The room was rich: even the air felt different. Cleaner, fresher...hints of past dinners and good wine drunk from crystal glasses. The rank staleness of recycled freighter air, heavy with barely washed bodies, metal and machine oil was just a memory here.

Or so Bill hoped, as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, painfully conscious of his overworn jeans and thrift store shirt. He'd washed up before, and his clothes were as clean as he could manage, but he hadn't had time to patch the two rips at the top of his thigh.

His nervousness led him to the set of bookshelves, the variety of bindings telling him this was a place where someone really read what was inside the covers. He'd started to reach for one that had caught his eye, The Wind at Their Backs:The Legacy of Picon's Sailing Ships, when he heard soft footsteps behind him. Someone had come into the room, their steps muffled by the thick carpet.

"You like the old ships?"

Bill gave the book a last, longing look and took a second to study the man in front of him. Slender build, a bit shorter than him, ginger hair waved back from a high forehead. His casual linen jacket probably cost a couple of merchant marine's weekly pay packets, the fine leather shoes and summer-weight trousers at least double that figure. The first few fine lines had just started to crease the corner of his eyes...eyes the color of the brandy he was casually swirling in an oversized snifter.

They were likely close in age...but worlds apart in every other way. He had a sudden fluttering of doubt. Would he be good enough for him? Skilled enough?

The man lifted one eyebrow and nodded towards the bookshelf. Bill inwardly groaned. The man had asked him a simple, friendly question, probably to put him at ease, and he was standing there like a rook in officer country.

"Um...yeah. I love the old sailing ships. Building models of some of the classics is a hobby of mine. Haven't done any in a while, been too busy doing the outer planets run, but…"

The man held up a manicured hand. "Bill...it's Bill, right? I know you're nervous, but you're talking too much, telling me information about yourself, when you should be finding out about me." He sat on the green brocade loveseat in front of the fireplace.

"Pour yourself a drink-a light one-and come sit by me."

Bill did as he was told, pouring a scant half-inch of brandy into his glass and settling nervously on the loveseat. He cast around for something-anything-to say, an open-ended question, an observation about the weather...maybe a compliment. That felt right. He gave the other man a long look from head to toe, then focused on the bright ascot at the throat: crimson with a swirled silver pattern.

"That's a good color on you." He took a sip of his brandy and hoped that was okay. The man's pleased, almost shy smile encouraged him. "What's your-what should I call you?" Whew. He'd remembered just in time that names could be a still be a sensitive issue here.

He won an approving nod at the catch. "You can call me Major Tigh."

Interesting choice. He'd have to come back to that later, poke into why Saul gave himself that rank.

Over the next hour, Saul guided him through the stages: letting Bill draw him out, softening his usual style of communication (short and to the point) into subtle suggestions, indirect questions. Showing where to touch at first, how to gauge reaction.

"Touch the face here-see? Fingers along the jawline, brush your thumb over my lips…"

He closed his eyes as Bill complied, adding touches of his own. Slipping his fingers into Saul's hair, he took a few seconds to caress the back of his head, the nape of his neck, then moved in for a kiss. He restrained his urge to kiss him as deeply as he wanted, instead brushing his lips over Saul's, then pulling back to see his reaction. The heat in Saul's eyes melted away any residual shyness-he wanted him.

"That's a good start-"

Bill didn't wait for him to finish before moving closer and covering his mouth with his own. Pacing himself was the last thing on his mind-he wanted to make Saul lose himself in this kiss, push away the signs of wealth and status.

He wanted to give him a preview of what their frakking would be like. Gentle but thorough, building to a rougher finish that left them both breathing hard.

So far, so good. He feathered light, teasing kisses at his temple, next to his ear, his lips never losing contact with skin. One hand slid inside the loose shirt, playing with the thick swirls of hair he found there, toying with peaked nipples.

"You should check things out at this point, make sure it's having the desired effect," Saul said, his words a little shaky. Bill moved his hand down and lightly traced the outline of hard cock through fabric.

"Oh, yeah, I think it is. You're liking this a lot," he said, smirk playing around his lips. He took Saul's hand and brought it to his own erection, straining against the worn denim. "So am I."

Saul stroked him a few times, pulling his head into his neck, then moved back again. "Be careful with that. Not everyone will care if you're enjoying this. Some-" he broke off, his gaze slipping away from Bill. "Some people will want to see this being hard for you, that you're doing this because you have to."

Bill swallowed hard. Playing with reality, a little enhancing the experience was one thing. But forcing himself to be with someone when he didn't want to, just trying to get through it...that was a part of the life he tried not to think about. Should he ask more about this? No, he decided. Not tonight.

