Work Text:
Lucius is pleasantly surprised when the doorbell goes at exactly 5pm. Normally first time clients were late, because they had to sit in their car for a bit and psyche themselves up. That or they never showed and went off to buy sad flowers for their poor wives on the way home.
On the other hand his more regular clients mostly arrived early or a few minutes late. Fitting him in to their day like a hair appointment and counting on him to just be ready to receive them when they got there.
Exactly on the button of 5pm is something of an oddity.
Fortunately, he makes it a point to be ready at least half an hour early for every appointment. The door to his actual living area, aka the bedroom, en suite and kitchen, is locked. When he moved into the flat he designated the living room as his ‘work room’ a boudoir layered in pink and cream, a perfect playground for the furtive men who come to him to be eased through their first time with a man. Convincing themselves that, with all baby doll robes, fluffy mules and perfume, he doesn’t really count.
He answers the intercom.
“Lucius Spriggs.”
“…Izzy Hands? 5pm?”
He sounds gruff and borderline stressed. Not exactly unheard of. Lucius rolls his eyes and leans on the buzzer. “Come on up.”
He takes a moment to stretch and check his smile in the mirror near the door, pops on some more lip-gloss. The first timers are usually…quick. In his experience. They’d been thinking about it, fantasising for so long that they barely got it in before going off. So he knows he’s probably going to either get rid of him quickly if he gets embarrassed. Or have to be patient and get him ready for a second round if he wants his money’s worth.
The buzzer at his front door goes off and he leans across the doorway – six feet of perfection poured into lace and silk, and opens the door.
Huh. Not what he expected.
Apparently he’s not the only one.
The scruffy little leather-clad man in the hallway gives him a look over, failing to hide a rapid blink of surprise. He’s carrying a black duffle bag and looks more like he’s about to commit a robbery than than get his long awaited freak on. Maybe he’s not a first timer, just a first timer with Lucius. This appointment is looking up.
“…Hi,” Izzy says, after a moment. “Can I…?”
Lucius steps back, mules soundless on the thick cream carpet. “Please do,” he purrs, back on form.
His guest steps inside and Lucius does a quick sniff test. Pleasantly cedarwoody, not one he’ll have to usher into the client shower. Thank GOD. Some customers didn’t seem to realise ‘filthy’ wasn’t in his vocabulary, he likes even his dirtiest deeds done squeaky clean.
He catches Izzy’s nostrils flaring, apparently catching the vanilla and white rose perfume he liberally spritzes his robes with.
“Can I get you a drink? Take your jacket?” Lucius asks, indicating the vintage gold and glass bar cart.
“No, I’m good,” Izzy says, somewhat stiffly.
“Alright then,” Lucius tries to hide his growing irritation at the flat way this guy’s speaking to him. Like he’s an annoyance and not a treat to be savoured. “In that case, shall we get the um…business side of things dealt with – so we can get to the fun part?”
“Sure.” Izzy seems to relax slightly. But he notably doesn’t produce a wallet or an envelope of cash.
“And how are we taking care of that today?” Lucius prods, wondering if this guy is going to turn out to be a time waster, or a problem. In which case he’s going to find out that underneath this silky robe, he is still six-foot, and strong enough to force him out of the flat without breaking a sweat.
“Any way’s fine. Cash, card…I can do those online payments on my phone,” Izzy produces an iPhone in a plain black case and holds it up. “Whichever you prefer.”
“Right…well, cash is fine by me.”
“Good.”
They continue to stare at each other. Lucius is about to speak again when Izzy narrows his eyes.
“Look if you’re going to waste my time, I can easily be out of here and charging you a cancellation fee to your card on file. I’ve got other things I can be doing.”
Lucius blinks at him. “Cancellation…you’re the client here, you little…”
Then it clicks, and he groans. “Fucking…Ricky!”
Izzy now looks if anything, more annoyed. “What is going on?”
“Sorry, I’m…so fucking sorry,” Lucius sighs, feeling himself flush. “Um…so, I recently dumped my boyfriend, for being…shit.”
Izzy’s eyebrows twitch, as if caught between surprise and amusement.
