suave persona flickers and he looks like a very tall, very handsome confused puppy.

But then it passes, and he's business again, rolling his shoulders back, then stepping forward, even more into the other man's space.] Let's say I'm offering, then.

[For a price, of course. Corrigan assumes that goes without saying. It's a service he's providing, after all. Still, something about this man, his hesitance, his lost expression, the way he keeps twisting his fingers together, feeling for something that isn't there -- Corrigan's seen enough men who are or were married that he recognizes the gesture. But it's not a guilty one, not a "my wife thinks I'm at a business conference" movement. Divorced or widowed, then.

Corrigan's expression softens, and he moves, hooking one index finger through a belt loop and tugging gently.] I'm offering. [He repeats it, softer.]

[barold]

["Bud", "buddy", "bucko", brace yourself cause Barry's got a whole bunch more. Being unfamiliar with this man, he doesn't quite know how to parse the expression that flickers over his sculpted face, but something about it made his stomach do a little flip.

That was... cute.]

Yeah? [His heart beats a little faster as the man approaches, a finger finding a belt loop, his body moving forward nervously at the little tug. He can feel himself getting hotter, cheeks flushing. Barry swallows. His mouth feels dry, for some reason. Never did he anticipate someone so gorgeous volunteering to spend the night with him.]

Well... I-I want that, then. [A nervous exhale.] Sorry, I'm-- I've never done this.

[manincharge]

Which part? [Corrigan's other hand reaches for the other man's belt, this time crooking his fingers under the leather itself and tugging it free of the loops, playing with the buckle. Yes, they're still standing in the lobby, where anyone could see. No, Corrigan doesn't seem to care.]

Never paid for sex, never been with a man or...never been with anyone? [He looks a little concerned at the last one -- there are employees who work almost exclusively with virgins, but Corrigan doesn't tend to be one of them. Something about it feels -- wrong.]

[barold]

[Barry gasps, a shaky inhale caught in his throat as he feels his belt coming loose. Wide, dark eyes flick between the other man's face - looking unaware or maybe just completely not bothered by how public this is - and his hands, strong and broad and gorgeous, teasing at undressing him in the middle of the lobby. Are the people at the bar watching this? His cheeks darken as he realizes they are.

Even still, Barry doesn't make a single move to stop him. Partly because he's unsure about the rules (is he allowed to touch him? does he need to pay first? sign something?), but mostly because it... kind of feels good. Adventurous. Risque. His pants are getting tighter.]

Never paid. 'm good on th'rest, bud.

[manincharge]

[The reaction of the other man -- the potential customer, the awkward denim-clad fella, Corrigan really needs to get his name -- is about as subtle as a car wreck. But it's also charming. So many people come into the Hotel with excessive bravado and bluster, and it can get exhausting wading through it. It's refreshing to have someone so honestly flustered from the get-go.

So Corrigan stays bold, flicks the buckle of the belt open, letting each end hang loose in favor of slipping one hand into a back pocket. The jeans fit well, not too baggy, but not so tight that he can't easily fit his big hand into the pocket and squeeze.]

Just like paying for anything else. Have your fill, then write a check. Like going out to dinner. [He pauses, tilts his head, eyes dark and dangerous and predatory, tongue pressing against his lower lip.] Just depends whether you wanna be the one ordering or the one on the menu.

[Cheesy, but hopefully it conveys what Corrigan's asking -- is this a boss-around or be-bossed type of situation? He's fine with both, but definitely better at the latter.]

[barold]

[The man's hand slips into the back pocket of his jeans, the fabric worn and soft with age - a bit like Barry, in that regard. Tongue between his teeth to keep any embarrassing noises from escaping him, Barry lets the stranger grope him, a strong hand squeezing as much of his ass as he could hope to fit in his grip.

It feels good. Naturally, someone touching his body after this long feels good, of course it would, but he's had his ass grabbed many times over the years, and he can't remember such a simple touch being this dizzying, this alarmingly pleasurable before. The people watching from the bar, murmuring among themselves, the man's imposing figure, his voice firm and his touch bold, the hunger in his gaze, the insinuation that Barry may be on the menu tonight...

