Aaah, Chapter II. Much loves to everyone who reviewed and I mean everyone. I actually really enjoy writing this, which probably doesn't show in the length of the chapters. ha-ha. ANYWAY. Please enjoy and review. Reviews are love. And Chaos likes love. Yes yes.


Armed with a tape measure, notepad and his trusty mechanical pencil, Sephiroth entered the room that was furthest from the stage, along the narrow corridor and closest to Lazard's large office. The door was plain and black, where the paint had not flaked away, and a little yellow post-it note was attached at eye height proclaiming a single letter.

G.

Inside, a window was cut into the far wall, long and narrow and near the ceiling blocked by old newspapers and mismatched oblongs of mottled and mouldy plywood. A long couch ran parallel underneath the window. Red silk cushions were propped up, two on either end, bearing creases of heavy use.

On the wall to Sephiroth's left was a shelf that held a wide variety of containers and bottles, all colours from chalk and porcelain to green and crimson. Make up, he surmised, not being accustomed to seeing such things close up, if ever at all. One thing that confused him was the lack of a mirror usually synonymous with rooms like these. Strippers were vain creatures.

Very little natural light entered; when it did, it was in the form of slim shafts down upon jet-black vases filled with jet-black flowers, though in the sunlight they gleamed a deep velvet richness of purple and red. Sephiroth would have never expected such opulence in a place like this – an entertainer's dressing room – even in the most conceited of clubs.

The petals were soft on his bare fingers, a feel like a lover's flesh but cold. Flowers were a rarity in the city, tending to be expensive and regarded as an unnecessary luxury because of their transient lives. Beautiful for a few days before they began to rot. A sudden ruckus of chatter and the clack of heeled shoes outside dragged Sephiroth out of his musing.

The room itself, quite small and cluttered, would not be so much of an effort to improve as one might have thought. A new coat of paint and an adoption of Sephiroth's personal favourite minimalist style could change the oppressive ambience right around. Swapping the couch around for something brand new and sleeker; exchanging all the current faux-wood drawers and shelves for neo-baroque mirrored glass that would reflect that little sunlight the entered and open the room up to new dimensions. He scribbled such initial observations down onto his notepad before readying the tape measure to do its duty.

"My, my," a familiarly deep voice muttered whimsically from behind. Sephiroth spun around, surprised, not hearing the door open or any footsteps, to be confronted by black-rimmed azure blue eyes under a thick fringe of cinnamon red hair. "With the speed you left last night, I'm surprised to see you in the building, let alone in my dressing room."

"Your dressing room?" Sephiroth repeated, taking in his surroundings all over again. Suddenly the flowers made sense. This man was no ordinary entertainer. Genesis nodded and slid his thigh-length red coat off his shoulders. Underneath was surprisingly simple attire, just tight, black – obviously designer brands as the tailoring too fine for anything bought on the high street; fit too well to be anything that was not perhaps custom-made.

"So, what can I do for you?" The way Genesis' practised lips wrapped around the utterance that was a painfully blatant subversion of something so universal. It took skill, being able to do as such so easily without sounding too depraved or just trying too hard at seduction, learning techniques from low budget porn films shown late at night on the terrestrial channels.

Swallowing the unexpected, and despised, lump in his throat, Sephiroth fumbled to present his tape measure. "Taking measurements."

Genesis grinned, walking over to the couch in a typical confident gait. "Well, inside leg measurement 36 inches, waist 30 inches, shoe size 11 and pe-"

"The room. Measurements of the room. For my job," Sephiroth snapped icily.

The expression was not wiped from the redhead's face. "And I'm just doing mine, as I was last night before you vanished." He sighed and threw himself down onto the furniture. "That hurt, you know."

Sephiroth snorted and continued mapping out a basic schematic of the room to translate into designs and whatnot back at his office. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Genesis starting to undress. Nimble fingers made swift work of the tiny buttons that held his shirt together. Each time his wrists lowered, another inch of flawless, pale skin was revealed. He was far from the painted with bruises and hickeys whores that Sephiroth was used to. His state of perfection shouted narcissism as much as his clothed appearance did.

He must be like a chore to have sex with. All rules and orders. No biting, no kissing and no bruising grasps… Genesis himself would probably be more than happy to gift such pleasures on his clients, not that Sephiroth would really mind much—

He shook his head to dispel such thoughts, their being neither appropriate nor wanted. Blue eyes rose to stare at him in wonder. Crossing his right leg comfortably tightly over his left, Genesis rested back against the sofa. His shirt melded in with the hardy material, showing the toned expanse of his chest and stomach. Sephiroth soldiered on with his work, distracting himself with numbers and pretending he wasn't just slightly interested in that body and ignoring the fact that Genesis was painfully aware of the latter. The smirk on glossed lips said it all.

"What a boring life you must lead."

Sephiroth bit his tongue. Green eyes flickered to the wall behind Genesis' head – the only wall he hadn't measured and one he couldn't really access without going within close proximity of the couch, and that which occupied it. The dancer's smile was far over the 'smug' line of content and nestled into the too-soft padding he sat on.

"Come on, I don't bite without expressed permission," he drawled.

With a grunt, Sephiroth stepped forwards and leaned over to the back of the couch to reach the wall. Busy trying not to make a mistake, he failed to notice Genesis shifting, his weight almost constant on the couch to avoid raising awareness until the first thing Sephiroth felt was a slender finger dragging along the seam of his jeans between his legs. He shivered and hissed out a warning, to which Genesis just laughed.