"But you do. You like knowing I'm hard for you." He covered Saul's hand with his. "I"m reading you here, Saul. This is what you want."

Saul's lips quirked. "Yeah, you're right-this time." His face turned serious again. "Now the clothes. How are you gonna get me naked?"

Bill sat back. Was this a trick question? "Um...like so?" He reached for the buttons on Saul's shirt.

"No, no...think about it, Bill. Don't you want to give me something to look at while you're getting me undressed?"

Oh.

He shouldn't have been shy about this-it was why he was here, after all-but self-consciousness washed over him as he began stripping down. A few words from Saul reminded him he wasn't just taking his clothes off, he was entertaining a guest. His movements changed. He slowed down, touching his skin while he took off his shirt. flexing his muscles, inching his zipper down.

Saul's avid gaze made it easy. Bill found himself wanting to show off a little, let Saul see the cut form of his biceps, the flatness of his belly. The hollow at his hips.

The strength of his arousal, hard between his thighs.

There was something about being looked at like this, subject to another's lust-filled stare...he flexed his hips, felt his own lust coiling tight.

"Get over here," Saul growled. He leaned back against the arm of the loveseat, legs slightly spread. "Do your frakking job."

By the sound of him, Bill was doing his job already. He kept his grin to himself and leaned over, instinct guiding him to undress Saul with quick, efficient movements. He started to throw the jacket and shirt over the back of the loveseat.

"Don't do that!" Saul barked. "They'll get creased. Always take the time to hang everything up at this point." Bill flushed. Another reminder that this was a transaction. He gathered the clothes he'd removed and took them to the closet.

"Besides," Saul said from the loveseat, his tone light, "this gives you a chance to show off your ass. Let me see what's waiting for me."

His flush deepened as his self-consciousness climbed. Still, he couldn't help but widen his stance a bit when he bent over to place the shoes under the hung-up clothes. Saul's appreciative hum told him that had been a good move.

"There's a basket on the side table. Bring that over here."

Bill picked up the small basket holding bottles and jars of oils, creams and other lubricants.

"Give your guest a choice, ask if he's got a preference. This is a good point to turn the heat up...get him thinking about how each one would feel when he slides into your ass. If he asks, you can talk about the different sensations, how this one warms up, that one is extra-slick…"

Gods, was Saul trying to frak him or kill him? There were two kinds he hadn't even heard of. If he were the client, he'd be wanting to come back to try everything.

He guessed that was the point.

Saul talked him through different scenarios, how some clients might want to prepare him themselves, others would want him to do that, see him lubing himself up to take them. Between Saul's hands-on guidance and his own fingers, he was beginning to be afraid things would be over before they got started. He looked down at Saul's cock rising from its thatch of ginger curls. He wasn't as cool as his words made him sound; it was obvious he'd like nothing better than to stop talking and start frakking.

Talk about true commitment to the craft.

.

.

.

"Gods...I'm just-I can't…" Bill groaned, running his hand over his face. Damp tendrils of chestnut hair fell over his forehead and he shoved them back. "Is it always like this? I don't think I can move."

Saul tried to keep a straight face as he leaned over his exhausted bedmate. "You'll have to work on your stamina, Adama. And pace yourself. You shoulda held back a little." He nipped at Bill's neck as he toyed with a stray lock of hair.

"How was I supposed to hold back, with you doing that thing with your tongue while you were...y'know, doing that other thing." He groaned again, deep in his throat.

"Not like that, Bill. Your words are critical tools of your trade. Use them." Saul arched one eyebrow.

"Even now? Right now?" Bill wasn't sure he could remember everything Saul had done-and had had him do-or that he could form coherent sentences even if he did.

"You gotta be more than a great frak. Make me want to come back, ask for you again."

"Um...when you were licking the underside of my cock and fingering me at the same time, then moved to my balls, I thought I was going to come right then." He gave Saul a hopeful look. "Better?"

Saul looked at him thoughtfully. "Some. Remember where your focus is. Go over what you did to me some more. Make me believe you wanted me," his voice lowered. "Make me think you'd do it for free."

Bill ran through the past hours in his mind. He'd felt powerful, like he had total control of Saul's being when he was sucking him deep, then backing off in a rhythm that was just syncopated enough to keep Saul guessing what would happen next. Should he say that?

Or should he tell him how helpless, how vulnerable he felt when Saul eased into him, the tenderness of his touch on Bill's lower back making him open himself more than he'd thought possible?