“…and I’m guessing you are here as a way to get back at me, because he’s been doing this thing where he makes fake bookings with me, or sends parcels with no postage so I have to go all the way down to the fucking sorting office to pay £15 for a box of gravel. And now it seems he’s escalated to…this.” Lucius gestures to Izzy and clicks his tongue. “Which is just…unprofessional. I’m sorry. Look I’ll pay you for the appointment...”
Izzy takes a step back. “Like fuck you will. He made the booking, he can pay the cancellation fee.”
“But that’s not going to cover…”
Izzy holds up a hand. “It means I’m getting five hundred quid to not work, so, I’m fine with it. Kind of wish I’d known before I spent fucking £12 on parking but,” he shrugs, “at least now I get to go eat something earlier than planned because…well, you know how it is, right?”
“Oh, totally,” Lucius parts his robe slightly to reveal the skin-tight lace bustier underneath. “Catch me bloating before work. I guess I can get to my tea a few hours early now. So, love that for me.”
“Right, well…I’ll get out of your way,” Izzy shrugs. “Leave you to your…?”
“Macaroni cheese – homemade. With Fig and Walnut Boursin and a panko crumb,” he adds, somewhat smugly.
“Fuck.” Izzy says, with a hint of a groan. “Yeah that sounds…better than my leftovers.”
“I know…and it’s nicer than it sounds too.” Lucius glances down at the duffle bag in Izzy’s hand. “What’s that for then? You seem kind of…niche?”
Izzy snorts. “Could say that yeah. It’s just the usual kit…paddles, floggers, gags, spreaders, swing, cuffs, root ginger…”
Lucius cuts him off, “Swing?? You have a sex swing?”
“…yeah?” Izzy says, as if Lucius just asked him if he owned a saucepan. “Kind of essential for some of my clients.”
“….can I have a go on it?” Lucius asks, before he can think better of it. “I’ve always wanted to try it but they’re pricey, so it’d be cool to test one out first.”
Izzy pulls a face. “Takes a while to set up and break down…”
Lucius sags a little. “That’s fair. Sorry – kind of weird for me to ask, right?”
Izzy scratches the back of his neck. “I was going to say, takes a while so…if you’ve got any spare pasta going…”
“Oh!” Lucius almost literally jumps for joy, but stops himself just in time. “Yes, absolutely! Um…let me just get changed into something way more comfortable, OK? Come on through I’ll show you the kitchen.”
He leads Izzy through to the locked door and escorts him into the cosy interior of his flat. There it’s less pink and silky and more laid back – lots of wicker and throws and coffee table books from galleries he’s visited.
“Nice,” Izzy says, looking around. “Let me get this thing set-up where you’re not gonna break anything.”
*
Lucius changes out of his client appropriate confection and into more laid back heart patterned lounge shorts and the matching Aristocrats Marie t-shirt. He wanders out of the bedroom, using a cotton round to remove the last of his make-up remover and finds the door back to his ‘working bedroom’ propped open, and Izzy out there snapping together black telescopic poles with an efficiency obviously gained by practice.
He’s kneeling, leather trousers pulled tight as he works, and Lucius wonders if he’s comfortable, especially with his jacket still on and zippered right up, leather gloves on both hands. Then he realises Izzy has stopped working, and is looking at him, a crease between his brows as he takes him in.
“I know – the real me is far less exciting,” Lucius pulls a face and throws the cotton round into the waste-paper bin in the ‘lounge’ corner he’s sectioned off from his kitchen. He leans in the doorway to the boudoir, watching.
“Hmm? Oh, it’s not…you’re really tall – even without the heels,” Izzy mutters, nodding to his bare feet (pedicured to perfection but thankfully free of the mules for the evening).
“Yeah, to be honest a lot of guys don’t like them? I think they assume because I’m basically advertising as a pink little princess…with a dick, that I should be all small and cute.” He pulls a face.
Izzy snorts. “Most clients are fucking idiots in my experience – never know what they want and when they do they bypass the really good stuff for the shit they’ve been taught to think is hot.”
