Greetingzzzzzz!
Just a little two part one shot for a fellow fan fic friend!
Hope you all enjoy it!
BTW, my other stories are still updating on AO3 :)
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Brown.
Brown tweed.
Plain . . . boring . . . itchy . . .
Unimaginative and stale.
The dryness in his mouth made him want to choke; it was stifling sitting in a room so depleted of character and flavor that William T. Spears would have gladly taken a sharp knife across his throat.
Clutching his dark brown attaché case on his lap, sweat began to pool on his brows.
Brown, plain boring brown, it ruled his life.
Surveying the confines of the small waiting room, the young actuary noted the dated faux mahogany paneling on the walls, the threadbare grey and taupe Berber carpeting and the generic framed prints of horses and farmland. All playing at what appeared to be a lame attempt at conservative decorum in the room. It was all so sad and meaningless, totally devoid of originality.
Much like his own life.
He began his days at 5:30 am sharp. Starting with calisthenics, workout which would last approximately 45 minutes, followed by a quick shower and a properly made cup of English Breakfast Tea. His morning meal was always the same; dry toast, one tablespoon of orange marmalade, a poached egg and finished with a multivitamin and a full 8 ounces of water.
Work was 9 to 5.
No overtime. Ever.
Upon coming home he would drop by the local green grocer for items to make for dinner. Consistently 30% protein, 30% fiber, and 40% carbohydrates.
At exactly 8:30 pm the evening news would occupy his attention for an hour, afterwards the nightly ritual of shower, brushing his teeth, flossing, laying out his suit for the next day, and shining his shoes would take up at least 45 minutes of his time.
Then promptly to bed before 10 pm.
And he would lay there.
And stare at the ceiling.
Every day, every night.
And he would allow himself about 10 minutes of unrestrained weeping.
It would begin with the burning sensation circling behind his eyes; the emptiness of his life unfolding before him. Tears would collect in large pools and trickle down into his earlobes as his eyes locked upon the beige colored ceiling. It was all so dead, so incredibly vacant.
Before the sobbing would cease, his hand would circle around his stiff cock and after 5 minutes he would effectively wrench a lackluster orgasm from his weary body.
Life was a living death, he told himself every night.
Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, his bright green eyes flitted about the room until they finally rested upon the young secretary seated behind a simple black corner desk. Her thin hands tapped away at the keys of her Mac notebook; glasses perched at the edge of her now. Her bright scarlet hair was twisted in a tight bun atop her head; barely giving him a glance.
What had he gotten himself into? he wondered, eying her high colored crisp white shirt, she reminded him of a prudish librarian. Recalling the strange incident one week prior, Spears thought back to the card.
The card.
It had been another monotonous day, just like all the others, nothing special about it. He had had gone for his daily 11 am bathroom break and was just settling back into his chair when he noticed the business card at the center of his desk.
A black, glossy card with an elegant silver script scrawled delicately across the front.
No design. Just words.
Toboso & Co.
Flipping the card over, he discovered a phone number.
He thought about tossing it in his wastebasket, yet the simplicity of the card intrigued him. A strange feeling he had not known for so long.
Curiosity.
That night, instead of his routine cathartic masturbation and crying, he stared blankly at the card wondering what to do.
What did this mean?
It took a week before he mustered up enough courage to dial the mystery digits.
"Are you prepared?" A feminine voice sternly greeted him after two rings.
Spears gripped his phone tightly; lying on his bed, he was taken aback by the strange salutation.
"Ah, excuse me?" He hesitated, thinking ahead of what he should say. "Who is-"
"Are you prepared?" Came the curt reply.
Closing his eyes, Spears took a deep breath. "Yes." He hissed.
"Friday night, 10 pm, come to the corner of 49th and Vine, we are the red brick building next to the florist. Bring $5,000 in cash and come alone." She instructed coolly.
His mouth went agape. "Wh-What?" He stammered in disbelief. "Tha - That's insane! 5000? For something I know nothing about? I don't even know what you're offering! Do you take me for a fool?"
