June 6: Vacation
A/N: Thank you always to Ro. You are an incredible beta reader.
A/N2: I've never stayed at the Cypress House Hotel, and I've only been to a few of the places I describe and I could only find a partial floor plan so I'm making some of this up. A lot of this up.
Warnings: language and drinks
Pairings: 6x3
"Welcome to the Cypress House Hotel, Mr. Merquise."
The receptionist was tan, blond and very attractive.
After a five-hour flight and a two-hour layover, Zechs felt weary, achy and in desperate need of a shower. The receptionist's smile, however, went a considerable way towards rejuvenating him.
Zechs felt his own lips curl in a reflection of the other man's expression.
"It's good to be here," he said as he accepted his room key from the man.
"Shall I show you to your room, sir?"
Zechs looked for a nametag on the man's shirt to identify him. Alex. He had dated an Alex in college. He wondered what he was doing these days.
"Sure," he said, hefting his bag and stepping to the side so that Alex could lead the way.
And so that he could admire the man's ass in the khaki shorts that were just this side of painted on.
They walked down the hallway and outside to the walkway alongside the pool.
"At four-thirty every afternoon, we have a cocktail hour, with drinks and a few light snacks. You should have some time to relax before then."
Zechs spared a glance at the pool. It was heated, he recalled from the brochure, and open twenty-four hours a day. At the moment, it was relatively empty, occupied by two women who were definitely a couple, or at least on rather intimate terms.
He had read that Cypress House was not a family-friendly hotel, and that had been his main criteria for choosing it.
Alex walked through a shaded courtyard, thick-trunked reddish-brown trees with crooked branches spiralling upwards and offering up a dark green canopy. A few cats were sunning themselves in the handful of spots where sunlight streamed through the trees, dozing on the red pavers, completely unconcerned when Alex and Zechs walked by.
There were a handful of adirondack chairs and side tables, one occupied by a man wearing a straw fedora, his face obscured by aviator sunglasses and the tablet he held in one hand.
There were doors to three rooms inside the courtyard, and Alex led Zechs to the room opposite the courtyard entrance.
As they passed by him, the man lowered the tablet and followed their progress.
"Here you are, Mr. Merquise," Alex grinned at him, and Zechs pulled the key from his pocket.
"Zechs, please."
"Zechs, then." Alex took the key and opened the room for him.
Zechs was greeted by a gust of cold air and he sighed in relief.
It wasn't unpleasant outside - far from it - but he had spent most of the day overheated, on a plane, sandwiched between a fighting couple who had been moved to business class and who refused to let him switch seats with one of them.
"Can I get you anything, or give you a hand unpacking?" Alex asked.
In the courtyard, the man made a strangled sound that could have been a laugh or a cough.
"I'm fine," Zechs assured the receptionist. He had admired the view, had even entertained the possibility briefly, but he couldn't say he really had much interest in sleeping with the hotel clerk - especially not if he was propositioning Zechs in front of another guest.
Alex shrugged.
"Let me know if you change your mind. See you at four-thirty."
And with that, he was gone.
"Good call," the man in the adirondack said after Alex had disappeared. "I'm pretty sure he keeps a diary of all his conquests. He keeps talking about this tell-all book he wants to write about life in Key West."
That sounded thoroughly unpleasant.
"Which chapter will you be?" Zechs asked.
The man chuckled, a rich baritone that washed over Zechs.
"Hopefully buried in chapter six or seven."
"Your performance didn't merit the opening act?"
The man laughed again and removed his glasses, revealing a pair of eyes as green as the canopy overhead.
"My performance merited a glowing review from the New York Times. His, on the other hand…" the man trailed off with a slight, theatrical shudder.
Zechs found himself chuckling and relaxing into the banter.
"You should probably reset your thermostat before you go out tonight - the air conditioner units work very well, and the extra blankets are on the thin side."
Zechs arched an eyebrow.
"Offering to keep me warm?"
The corner of the man's full lips tilted upwards.
"I might have a sweater that fits you. But," he added with a languid stretch of his legs and a slow glance over Zechs's body, "that's my room, in case you need me." He indicated the door of the room to the right of Zechs's own.
