Trant returned to his hotel suite and placed his briefcase down on the table, satisfied with another productive day. Almost immediately, the phone rang and the receptionist put a call through to him.
"Mr Heidelstam?"
"Yes, speaking."
"This is Rhona from the agency. I'm calling to apologise that unfortunately Franco cannot be with you this evening, he has had a family emergency."
"Oh I'm awfully sorry to hear that, I hope everything is all right. Please pass on my regards."
"I will. I'm awfully sorry. Now what would you like to do? I can refund your payment, or I can try to send someone else if we have someone available? I can see you normally go with Franco but it's up to you."
"Okay, who else do you have available?"
"Let me see," she said. There was a pause and Trant could hear the sound of pages turning. "We have Jean. He's tall, muscular, dark hair, versatile, on the submissive side, no hard limits."
"Oh. And can you tell me what he's like? As a person, I mean."
"Well, I haven't actually met him myself so I can't say. Let's see… it says in the file that I should recommend him to clients who say they are looking for someone to push around and treat rough. Oh no. Shit! I wasn't supposed to read that part out, I'm sorry. I'm new to this. I didn't really want this job, but the hours work for me." She sighed. "Life's hard, you know?"
"It's okay, Rhona, anyone can make a mistake. You're doing fine."
"Thank you," she said, and sighed again. "So, I guess you want a refund?"
"Wait. If I hired Jean, I imagine that would help? He needs the work and it would look better for you if you made another booking, yes?"
"Well that is true. If you're sure."
"I'm sure he's perfectly nice."
"Uh, I don't know. His file doesn't scream 'nice'," Rhona said, and laughed. "Sorry, I'm so bad at this. I'm probably supposed to convince you he's whatever you're looking for."
"That's quite all right. Luckily, I'm somebody who can make the best out of almost any situation."
"I wish more people were like you. The last guy I called wouldn't stop shouting and swearing at me, and I'm not allowed to hang up on clients."
"Well, this client would advise you to unionise and demand better working conditions."
"I don't really know how to do that."
"Go to the public library, they will be able to point you to the right resources and advise you. And send Jean to see me, as soon as he's ready."
"Thanks, Mr Heidelstam, I'll do that. I hope you have a nice evening."
"Thank you, good day."
Trant took the time to freshen up and change out of his work clothes and into something more suitable for the evening. They would likely miss the restaurant booking he had made, but no matter, there were many places to eat in this town, and perhaps his companion for the evening would have some suggestions.
Some time later there was a knock on the door. Trant answered it to be faced with a man smoking a cigarette. Long dark wavy hair cascaded over his shoulders and he wore a striped suit with a shirt half way undone and a tie hanging loose from the collar. He was taller than Trant, helped by the shiny heeled boots he was wearing.
"Hey," he said, then took a drag on his cigarette and blew out the smoke in Trant's direction.
"Are you Jean?" Trant wasn't sure what he was expecting, but this was a surprise.
"Yeah. Mr Heidelstam?" He blinked. He had pale grey eyes, Trant noticed, and his expression was unusually serious.
"Call me Trant," he said, smiling and offering his hand.
Jean put his cigarette in his mouth and shook Trant's hand, in a loose, casual manner. "What, you want me to finish smoking before I come in?"
"Oh! No, I thought we would go to dinner."
"Dinner?"
"Yes. I expect you know the restaurants around here better than me."
"Probably not. Not really my scene, restaurants, fancy shit like that."
Trant stepped out into the hall and shut the hotel room door. "I expect we'll find somewhere nice easily enough. He smiled. "My treat, of course," he added, on the chance that there was any doubt in Jean's mind.
Jean shrugged. "If you wanna pay for me to eat twice over, that's up to you."
Trant wondered if Jean was in a bad mood. The companions he met through these agencies were usually on the side of overly friendly and cheerful, even if it was clearly just an act. He put that observation to one side. Jean may still prove to be interesting company.
"So, do you like this type of work?" Trant asked after the waiter brought their drinks and took their orders.
"Oh, so that's your thing?" Jean said, taking a gulp from his wine glass. "Talking about sex in fancy-ass public places?"
"No!" Trant said, waving his hand and knocking his wine glass, which he then steadied. "Not that I'm necessarily opposed to such things, of course, I wouldn't like to paint myself as a prude. But what I meant to say was, you must meet some interesting people."
Jean snorted. "I guess you could say that. It's easy enough, most of the time. Easy money. I'm just doing it until I've saved up enough."
"What are you saving for?"
Jean frowned as if he didn't like that question. "Dunno. That's what they all say, right? People in the gutter like me. Always gotta be saving for something. Because it's not okay to do this kinda work forever, of course no-one could want that." He sighed. "I'll get older and uglier and none of my clients will want me any more, so I should have a plan B if I don't wanna end up even more closely acquainted with the gutter than I already am."