Now he knows why his touch feels so good. He can feel it creeping up his neck, weighing at the back of his tongue. An old, familiar feeling. Like Corrigan, Barry is fine with both, but definitely better at the latter.]

I, uh... I'm no good at orderin', tell ya th'truth.

[manincharge]

Mmm-hm.

[It's a thoughtful, calculating sound, accompanied by those big fingers groping lazily, like Corrigan has all the time in the world, like nobody's watching. Then he slides his hand free, shifts backwards, leaving the other man's space all at once. Leaving it up to him if he wants to follow.]

I thought so. What's your name?

[barold]

[The man pulls away, his movements smooth and measured, leaving Barry standing before him, blushing, gasping. His belt is undone, his pants starting to strain in the front, his hands shaking at his sides. He hasn't even been here five minutes and he's already complete putty to his touch. This particular aspect of his desires wasn't one he'd expected would come to play tonight - he'd chosen the Hotel for its discretion, its quality, its dedication to a safe environment for its workers. That's it.

His research hadn't revealed this. That the workers were proficient in the kind of games Barry hadn't indulged in since before his marriage. If the look he pins the other man with is any indication, it doesn't seem like he minds, though. If anything, already slipping into his role for the night, he looks relieved.]

Barry. [He hesitates.] M-May I ask yours?

[manincharge]

You could.

[Corrigan pauses, then slips his hands into his own pockets, turning and walking towards the elevator, all casual demeanor, like he didn't completely feel Barry up and partially undress him seconds later. In fact, it'd be easy to think he was no longer interested, bored even.

Except he pauses by the elevator, looking over his shoulder, then motioning Barry closer with a quick jerk of his head. Clearly he's slipping very easily into his role as well.]

[barold]

[He could. But maybe he shouldn’t.

The man beckons him - no, demands him to follow - towards the elevator, and after a quick glance at the enraptured audience at the bar, Barry scurries after him, trying to ignore how loudly his belt buckle clinks as he walks. He can’t tell if he’s more humiliated or turned on as he takes his place by the much taller man, eyes respectfully lowered.

It’s both. Humiliation, arousal, they’re one and the same right now.]

… What would you like me t’call you? [Safer than asking his name. In this scenario, they’re definitely not on a first-name basis.]

[manincharge]

[There's a softly approving sound as Barry stands beside him, and Corrigan reaches out to press the button for the elevator, letting his free hand reach to trail over the back of the other man's neck, gentle, thumbing over the notch of his spine.]

"Sir" is nice. Respectful. Don't you think, Barry? [He presses harder, where neck and shoulder meet, coaxing the tense muscle there to relax, to surrender. His hand is big, can reach around the back of Barry's neck without even stretching.]

[barold]

[Here Barry was, thinking he was just missing sex. Intimacy, companionship, release, here he’d thought thinking that just spending the night with another would help fill the aching lonely void in his chest, if only for a little while.

But the man’s big hand settles on his neck, gentle but firm, approving, and as he squeezes and rubs at his tense muscles, Barry realizes he’s been wrong. This is what he’s been missing. Approval. Direction. Someone to challenge him, to push him to his limits, to punish him when he fails and reward him when he succeeds.

He lets out a soft sigh, cheeks red, fingers nervous, but his body softening to Corrigan’s touch as the elevator gets closer.] Y-Yes, Sir. I do.

[manincharge]

Thought so. [It's a one-time thing (regrettably), and Corrigan is conscious of it in the back of his mind, knowing that he can't take as much time as he'd like with this man, breaking down and building back up, punishing and rewarding and guiding the way he knows he could. Given enough time, he could make this blissful, he knows he could.

But it's no use being greedy. He has Barry for tonight, and he intends to make the most of it. So, when the elevator arrives, Corrigan steps inside, then reaches to grab two handfuls of jean jacket, pulls the other man forward, ducks down to kiss him, deep and filthy and hungry. Corrigan's the one pinned against the wall, Barry could easily step away, free himself. Perhaps this is a test to see that he doesn't.]