"Good to know."
The man put his glasses back on and returned his attention to the tablet in his hands.
Zechs turned back to his room just as the man called out again.
"Leather Master is open until ten every night, in case you need to stock up on anything."
That almost had Zechs turning back around, but he felt confident that was exactly what the man wanted.
Instead, Zechs hefted his bag.
"Perhaps I can pick up a throw while I'm there," he said over his shoulder.
He closed his hotel door to the sound of the other man's laughter, a smirk on his own face, and decided this much-needed vacation was off to a good start.
-o-
It had been just after three when Zechs checked in and, after resetting the thermostat to seventy-five, he took a shower, scrubbing off the smell and feel of a day spent travelling.
He used the hotel blow-dryer on his hair. He preferred to let it dry naturally, but considering the amount of time that endeavor took, he went the route of expediency.
Even so, it was four forty-five when Zechs made his way over to the pool for the advertised cocktail hour.
He had changed into fitted gray canvas trousers and a pale pink linen shirt. It was warm enough to wear sandals, but considering his plans for later in the evening, Zechs opted for his leather boat shoes.
There was a gentle breeze stirring the plants in the courtyard and the dresses of a few of the women - including the couple from the pool he had seen earlier.
Zechs made his way over to the bar, unsurprisingly manned by Alex.
"You look refreshed," the man offered up another grin.
"I feel it," Zechs agreed.
"What can I get you to start your vacation off right?"
There wasn't a menu, but the collection of liquor bottles looked fairly standard.
"Gin and tonic," Zechs ordered.
Alex arched an eyebrow.
"A G&T for the first drink of your vacation? No, no, no. That I cannot do."
Zechs pursed his lips, trying to decide whether to be amused or offended.
"Order something complicated or he takes it as a personal insult."
He turned at the voice, already familiar, and saw the man from earlier standing just to his left.
He too had changed, abandoning the shorts, t-shirt and hat he had been wearing earlier. Without his hat, his hair was revealed to be a rich auburn, the afternoon sun playing up the red streaking through it. He was wearing fitted, dark wash jeans and a green v-neck t-shirt that revealed quite a lot of tan skin on his sternum, as well as a necklace of small, dark beads. He was still wearing his sunglasses, and he was still smirking.
Any thoughts of pursuing a liaison with Alex were completely scoured from Zechs's mind.
"I'll have a French 75," the man said. "You might want to try one, if gin is your drink."
Gin was Zechs's drink and, it turned out after sipping the slightly fizzing concoction that Alex passed to both him and Trowa, so was a French 75.
"I never would have thought to mix gin and champagne," he mused.
"Just don't spend your entire night drinking them," the auburn haired man advised as they moved away from the bar and commandeered one of the cafe tables near the pool.
One of the hotel staff walked by and placed a small but impressive fruit and cheese plate on the table between them.
"So, Zechs, right?"
The man had obviously heard him tell Alex his name.
He nodded.
"First time in Key West?"
"My first time since I was twenty-one and already hungover when I boarded the plane to fly down."
The man laughed, and Zechs was fairly confident that the sound of his amusement was addictive.
"You?" Zechs asked.
"Trowa," the man said, popping a grape into his mouth and then holding out his hand for Zechs to shake.
He wasn't sure which one of them lingered more, but after a firm shake and a subtle caress of fingers against palms, Trowa settled back in his seat and picked up his drink to take another sip.
"Not my first time," he added when Zechs raised an eyebrow.
"Considering that my recollections from my last trip are hazy at best, perhaps I could take advantage of your experience?"
Trowa's lips twitched.
"Perhaps," he agreed.
Zechs wished he could see the other man's eyes.
"If your plan was to recreate the misspent days of your youth, I'm probably not the best tour guide though."
"Did you just call me old?"
"Mature," Trowa assured him.
Zechs considered the other man. He had been the one to mention Leather Master. It was clear Trowa was a few years younger than Zechs, but at thirty-five, Zechs wasn't entirely sure mature was the most flattering way to describe himself.