"Call me what you will, but I can smell your frustration." Pale hands remained close to Sephiroth's body, and cool breath could be felt on his flesh under two layers of cotton.

"Perhaps because you're wholly too practised in these arts," the silver haired male offered as a bitter explanation.

"Arts? I'm an artisan now? I haven't been called that in a good few years," muttered Genesis, corners of his lips twisting. Then shocking blue eyes flickered upwards and stared into emerald green. Such a clear colour contradicted the enigmatic though entirely filthy man that they graced. Like a child's face on the most disease-ridden of the Devil's concubines. "Perhaps it's frustration that you haven't fucked anything good for a while?"

Sephiroth's gaze narrowed into a glare. Was he that easy to read or was this sinfully beautiful creature getting off on angering him? Either way, the redhead was working his magic, and before Sephiroth realised what it was, his hand threaded into Genesis' hair and tugged him closer. The latter rose to his knees with a victorious smirk. His own hands slid to cup audaciously around Sephiroth's clothed buttocks and squeezed gently, urging for a kiss that was only an inch away.

"Tell me, Genesis," speaking it for the first time; Sephiroth found he rather enjoyed the smoothness of that name on his tongue. The hiss of sibilance so suiting of the man himself. "Are flowers intended to be a permanent feature?"

Laughing, the redhead drew his arms up around Sephiroth's neck and pulled him down to the couch with a surprising ease, even with that stubbornness that resisted the dancer's grip.

"I really don't understand you," Genesis muttered, nestling into the crook of Sephiroth's neck and inhaling the man's scent. Deep and rich; masculinity with a twist of expensive cologne and aftershave for especially sensitive skin.

Sephiroth could vaguely feel the cool smoothness of Genesis' back as he palmed over it, lost in the tingling sensations of breath on his neck. Lips traced the vein just under flesh, leaving sticky imprints of fruit flavoured gloss. Apple, he had guessed from their face-to-face position.

Without there ever being a knock on the door, it swung open and Lazard stood alone in the empty threshold. Steel eyes exasperated and lips taut in a thin line.

"Genesis," he said, tone an acerbic warning. "You could at least waituntil he's done his job."

The redhead sighed irritably and pushed Sephiroth away.

"Sephiroth," Lazard's voice turned back to the suave slickness that the named man was accustomed to. "The stage is free, if you'd like to measure up there now."

Nodding, Sephiroth slid off the couch without a glance or acknowledgement to Genesis. As he walked to the door, he noticed the glance of pure reprimand that the blonde shot Genesis, but he never looked back to see the reply.

Like it had been the first time he entered the club, the main room was deserted; lit only by those deep red lights. Lazard walked straight up to the largest of the couches in front of the stage and laid across it, watching as Sephiroth approached the stage wielding his tape measure and frowning.

"Where has everyone else gone?" he asked when the silence grew a little stifling. Every time he glanced up, Lazard was staring at him, near-smirking with his blue eyes. It raised the little hairs on the back of Sephiroth's neck.

"They've out to explore the town."

"And why not Genesis?"

Lazard smiled and reached for a half-empty glass on the table, still black and near-iridescent in the light. "Genesis has little interest in the world, preferring poems, classic literature and anything else he can sink his teeth into."

Sephiroth tried not to sneer, perhaps failing so he turned back to his work. Genesis may have tried to separate himself in style, dress and culture, but underneath that pretty exterior was just another attention-seeking void like all the others. Shaking his head to dispel such lingering, his mind pondered thoughts of changing the entire layout of the main room, not just giving it a coat of paint and some different upholstery, to suit the 'Cirque' in the name; a facet that Lazard had proposed to be a focus point of the business' theme. However, the thought of the decadent redhead bubbled back, curious as to just why he sought to be different.

He was an acquired taste, Sephiroth had detected the previous night, seeing how out of the many men in the crowd, some were scowling – not at all taken by his slightly more tasteful approach to entertaining. If such a thing could be said, he seemed a little more traditional in lacking lewdness, loudness of heavy cacophony. He seemed more… refined, like an aristocrat rather than a blue-collar exhibitionist looking for easy money.

"He's not at all like you think, Mr. Crescent." Lazard pulled him from the silent muse. Scary that he automatically knew what was going on inside that silver head. "In fact, given a little time, I see you becoming quite close—"

"I don't want to get close to a stripper," Sephiroth snapped, reeling on the reclining blonde who just smirked at him. A white-gloved finger trailed lightly over the rim of his glass.

"Tell me, was it your father or your mother who denied you happiness as a child?"

Sephiroth stiffened, boiling over inside though he kept outwardly cold, composed, icy. Just as plain as Lazard's tone.

"This habit of self-denial must have come from somewhere…"

Biting the inside of his cheek, Sephiroth continued on with his work. The notes he was taking turned darker, as he pushed his pencil harder into the paper. He heard Lazard scoff behind him.

"Genesis is right though."

Sephiroth glanced to the side; only the motions of his hair betrayed such movements. He found Lazard had sat up, now cross legged and watching him with the curiosity of a scientist would his latest experiment. Analysing and reading him.

"What a very boring life you must lead."

"Mr. Deusericus, I came here because you hired me to renovate this place. I did not come here to be judged by people who don't know me."

The blonde chuckled and pushed himself to his feet. Readjusting the way his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, he walked over to Sephiroth, grinning. "You're a lot like him actually."

Sephiroth frowned.

"Stubborn, opinionated, arrogant. You are going to be quite close indeed."

"I told you, I—"

"Take this as a warning, Mr. Crescent, when Genesis sets his eye on something, he won't stop until he has it."