Trant took a sip of his drink. "What would you like to do?"
Jean shrugged. "Go to college maybe? I know I'm a bit too old now, but people say you've gotta do that shit to get anywhere in life."
"I don't think you're ever too old to make a positive change to your life. What would you like to study?"
"You'll laugh."
"I won't."
"You will."
"Try me."
"It's dumb, but I've always been interested in fashion."
"I wouldn't describe fashion as dumb. The way a person dresses is very important. It signals something about them before they even have chance to speak. It allows people to stand out as individuals, or to fit into particular groups. Fashions vary and change throughout the years, between countries and cultures and socioeconomic groups. It is a common misconception that fashion is only for the rich. Look at the innovative ways the impoverished dress themselves, reusing and repairing old and second hand clothing. Much more interesting than anything you can buy in a store, in my opinion." Trant smiled sheepishly as he realised how long he had been talking. "So yes, I think fashion is a worthy pursuit."
Jean listened to Trant with his wine glass half way to his mouth. "I guess so," he said. "Most people tell me to do something sensible instead. Something that'll do some good for the world."
"I'm not most people. I would encourage anyone to follow their dreams. And you can do plenty of good in the fashion world. Just talk to any teenager and you will see how important fashion is. And of course there is the world of theatre and film."
Jean drained the rest of his wine. "It's easy to follow your dreams when you've got money."
"I suppose it does help. I must admit that," Trant said. He picked up the wine bottle and re-filled Jean's glass, and topped up his own.
"So you're following your dream, I imagine?"
Trant shrugged. "I'm currently a financial advisor. I get to travel and meet a lot of interesting people and see how their businesses run. I like to learn and have novel experiences, so it suits me."
Jean eyed him with suspicion. "But you mustn't get to meet people who are interesting enough because you're here meeting people like me."
Trant looked away, and waved a hand. "Well, this is different. Meeting people on a personal level is a different thing entirely."
"No quickies in the elevator with the boring business suits?"
Trant hid his shock at Jean's suggestion with a tight smile. "Surprisingly, no," he said, pretending to remain unfazed. "Besides, that isn't exactly my style. I'm hoping to meet someone special, for a long term relationship."
Jean inclined his head, eyeing the ring on Trant's finger. "You're married."
"Yes," Trant said, twisting the ring around. "Does that bother you?"
"Doesn't matter what I think, does it?"
"What you think matters to me."
"Do you want me to be jealous? Would that do it for you? Me begging you to leave your wife while you're pulling my hair and-"
"No," Trant said, cutting him off. "It seemed you have something to say and I'd like to hear it."
"I don't. Have something to say. It's just kinda sad, that's all. Not like it's uncommon. But every last fucking one of them, married guys that I see, all fucking sad bastards." He shook his head. "Yeah, I know, you don't need to say it. They don't normally send me to talk to people. I fucking suck at this."
"Jean, it's fine. You're doing fine. You cannot measure a person's worth by their ability to speak eloquently. I am enjoying our conversation. But I'm not a sad bastard, as you say. I'm actually very happy."
"Are you?" Jean raised an eyebrow.
"My wife is my best friend, and I love her more than anyone, apart from our son, of course. I eventually came to admit to myself that I was never in love with her, and it was to my great relief that she felt the same. So we have an agreement. She allows me to spend time with whoever I like while I'm away on business trips. And using agencies like yours is safer in most places. I had a few rather uncomfortable encounters trying to meet men in bars."
"Who hasn't?"
"Meanwhile, when I'm away her boyfriend comes to stay with her. It works for us. I can spend much more time with my son than if we lived apart and had to wrangle with joint custody, and neither of us have to consider losing our home."
"Doesn't it bother you? That she's in love with someone else? That she might run off with him?"
"Oh, I don't think that will happen. He has gambling debts, so the situation suits him too."
"Fallen on his feet with your wife, huh?"
"I don't think that's why they're together."
"So you want what she has?"
"I guess you could say that. I'm content with my life as it is, but it would be very nice to fall in love."
"So, you think Franco is the one?"
"Franco?"
"Yeah. They told me I was replacing him."
"I don't think so. We have been meeting for some time and have become great friends, he has taught me so much about what it is to live as a homo-sexual."
"His mom died, by the way. Franco's mom. That's why he's not here."
"Oh god. Do you have his address? I'll send him a condolence card and some flowers."
"Don't think I'm allowed to tell you. The office will pass stuff on."
"Okay. Thank you."
"Rhona told me I should be nice to you. But I don't know why she sent me. I'm not what you're looking for."
"How do you know? We have only just met," Trant said. "They haven't even brought us our first course yet."
