“Sorry, honey, you’ve got another cancellation.”

“What, seriously?” Cloud frowned up at Aerith, the hostess coordinator, in the dressing room mirror. “Did he say why?”

“Nope,” she shrugged. “I told him we’d charge him for half the cost of the appointment, but he said it was fine. He seemed to really want to get off the phone. Maybe he heard his wife coming.”

Cloud tossed his shimmery lip gloss on the vanity and sat back in his chair, crossing his arms tetchily. “Well, what the hell am I supposed to do, now? If Andrea finds out I don’t have a client, he’ll make me work the floor. With Joy and Yuffie. Like some nobody newbie.”

“That’s two cancellations this week,” Aerith tutted. “And it’s only Wednesday. Maybe that golden bussy of yours is cursed.”

“It is not! You take that back!” 

“I’m just saying. Lucky that sexy high-roller happened to show up, last time, or you’d be getting bumped to on-call.”

“Ugh, don’t jinx me,” Cloud shuddered. “I will die before I put that bee costume on, again.”

“Oh, please. It was a joke. As if the bossman would ever let his little princelet back in with the rank and file.” She leaned in and lowered her voice, despite the fact that there was no one else present in the room. “Hey speaking of that rich guy. How was the equipment? Good?”

“Tch. I wish I could tell you, but I didn’t see it. He just wanted me to rub his neck and talk to him.”

Aerith made a face. “Talk to him? Ew.” 

“I know! It was fucking creepy. He didn’t even want a blow—”

Just then, Tifa, the floor manager, popped her head in the dressing-room door. “Cloud, you’ve got a by-name request. I would’ve just told him to get lost, but I heard you had a cancellation, again.”

“What—why does everyone know about it already?” he pouted.

“Aerith told me.”

“Boo, traitor!”

“She’s my girlfriend! She’s got privileged status!” Aerith defended.

“He wants a double session, too,” Tifa said to Cloud. “You have time?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Perfect. I put him upstairs, in room five.”

“Thanks, Tifa!” He hopped up and checked his makeup, then adjusted his corset-top, grinning at Aerith. “Looks like my bussy’s not cursed, after all.”

“We’ll see,” she called after him, as he sauntered away.

Cloud’s smugness lasted until he stepped off the lift into the VIP hallway, and saw that excessively handsome, extremely intimidating bodyguard from two nights ago, standing outside the door of room five. No fucking way. Was it seriously neck-rub guy again?

“Evening,” Cloud said, nodding to the black-suited man.

The bodyguard looked down at him like he was a mealworm and opened the door, without a word. Due to Cloud’s consummate professionalism, he didn’t roll his eyes, and instead pasted on his ‘greeting guests’ smile, as he entered the room. 

The infamous neck-rub guy was seated on the leather sofa, one long leg crossed over the other, holding a tumbler of bourbon or whiskey in his gloved hand (fingerless leather gloves, what a douche).

He really was logic-defyingly gorgeous, though, for someone who looked like a genetic prick, and dressed himself in a bizarre amalgamation of white-goth industrial, business formal, and hakama pants (what in the goddess' name were all those straps for?).

Unlike Cloud’s honey-gold, his blonde hair was a pearly color that looked more like frost than sunshine. It suited his aesthetic, though. All of him was cold. Cold and colorless. Like a pretty corpse. His eyes were even a pale, icy blue, that was closer to light grey than to Cloud’s dazzling sky blue. 

“Hey, daddy,” Cloud said flirtatiously, sliding onto the sofa next to him. “I missed you. I’m so glad you came to see me, again.”

“Are you,” the man said. It wasn’t phrased like a question, and there was a dry, acerbic note in his voice, despite the placid half-smile on his lips. 

Well, well, well, someone was grouchy. Time to change tactics. “Look, can I be honest with you? Like, as a person, not a host and client?”

The man swallowed his sip of whiskey. “Ha. Sure, I’ll bite.”

“Alright, don’t take this the wrong way, but most of my clients are flabby, wrinkly old men. This is my job, but I still have eyes, you know? It’s a relief to spend some of my time looking at someone who’s worth looking at. So, yeah, I’m glad you came to see me again. That’s not host banter, that’s me being honest.”

Naturally, all of this was host banter and only about half of it had been honest, but Cloud’s ability to seem sincere was a skill honed to perfection, over a lifetime of using his pretty face to scrape out a living for himself. Unfortunately, it seemed as if neck-rub guy was unusually astute at detecting flattery, and his expression became even colder. 

“I see,” he said, not looking at Cloud, as he drained the rest of the glass, and leaned forward to set it down on the table.

As he did, though, he winced, drawing his pale-blonde brows together, to form a slight crease between them.

“Your neck still bothering you?” Cloud asked, immediately. “Can I rub it for you, again?”

“Mn,” the man grunted.

