So I'm actually a little bit nervous about posting this one, mainly because of the implications behind a certain character's profession and partly because I know that no one really likes the thought of Scott, or any of the Tracy boys, engaging in this kind of behaviour. I was travelling back from a convention when this idea came to me and then struggled to write it for two weeks whilst battling against the pregnancy sickness that has plagued me for the last five months of this seven month journey (hooray for anti emetics). Anyway, I'm not trying to pull a Pretty Woman with this, I'm not trying to save anyone or imply that there is any glamour, I simply started watching Secret Diary of a Call Girl and here you are.
Call Girl.
Scott Tracy is an attractive man, with his dark hair that never really seems to be completely tamed, large blue eyes that burn with an intensity to rival the sun and dimples when he smiles. His job means that his body always has to be in peak physical condition, all lithe muscles that are coupled with his height in such a way to make heads turn no matter what room he walks into.
He knows all this, he has genetics on his side after all, and he can admit that his brothers are all attractive men as well, even Alan although he would deny ever allowing the thought to cross his mind. On the rare occasion that more than one Tracy brother walks into a club or bar they can almost hear the confidence of other male occupants curling up and dying an agonising death. He could walk into a room and have almost any woman he wanted, in truth he has on more than one occasion, but for one small detail: he has to want them.
Scott does not just like women, he loves them. All shapes, all sizes. That is not the problem. The problem is that as much as he likes women, as much as they like him back, and hard as he tries to make it completely clear to them, he always seems to leave them wanting more that he can give. For him it is always a one night thing and he tries to make this obvious before things even begin, but for some reason the message never really seems to take, never sinks in. The girls he meets still seem to hope that he might change his mind and he hates to see the way that it glistens in their eyes as they offer their number for the next time that he is in town and he turns them down flat. Perhaps it happens because he is a generous lover, he gets as much pleasure from giving as receiving and he does not like to leave any participant disappointed. Maybe that is where he is going wrong and he is too good at what he offers them, if he did not work quite so hard to make certain they enjoyed him as much as he does them the girls would not allow hope to flair in their hearts the way that is seems to.
Besides, why work to get something that can be bought?
Which is not a thought he had ever believed he would entertain before International Rescue, but then there was no real need. There was no need for secrecy, no disappearing acts in the middle of the night, no checking in at the most random of times because some disaster had happened somewhere. Back then if he did not find what he wanted one night there was always another, another bar, another club. That is a luxury he does not have these days. These days shore leave happens after weeks, often only for a couple of days. So, sure, he could risk going out and potentially returning to his hotel room alone or leave a girl staring at her phone for weeks in the hope that he could change his mind, or he could go for the sure thing. No strings attached, no hopes dashed, just a slightly lighter bank balance.
After weeks cooped up on the island with only his family he is most definitely going to take the sure thing.
He does not trawl the streets, you never know what those girls might have or what they have been taking, he goes with a high end company instead. The price per hour is steep but the girls are clean, well looked after and protected, and he gets what he needs. It is not like he does it every time anyway, just the times that he really needs to blow off some steam and wants a girl who can take the rough with the smooth. After the last six weeks and four rescues he needs something more than a girl from a bar or club might be willing to give him.
Her name, so the agency claims, is Athena. With her dark hair and eyes, her olive skin and full, red painted, lips she could certainly be a Greek goddess if she wanted to. He has employed her services a number of times over the years. She knows what he likes, what he wants and what he needs (often before he does) and while he is certain that another girl would prove just as good and effective, there is something about the way that Athena works that he enjoys more than the other two who came before her.
When she arrives at his hotel room he wastes no time in pulling her inside and slamming her against the wall. She knows how this goes, knows just from the tension in his arms as he holds her that these last weeks have been bad, and she has his belt off and pants down faster than he can really think about it. His lips are kissing the valley between her breasts, she has a no lips rule that he can respect, and her legs are around his waist. His hand is dragging her skirt up and he knows she will not be wearing any underwear because after the first time she knows better. He watches her face as she impales herself upon him with a moan and she is either the most skilled actor he ever met or she is genuinely enjoying himself. Every time he hopes for the latter. This coupling is quick, made more frantic by his seemingly desperate need to remind himself that there is pleasure in life as much as there is pain and darkness. She takes everything he throws at her and he knows that he should be a bit more gentle but since she is completely unconcerned with how rough he is being he follows her lead. She would warn him if there was a problem.