"All I meant," Trowa spoke up, his voice just a bit rushed and his cheeks just a little pink, "is that I'm not here on vacation."
Interesting, that Trowa had clearly revealed more about himself than he had intended to, and even more interesting that he wasn't on vacation.
"How unfortunate for you that your work forces you to spend time in Key West."
Trowa smirked and took another sip of his drink.
They reached for the last grape at the same time, and when Zechs hesitated, Trowa nimbly lifted it away.
"I'll feed it to you," he offered with a wicked little smirk.
Zechs felt his lips curve in an answering smirk, but he leaned forward and parted his lips.
Trowa placed the grape between them, his thumb lingering in a caress as he traced over Zechs's skin.
"I'm a travel writer," Trowa said as he pulled away and sat back.
"There aren't already travel guides to Key West?" Zechs asked, being in possession of two of them and having swamped his email with notifications from no fewer than four travel blogs that focused on Key West. He had really needed this vacation.
"Sure, but not with my expert tips to guide you."
Zechs realized he had smiled more in Trowa's company this afternoon than he had for the entire previous month.
The sun had slipped behind the two storey hotel, the late afternoon sky a riot of ambers and violets, and Trowa removed his sunglasses. He hung them from the v of his shirt, pulling it even lower, and Zechs couldn't help but notice there was a tattoo of some sort over the man's heart.
"I write for a blog that focuses on millennial lifestyles."
Zechs arched an eyebrow and glanced around. The Cypress House Hotel wasn't the most expensive hotel in Key West, but it was far from the cheapest.
Trowa clearly knew what he was thinking.
"My boss insisted I stay here - they have a focus on eco-friendly service, you know."
"I do know. My sister spent almost twenty minutes berating me for even thinking about staying somewhere else because apparently the Cypress House is so enlightened."
"I should also point out that not all millennials are woefully poor - and even those of us who are like to see what the other side lives like."
That was a fair enough point, and Zechs could imagine reading about all of the delights of Key West - regardless of price point - would appeal to everyone. Even millennials. He hated that term, more for millennials than anything else. He was just on the cusp between generation x and the millennial generation, and he had been called on more than once to "explain" the younger generation, as if they were something that needed to be explained.
"So if I spend the evening with you, will I be escorting you to dive bars or overpriced night clubs?"
"Escort, huh? Are you a Victorian gentleman, or do I need to pay for your services?"
"You are the one who called me mature."
Trowa pinked again, just a little, at that.
Zechs had been with younger men, and while he didn't have a preference for them, he wasn't against the idea of playing up whatever kink Trowa clearly had for older men. Even if, he reminded himself, he wasn't old.
"I wasn't implying you were some kind of hundred year old vampire," Trowa muttered. He finished off his drink.
"If you wanted to escort me, then I can promise you an evening of good gin and better music."
"What kind of music?" Zechs had to ask, having been lured to too many awful concerts in his youth by a pretty face and 'good' music.
Trowa smirked, but he stood up without answering.
"Want to find out?"
-o-
The gin and music were apparently separate stops; or at least, Zechs sincerely hoped so.
The bar that Trowa took them to was a pleasant, ten-minute walk from their hotel. Pleasant, because of the breeze and the spectacular sunset, and because of the sight of Trowa's ass in his tight jeans. That is, until Trowa realized that Zechs was walking two steps behind him and to the side for a reason, and insisted Zechs walk ahead so he could do some ogling of his own.
The Orchid Bar was, without a doubt, the smallest bar Zechs had ever been to. There were a total of eight seats, sleek silver bar stools that looked either very modern or very retro. Retro, Zechs had to decide as he listened to the soft music playing - early Sinatra. Which, he didn't have anything against, but he didn't think recordings of 60s standards merited a lot of consideration in a travel guide.
Three of the seats were already occupied, but Trowa nodded at the bartender and they were gestured towards the bar.
"This is the gin portion of the evening," Trowa assured him as they sat. "So, for the sake of my job, drink up."
Zechs accepted a small menu from the bartender, who turned his attention and considerable charm on Trowa immediately.