Moving slowly and smoothly, like a trainer approaching an as-yet untamed tiger, Cloud knelt on the sofa and eased the white suit jacket off his client's stiff shoulders. Then he stepped away, to hang it on the coat hook, by the door.

Cloud's stage persona was a sort of Victorian circus performer-slash-cabaret boy, and his wildly popular act (every Saturday night, at 11 pm) was a combination broadway dance number, strip-tease, and extremely acrobatic aerial hoop routine. 

His costume reflected this, and thus he was in sheer black thigh-highs, a black leather garter belt that went on over his miniscule black gymnast’s shorts, and a sapphire blue mock-corset (elasticity, sturdiness, and flexible boning were absolute musts for the contortions he performed), with a matching lace arm garter and choker.

He was a real gymnast, and his routine was demanding and dangerous, so his boots were split-sole black jazz boots, rather than the ridiculous heels most of the girls had to wear. Functional though it was, his outfit was extremely sexy, especially on his leanly muscular young body, and he was well aware of it.

While he was hanging the coat on the rack, an idea occurred to him. As if it were the most natural thing in the world, he bent down to unlace his boots, ‘unintentionally’ offering the man a full view of his pert posterior, including the tantalizing expanse of bare thigh, between shorts and stockings. 

“What are you doing?” the man asked.

Cloud turned halfway to look at him, while still bent over. “Hm? Oh, I’m taking my shoes off. Don’t want to dirty up your nice white clothes.”

“Fine. Just get on with it and get over here,” he replied testily. “I don’t have all night.”

“Sure thing, daddy,” Cloud smiled sweetly, while rolling his eyes inwardly. Apparently this guy wouldn’t know the cutest ass in Midgar if it sat directly on his face. Well, it was his loss.

With his boots now off, he padded back over to the sofa and slid in behind his intractable client, with his slender thighs spread just wide enough to press the man snugly between them. 

Just like last time, the guy’s neck felt like a bag of rocks. How stressful must his job be, to rack up this kind of tension? Cloud dug his thumb into a particularly knotty spot, and the man let out a stifled groan.

“Oops, sorry daddy,” Cloud said. “Did I hurt—”

“No,” the man interrupted. “Harder. It…feels good.”

“You sure? Ok, you got it.” 

Cloud worked his freakishly strong fingers into the man’s neck and shoulder muscles, without restraint, thinking he’d tap out and tell him to stop at any moment, but the more viciously he dug in, the more the man melted against him, till he was fully reclined against Cloud’s chest, with his head tilted back and his eyes closed. 

Cloud’s hands slid over his shoulders onto the tops of his pectoral muscles, just below the clavicle. Mm. Nice body under there. Looked like this rich prick actually bothered to take care of himself. Probably had a personal trainer and everything. So, why the hell was he coming to a brothel in the Sector 6 slums for a neck rub?  

Unconsciously, his hands had slipped further down, and he was now fully massaging the man’s pecs, through his grey silk shirt. When his fingertips grazed absently over the raised nub of an erect nipple, the man’s hand snapped up and caught his wrist, giving him a start.

“What the hell are you doing?” 

Disoriented, blonde eyelashes fluttering, and a slurred, sleep-rough voice. Holy shit, this asshole had actually fallen asleep. Cloud had to suppress a laugh.

“Sorry, daddy, I didn’t mean to—”

“Why do you keep calling me daddy?”

“That’s…just what we call male clients.”

“Well, stop it.”

“Alright. What should I call you?”

The man hesitated. “Sarruf.”

Cloud tilted his head to one side. “Seraph? Like an angel?” 

“No, not like an—ah! Fuck!” 

“Look, now you’re getting all tense again,” Cloud scolded, grabbing him by the neck and working his fingers into the knots again, without waiting for permission. “If it’s that easy to set you off, maybe you should try reducing some of your stress, Seraph.”

“It’s…Rufus,” the man grunted, through his clenched teeth. “Just…ngh! Just call me Rufus.”

“Alright, Rufus. This may be none of my business, but—actually it is my business. You’re my client and this is literally my job. Your neck is what’s hurting, but it’s obviously not the core issue, here. I think it’s stress. Which can cause stiffness and muscle pain, and all kinds of other physical symptoms.”

“What makes you think I have stress?” Rufus rejoined. “You know nothing about me.”

“You’re right, I don’t know anything about you. And even I can see that you seriously need to relieve some tension. But good news. You have come to the right place. It just so happens that I am very, very good at relieving tension.”

“What are you suggesting?”

Cloud let go of his shoulders and slipped his hands around his waist, onto the taut plane of his abdomen, sliding them slowly down, till his fingertips just barely poked under the waistband of his pants. “You’ll have to trust me.”

“I absolutely do not trust you,” Rufus said flatly.