"No," the voice replied, its business type tone unnerved him. "I take you for a desperate soul. Why else would you call the number from the back of a random business card?"
She had him there, he thought miserably.
"Fine." He relented and the phone went dead.
"Mr. Spears?"
The man's head snapped up, still fuzzy from the memory. "Y-Yes?" He replied.
The secretary was holding out a clipboard with a sheet attached, in her other hand she held out a pen. "You will need to read this document, date and sign your name where I placed an X on the lower left hand side." She smiled widely and motioned for him to grab the clipboard. "We cannot proceed without the appropriate consent from you."
"Consent?" He quirked an eyebrow, striding towards the desk. "Consent for what?"
"For the services you paid for." She smiled that strange emotionless smile again, her deep brown eyes detached and unwavering. "Please take your seat; you will be called in five minutes."
Spears took the clipboard. "But-"
"Please take your seat; you will be called in five minutes." She repeated.
Spears ducked his head and walked slowly back to his seat. He recognized the voice on the phone as belonging to the secretary. But what was awaiting him! A shiver ran up his spine, this was so unlike him. Reserved, refined, predictable, how had he fallen into something so amazingly questionable? Had he lost his mind? His sense of reasoning? Had his loneliness become too much to bear? He had heard of stories about everyday normal people who suddenly snap and act out in ways completely foreign to what they generally were. Had he become one of those?
Scanning the paper quickly, he expected a standard legal documentation concerning liabilities.
What he saw sent red flags all over the place.
. . . person of service not responsible for bodily injury nor mental complications . . . pursuant of service must adhere to strict and private confidentiality agreement . . . waive all legal rights to litigation . . .
"What the Hell?" He breathed, feeling his body tense up. "I can't-!"
And yet, he signed and dated the document.
Against the wall, right above the secretary's desk area, a small round white faced clock ticked noisily. It was 9:57 pm.
"Papers, please." The young woman held out a waiting hand. Spears rose from his chair and handed her the board, suddenly noticing her shiny black manicured nails. Details were important to him, details and specific information.
He spent his waking moments reading and thinking, analyzing and calculating, thinking and thinking and thinking. Noticing her edgy nail polish meant nothing, it did not bring clarification to his current situation, it certainly did not make him feel any less anxious over what was going to transpire behind the simple six panel dark wood door right next to her desk. Meaningless information, his life was filled with it.
What was behind the door, he wondered, settling back into his seat.
Watching the ticking second hand on the cheap plastic clock, he could feel his heart thump faster as it neared 10 pm.
Here we go.
10 pm.
"You may enter." The scarlet haired woman informed him, gesturing towards the door. "Please, enjoy your visit."
The actuary stood up slowly, dread pooling deep within his stomach. "Wha-what is behind that door?" He spoke haltingly, balling his fists so tightly at his sides that his nails bit sharply into his palms.
"Anything you desire." She whispered, passing the tip of her tongue slowly along her glossy red bottom lip. She perched her chin atop both interlocked hands and winked. "I promise you, whatever you have now, does not exist on the other side of that door."
Pressing his lips tightly together, Spears thought of what he did have. Presently speaking, he held an excellent position for an excellent company. His apartment was considered above par in an affluent neighborhood known for its elegance. Money was never an issue; anything he ever wanted was within financial reach. His looks were above average; his physique was in top form. Did he truly need anything more?
What else did he need?
"I-I don't know what . . ." he paused, looking away from the secretary. "I don't know . . . what I need." He confessed,.
Nodding her head, the young woman tapped the desk with the tip of her dark nail. "When your body is hungry, it's just hungry." She gave him a serious look and tilted her head towards the door. "It can't tell whether it's hungry for chicken or steak or fish, it just knows that it's hungry. Our desires always tell us what we want to eat, so think of it as you being hungry, but not knowing what's in the fridge yet."
Hungry, he thought. Am I hungry?
