tampered | Log: Ongoing

Log: Ongoing

When: Wednesday evening, 9/12
Rating: anticipating R for sex work discussion
Characters: Asher

ivory_gold and House

vicodincrutch
Summary: "Pre-employment physical" for a moody vampire done by a misanthropic genius. This can only end well.
Log:

Asher stopped at the door to Dr. House's office in the Palace and ran his fingers through long hair the color of true metallic gold and sighed unconsciously. As the hair fell back, without thinking, he tipped his head to let that golden fall slide to cover the scarred right side of his face, letting only the unmarred perfection of the left side of his face show.

A physical.

A physical?

He was centuries old and was having a physical because he was admitting that there were things he could not get other ways. At least not without lies between himself and whoever he was with. Money made this whole transaction so much more honest.

Jean-Claude...

Was not there. Was gone. Might never be back.

Enough. Maudlin musings were for home. Not business.

He steeled himself, dropping an emotionless mask over the half-perfection of his face, and entered the physician's office.

He had fed. He was warm. He had a pulse. His heart beat in his chest. Let this doctor show him how skillful he was.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Greg leaned back in the chair, arms crossed. The latex gloves looked peculiar against his overcoat. He didn't say anything but set his jaw.

Shit. Both Ashers.

Asher set his pants and underwear with his shirt and allowed his lips to curve in a smile that didn't make it all the way to his eyes.

"Did you want the rest of the demonstration?"

"I'm not asking for it because I doubt you can get it up. Or any other weird kink you've got rolling around in your skull. Test purposes."

Blue eyes dropped from Asher's smileless gaze, scarred chest...down.

"Then all you need is proof that I can 'perform' on demand. Not ejaculation," Asher said as calmly as if he was not standing nude discussing whether he could get it up and whether he'd be providing the doctor a semen sample.

The scars did trail down toward his groin, trailing in along his thigh and sending threads across his scrotum, but "Little Asher" appeared unmarred.

"If you are considering a sample a waste you are gravely mistaken. This could end up benefiting you as well. Say that someone accuses you of being overly forceful, a simple test of fluid samples would ahead of time prove your innocence." It wasn't just about the examination any longer. House was right. He always was. Fabio cum Dracula was stubbornly trying the status quo.

His anatomy, despite scars, was utterly admirable. Greg supposed that if he looked that good he'd be taking his clothes off at the drop of a hat as well.

"That was not the reason you gave before," Asher challenged. "Now you are looking for arguments to bolster the one you lacked."

"What do you think I meant by 'on file'?" House glared. "Does the demonstration continue?"

Asher dropped a hand to his groin, not taking his eyes off of House. "Bien sur. Let us not disappoint the good doctor."

"Ah. French. That would explain a few more things." He continued his glare but did catch the graceful downward motion of his hand.

"No doubt as an American, you think that a subtle slight," Asher said, now wrapping a long-fingered hand around his penis and giving a not-at-all subtle stroke of his hand.

"Oui, oui." Pronunciation with an extra punch of gusto. House sighed then after. "Shall I get a bowl instead?"

"You aren't getting a sample," Asher said, giving another stroke. "Only a demonstration that everything is in working order."

"If you aren't able to follow through to completion, that leaves reason do doubt that everything is in working order." Like it or not, the smart ass doctor was not going to back down.

"But my pleasure is not what is being paid for," Asher demurred, with another long, slow stroke. "The client's is."

He very deliberately looked down to where his hand was so slowly working, revealing that "Little Asher" was no more shy than big Asher.

"So, unless you would care to bend over, this will suffice to demonstrate my functionality."

Greg rubbed a rubber glove covered hand over his forehead and then folded it under his arm. "Leg is giving me trouble. So sorry. I'm surprised that you don't think that some clients aren't hands on people. If there was a shiny coin in it for you would you get yourself off for a client's pleasure?"

No master vampire worth his salt could miss the sound and taste of the truth being bent.

Asher's lips curved in a smile that was all at the doctor's expense.

"I set the terms of what I will and will not do for a client. If I choose not to do such a thing, that is my choice and not your problem and not your need to determine in this exam."