Cloud ignored him. “And you’ll have to let me do my job, without interfering or complaining. If you don’t feel a hundred percent better, when I’m done, I’ll have them comp the whole session, tonight.”

Rufus stiffened and leaned forward, as if he meant to get up, but stopped. He was wavering.

“Just say no, if you’re uncomfortable with it. But, out of curiosity, why’d you come to a brothel, if you’re so opposed to what we do, here?”

“I am not opposed to sex work. It’s an honest trade, like any other. It’s only that I have never…engaged the services of a prostitute, before.”

“Well, you have. You came here the other night, too.”

Rufus narrowed his ice-blue eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“I know what you mean, but you’re wrong,” Cloud maintained, which outright contradiction surprised the man so much, he actually blinked. “Do you think people will be less likely to judge you for hiring a whore, if you promise cross-your-heart it wasn’t for sex? Honestly, that’d just make you look pathetic. Like it or not, you’ve already engaged my services. Rubicon crossed. You may as well take full advantage of my time. But, it’s also fine with me if you’d rather keep it outside the clothes. I get paid the same, whether I blow you or not.”

“Must you speak in such crass terms?” Rufus said irritably.

Cloud rolled his eyes for like the thirtieth time this evening. “Sorry, I mean, whether I suck your dick, or not.”

Rufus hmphed indignantly, but he still didn’t show any sign of leaving. After a moment, he uncrossed his arms and looked at Cloud. “What was your offer, again? If I don’t feel one-hundred percent better, when you’re done…”

“I’ll have them comp the whole session, tonight,” Cloud repeated. “Provided you abide by my terms, and let me do my job, without interfering or complaining.”

“Ha. Fancy yourself a negotiator, do you?” Rufus sneered. “Alright, I agree to let you do your job. However, there is one caveat. If you fail to deliver on your end, rather than having your employer comp the session, I will have my man Tseng out there make sure you never perform your little acrobatics routine again.”

The ruthless glint in the man’s eyes set Cloud’s heart thumping. In that moment, he had absolutely no doubt Rufus could and would make good on his threat, without thinking twice. However, Cloud cornered was Cloud at his most competent. Rather than freezing up, his self-preservation instinct engaged, and put him in battle mode.

This whole time, his hands had been lightly kneading Rufus’ lower abdomen, getting him acclimated to being touched. Now, he drew them away and shimmied out from behind him. Before the man knew what was happening, Cloud pushed him against the back of the sofa, and threw a knee over, to straddle his lap. 

Rufus moved to sit back up. “What the hell are you—”

“Shut up,” Cloud murmured in his ear, letting his hot breath fan over it. 

To his surprise, Rufus actually shut up, and let himself be leaned back, again. Then he just sat there, looking like the concept of human interaction was something he'd only read about in books.

Cloud bit his bottom lip, and gave a saucy roll of his hips. Nothing. Fucking hell, was this guy actually a cyborg?

“Go ahead. Touch me,” he prompted.

Rufus scowled. “What does me touching you have to do with making my neck feel better?”

“Let me do my job, without interfering or complaining. That’s the deal.” Cloud took Rufus’ hands and placed them on his taut little ass. “Now, squeeze.”

Rufus sighed, as if it were an unwarranted imposition on him, but did as he was told, carefully kneading the springy roundness, with a look of deep concentration.

Meanwhile Cloud pressed his lithe, warm body against his chest and nipped his earlobe, between his top teeth and bottom lip. Rufus gave a little gasp and reflexively squeezed Cloud’s ass tighter. AH-HA! There he was!

Cloud laughed softly and arched his spine, throwing his head back, to show off the curve of his body and his narrow waist, to best effect. Rufus slid his hands up and down his body, stiffly, at first, then more and more hungrily. He was already breathing harder, and his rigid length was digging into Cloud’s ass, through his trousers.

Cloud leaned in and slowly tugged his earlobe with his teeth, again, then slid down like a snake, to kneel between his legs. Rufus swallowed hard, but made no further objection, as Cloud undid the fly of his white pants.

For a guy this uptight, his underwear were a lot racier than Cloud expected. Scant, black, bikini-style briefs, barely containing his rock-hard dick. Cloud tugged them down and hitched the waistband behind his balls. 

He almost laughed aloud, when Rufus’ cock sprang free. Not because there was anything wrong with it—quite the opposite. Like everything else about Rufus, it was flawless. Like, literally. If someone hired an artist to sculpt the perfect dick, this was what they’d come up with. 

Thick and veiny enough to be formidable, without being frightening, long and straight, with a slight upward curve, and a round, ruddy head, all exactly the right proportions. Cloud had almost laughed because, of course it was. Every inch of this man looked like it had been sculpted by master craftsmen. He doubted there was a single flaw on him. Too bad about his personality, though.