His feet carried him, almost mindlessly towards the door. He watched his trembling hand reach out to the rounded brass doorknob, wrap around it and twist until he heard a loud click.
Darkness, it was dark and warm. The air seemed to swallow him as he entered the room.
Musky Egyptian oil.
Red velvet curtains.
White satin sheets.
Low lit candelabras
His bespectacled eyes ran rampant throughout the bedroom he had just entered into. Details! Details! Details! His mind screamed as he took in the strange surroundings of the sparsely furnished room.
It was a simple square shaped room with a large king sized bed in the middle. The mattress was housed in a wrought iron black frame with bright white satin sheets and pillowcases. The canvas bed boasted large plush looking red velvet curtains all around its perimeter. Black side tables, each with its own burning candelabra, flanked the cloud like bed. The walls were covered in deep brown wallpaper, giving the room an almost cavernous feeling.
As unbelievable as it seemed, the room was even tackier than the waiting room.
Breathing deeply, Spears turned to survey the rest of the room and was met with the coldest glare he had ever seen in his life. A pair of crimson cat like eyes staring dead at him from the left corner of the room. Spears felt his body go numb with fear.
He could only be described as beautifully frightening; seated on a maroon plush ottoman with his legs crossed and his head leaning lazily against a closed fist. His skin pallor was pure ivory, his long shoulder length hair was a silky inky black. Spears noticed how elegant he appeared, clothed in what looked to be a butler's uniform complete with white gloved hands and patent leather dress shoes.
"Good evening sir." He purred in a voice both deep and rich, a smirk suddenly appearing across his high cheek boned face. "Are you prepared?"
Spears gulped. "F-for what?" He whispered, fearful of the crow-like man eyeing him as if he were a meal.
"For what, you ask?" The dark man chuckled. "Surely you're not here out of some silly whim, hm?" Perfect rows of gleaming white teeth greeted Spears, it reminded him of a shark's.
"I-I need to leave!" Whirling around, he reached for the doorknob. Spears was terrified, uncertain of what exactly he had just entered into. Everything seemed wrong and unnatural, the money would be damned, he assured himself, he just needed to go home and-
Go home and-?
He stopped mid step, his long fingers barely brushing against the brass knob.
"Is there anything to run back to, Mr. William T. Spears?"
Turning slowly around to again face the obviously snickering man, Spears felt panic settling onto his chest. "What did you say?" He hissed.
"Every day, for the past ten years you spent your days analyzing the financial costs of risk and uncertainty." The crow man leaned forward in his seat; his face suddenly stone like and serious.
"All day, every day you calculate, you theorize and you analyze the likelihood that specific events will occur. Your entire life is based on assuming upon mathematical formulas, what might happen. What may happen. What could happen." Narrowing his eyes at the now visibly upset man, the seated man shook his head sadly.
"My God, your entire life is built upon avoiding risk. You produce nothing, nothing, but ideas other people procure and use to establish their own futures, their own successes."
"No!" Spears cried, wiping from his forehead. "That is not-"
"Why are you here?" He demanded.
"I don't know!"
"Why are you here?"
I-I don't know!"
The dark man bolted from his seat and grabbed a shocked Spears around his throat with one hand, quickly slamming him against the wall, pressing his body hard against him until Spears was pinned and helpless.
"Wha-what the fuck are you doing?" Spears gasped, struggling to free himself as the grip around his throat tightened.
"I am Sebastian." The man grunted, his lips brushing against Spears's ear. "And you are mine tonight."
"What?" He felt lightheaded from the intensity of fear coursing through his body. "No! No! Please, I don't want this!" He begged.
"I will tell you the truth, my lovely pet. You knew, deep within your gut, deep within your heart, that you were two steps away from ending this miserable paltry excuse of a life. You knew if something did not change, if you did not take that grand step into the rabbit's hole, you were going to finally die that physical death you've been contemplating."
"Go ahead," releasing his fingers from around Spears's neck, Sebastian clasped the man's chin and forced him to meet his eyes. "Go ahead and tell me I'm wrong." He challenged.