“…I think there may have been a compliment buried in there, somewhere,” Lucius raises an eyebrow. “Just so you know, I’m not above digging for more.”
Izzy’s mouth twitches into a smile, curling the edges. “You’re fucking fit – that clear enough?”
It is actually. Lucius’ stomach flips over like a crispy pancake. He likes compliments, likes them even better when they’re honest and don’t come with expectations.
“You too, and honestly the leather thing is…perf – though if you want to change into something a little more comfy, I have plenty of lounge wear, I think some of it’s even black.”
To his surprise, Izzy actually appears to consider this. “I uh…wouldn’t mind actually. Could do with taking my contacts out at least.” He gestures at his face, “can’t really wear the glasses when I’m working – they fog up, fall off, get marked or…you know, broken.”
“Go for it – I have contact solution in the bathroom – individual bottles.” Lucius rarely gets to flex his impeccable hosting skills. Few clients actually appreciate how much effort he puts into a seamless, comfortable experience for them. But Izzy looks duly impressed.
He finds some clothes and hands them off before going to the kitchen and pulling out the ingredients for dinner. Then pours himself a tall glass of white wine, crisp and sweet from the fridge. He loves cooking, especially when he’s not tired from work.
When Izzy appears in the doorway again, he’s wearing Nightmare Before Christmas lounge pants, rolled up at the cuffs because they’re too long, and a black t-shirt he must have had on under the jacket. Which, fair enough, the matching top would have swamped him. A pair of plan black framed glasses somehow seem to complete his face. He has also taken off his boots, which Lucius notes has taken a further inch off of his height. Surprisingly, his socks aren’t black, but bright yellow, with a pattern on them.
“Are those…sausage dogs?” Lucius asks, gesturing with a wooden spoon.
Izzy actually pinkens. “They were a present…I haven’t done any washing for a while. Just got…”
“Busy?”
“Dumped.”
Lucius winces. “Because of the job or…?” He takes out another glass and gets the nod before pouring Izzy some wine and handing it over.
“Nah…or, yeah, but not like that. We’ve both been in the business a long time. Started out making videos – as in, actual, physical…tapes,” he huffs at himself. “Then moved into professional domming but…Ed he met someone. A client. A rich client.”
Lucius feels his chest tighten. It sounds like they were together a really long time. He can’t even remember a time when porn wasn’t at least on DVD, so, it must have been ages ago that they got together.
Izzy takes a gulp of wine and looks down into the glass, surprised. “That’s actually good.”
“I’ll try not to be offended that you’re surprised. Young people do know about wine too you know – it’s not all seven quid chardonnay and boxed merlot.”
Izzy looks like he’s supressing a sly grin. “I just wouldn’t have known that, from the dog wine glass.”
“That’s Stitch, you heathen,” Lucius taps their glasses together. “Cheers.”
He sets his glass down and gets back to chopping shallots and garlic, assuming that Izzy started talking about wine to change the subject from the painful topic of him being dumped. A few moments later he notices Izzy looking at the cheeses he took out of the fridge, and the grater on the island counter.
“Do you want to…”
Izzy picks up a block of cheddar and starts unwrapping it. Lucius smiles to himself. Obviously a man who needed to be busy, useful – though he had waited for permission to interfere. Not the type like Ricky – who used to sit in a different room and ask him when dinner was going to be ready. One of many reasons he’d given him the boot.
It’s quite nice, cooking together. He likes sharing the work and having someone there to occasionally compliment his cookware collection (he’s one of the only other people to have actually seen Lucius’ complete set of heart-shaped La Creuset – and he seems to appreciate that). He finishes up the macaroni and cheese, slides it into the oven and sets a timer.
“Swing time,” he says, gleefully and Izzy rolls his eyes.
“The novelty wears off, believe me,” he mutters, but follows him through to the other room.
The swing itself is freestanding, not one of the cheaper ‘over the door’ kinds Lucius has added to and removed from his Lovehoney cart many times. The black metal frame is neatly put together, each screw cranked into place with a set of allen keys which Izzy has left on top of his holdall. The actual straps are made of leather – shocking no one – and suspend a quite comfy looking padded black cushion in the centre.
