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"Gomez "Written By: Presser Pairings : 1x2 Disclaimer : Gundam Wing characters aren't mine Rating : NC 17 Warnings : This will involve graphic sex, though
not gratuitous sex. "Gomez"
Chapter 8
/Do it. Get it over with./ Light, on. The room was square, almost a perfect cube, in fact. In the center, a bed, lavishly dressed in black and crimson silk sheets and pillows, took up almost all the floor space; to one side, a small night stand, and a chair holding a brown paper grocery sack. On the other side, a closet, and from the domed light fixture over the bed, a microphone hung. It had been rigged to a pulley in the ceiling, so that it extended or retracted the way pneumatic tools hanging from the ceiling in a mechanic's garage did. Nothing on the walls, which were painted light grey. But one wall was different. The wall facing the bed was an edge-to-edge, floor-to-ceiling mirror. A one-way mirror. I sighed; dropped my gym bag to the floor and began shedding my clothes. /Not much time left. I'll have to hurry./ Normally I'd take the time to fold my shirt, at least, so it wouldn't be wrinkled when I was finished, but I was in a hurry that night. /It's just a tee-shirt, anyway./ My tee, jeans, socks, and underwear all went in the bag, which I shoved under the bed. Sneakers followed. I looked in the mirror, examining my body for any blemishes. Satisfied, I turned to the chair, took the grocery sack, and emptied the contents on the bed. An electric-blue t-bar, a fishnet body stocking with the crotch out, and a break-away Nazi colonel's uniform, complete with riding crop and knee-high black boots. /Who the hell wants all this? Client must be rich, to afford such a costume./ From the other side of the door, I heard voices. /Damn. I've got to hurry./ I stepped into the t-bar, slipped it up my thighs. The crotch fit, but the thong in back was tight. /Won't be on for long, anyway./ Getting the fishnet on took a bit of work, because it was wide fishnet, and so climbing into it was tricky. Then I quickly stepped into the pants and shirt, fastened the velcro (I hate these break-away outfits, they're so cheaply made), then slipped the boots on. /Fur-lined. This client's going all out./ I was just putting on the cap and giving myself the once-over when the naked bulb above the closet door began flashing on and off, casting lurid green shadows around the room. I swallowed, steeled myself, and took my place on the chair, trying to look the part. At the last minute, I decided to cross my legs. I narrowed my eyes. ~ ~ ~ The green light went out; I heard the door on the other side of the mirror open, and Roy's voice, greasy, say: "Oh, I'm sure you'll like him, mister --" "Please, no names." A chill ran through me, which I was able to stifle because I was sitting and had my legs crossed. His voice is what did it: weirdly modulated, like a serial killer on the phone with the police in a cheesy horror flick. "Of course, sir, of course." /Roy's sickening when he grovels./ "He is ready?" "Yes, sir. If you'll take your seat --" I heard a chair being pulled across carpet. "There's ice in the bucket, and glasses, and I got --" "I can see that you made the preparations I requested." "-- And I got the best vodka I could find on short notice." There was a pause, a slight sniffing sound, followed by a soft electronic fizz. I looked up at the speaker hanging next to the green ready light, then quickly back at my eyes in the mirror. I tried to look sterner. "Grey Goose will do." A pause. "A few matters." Roy cleared his throat. "You promised me your best tonight, true?" "Yes, sir." "And I have him for the whole hour?" "Yes, sir." "And he will do anything I ask, correct?" Even though I couldn't see through my side of the mirror, I could feel Roy stealing a look at me, glaring. "Of course." "Then you may go. Ah, wait. Turn off the light before you pull back the curtain." "Sir." There was the snick of the light switch, and the swoosh of the curtains being pulled back. I straightened my back, tried to look disdainful. The door on the other side opened, closed. Then that creepy, distorted voice, too deep, too slow, spoke: "Good evening, my friend." TBC |