[barold]

[Barry hasn't kissed anyone since his wife left.

It's not a thought that hits him as this big, monumental thing, like kissing someone is a betrayal of the memory of a relationship, like kissing someone new should be special, marked with feelings and tender words of promise. When Barry's hands scramble to find Corrigan's shoulders, it's not to push away.

He just holds on, clinging to the man, keeping him pinned to the wall of the now slowly moving elevator. Hoping he hasn't gone rusty since last time, Barry kisses him back, meeting Corrigan's ferocity with hungry moans, lips eagerly parting for him, his body surrendering without hesitation.]

[manincharge]

[It's a good long ride to the top floor, penthouse suite, and Corrigan takes his time feeling out the shape of Barry's body pressed to his, the softness of his waist, the line of his back under all those layers, the thickness of his thighs. He's impatient to get the fabric off, away, so he can feel bare skin, can touch and taste.

But for now he can flick his tongue into Barry's mouth, tasting that hunger, swallowing up those moans, pulling back enough to bite at his lower lip, then soothe the sting with more kisses. Corrigan reaches up to guide Barry's hands as well, moving them from his shoulders.]

You can touch me. Anywhere. Until the elevator stops. [It's a limited-time offer, a tease of what's to come.]

[barold]

[Corrigan's hands on him feel so good. His breath on his face, his teeth on his lip, his tongue pushing against his own in slick, heated, impatient motions make the older man quiver, knees weak even as he holds Corrigan against the wall. Where he'd thought he'd be self-conscious about his body - especially in comparison to this man - Barry just feels good, pressing into his touch, arching into his strong hands, for once disregarding the state he's in.]

Th-Thank you, Sir.

[It's all he manages to say in a quick, sharp exhale before he leans back in to kiss him, hands finding Corrigan's hips. His own hands are big, strong, calloused with work and age. Curiosity and affirmation win out over his nerves, and Barry finds himself exploring the firm span of Corrigan's muscled stomach, his waist, even daring to brush and gently press against the front of his suit pants.]

[manincharge]

[Corrigan hums softly, a low, rumbling sound, gently approving, leaning back against the wall of the elevator and ducking to return the kiss. He's almost playful at it, one hand going up to stroke through the salt-and-pepper hair, tugging gently, arching up into the broad hands exploring his body. He's solid muscle, almost everywhere, and it's easily tangible through his pants that he's just as into all of this as Barry is.

They could almost be mistaken for a smitten couple, lost in touching and kissing and enjoying one another. Except then the elevator comes to a halt, and Corrigan pauses, waiting to see if Barry will follow orders, will stop touching.]

[barold]

[It only takes a couple of seconds, maybe two, maybe three, for Barry to realize the elevator has stopped moving and pull away. He's panting, flushed, lips bruised, glasses crooked, his body trembling with want and anticipation.

And with nerves. It's been a while since he's done this. He's not familiar with this Dom, how he does things, where he draws the line between passing and failing. Barry just got eager. Bold. Forgot himself. It just felt nice, touching Corrigan, feeling his body.

It's probably fine. It was just two seconds, maybe three. Barry's just overthinking things again. It's fine.]

[manincharge]

[Corrigan pauses for just a moment after the doors open, resting a broad palm over one so they don't close, giving Barry a sideways glance. His tone softens, genuine for the first time:] Safeword?

[The implication is clear -- Corrigan needs to know the limit, so he can push Barry right up to it, whether by pleasure or pain or a combination. Suffice it to say, Barry was not overthinking.]

[barold]

[Definitely not overthinking, then. Oh boy. They're getting right into it, huh. Barry adjusts his glasses and offers his go-to safeword before he even has a chance to reconsider.]

Lich.

[Which is the lamest, nerdiest, most "I've played Dungeons and Dragons since the seventies" answer he could've possibly given. It's also the truth. Barry turns absolutely scarlet, but sticks with it.]

L-Lich, Sir. Thank you.