Now that he’s faced with it, Lucius is kind of worried it might…buckle.
“I’ve had all kinds in this thing, don’t worry about it,” Izzy says, sensing hesitation. “Hop up.”
Lucius hops and Izzy quickly and easily manoeuvres his feet into the stirrups while Lucius finds the handholds for himself.
Then he’s just…hanging out, legs wide open and cradled securely in the swing, feeling weightless.
Izzy steps back and watches him, amused.
“So…what sort of thing do you use it for?” Lucius asks, after clearing his throat.
“Sex mostly.”
“Ah-ha-ha,” he rolls his eyes. “Pass me my wine?”
He does and Lucius takes a sip, swaying slightly. “What kind of sex, specifically?”
“Mostly? It’s just a knee and back saver,” Izzy shrugs. “Easier to fuck standing with it, easier to eat someone out sitting rather than lying or kneeling. And getting fucked in it?” He waves a hand, “piece of piss, just lie back and let it do the work.”
“Mmmhmmm,” Lucius swings a little, experimentally. “Yeah…I can see that.”
Izzy snorts. “You could…if you had a video player.”
Lucius smirks. He’s having fun. He never gets to hang out with other people in the same line of work as himself. It’s all online now, and he’s an independent worker. He usually doesn’t get to joke about this kind of thing so openly, even with his more worldly friends. But this is like how doctors must feel when they get to kick back and talk shop without worrying about upsetting the general public with the details.
“Go on then…I’ll tell you my best and my weirdest fuck if you tell me yours,” he says, swinging.
The timer goes off.
“Think that’d better wait until after we eat.”
*
They have macaroni and more wine sprawled out on the soft in his bedroom, where the TV is. Izzy having helped him out of the swing, which was…nice, in its own way. Not that he touched him much but he was just…solid, and surprisingly strong.
Lucius threw on the last thing he was streaming, which turned out to be a nostalgic Will and Grace marathon. Izzy complimented the pasta, and the TV (Lucius’ only knowledge was that it was big and he liked it that way) and even offered to wash up after dinner.
That done, Lucius made Irish coffees with truffles on the side and they returned to the sofa.
“…so that was the weirdest – not the most awkward mind,” Izzy finishes up, as Lucius tries to get his breath back. “What’s yours?”
He wipes at his eyes. “Uh…ha…probably the guy who wanted me to sit on a cake.”
Izzy raises an eyebrow. “Not that weird.”
“Not finished – it was one of those massive sheet cakes you can get printed up at the supermarket with whatever picture you like. And all he wanted me to do, was sit on it and wriggle – got icing right up my crack mind you – while he took a picture of me to put on ANOTHER cake.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “First cake had his ex’s face on it. Second cake, delivered on her WEDDING DAY to the dude she cheated on him with.”
Izzy’s eyes widen and he lets out a surprised bark of laughter. Privately Lucius thinks he should do that more, even if it doesn’t go with the ‘tough little dom’ act he has going on, professionally speaking.
“No!”
“YES!” Lucius smacks Izzy’s thigh for emphasis. “And he sent me a thank you card, with a slice of the second cake! Like a little goodie bag from the wedding he ruined!”
“…did the piece he sent have your face on it?” Izzy asks, mouth twitching with supressed laughter.
Lucius shakes his head, smirking in anticipation. “Cock and balls. And a little bit of thigh on either side. Just to really frame it.”
Izzy wheezes a laugh, hand falling to where his is still resting on his thigh, patting at it as if for a reprieve from the laughter.
“It was chocolate and raspberry though – gotta respect the flavour palette,” Lucius chuckles, setting himself off again. He feels bubbly and silly with drink and laughter. It’s kind of nice after the stress of the post-breakup shenanigans he’s been subjected to.
Izzy lets out a long, amused sigh and gets up to clear away the coffee cups, staggering slightly as he does so and sinking back down onto the sofa. “Shit…yeah I’m probably not good to drive.”
“Same…mostly because I don’t have a licence,” Lucius pulls a face. “Also I’m drunk. You can just stay here?”