Rufus gasped audibly, as Cloud’s hot, pink tongue began to lap and circle, in slow, tantalizing loops. One hand fondled his balls and the other pumped the shaft teasingly, while warm, wet lips and tongue worked the head, like it was a particularly luscious lollipop. When Rufus was digging his fingers into the leather sofa, and clear fluid was leaking freely from the slit, it was time to bring out the big guns.

Cloud relaxed his throat and took the long, thick thing in one slow swallow, till his nose was buried in Rufus’ pearl-blonde pubic hair. He had trained out most of his gag reflex a long time ago, like a professional sword-swallower, and could fit a frankly astonishing length of cock down his throat. Thus, Rufus, well above average though his weapon was, did not present any difficulty to him.

He swallowed around it, contracting his throat muscles, and heard Rufus give a stifled groan. Raising his long lashes to look the man right in his ice-blue eyes, Cloud slid slowly up and down, deep-throating him with devastating skill, his tongue writhing and his pink lips forming a snug seal around the shaft. 

Rufus gazed back down at him, panting through his parted lips, his eyes hazy and half-lidded, and his pale cheeks slightly flushed. Cloud took the cue and upped the speed and intensity, his golden head bobbing resolutely in Rufus’ lap, only withdrawing for a breath every few swallows, then taking him right down again. 

The salty tang of the man’s arousal suddenly increased, and his shaft got hotter and harder. That was the signal to bring out the big guns. Pulling back to grab Rufus' hands, Cloud placed them firmly on either side of his honey-blonde head. 

“Fuck my mouth. Come inside,” he said, in a breathy, wanton purr, then swallowed his cock again.

Rufus grabbed him by his hair, without hesitation, holding his head down while he fucked into the back of his throat. Cloud’s jaw ached and drool streamed down his chin, but the thrusts quickly became rapid and erratic. With a strangled exclamation, Rufus shoved his cock all the way in and held it, as it convulsed, pumping a salty flood down Cloud’s throat, in long, hot spurts. 

He swallowed it all eagerly, sucking and licking up every drop he could, until Rufus hissed and pushed him away, then collapsed into the sofa and lay there panting, staring dazedly at the ceiling.

Cloud smiled to himself, as he wiped his chin with the back of his hand. Too fucking easy.

When the bodyguard tapped on the door, some time later, and opened it to peer questioningly inside, Rufus was stretched out on the sofa, fast asleep, with his head in Cloud’s lap.

Cloud winked and pressed a finger to his lips in a ‘shh’ gesture, at which the bodyguard gave a curt nod, then made himself scarce, silently closing the door behind him.

For the full remainder of the session, which was almost three hours, Cloud played on his phone and let Rufus sleep. At that point, the bodyguard came back and roused his employer, then straightened up the bleary-eyed young man’s clothing and hair, like a fussing mother, before taking him away.

Rufus obeyed like an automaton, not even bothering to shoot Cloud a nod of farewell, as he departed. Cloud rolled his eyes (yet again, this was becoming quite a theme, this evening) and sat down to put his boots back on.

When he opened the door to leave the room, he almost ran face-first into a wall of black-suited bodyguard, who had returned for some reason.

Cloud was off the clock, now, and had no reason to put up with this man’s tough-guy bullshit, so he just put his hands on his hips and waited.

“My employer thanks you for your discretion, in this matter,” the bodyguard said, with a slight bow, and proffered a thick envelope. 

“Uh…no problem,” Cloud replied, awkwardly accepting it. 

Without another word, the man turned on his heel and walked briskly away.

Cloud looked after him, making a face. Clients tipped him all the time, but none of them had their weirdly intense bodyguards come back and hand him an envelope after they’d already left, before. None of them even had bodyguards. He shook his head, laughing to himself. How completely dramatic and ridiculous.

Then he opened the envelope and nearly dropped it, from shock. He snapped it back shut, and stood frozen, with wide, disbelieving eyes. Holy…fucking shit. This was at least ten-thousand gil. He’d never held this much money in his hands, before, and suddenly felt like the envelope was a bomb that was about to go off.

Glancing around to make sure no one saw, he stuffed it into his corset top, then hurried off to his room (his real room, not the ones clients were allowed in), where he locked the door behind him. 

Under his bed, was a ratty, blue, hand woven rug, which was one of the only things he still had that came from his hometown. Pulling it out of the way, he exposed the small floor safe—a feature of this room he had added, and thus known only to himself. Inside, was the sum total of Cloud’s worldly wealth, along with some letters from mom, and old photos of him and Tifa, as kids. 

Adding the contents of the envelope to his little stash, more than doubled his net worth. Just like that. He sighed wistfully, as he covered the safe back up. Must be nice to be born with that kind of silver spoon. Too bad the wealthy super-elite didn’t tend to stray into Wall Market often. A few regulars like Rufus, and he’d be able to buy mom a nice house in Costa Del Sol, and retire before he was twenty-five.