Jean snorted. "Look, I'm not the kinda guy who'd write you poems and bring you candy. I'm the kinda guy who'd suck you off behind the Frittte."
Trant forced himself to smile politely. "So you're not interested in a steady relationship?"
Jean shrugged. "Dunno. My job kinda puts people off. Not that anyone wanted me before."
"I'm a little older than you, and I haven't met the right person either. I don't think either of us need to give up just yet."
Jean didn't answer, he just ran his fingers through his hair and looked away.
Their food arrived, and during the meal Trant started to talk about his day as he would with Franco. Jean's attempts to feign interest were less convincing than Franco's, so Trant changed tact and attempted to find out more about Jean. Jean seemed a little resistant and suspicious about his questions, but as he had already admitted to struggling socially, Trant tried to interpret his answers in the most charitable way possible. He had to admit that Jean was intriguing. And certainly different than anyone he had met professionally or personally.
"You want me to come in?" Jean asked later when they reached the door to Trant's hotel room.
Trant checked his watch. "Actually, I think my time is up."
"Oh, yeah," Jean said, twisting a piece of hair around his finger. "If you want me to stay it'll be more."
Trant ran his tongue over his lips as he jingled his keys in his pocket. "I see."
"So. Do you? Want me to come in?"
Trant looked around, everywhere other than at Jean. He was doing that thing that newer clients tended to do, wrestling with himself over going through with the thing they're paying him for, almost as if they gave a shit what Jean thought of them.
Eventually, Trant shook his head. "I think we'll leave it here. I'm feeling rather tired. But I had a wonderful evening, and I'd like to see you again. Are you perhaps free tomorrow night?"
Jean blinked in surprise. "I'd have to check my schedule. Better if you call the office."
"I imagine the agency must take a cut of everything you earn. I could pay you directly, if that would help? Do you do things like that?"
"Sometimes. The agency doesn't like it. But what are they gonna do? Can't work if they break my kneecaps, can I?" Jean let out a bark of laughter.
Trant smiled nervously. "I suppose not."
Jean put his hand on the wall beside Trant. Trant blinked several times and the breath caught in his throat.
Jean leaned over him and lowered his voice. "Do you want me to kiss you?"
"Um," Trant said, struggling to maintain eye contact. And Jean realised that he really did want to kiss him, although he couldn't work out why. Trant wasn't his usual type at all, but there was something very attractive about him. "I thought we were out of time."
"You can have this one for free," Jean said, considering taking a chance and going for it, even though he'd lost some of the more reluctant clients by being too pushy.
"You don't have to," Trant said, holding up a hand and giving him a polite smile.
Jean huffed in frustration and took a step back. "Whatever. Suit yourself," he said, heading off down the corridor.
"Goodnight, Jean," Trant called after him.
Jean knew he should reply but he found himself stubbornly staying quiet. He'd probably already blown it with Trant, one way or another. Maybe Trant just didn't like him at all and had felt obligated to be polite to him for the time he'd paid for. It wasn't necessary. Jean was used to clients telling him to fuck off, at the start, or part way through. His job was easier when he didn't hate his clients, but it got messy when he liked them a bit too much. Maybe it was for the best if he never saw Trant again. It was embarrassing to be heartbroken over some guy who just liked to pay to fuck him every once in a while.
Trant arranged for some flowers and a card to be sent to the agency for Franco, and also enquired as to Jean's availability for the next day. Jean was available later on in the evening, so Trant ate dinner in the hotel restaurant before he came over. He found himself checking his appearance in the mirror repeatedly, and told himself it was normal to want to look nice.
When he opened the door he was shocked to see Jean's face was bruised and his nose was bleeding.
Jean noticed him staring. "My last client. He asked me to do something and I said no. Because I thought he'd like that, I was getting that vibe from him, you know? But then he fucking hit me. Hard."
"Oh god, does it hurt?"
Jean gritted his teeth. "Yes."
"Here, let me get you some ice."
Jean was sitting on the couch when Trant returned with some ice wrapped in a towel. "Look, I'm sorry I turned up like this, i know i look like shit," Jean said, pressing the ice to his face and wincing. "Please don't tell the agency."
"You were assaulted. They should know about this. That client is clearly a danger to you and your colleagues."
"Yeah, they're not gonna give a shit."
"They should. Assault is a crime."
"Not if it's consensual. And-" Jean laughed. "They know I'm into shit like that. If I say something, all he's gotta say is I asked him to do it. And they always believe the fucking client."
"But you didn't ask him to hit you."
"No. Lucky he didn't break my nose. I know I'm not the best looking guy but a broken nose or missing teeth is really gonna fuck with my popularity."
"People tell you that? That you aren't good looking?"