Izzy turns his head against the sofa and looks at him, thoughtful and slightly more sombre than a moment ago. “I can, can I?”
“Mmmhmmm…” Lucius leans against the headrest, appreciating how close Izzy sat back down to him. “Nothing has to happen though so…don’t worry…”
“Wasn’t worried. But yeah,” the tip of Izzy’s tongue wets his lower lip, but he doesn’t look away from him. “Nothing has to happen.”
Lucius nods, unable to keep a shallow breath in, gravity and too much wine pulling him into Izzy’s orbit.
“But it could…” he murmurs, as their noses brush, lips practically meeting in a rush of warm air that tickles over his skin.
It’s Izzy that moves away, shifting back slightly. His eyes are flooded with pupil, dark and yearning, but he frowns and looks away. Lucius feels a cold dart of disappointment. But he’s not about to let it ruin the evening. So Izzy is still pining for his ex – that doesn’t mean they can’t be friends.
“I put clean sheets on the other bed – for your ‘appointment’ so, should be all good for you. If you’re tired…”
Izzy glances at the cups on the table. “’Nother coffee maybe? I’ll help.”
“No whisky this time?” Lucius tries to joke, skin still prickling with residual desire.
“Best not,” Izzy murmurs, and shepherds him to the kitchen with a hand hovering so close to the small of his back that Lucius can feel its heat through his shirt.
*
That second coffee turns into finding a film – Lucius had bookmarked ‘The Thing’ and Izzy declared the original to be better than the remake, so obviously they had to watch that first.
And before he knows it, Lucius is leaning against Izzy on the sofa, head resting on his shoulder, watching Kurt Russell run around killing aliens and slowly letting his eyelids droop.
He hums sleepily as Izzy’s fingers stroke through his hair, apparently without his input, trailing to the nape of his neck and sending delicious tingles down his spine. Lucius nuzzles in closer, feels Izzy’s hand drop to his waist and breathes in, letting himself sink into a deep, sleep.
He wakes up slowly, wondering why he’s on his sofa and whose chest he’s drooling on. Then it comes back to him, along with a slight hangover, nothing insurmountable, just a little ache in the temples.
Under him, Izzy stretches and groans himself to wakefulness, blinking to clear his vision, glasses having been pushed up into his hair.
“Morning,” Lucius says, feeling suddenly a bit…shy.
“Morning.” Izzy pulls his glasses down and looks at him properly. “Good sleep?”
“Surprisingly yes…you?”
“Yeah…thanks for letting me stay.”
Lucius realises he’s still kind of on top of him, thigh tucked between Izzy’s legs, arm over his chest. But when he goes to move back, Izzy sits up with him, and they somehow end up closer than they were before.
Lucius’ breath catches and he’s aware of a hundred things at once – he has morning breath and probably some stubble, he never put the bin out yesterday, Izzy’s parking ticket must have expired and free overnight parking will end soon, he already got turned down by this man once – but he tries to block it all out.
“So uh…you’re sober, now?” Izzy asks, softly.
Suddenly, things start making sense. Lucius nods eagerly. “Very. So very sober I’m practically a nun.”
Izzy snorts softly, hand cupping his face. “Good.”
The kiss is slightly tacky, their lips dry from sleep, but it still makes Lucius’ toes curl. He presses Izzy down into the sofa and feels the soft fabric of his lounge pants against his bare skin as Izzy wraps his legs around him, clothed calves stroking down his bare ones.
“Your car…” Lucius murmurs, once, as Izzy pulls at his shirt, tugging it over Lucius’ head.
“I’ll pay the ticket,” Izzy mutters vaguely, already exploring his chest with eager hands. “Gotta spend that cancellation fee somehow.”
Lucius thinks – before thinking becomes slightly more trouble than it’s worth – that he should send Ricky something to say thank you. Like a fruit basket, or a barbershop quartet singing ‘thanks for getting me laid….idiot’.
And now, whenever someone asks him about the best sex he’s ever had – this is what he thinks of. Lazy grinding in his pyjamas on the sofa, with a mouth that tastes like wine and coffee. The first of many times (literally) to come.