ArchivedLogs:Vignette - Expected News

Vignette - Expected News
Dramatis Personae Lucien	2013-06-22 '
Location
These things so often blend together. Korean food or French food or sushi. A trip to the orchestra, a trip to the cinema, a trip to Milan. Usually enjoyable, occasionally bland, rarely painful; at least not in any way he did not consent to. Tonight, Newsies. Not the first time he had seen it, not even the second. Entertaining, still. The Indian food afterwards could have been better; his bhindi masala a little heavy on the grease, but after a drink or three it was barely noticeable. Afterwards, now, certainly enjoyable. It was a common meme that whores didn't like sex, too jaded, too inured; this was only middling true. He has, perhaps, a higher /standard/ for quality than he would were it not his job, but then. He has a higher standard for which clients he takes these days, too. He is rarely bored. At some point in the evening (the musical? the sex?) his phone has gone off; respectfully switched to vibrate, it's been ignored. It sits on the nightstand, now, and with (sweaty-damp) head resting against his (sweaty-damp) chest, it is abruptly threatening to vibrate itself right off onto the floor. "You're in demand, tonight. You should get that." It's a lazy-contented murmur, welcoming the respite with amusement. Even with the prompting it takes him a moment to fumble for the phone. His answering, "Hello?" is just as lazy-contented, if perhaps lacking in amusement. "-- Yes, this is Lucien," comes more alert, quicker. And silence, eventually broken by a very quiet, "When?" Against naked shoulders, his arm tightens. There's been a subtle trickle of warm-happy-soothing, and this cuts off sharply into tighter-controlled nothingness but in post-coital afterglow it's likely hard to /tell/; most of the happy chemicals floating around come natural, just at the moment. "No. No thank you. I'll be --" The pause in his voice might well be from someone on the other end of the line interrupting. It's hard to tell, a slow close of his eyes, a slow breath drawn in. "-- by later tonight," finishes very quietly. And, "thank you." He hangs up the phone. Glances at the clock. An hour and thirteen minutes still left on his rented time. "Everything alright?" Still lazy, fingertips tracing against his chest. It tightens beneath them. His hand lifts, fingers curling around the others. It takes a few seconds longer than usual, but a smile curls slowly across his face. "Just -- some news I was -- expecting." The quiet trickle of soothing starts up again. Continues, as his eyes close, a little bit stronger than before. At least, for the next seventy-two minutes.