In some inspirational book He picked up in the waiting room at Princeton-Plainsborough there was the story of a fly trapped indoors that slammed itself against the window glass again and again until death. Boo hoo. If only he tried another way! was the moral. House thought the moral didn't fit. The noble fly died in pursuit.

"Okay, Deuce Bigalow I have a different option for you," he stood slowly, allowing the damaged muscles of his leg to stretch before retrieving his cane. "I can go outside into the hallway and find a right container for you. Her name is Julieta. She's fond of Kenny G and telenovelas. Either you can give me the sample personally with a neutral little piece of plastic, or I bring in a third party and get it."

Asher laughed and the scorn in that laughter was literally tangible, a bite of power carrying the vampire's emotion in an un-ignorable manner that would shiver on skin like the prickles of tiny mouse or bird claws.

"What will you do when I turn her down? Because I am turning her down now. Will you try to get that semen by force?"

It wasn't about the semen any longer. It was about the fact that Asher was a master vampire and a master vampire did not, could not, yield to a human after the gauntlet had been thrown.

Beneath his jacket and Zeppelin t-shirt, Greg's skin itched. No goosebumps but physical discomfort at the sound. He hated it.

"Heartbreaker, aren't you? Julieta would likely say something to the effect of, 'tu eres un guapo diablo.' Some other things." Oh but he'd like to say those other things.

House limped back to the counter. Setting his cane down once more. His gloves were still on and he retrieved the cup from its lonely perch and sat. "Okay. Manually. Con manos."

So there they were. Not a vignette that would be painted by the banal Norman Rockwell. Perhaps a photograph Robert Mapplethorpe would have given a body part to get, though.

Asher had been through so much worse in Belle Morte's court, but there was something surreal about standing in a doctor's exam room, half-hard penis in hand, and an acerbic doctor apparently offering a hand job.

"Non." He let his smile take on a cruel cast. "Unless you are paying. No 'freebies.' No matter how delightful you are."

The photograph would be entitled "Half Limp."

"What's the fee?" His voice was steady and calm, no amount of pride swallowed. "I need the sample, and I guess you need your money with ego stroke."

Because House was just a half limp sort of man on multiple levels, it seemed.

"I don't need the money, I don't need the ego stroke." He took a step toward House to better use the height difference. If it incidentally left the man face-to-crotch with him, all the better. "I don't need anything out of this, since I retain the power to tell you no.

"I want to see you forced to give in, give me money, give me pleasure, and only then be allowed something you thought you could just demand."

Greg leaned back, gloved hands on his knees looking upward into the vampire's half scared face. Better than speaking to his groin. "You say you don't need anything. I think you're a tad wrong. I could tell Brocklehurst that you're uncooperative with a mere physical exam, present it as a warning sign and potentially risky behavior for a would-be mister of the night. Then you'll have to freelance without guaranteed protection and patronage. This is all so that I can see you're grade A meat."

Bad wording. He'd cringe about it later along with every other memory of this encounter over a bottle of whiskey. Asher's choice of words and flow were damn creepy. "His kink is showing," House thought to himself.

"I hate you," he grumbled securing the cuff of his gloves. Rather certain where this was all heading.

"What's it like to want?"

I hate you. Yes, those were words Asher was familiar with. As was being referred to as meat of one form or another.

It did not endear the doctor to the vampire.

He had had quite enough of that over the past three hundred years. There was a reason he had told Brocklehurst that he would only top; House had just skimmed along the burning edge of the reason.

His eyes narrowed for a moment but he kept hold of his anger and his power, channeling both into a purring answer that held sex, not rage, in a caress of magic.

"Why don't you tell me, doctor?"

Words were weapons. House used them well even before the surgery to any and everyone he chose. Asher could do the same, he assumed and too bad he was half wrong. Words did hit the air in a sentence and a shiver slowly rippled up his spine. He pursed his lips and slowly exhaled. Weird.

The shiver ended at his neck but there was a hum in his skin. A feeling, for the moment, vague and hazy draped over him. It could feel so good, this was just a slight brush, like an overly furry cat against a pant leg leaving traces to cling.

"What--?"

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