"Yeah. You know some guys are really into insults. There's one guy who fucking hurls insults at me, he loves it when he makes me cry. It's fucking humiliating. I learned how to fake it, I can't take that shit all the time, sometimes it's too much."
Trant sat down next to Jean and touched his arm. "Are they all like that?"
Jean took the ice away from his face, and looked down at Trant's hand on his arm.
"It's not so bad. Some of them just wanna screw me, no talking, no looking at me. And I kinda like it when they're rough and take control. But whatever, it's a job."
"How are you feeling? The swelling looks like it's going down."
"Thank god. Still fucking hurts."
"Jean, you don't need to do anything tonight. You can go home and I'll say you stayed the whole time and I was happy with your company. Or you can stay here and just sit and rest. Or lie down if that's more comfortable."
"Do you want me to leave?"
"I won't force you to stay. But I'll take care of you if you want to stay here with me."
Jean looked at him. Trant really sounded genuine. Looking into his eyes, he really couldn't help himself. "Trant, can I kiss you?"
"Jean, I just said you don't need to do anything for me tonight."
"Yeah, but… shit. I'm asking because I really want to."
Trant just stared at him like he'd said something odd.
"Sorry. I know I look like shit. Is my nose still bleeding?"
"A little."
Jean wiped his nose on the back of his hand. Trant tentatively reached a hand out to brush Jean's hair away from his face, then stroked his cheek. "Jean, you're still very handsome, even though you're injured. I don't find that off-putting, it just makes me want to take care of you." He felt Jean tremble slightly beneath his touch.
"I should be paying you for this."
"Just let me treat you kindly. Can you do that for me?"
Jean looked down. "Fuck. I dunno. I don't deserve this." When he looked up again, his eyes were filled with tears.
Trant wrapped an arm around Jean and pulled him to his side. Jean let his head fall onto Trant's shoulder and Trant stroked his hair. "You really have the most beautiful hair," he murmured, and Jean sniffled into his shoulder.
"Can I get you a drink?" Trant asked after a while.
Jean sniffed and wiped his eyes, trying to hide his embarrassment at letting himself cry. "What have you got?"
"I'll call down to the bar, they'll bring up whatever I ask," Trant said, giving Jean's shoulder one final squeeze before getting up.
"Vodka."
"With soda?"
"Hold the soda." Jean smirked. "On the rocks if you gotta be fancy."
Trant called down to the bar and ordered a vodka for Jean and a martini for himself.
"I spend a lot of time styling my hair every day," Jean said as Trant came back to sit with him. There was a sense of pride in him that Trant hadn't seen before. "It's not often anyone appreciates it."
"I do. And I appreciate you. I appreciate that you chose to stay with me after I gave you the option to leave. I want you to know you're safe with me. I won't hurt you." Jean looked away from him at that moment. "You don't believe me. I can't blame you for that."
"I don't really know you. You seem like a good guy, but you can never tell, not really."
"Yet you still want to kiss me?"
"Yeah. I don't know. I'm stupid.
"Why?"
"Why am I stupid? How can I answer a question like that?"
"No. Why do you want to kiss me?"
"Fucking hell, this is a new one. Just when I thought I'd heard every fucked up weird-ass thing. I took one look at you and thought you were gonna be another boring as hell businessman, Trant. Thanks for proving me wrong."
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."
"Uncomfortable? I'm not uncomfortable."
"Okay. Yesterday you seemed rather upset when I didn't take you up on the offer to kiss you."
"Yeah because I wanted to. I like kissing my clients, okay? Is that such a controversial statement? Kissing feels good. Like sex. Sometimes."
"Oh. I understand. I misunderstood."
"Does that make you feel jealous? Did you want to think you're special? A lot of guys do. They wanna be the only one who gets to do certain things to me. So they end up coming up with more and more fucked up things to do to me. That can be kinda fun sometimes."
"I would like to feel special. I would like to kiss you, if you still want to."
Jean parted his lips and ran his tongue along them. Trant took a breath and leaned forward slowly, gently brushing his lips against Jean's. Jean felt his heart jolt. Trant's kiss was so soft and brief and Jean knew he shouldn't have liked it so much but all he could do was look into his eyes craving more. Trant was nice. He would be nice to him. He should appreciate a client like him but his gut reaction was to push him away.
A knock on the door pulled them out of this moment. Trant went to answer it and accepted the drinks from one of the hotel staff.
Trant returned to Jean's side and sipped his martini as Jean took a drink of his vodka. "Do you kiss your wife like that?" Jean asked. He couldn't help himself. He had to say something.
"That's unfair."
"Why?" Jean asked, but he couldn't help but smirk at Trant's reaction to his comment.
"I could ask if you kiss all of your clients the same way."