She smooths his hair from his forehead as he comes back to earth, eases herself to the floor and pulls her dress off over her head, leaving her clad in only her killer heels. Dark eyes regard him with a passion that is reassuringly real but she does not speak as she leads him to the bed. Sometimes they do talk, in fact some evenings they share a meal in his room and laugh as though they are old friends, but this is not a night for it and she knows that. She is paid to know that. Instead she slips the buttons of his shirt undone and presses it down his arms. She guides him to the bed, stripping clothes from his as she goes, and pushes him down onto his front before pausing to grab the bag she dropped in his desperate need to get her through the door.
The oil she uses to massage his back is unscented, his preference as it avoids certain awkward questions, and she spends a silent half hour working the knots and stress from the muscles of his back and shoulders. She works his legs, even his feet, and by the time she is done he is achingly aroused again. She knows it, is aware of what her touch is doing to him because she has done it before. This time it is slow, leisurely, she rides him as though she has all the time in the world. Brings him so close to the edge of that abyss only to draw him back at the last moment, eyes closed, head thrown back and lips parted in apparent pleasure. He likes to think that she enjoys herself as much as he does, likes to think that she does not do this because she is trapped in an endless cycle unable to get out.
"You've drifted off again," she says to him some time later when they are lying side by side on the bed. He does not reply, just watches the way that her finger traces the line of one of his many scars. They fascinate her, his reminders of times when he might not have moved quickly enough, and he half wishes that he could tell her the truth behind them. There is nothing romantic in that desire, he is her client and he is well aware that he is paying her for her services, it is simply the desire to have someone outside of his family to confide in. The desire to have someone who will not judge him.
She presses her lips against the scar, running her tongue over it like that simple action will erase the blemish from his tanned skin. It does not, never has, but he enjoys the attention all the same. Too many girls ask questions, too many hesitate at the sight of them. She never has, not visibly, and he appreciates that professionalism in her. He likes the way that she simply accepts them and moves forward, the way that she treats them as something sensual to be enjoyed and not just an indicator that he is not all that he appears to be. He allows her to explore for a while, enjoys the softness of her touch, then presses her away and back into the mattress. There is no need for words, the only sound now are her small gasps as he kisses his way down her body, running his tongue over places that he knows she is ticklish. He may be paying for this but he's a firm believer in giving bonuses where they are due and he is pretty certain that Athena is long due the bonus. Besides, six weeks with only porn and his own hand is a long time, too long most would say, and he needs to cram as much into the next hour as possible because who knows when he is going to get a night off the island again. They manage two more rounds before the concierge calls up to advise them that the car she ordered has arrived. They finish quickly, and she dresses in silence.
"I'll see you next time," she tells him as she picks up the envelope on the table and slips it into her purse.
"I might chose another girl," he replies with a wink and a saucy grin, arms behind his head as he relaxes into the pillows and feels sleep begin to catch up with him.
"You wouldn't dare," she smirks back, "and if you did I would be most displeased." He laughs and just like that she is out of the door and he is alone once more.
Sure, there is something to be said for falling asleep next to a warm body, something to be said for it to be a person he can love and who loves him, but there is also this. The knowing that Athena expects nothing more from him than that he follow her rules, which are few and easy enough to remember, and that he pay her at the end of his allotted time. He could waste time in clubs looking for a girl, who all seem to be getting younger and younger every time, he could run the risk of getting called away or the inevitable effect of his own abstinence which would leave more than one party disappointed. Or he could take what he has, a day of meetings and boredom, that usually runs late, followed by an appointment with a woman who knows how to make the weeks between melt away. He would trade an empty bed for that any day because at least he is not breaking her heart.
Artemis