abo nonsense

[oohforeshadowing]

Some clubs are, of course, only for humans or only for non-humans - not that there's ever official rules about these thing, but people tend to just know. A place has a certain name, a venue in a certain part of the city, and these things alone make it clear who is and isn't welcome. 

Crimson, on the other hand, has always been for customers of all varieties - although it tends to only attract the most adventurous Betas. Double Trouble has been a co-owner for the past couple of years now, but that does not mean they're about to avoid availing themselves of the client-facing experience.

So to speak. 

They're lounging alone - holding a glass of wine, lightly scented with cologne and Alpha sweat - when they first spot the newcomer.

Comments

[bleak_midwinter]

He starts taking off his (only slightly sullied but still very hormone-laden) clothes when the doors close. With his shirt off, he's got a few tattoos on his arms, back and chest, and one on his calf that's revealed when he takes off his shoes and trousers.

"Ah- I prefer skipping as many as I can, for business purposes. My physician keeps count, so I can't be sure."

Yes, likely, with how wet he got for them. But far enough off that this wasn't a heat-riddled fluke.

[oohforeshadowing]

Trouble nods, and goes about stripping the rest of the way off: boots, stockings, skirt. No tattoos, just the piercings and a scar across their ribs.

"I can't suppress," they confide in him. "But, I don't express it as strongly as you would."

[bleak_midwinter]

He turns on a shower, and finds it at an almost perfect temperature right away. He steps underneath it, and holds out a hand for them.

"Is there no medication on the market, or is it something else?"

[oohforeshadowing]

"No medication."

They step under the spray with him, sighing in pleasure at the rush of hot water.

"Mine isn't a profitable demographic, sadly."

[bleak_midwinter]

"Would you suppress, if you could?"

Since they don't express it that strongly, apparently. Tommy is usually utilitarian about his showers, but he can indulge a little now.

[oohforeshadowing]

"Probably not," Trouble admits. "It doesn't bother me, and...you're not wrong. I do like the attention."

[bleak_midwinter]

"It's too much to go through in public, for me. I couldn't show that part of myself and still be who I am."

But if Trouble does- well, he's not getting into all of that so soon.

[oohforeshadowing]

"Oh, I can understand that," Trouble murmurs. "If the peaks of my cycle were more...aggressive, I'd just stay home. As it is, it's distracting, but not debilitating."

They stroke back his wet hair.

"Scrub your back, darling?"

[bleak_midwinter]

"Thank you," he says, before turning around. He leans his forearms against the tiles, his back strong and broad.

"How often do you rut?"

[oohforeshadowing]

Trouble lathers a sponge with a mildly spice-scented soap, and starts working him down. It's lovely, this part, having all this bare skin and strong muscle under their hands.

"Every seven or eight weeks. Stress makes me irregular, but that's not a problem at the moment. You're...more often, right?"

They decide not to mention that they also go into heat every couple months.

[bleak_midwinter]

And he hasn't really picked up on that yet, and doesn't know enough to ask. He just enjoys the hot spray, Trouble's firm hands.

"Six, usually. But like I said. It's been at least twelve for me, and I'm hoping for a little more time."

[oohforeshadowing]

"Of course."

They give his ass a light squeeze, not so much a come-on as just a little light teasing.

"You definitely work out. Running? Wrestling?"

[bleak_midwinter]

He laughs a little and reaches back, to grab any part of them.

"Running and boxing."

[oohforeshadowing]

Trouble guides a hand to their hip, letting him grope as he pleases.

"I swim. And I train in jiu-jitsu."

[bleak_midwinter]

He does so, fingers digging a little, pulling them in like they might press him up against the wall and take him.

"Jiu-jitsu? I like that. Done it a long time?"

[oohforeshadowing]

"About twelve years." They nip at his ear. "I'm all alone in the world, you know. I need to be able to defend myself from miscreants."

[bleak_midwinter]

That's an Avenue to explore another time, but he's more than smart enough to ruin this mood.

"Miscreants? I shudder to think."

As he tips his head for another nip. "Boxing's come in handy for the same reasons."

[oohforeshadowing]

"I can imagine. But these days I'm sure people know to respect you by reputation alone, mm? Everyone knows the Shelby family, one way or another."

Some ways are more respectable than others.

[bleak_midwinter]

"Hmm."

He turns around and rests his back against the wall, and with firm hands urges Trouble to turn around too.

"That doesn't stop people trying to knock us down a peg."

[oohforeshadowing]

Trouble turns, bracing their elbows lightly against the tiles.

"And I'm sure you respond proportionately," they murmur.

[bleak_midwinter]

"There's a reason you almost had me escorted out of your club," he says, amused, as he starts rubbing them down. God, thar skin feels good.

[oohforeshadowing]

"I would never, darling."

Maybe if he'd sounded more financially than sexually aggressive. They arch, making a low sound of pleasure - too guttural and stuttering to be a purr, not a noise a human could easily replicate.

"...Mm. Excuse me."

[bleak_midwinter]

Tommy shudders with them, biting down on his lower lip. Whatever he did, he tries to replicate it.

"Nothing to be excused for."

[oohforeshadowing]

Trouble stops trying to repress it, letting another low chittering sound escape.

"You're sweet. You can dig in a little harder, I have thicker skin."

[bleak_midwinter]

In that case, he grabs their hip for leverage and starts digging in harder, deeper. His fingers curl, the palm of his hand pushes, hoping to hear more of that extraordinary sound.