"I usually let them take the lead. That's what most of them like. And let me tell you, some of them really suck. Fucking hell, it's no wonder they gotta pay someone to fuck them."
"Maybe you should be more particular about the clients you take on."
Jean shrugged. "It's not like I have a choice. The agency sends me to whoever pays. I guess the guys who pay more get priority."
"But you work for some of them outside the agency? Would it be correct to assume those are your better clients?"
"I guess. I know them the best. They don't surprise me any more or hurt me too bad."
"Would it not be safer to work just for a select few, perhaps, than to take your chances with whoever the agency sends you to?"
"I've thought about it. But the agency guarantees me work. Those guys could ditch me any time. Then what do I do?"
"But they must like you if they keep coming back."
"For now. But nobody sticks around forever. They all get bored eventually."
"But by then you might have enough money for college."
Jean snorted. "As if that's gonna happen. Fucking landlord takes most of what I earn." He finished his drink and put down the glass. "This is a goddamned expensive place to live."
"Oh. I'm sorry," Trant said, fiddling with the stem of his glass.
"Whatever. You wouldn't understand."
"Maybe not," Trant admitted. "But I do think you should reconsider working for people who hurt you like this."
"They're not supposed to hit me in the face. Not where it shows. The other clients will complain. If the agency finds out they'll go insane. Think I did it on purpose to piss them off or something."
"What if I hired you every evening for the rest of the week?"
"Wouldn't work. I have clients scheduled already."
"I'll offer the agency more." Trant smiled. "Tell them I really like you."
Jean smiled back, but it quickly faded. "Thanks for the offer, but I'm really not worth that much."
Trant put down his glass and reached over to touch Jean's hand. "Then call in sick. I'll cover whatever you would lose in earnings."
"Why would you do that?"
"I can ease your suffering, so why wouldn't I? I think you deserve better than the hand life has dealt you. Please, accept my help."
Jean looked down and was quiet for a long moment. "Okay," he said eventually. "Although you'll probably be bored of me before the week is up."
"I'll give you the money tomorrow, with no expectations attached. If either of us get bored, we don't need to spend any more time together. How does that sound?"
"Too good to be true," Jean said. "What do you expect from me?"
"Nothing. Just keep me company."
"Come on, you must want more than that."
"A kiss goodnight, perhaps?"
"I can do that. Anything else? Look, I'm not going to judge you. I've heard it all, done it all. The guys who are more specific about what they want end up less pissed off in the end."
"I'm not sure I want anything more."
Jean stood up. "You know what? I don't want your pity."
"What do you mean?"
"You've got this agreement with your wife that you can see as many guys as you like when you're away on business. But you want to pay me to do nothing? And you expect me not to be offended? You know what this is? A fucking rich guy showing off! You're like one of those assholes who burn money!"
"No no no, that's not true. Please believe me. I want to help you. And I like you. I know you struggle to believe me when I say it, but I do," Trant said. "Can I get you another drink? Some more ice?"
Jean shook his head.
Trant stood up and placed his hands on Jean's shoulders. "I'll think about it, what I want from you. Just give me some time, okay? We can talk about it tomorrow." He kissed Jean on the cheek.
"You smooth asshole," Jean said, breaking into a smirk. He considered giving Trant a proper kiss. He was still kinda mad at him, and angry kisses could be hot, but something was holding him back. He still wasn't sure if Trant was acting out of some weird sense of pity for him and he didn't want to confront that.
"Goodnight Jean," Trant said as Jean headed out the door.
"Goodnight Trant," Jean said, imitating the lilt of Trant's voice. He didn't look back.
Trant watched him go, and slowly closed the door. While he was happy to have spent more time with Jean, it was tinged with sadness about his situation, and confusion. He wanted to help, but he knew that giving and accepting charity was always more complex than it appeared. Cynics often claimed that every act of charity was done out of selfishness, out of a desire to feel less guilty or appear to be good. But even if that was so, Trant wanted to help other people. Was it so wrong to do that even if he benefited by feeling good about it?
Trant wasn't sure that Jean would show up the next day, but found himself smiling when he showed up at the door of his hotel room.
"Have you ever been in love?" Trant asked him once he had opened a bottle of wine and they both settled down on the couch.
Jean stared off into the distance. "Once. Wouldn't recommend it."
"Why not?" Trant asked, passing Jean a glass.
"It hurts."
"Oh. Yes, I imagine it does, when it ends."
"Yeah, and when you thought he felt the same way and turns out he never did."
"Oh. I'm sorry. Do you want to talk about it?"
"No."
Trant watched as Jean sipped his wine.