And he didn't even have the words for the animalistic frakking that built from that gentle start, Saul's fingers digging into his hips, anchoring hard in the hollows of his flanks. They'd been reduced to gutteral moans and calls to the gods through gritted teeth by then. He'd barely needed Saul's eager hand to get him off, the jerking thrusts of his coming setting off Saul's finish, hard and pounding until it felt like neither had anything left.

Saul's whispered coaching was bringing the fire back, and Bill filed away the scorching phrases he used, words that were making him hard again in spite of himself. He tried a few himself, painting the scene they'd just shared, holding it out like a promise for the future.

When Saul closed his eyes and breathed a soft kiss against his lips, he figured he was doing it right.

"When you're like this…" Saul kissed him again, cupping his cheek with those long, elegant fingers. "When we're like this, I could forget who we are. What we are to each other." He cleared his throat, pulling back a bit. "Pour us both some ice water from the bar. Don't rush, but don't linger too long like this either. The meter's still running."

Bill padded over to the in-room bar and poured two glasses of chilled water. Would it always be like this, things feeling so true, so from the heart...then a reminder that this was a business?

He didn't think he could stand it. How could anyone stand it, and not start breaking inside?

He looked down at Saul, lean and strong, one leg casually bent at the knee, almost like he was posing for a centerfold. And those warm liquid eyes were focused on him, drinking him in from head to toe.

He could feel the first cracks beginning. He didn't want the encounter to end.

"You should see yourself, Saul. Damn, you're making me want you again."

Saul beamed at his words. "You sound really overcome with feeling now...lots of passion in your voice." He looked away again. "Maybe a hint of something more. Nicely done."

Godsdammit! He knelt on the bed and cupped Saul's face in his hands. "I'm not sounding like anything. This is-" He broke off, stroking the barely-stubbled cheek. "This is from me, Saul. The real me." He lowered his lips to Saul's, trying to kiss his meaning into the other man, when a firm knock sounded at the door.

Saul pulled back. "I'll get it. You relax."

"No." He pulled him back down. "Let me." Before Saul could move, Bill had wrapped a towel around his hips and opened the door.

"Yes?" he said, keeping his tone as neutral as he could.

The young woman at the door seemed flustered. "Sorry, Mr. Adama. I just wanted to let you know you've got ten more minutes." She looked around his shoulders at Saul, sitting uneasily on the bed. "He's got a habit of not minding the clock when it's you, I'm afraid. And we're getting busy downstairs."

Bill looked closer at Saul. His self-assured cockiness, his poise was ebbing away as the housemistress stood there.

"Does he have another appointment?" he asked.

"No, but it's a three-day weekend, and there'll be plenty of walk-ins."

The successful businessman persona was firmly back in place. Bill could feel it come back like putting on a fresh suit.

"I'm booking him for the night. Put it on my account. I'll settle up tomorrow," He glanced back at Saul again. "Or whenever I'm-we're done."

She shrugged. "Very good, Mr. Adama. I'll let the booking agent know." She turned and left, closing the door behind her.

"I'm not sure I can go again yet, but if you're up for it, there are things I could do…" Saul said, slipping from the bed and placing his hands on Bill's shoulders. His thumbs expertly caressed the skin at the base of his neck.

"Let me hold you for a while. That's what I want right now." Bill turned and took Saul's hands in his own. "But only if you'd like that."

Saul gave him that smile that was almost, but not quite a smirk, like a secret thought had just made him ridiculously happy.

"I'd love it."

Bill took his time in making himself comfortable again in the ornate bed, then pulled Saul into his arms. Hips and thighs fit together like puzzle pieces, Saul's head nestled into the curve of his neck. He breathed in the scent of Saul's hair, a mix of greenwood and spice. A new scent...he wondered if another client had brought him some expensive soap as a gift.

Wondered what they'd done together.

The thought made his belly clench. Imagining the basics, the sucking, the frakking didn't bother him that much. But thinking about Saul having thoughtful conversation with someone else, sharing his experiences, his history...his jaw tightened.

Maybe he wanted too much.

"You okay?" Saul's soft question made him realize he'd pulled Saul in even closer. Of course he'd be sensitive to the shift in Bill's mood. That was one of his tools of the trade.

"Yeah. So, tell me," he said. "Was that really how it was for you, when you started doing this?"

Saul stiffened and Bill waited for him to say yes, that's how his experiences had begun, just like that, with a gentle, firm mentor guiding him. He had asked Saul to show him what his early days had been like, but Bill was still a paying customer.