"Glad you came early tonight - let me make last night up to you. First round is on the house."
Zechs wondered what that was all about, but he wasn't about to ask, and Trowa, who offered the blue-eyed, long haired bartender a shrug and a smirk, didn't seem inclined to explain.
"I'll try the Moll," Trowa said, leaning close to Zechs to read the menu.
Zechs saw the bartender frown slightly, eyes flicking from Trowa to Zechs and realizing his chances with Trowa weren't good.
"And for you?" he asked, forcing a smile as he focused on Zechs.
"The Fitzgerald."
"Comin' right up, gents."
The bartender started to prepare the drinks, his movements as flashy as they were efficient, and Trowa's attention was focused on him.
"You hang out long enough and there's a bachelor party coming through in an hour," the bartender commented as he produced a cloudy, fizzy mauve cocktail for Trowa.
Trowa lifted his eyebrows to acknowledge the words and gave Zechs a look over the rim of his glass as he took a sip.
"That's good. What kind of gin is in this?"
The bartender grinned broadly at the compliment.
"Dry and sloe - Hendricks and Plymouth. The vermouth gives it that little extra, I think."
Trowa nodded in agreement, and took another sip before setting his glass down and turning on his bar stool so that he was facing Zechs.
He put one elbow on the bar and propped his chin in his hand.
"How about it? Want to hang out and try to pick off cute guys from a bachelor party?"
The bartender was watching Zechs closely even as he made his drink.
"If I'm going to have my pick, I think I've already done that. Plus, you mentioned something about music, and I sincerely hope, for your sake as much as mine, that this wasn't what you had in mind."
His response was clearly the right one. Trowa gave him a slow, sensual smirk that made Zechs very, very grateful he had turned down Alex.
The bartender delivered Zechs's drink a moment later, a cloudy amber concoction that was surprisingly complex for the few ingredients it contained.
"Lavender sugar syrup," the bartender confided with a wink. "So it's not a real Fitzgerald, but it's close enough."
It looked like the bartender was going to say more, but one of the other patrons caught his attention.
"I'll check in on you guys later," he said, before moving away.
"What do you have against Sinatra?" Trowa asked him.
Because, even though the first Sinatra song had ended, another one was currently playing. Zechs wondered if there would be Sinatra tracks playing the entire evening.
"Nothing," Zechs shrugged. He saw Trowa's eyes flash mischievously. "Don't say anything about seeing him live in concert or try to make another crack about my age," he warned.
Trowa's lips twitched upwards before he forced them into a neutral line.
"It was too easy, anyway," he said, before taking another sip of his drink.
His foot tangled with Zechs's, a none-too-subtle caress that lifted the hem of Zechs's pants.
"When you aren't escorting travel guide writers around Key West, what do you do?"
"We never did establish how much I was going to charge you for my services," Zechs mused.
"I'm sure we can come to a mutually beneficial arrangement," Trowa assured him with a serious expression.
"Hm. That depends on your negotiating skills."
"Afraid I'll get the better end of things?"
"I doubt anyone could argue the quality of your end of things," Zechs said, "but I am a lawyer."
Trowa's eyes lit up, and Zechs was sure the man was thinking up new ways to razz him.
"What kind of law?" Trowa asked, the question so deceptively neutral that Zechs cocked his head to the side and narrowed his eyes.
"Employment law."
"So if I get fired, you're the guy I need?"
"That depends on why you get fired. If it's because of your mediocre taste in music, I'm not sure I can help you."
"It's killing you to not know where I'm taking you next, isn't it?"
"I wouldn't say it's killing me, but I think the anticipation could be better placed."
"One more drink - for work, and so Duo doesn't actually lose money off of trying to flirt with me."
-o-
The one more drink turned into two - the bachelor party came by the bar early and insisted that Trowa and Zechs join them for shots and for another round of drinks - and Zechs, who had eaten very little all day, was feeling pleasantly buzzed when they finally left the Orchid Bar.
Trowa was clearly feeling it too, his smirk closer to a grin now, and his eyes warm with alcohol and, Zechs felt it was safe to assume, arousal.