Eventually, Jean sighed and filled the silence. "He was my roommate, for years. We had this casual thing going, on again off again, you know. I was kidding myself he really loved me and didn't wanna admit to it. But then he went and met someone else and suddenly he was able to do a serious relationship like he told me he never could. Fuck him. Never again."
Trant watched as Jean shook his head, hiding under his hair. Anything he could think of to say sounded trite and empty. There wasn't anything he could do to ease Jean's sorrow. But he could relate his own experiences.
"My wife said she really loved me, at first. I thought I loved her back, I did, but I suppose I was just pretending. Still, it was nice to pretend. I realised I could never truly love a woman. But I've never found a man I have really clicked with either, even though I have met many attractive and interesting fellows."
"Maybe love's a lie," Jean said, and in one practised movement, he took out a cigarette and lit it.
"There's a theory that love isn't something you find, but something you build. I'm never around in one place long enough to build anything lasting with anyone, perhaps."
Jean blew smoke out of his nostrils. "Sounds like neither of us has a fucking chance."
"And yet, I'm here, and so are you. We both want love. I'm here until next week. Maybe that's long enough to build something together?"
Jean averted his gaze, saying nothing.
"I'll try not to hurt you, physically or emotionally."
Jean looked up. "Oh, it's no fun if you don't hurt me a bit." He was smiling.
Trant took hold of Jean's tie and pulled him towards him. Jean let out a yelp of surprise and let his lips meet Trant's. Trant kissed him slowly, hesitantly. But his lips were soft and warm and felt so good against his own. Jean found himself taking the lead, excitement bubbling in his stomach at the little moan Trant let out when he grazed his teeth against his bottom lip.
Jean felt Trant take his face in his hands as he parted his lips to kiss him deeper. He let out a strangled cry as Trant tangled his fingers into the hair at the back of his neck.
"Sorry. I'm messing up your hair," Trant said, withdrawing.
"Mess it up all you want. I did it just for you today."
Trant smiled. "That's so sweet of you."
"You can pull my hair as hard as you want," Jean said breathlessly. "Just, don't pull out whole lumps."
Trant opened his mouth, then shut it again. Then he wrapped his arms around Jean and held him tight. Jean was still and rigid for a few seconds, then he let himself relax and curled his arms around Trant. "I don't deserve this," Jean said.
"Could you please pretend that you do? For me?"
"I don't know," Jean muttered into Trant's ear.
"I really like you. I want you to be happy."
"Don't," Jean said, trying to struggle from his grip.
Trant let go of him. "Sorry."
"What are you doing?"
"I made you uncomfortable, so I stopped."
"I didn't tell you to stop."
Trant blinked at him.
"I didn't want you to stop."
"I'm sorry other people haven't cared about your well-being, but I do. I want you to feel safe and comfortable, and know that you can say no to anything or leave at any point without repercussions."
"I usually get in a lot of shit if I leave."
"Your agency has no say in our time together right now. I make the rules, and I say that there are no rules. I'd prefer if you stayed. I'd prefer if we could be nice to each other. But I won't force you to accept my love."
"Maybe you should."
"Jean, you don't look happy."
"I don't do happy. I probably have depression or some shit. It's easier when someone else tells me what to do. So I know I'm doing the right thing. Don't ask me what I want. I don't fucking know."
Trant touched his arm. "It's fine. I understand. I don't really know what I want either," he said, smiling nervously. "But I like you. And I think you like me too."
"Yeah. I guess." Jean scoffed. "I have to pretend to like all of my clients. Well, apart from the ones who like me to put up a fight."
"I don't want you to fight me, Jean."
Jean hung his head. "I know."
"Is that what you're doing, pretending to like me?" Trant asked, and there was a sadness in his eyes.
Jean looked up at Trant, then looked away.
"Sometimes, pretending can feel safer than telling the truth. I should know. I spent so many years pretending with my wife because I was so afraid of what might happen if I stopped. But now she's happier than she's ever been, and I'm free to pursue my own happiness. You can spend your whole life afraid to do anything, but then you'll never know if it could have led to something good."
"I hope you find someone nice, Trant. You deserve much better than me." Jean leaned forward to stub out his cigarette in the ashtray, then stood up.
"Okay. I don't think that's true, but I respect your opinion."
"I should probably give you this back," Jean said, pulling out the paper bag filled with small reál bills that Trant had given to him earlier.
Trant shook his head. "Leave if you wish, but I won't accept that back. You need it far more than I do."
Jean fought the urge to throw it back at him anyway. But Trant was right. He did really need the money. He put it back in his pocket. "See you around," he said, turning towards the door.
"Wait."
Jean turned around.
"Can I ask, are you leaving because you're scared?"
Jean laughed. "Scared? Of you? No. If you were gonna do something really fucked up to me, you'd have tried it by now."