He was still owed a good performance.

He felt Saul relax again, soft breath against his collarbone.

"Kind of. It was more like a compilation of Nagala and different clients, the ones who were patient, treated me with respect even when I barely knew what I was doing."

"Still felt kind of scary, being evaluated like that. Being anxious whether I was doing a good job."

"It got better. I got more confidence as I learned." He tilted his head and Bill could see that smile again. It went well with the twinkle in his eyes. "You gotta admit, I'm good at what I do."

Deflecting. Saul had mentioned this.

"There were times in the beginning, though, when you weren't, right? When things didn't go well between you and your client?"

The twinkle faded. "Before I came to the Guesthouse, yeah. There's some angry guys walking around out there, wanting to make somebody hurt." He chuckled, a wry, dry sound. "Not like we've played around with sometimes...I'm talking about guys who look to do mental damage. Want to see your spirit broken when they're done."

Bill stroked his back, long, slow glides along his spine. "You left that part out of our little role-reversal."

"Godsdamn right I did." He laid his head back on Bill's chest. "I didn't want to go there again, and it's nothing you needed to see. There's such a thing as too much authenticity. You were still here for pleasure, after all."

"I was here to get to know you better, Saul. I know there's things you'd probably never tell me. I thought maybe showing me would be easier." He was back in the rook persona again for a second, feeling that uncertainty, that hope he was pleasing enough. He wondered if Saul knew how much he'd revealed of himself tonight.

"It was...it felt better than I expected." He brushed his lips against Bill's skin, a ghost of a kiss, just barely felt. "It was like pulling together all the parts of how I wished I'd been treated in the beginning." His voice lowered to a whisper. "I could see myself in you, wanted to take care of you."

"Oh, gods, Saul," Bill groaned. "You did. I felt so safe with you, underneath everything. And not because I knew this was a fantasy." He ran his fingertips over Saul's cheek, caressing his temple. "There's something here, isn't there? Something more than client-companion." He kissed the top of his head.

"Something more than what's written in our contract," he continued.

"It's late, Bill, and you're exhausted, I can tell." He shifted until he was on his back, one arm pulling Bill close. "You get some rest. We'll talk in the morning." A light rain had started outside, the soft pattering against the window lulling Bill into resting his eyes, just for a minute. He wanted to finish this...the rain picked up and he drifted off, thinking about what he'd say in the morning.

.

.

.

Saul was up first, clad again in the robes of a Guesthouse journeyman. The tattered jeans and shirt were folded on the couch, and Bill could tell the thrift store finds had been laundered sometime during the night. Coffee and a light breakfast had already been brought to the room.

The rain had stopped, and the morning sun shone bright into the room, catching Saul's hair and turning it reddish gold. Bill waited for the time to feel right to bring up what they'd just begun the night before, but Saul stayed busy, running his bath, laying out his shaving kit, refilling Bill's cup.

Bill was dressing in the clothes he'd arrived in last night, the casual linen jacket that had hung loose on Saul's frame when he became the elegant tutor, the rich trousers Bill had shyly unzipped. He was glad Saul had insisted he hang everything up properly. If he'd been left to his own devices he would have tossed it all on the floor in his eagerness to get Saul naked.

"What are your plans for today?" Saul's question was smooth as his brow. Bill could pretend the heartfelt conversation they'd begun last night had never happened. The professional was back, years of training keeping Saul's features composed and even.

He couldn't hide the look in his eyes, though. Not from Bill...not anymore. There was a shy hope there, a vulnerability that pulled at his heart. Something had opened between them last night, and it remained open, here in the light of day.

""I thought we'd go visit the shopping district, find you some clothes that'd fit you better than mine," he said,smiling. "Maybe have lunch at the River Walk park. after that...whatever you'd like to do. A movie, the craft market, you name it."

He slipped his hands beneath the loose robe and pulled Saul close, holding him tight, then pulled away to meet his eyes. Saul's widening grin was spreading slowly over his face.

"I think my schedule's pretty open today. Give me a minute to change into street clothes."

"Take your time." Bill kissed his cheek. "I'll be in Nagala's office. Got a contract we need to discuss." He held Saul's face, stroking his jawline. "That the three of us need to discuss." A twinge of uncertainty flickered in his heart. Too fast? Too much?

Saul turned his head, lightly kissing the palm of his hand, then met his eyes again.

"I'll be right down as soon as I'm dressed." He threaded his fingers through Bill's hair. It felt like he never wanted to let go. He sighed happily.

"Sounds like it's going to be a perfect day."