It was only one block from that bar to their next stop, but the walk took considerably longer.
They were barely twenty feet down the street, cutting through an alley instead of jostling through the heavy foot traffic on the main road, when Trowa grabbed Zechs's shirt and pulled him close, backing himself against the trunk of one of those red-brown trees.
"What are these called, anyway?" Zechs asked, and he saw Trowa's eyes narrow dangerously.
"Tourist trees," he said.
Zechs frowned and reached over Trowa's shoulder to tug at some of the peeling bark.
"Tourist trees?"
"They peel easily, and underneath they're red. Just like tourists."
Zechs wondered if they really were called tourist trees, or if Trowa was making it up.
"Interesting."
Trowa's hand was still fisted in the front of his shirt.
"Was there something you wanted?"
It was dark, the street poorly-lit and no moon to speak of, but Zechs could tell the other man was glaring at him.
"Someone," Trowa corrected with a growl.
"Hm. Do you want me to go find him?"
"You might need to." Trowa started to push away from the tree, but Zechs used his weight and size to keep Trowa in place.
He leaned down, glad Trowa was as tall as he was, and brushed his lips over Trowa's, barely touching him.
"Surely you're experienced enough to ask for what you want. Or is it that you haven't earned it yet?"
He felt Trowa's breath hitch, felt the other man press closer.
"Now, be a good boy, and ask nicely."
"Kiss me." Trowa's voice was rough, needy, and the command fueled Zechs's desire, kicking his simmering arousal into a need to have the other man.
"Ask."
Trowa looked on the verge of balking.
"Please," he finally said. "Kiss me?"
Zechs pressed his lips against Trowa's again, no longer teasing, but giving himself free reign to plunder the other man's parted lips. Trowa moaned, low and guttural and visceral. His mouth was smoldering, his tongue demanding as it curled around Zechs's, coaxing, begging for more.
Zechs happily gave him what he wanted, slanting his mouth against Trowa's and swallowing his sounds of pleasure, thrusting his tongue into Trowa's mouth in a demonstration of what he wanted to do to the other man's body, deep and forceful and intent on possession.
When they finally parted, both men were panting, and Trowa's lips were glossy in the dim light, his eyes luminous and his breathing ragged.
"Satisfied?" Zechs asked.
Trowa nodded, looking a little dazed, and Zechs had to smirk.
The younger man seemed so self-possessed - it was a little impressive to see him looking so wrecked and left speechless after one very thorough kiss.
Zechs pried Trowa's hand away from his shirt, threading their fingers together as he lowered their hands to his side.
"Did you want to keep working, or was there somewhere you'd rather have me escort you?"
Trowa chuckled, and seemed to pull himself back together.
"Hold onto your anticipation for a little longer; we only need to be here for a few sets. And then you can escort me back to your room."
Zechs arched an eyebrow.
"And then you'll send me on my way?"
"No, then I'll invite you in and you'll give me what all good boys want."
"And that is?"
"Your dick up my ass."
The words, coupled with the look in Trowa's eyes, had Zechs pulling him close for another kiss.
Eventually, they made it to the second bar, an establishment only marginally larger than the first.
The Little Room was a jazz club, and, despite the name, was at least two rooms. The main bar area featured a handful of tall cafe tables, as well as a bar that accommodated far more than eight guests, and there was a stage at the far end of the room. Off to one side, however, was a smaller room that was equipped with plush, antique chairs and couches. The room had a perfect view of the stage, but was just slightly removed from the noise and press of bodies.
Zechs was surprised a jazz club was so popular, and even more surprised to see how young most of the audience was.
"Jazz?"
"Millennials like jazz," Trowa said with a shrug and a smirk.
Zechs wasn't about to argue the point. Instead, he followed Trowa to the bar.
"More gin?" he asked.
"No - have whatever you want, but I'd prefer you order a cocktail."
Trowa had paid for their tab at the Orchid, insisting it was for work, but Zechs stopped Trowa from reaching for his wallet this time.
Which meant he had his hand on Trowa's ass. The other man made absolutely no move to dislodge him.