"That's not what I meant. But I'm glad you're not afraid of me," Trant said. "I think you're scared of getting hurt again."
Jean took a step backwards. It would be so easy to go to Trant, go to this man who was inexplicably entranced by him, pretend they were real lovers for a few days. Then Trant would leave and forget about him entirely, and Jean would go back to his selection of boring and shithead clients and it would be worse than ever before. "Think whatever you want," he said, before turning to leave.
Trant spent the following evening alone. If he was honest, it was probably a good thing. He was tired from his day's work and it was nice to be alone for once to recharge. Just because he could have company didn't mean he had to have company, even if he felt like he should take advantage of the freedom his business trips afforded him.
He told himself that perhaps he would call the agency tomorrow and see if Franco was back at work, or if anyone else was available. But he couldn't help but think about Jean and wonder how he was doing. The man was so conflicted, like an abused animal that couldn't accept anything other than more abuse. Trant wanted to help him, but it seemed like even his kindness caused him pain.
Trant thought about all of the other men he had met on previous business trips. It was immediately obvious that he wasn't going to get along with some of them, but most of them were perfectly charming. Only they lacked a certain something that Trant couldn't quite articulate. Something that he was rather afraid that Jean seemed to have.
Logically, he should examine what exactly he liked about Jean so he could look for it in other, less emotionally unavailable men. It wasn't just an excuse to sit and think about Jean, Trant told himself. Jean was blunt and honest. He was complicated. He had nice hair and intense eyes and a body that felt so good pressed up against his own. He smelled so good. He was such a good kisser.
Trant laughed to himself. He'd failed. But it felt kind of good to know he was actually able to fall for someone. He hadn't been sure if he was capable of that. But it hurt too, knowing that it wasn't to be. Jean had said that it was no fun if it didn't hurt a bit, and Trant thought that maybe now he understood what he meant.
The next day, Trant smelled cigarette smoke as he walked back to his hotel room after work. It reminded him of Jean. He smiled and let himself imagine Jean waiting for him. But he thought that was unlikely, so when he saw a tall figure lounging against the wall next to the door to his room, he was taken aback.
"Jean!"
Jean lifted his head. Today his hair was tangled and his clothes were dishevelled, and that only increased Trant's desire to take him in his arms. "Hey," he said, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips.
"It's good to see you."
"Is it?" Jean put a hand to his head and winced.
"Are you okay? Did something happen?"
"No. I just get these fucking headaches."
"Oh. Is that why you weren't here yesterday?"
Jean smirked and ran a hand back through his hair, then waved his other hand that was holding the cigarette. "Yeah. We'll say that. Pretend I wasn't avoiding you."
Trant unlocked his door. "Do you want to come in?"
Jean didn't answer, but followed him inside.
"Sit down. I'll get you some water, and some painkillers."
"You don't need to bother," Jean said, but accepted the glass and the pills when Trant returned with them.
"Is there anything else I can do?"
"I'm supposed to do stuff for you, not the other way round."
"Then I want you to let me take care of you."
Jean looked like he was about to protest, then he sighed. He looked tired. "There's nothing you can do. I normally just lie down and wish I was dead. If I'm not fucking working."
"Do you want to lie down? The beds here are quite comfortable."
Jean smirked. "Fucking finally. You trying to get me in bed, Trant?"
"No, I-"
"Disappointing."
"But I'll join you. I could use a rest."
Jean followed Trant into the bedroom and kicked his shoes off before throwing himself down on the bed and covering his eyes with his arm to block out the light that made his head hurt even more. Trant took his time taking off his shoes and his jacket and his tie before sitting down on the bed and propping himself up on the pillows.
Sometimes it irritated Jean when clients were reluctant. It was mostly performative, so they could convince themselves that they were still totally hetero-sexual. But Trant's nervousness didn't seem fake, and it was actually kinda cute.
Jean moved a little closer. Trant caught his eye and patted his chest. Jean moved closer still and put his head on Trant's chest and curled an arm around him.
Trant let out a little sigh and wrapped his arms around Jean. It felt nice for a moment until Jean realised he hadn't earned this. Guys didn't normally cuddle him like this until after they'd screwed.
Jean felt Trant touch his head and start to stroke his hair. His head was still pounding, but the touch of Trant's hand was distracting. Jean let his eyes fall shut and relaxed a little. Trant started to run his fingers through Jean's hair, his nails brushing against his scalp in a way that sent shivers down his spine.
Jean started to feel guilty about just lying there. "Do you want me to do anything?"
"This is nice. I like this."
"Really?"
"Really," Trant said. "Does it feel good?"
"Mmm," was all that Jean could say. Trant continued to stroke his head and squeezed him with his other arm.
