Chapter Text
Arthur believes in two types of interest: base instinct and acquired tastes.
His appreciation for good scotch and expensive vinyls is an acquired taste. His preference for soft women with a sweet smile and long dark hair is a base instinct.
He’d had arrangements with a few of the prettier hookers on Bourbon Street, back when he was based out of New Orleans. They were usually too slim for his liking, but then that was by-and-large what the Crescent City clientele wanted.
He understood a thing or two about supply and demand, and he knew that in order to get something more… specific, he’d have to venture to one of the clubs on the east end that catered to his particular bent, and that felt entirely too overexposed. It was one thing to pick a trick up in a bar, take her back to her place for a good fifteen minutes of fucking, and leave the cash on the dresser on his way out. Quick, neat, discreet.
Sourcing a club for the type of girl that really got him cooking, meeting the madam, filling out the paperwork, putting down a credit card - that was a different matter altogether. For that amount of money and effort, he’d like to take his time, and that much time in a cathouse - in any house that wasn’t his, really - made him nervous.
Sometimes he’d meet a girl while he was out on a job. He’d tell her a line or two, give her a fake name and a fake occupation, buy her a nice meal and the rest. He scored more often than he didn’t, but it was different with girls he didn’t pay. It was… complicated.
Make it clean, that had been Harry’s motto. It had worked for him so far.
Which is why base instinct is the only explanation he can figure for the spectacle he’s been making of himself the past five minutes, trying to catch the eye of the woman standing two-people ahead of him in line for the teller.
He’s a half-step to the right of everyone, surreptitiously clearing his throat as he straightens his trench lapels and shakes his coat sleeve off of his Movado. She must be reading something, or playing on her mobile, because she doesn’t notice.
Bollocks.
He watches her ass jiggle as she steps up to the counter, picturing it rippling as he fucks her from behind.
Finally, she steps out of line with a stack of forms as thick as the width of his thumb. He watches her juggle them and her travel mug to a self-service counter at the other end of the lobby.
The corners of his mouth twitch up in a smirk as he steps out the queue. He pulls a few deposit slips out of the wall folder next to the teller window and casually makes his way to the counter, taking a spot a few feet from her. He pretends to puzzle over the slips while he gets a closer look.
Gorgeous. Big green eyes, a full, soft mouth, and long dark curls. She folds her arms on the countertop, tits pressing together over the conservative neckline of her cardigan, and shifts her weight from foot-to-foot as she studies her forms.
He watches her ass swish back-and-forth, back-and-forth, out of the corner of his eye, as he quietly clears his throat.
She gives him a polite glance and a small closed-mouth smile. Her dimples peek out at him under the apples of her cheeks, and all he can think is, Done. Fuckin’ done.
He clears his throat again, louder, offering her a half-smile of his own when she turns.
She takes a longer look this time; his chest swells with masculine pride as her eyes widen a little and she blushes. She ducks her head, digging through her purse for something, and he’s about to tell her a line when she says a soft, “Ah-ha!” and holds out her hand.
“Got a tickle?”
Yes, please, is the answer that comes to mind. Instead he asks, “Beg your pardon?”
Ah yes, the accent.
He doesn’t miss the way her lashes flutter slightly as she repeats, “Tickle? In your throat?” She wiggles her fingers near her pearl necklace and gives him a wider, brighter smile.
It’s dazzling, dimples on overdrive, and he feels his heartbeat kick up a notch as he arches an eyebrow at her.
She jiggles something in her other hand, the one she’s holding out to him.
A cough drop.
“Ahh.” He accepts it with a slow smile, eyes crinkling in the corners. “Thank you.”
Her blush deepens. “Always come prepared - that’s my motto!”
“Funny.” He props his hip against the counter, settling in. “S’mine too.”
“Oh really?” Her head bobs. “Wow, that’s- that’s super cool!”
“Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?” he asks, savoring the deer-in-headlights look on her pretty face.
“Wonder… what?”
He leans in just a fraction to catch her eyes with his as he rumbles, “What else we ‘ave in common.”
He hears her breath catch, and he’s already picturing her bare-breasted and sighing beneath him when her eyes narrow and she asks, “Are you hitting on me?”
The tilt of her head is more playful than suspicious, but the question throws him off his game never-the-less. He weighs the odds and decides to play it straight. “Yes.”
“Mmm-hmm,” she nods, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Thought so.”
He likes her.
“Have dinner with me tonight.” It’s a bold move, and perhaps a miscalculated one, because she hesitates.
Shit.
“Dinner? With you? Tonight?”
He nods, watching her face.
“Well, that’s… to the point. You don’t beat around the bush, do you Mister..?”
“Arthur,” he says quietly, trying to seem harmless as he offers her his hand.
She gives him a tentative smile as she takes it; her handshake is surprisingly firm for such a soft little thing. “Susan. It’s nice to meet you, Arthur.”
“Pleasure’s all mine.”
He slips his hands into his pockets and waits patiently while she winds her necklace around her finger, thinking it over. “Ok,” she nods.
There’s a punch of adrenaline in his gut, like when his shot hits the mark clean-through. His lips twitch to hide a smirk.
She reaches across the counter for one of his deposit slips. “You aren’t really going to use these, are you?”
He snorts. “You’re on to me, Susan.”
“Oh yes. Definitely.” She writes her name and number across the back in a tidy scrawl. Then she picks up her stack of paperwork, taps it twice against the counter to straighten it, and tucks it under her arm. “So, see you later, alligator?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Yep, base instinct, he thinks as she gives him another sunny smile before she turns and sashays out of the bank.