"My treat," Zechs explained.
"Feels like it's mine," Trowa said, but he didn't argue.
The cocktail menu might as well have been in another language. Zechs didn't recognize any of the drinks, and he certainly didn't recognize a single ingredient listed in any of them. He couldn't even tell if there was alcohol in them.
Trowa leaned close, his lips brushing against Zechs's ear.
"I'm thinking this is one of those places that tries just a lot too hard to be unique."
Zechs hummed in agreement, relieved that Trowa felt the same.
"I'll have a Hemingway's Death by Champagne," Zechs told the bartender when she wandered their way. He wasn't particularly interested in the drink, but it had champagne in it, and that was something he at least had had before.
"And a House Spritz," Trowa said, choosing the other cocktail that had champagne.
"Coward," Zechs told him.
"I didn't hear you ordering a drink with hibiscus wine or fig bitters."
"Mine does have absinthe bitters," Zechs pointed out.
"Yes, you're very brave."
Zechs paid for their drinks, and followed Trowa over to the side room.
One of the couches was occupied, as were two of the armchairs, but the other couch was open.
Zechs sat down first, balancing the drinks, and was amused and pleased when Trowa settled against him, leaving almost the entire couch unoccupied.
Trowa took his drink, and Zechs draped his arm over the back of the couch, letting his fingers tease the nape of Trowa's neck.
After their heated exchange on the walk over, and with the promise of much, much more, Zechs had expected to suffer through half an hour of music while counting down the minutes until he could get Trowa naked. Instead, he found himself enjoying just sitting there, Trowa's firm, lithe body pressed against him, sipping on his drink and listening to the music.
"My dad was in a jazz trio," Trowa said, tilting his head up and speaking directly into Zechs's ear.
"Was he good?" Zechs had never really taken the time to listen to jazz, and certainly didn't know enough to know if the quartet playing at the bar were good or not. He was enjoying it, though, and flattered himself to think he wouldn't appreciate the music if it was bad.
"No idea. I never heard him play. He died when I was five."
That was a surprisingly personal admission, and Zechs had no idea how he should react.
"We should probably go," Trowa said, taking a moment to toss back the last of his drink, "or I'm going to be too depressed to want to have sex."
Zechs hesitated.
"We don't have to have sex," he felt the need to point out.
"You mean I could just be depressed instead?" Trowa shook his head. "No, I'll take the sex, please."
"Well, since you said please."
Zechs finished off his own drink before standing and offering Trowa a hand up.
The walk back to their hotel was sedate, with none of the detours their previous trip had taken, and Zechs wasn't entirely sure Trowa wasn't already too depressed to have sex.
The pool was empty, as was their courtyard.
Trowa approached his door but Zechs stayed back, giving him space.
The shorter man sighed and leaned against the door, looking at Zechs.
"Guess I'm not much of a good boy after all."
Zechs had to chuckle. He closed the space between them and pushed a strand of Trowa's hair out of his eyes, smoothing it over his forehead and tucking it behind his ear. Trowa turned his head into Zechs's touch, chasing after it.
"Ask me to kiss you goodnight," Zechs suggested.
Trowa smiled.
"Kiss me goodnight."
Zechs rolled his eyes.
"We need to work on the concept of asking versus demanding."
"Promise to teach me the difference?"
"I'm trying," Zechs grumbled.
He ran his hand over Trowa's cheek and jaw.
"What are you doing tomorrow?" Trowa asked him.
"No definite plans. Do you need more escorting?"
Trowa nodded.
"I'm going on the bike tour - it leaves at nine forty-five."
"Then it's a good thing I'm not fucking you tonight, after all," Zechs said.
Trowa snorted in amusement.
"Think you'll be up for the exercise?"
"Yes, I think so."
"Good. I like you."
Despite regretting that this evening wasn't going to continue, Zechs found himself strangely content that it was ending the way it was. Trowa wasn't, as it turned out, just a sexy, witty man looking for a good time.
"Good."
Trowa leaned closer.
"Please, kiss me goodnight."
And Zechs obliged.
-o-