Jean sighed and let himself relax more. He was tired, and Trant stroking his hair was making him feel calm and forget about his headache. It was usually a bad idea to fall asleep when he was with clients. They often got mad, or refused to pay him for the extra time, or he was late to see his next client. But he felt like he could trust Trant. Jean felt safe here with him, feeling his warmth and heart beat beneath him.
Jean blinked sleepily and nuzzled his face into Trant's chest, then opened his eyes. Something wasn't right. Light was streaming in through the window. It was morning.
Jean lifted up his head. "Fuck! Shit! Trant!"
Trant opened his eyes and immediately broke into a wide smile. "Good morning, my love," he said. "Do you have somewhere you need to be?"
Jean rubbed his eyes. "No." He sat upright. "But I should charge you extra for this," he said, trying to brush off Trant's sappiness.
"Okay," Trant said, still smiling.
"I'll let you off because I like you," Jean said, sliding off the bed and bending to retrieve his shoes.
"You do?" Trant asked, sitting up and wincing at the pain in his neck from the position he fell asleep in.
Jean smiled. "Don't make me say it again."
"Okay. So long as you kiss me before you leave."
Jean leaned over him and curled his fingers around the back of Trant's neck as he pressed his lips to his. Trant smiled and kissed him back.
"How would you like to the cinema with me tonight?" Trant asked.
"Sure," Jean said before he could start coming up with excuses.
"What did you think of the film?" Trant asked Jean as they left the cinema screen.
In truth the only part Jean had liked was towards the end when Trant took hold of his hand in the darkness. But he was not prepared to express that thought, so he said, "Fucking terrible."
Trant laughed at Jean's bluntness. "It makes more sense when you understand that the director was from Katla and the film follows a lot of the common themes and romantic conventions that were common in early Katlan cinema, which can seem a little overdone these days."
"Did you like it?"
"It was a little derivative."
Jean opened his mouth to say something, but then noticed someone across the lobby. "Shit!" he said.
"What's wrong?"
"That's one of my clients. I was supposed to be with him tonight."
"Let's leave before he sees you."
"Too goddamn late!" Jean tugged on Trant's sleeve, then took off running out of the cinema. Trant ran after him and followed him down the street and around a corner into an alley.
Trant collided with Jean and looked up at him, his heart hammering. Jean wrapped his arms around him and kissed him roughly. Trant returned the kiss eagerly, adrenaline fuelling his desire.
They left the alley once they were sure they hadn't been followed, and hurried back to Trant's hotel room to continue what they started. For once, Trant didn't feel the need to hold back, and Jean resisted the urge to push him away.
"Jean, I have to tell you, I'm leaving tomorrow," Trant said as they held each other afterwards.
Jean's eyes went wide. "You're fucking joking. Tell me you're fucking joking."
"I'm sorry," Trant said, stroking Jean's cheek. "There's nothing more I can say."
"So fuck me, then," Jean said, and scoffed. "In more ways than one."
"My work with this company is complete, but I will return again, no doubt."
"When?"
"I don't know. I'll be in touch."
Jean closed his eyes. "I knew this would happen. I fucking knew it."
"I don't like this any more than you do. I don't want this to be the end of our relationship. I've never met anyone like you before."
"Yeah yeah, but you're still leaving."
Trant was quiet for a moment. "You could come with me."
"What? How?"
"I could give you money for living expenses, and to go to college, if you like. You could forget about the clients who treat you badly."
Jean narrowed his eyes and moved away from Trant, leaning his head on his arm. "Are you saying you want to buy me?"
Trant opened his mouth and grasped for words. "No. I… I'd be buying your freedom. In this world, unfortunately, freedom is not free, it costs money to do as one wishes. It's unjust. I wish it wasn't so. But if you'll allow it, I can make the world a little fairer, for you at least."
"So long as I do as you say?"
"No. That isn't what I-"
"I suppose it's the best offer I'm likely to get."
"I can't pretend this offer is entirely unselfish. I don't want to lose you. I'd like to see where our relationship might lead."
"And if it doesn't work? What's gonna happen to me then?"
"Then we'll renegotiate our arrangement. But I'll make sure you don't suffer unduly, whatever happens."
"I'll need to think about it," Jean said, turning away.
"Of course. I wouldn't expect you to make a snap decision. I'm asking you to place a lot of trust in me. I promise not to abuse your trust like your agency has, but I fully understand if it's impossible for you to believe me."
Trant shuffled closer to Jean and curled his body around his, and kissed his ear. Jean was trying his best to keep it together but he was so overwhelmed by everything that he could barely breathe. He felt like he should say no to Trant, surely he couldn't really mean it. But he wanted to believe that for once he had met a truly genuine person who cared about him, as unrealistic as that seemed. He knew he wanted to say yes. He just couldn't quite muster up the courage.