The doors we open and close each day decide the lives we live.

[iago_excolo]

[Monday, April 5 (day 309)]
[Early evening - Tavern of Hell]

I've been steadily packing since a bit after I got to work and I'd say I was tired but my recent three-day nap says otherwise.   A few more days like this one and all the boxes should be ready to go to their respective locations.   It feels like an ending and as angry as I am at Dorian, I

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[iago_excolo]

As I shove him into the wall, it's obvious from his reaction that he's enjoying this, much more than I expected. I've known others that enjoyed this sort of game but it's not something I'd normally engage in. If it was, I'd have already visited Wanda for more than tea. As it is, I'm left quietly curious, turning over questions before setting them aside for the moment.

I ask what I shouldn't do and while one surprises me, the other doesn't. To each their own and there's something to be said for a good hair-pulling at the right time. Drawing blood isn't something I'd have entertained anyway but it leaves me with another question for Wanda.

We've reached the door and I've resisted the temptation to look behind me, concentrating on moving forward and considering my next move. No sex, no kissing and I almost chuckle at the parameters I've set for myself. Limitations are important as this is but a game and as I've already told him, I have someone important already in my bed. His footfalls are soft as he reaches the top of the stairs and I fish the keys from my pocket. Unlocking the door, I push it open and lean casually against the wall next to it as I take a look at him.

He's flushed and without a shirt, and before he takes another step, I issue a series of commands. "Hand me your shirt and down on your hands and knees. When I tell you to go, you'll crawl to the kitchen and behind the bar. The bar's well-stocked and I expect you to make me whatever drink is your specialty." He's a bartender. That should be easy enough and I continue in a firm tone. "You'll bring it to me, staying low and Heaven forbid you spill a drop."

He's delightfully on edge and I'm secretly pleased as I continue, "After that, settle yourself properly for display while facing me. I'd like a good view while I contemplate what punishment you deserve." I could ask if he has any questions but I'm under the distinct impression that that's unnecessary. With a snap of my fingers, I order, "Go."

[jaeresteade]

I follow him up the stairs, keeping two steps behind him and treading softly, though he hasn’t told me to be quiet. Just feels right, I guess, like the way I’m keeping my head down and my shoulders back. When he gets to the landing, Iago unlocks the door and stands aside. I stay behind him, waiting for permission to enter. I’ve been here before, for the card game on his birthday, but the apartment is shadowed now, and with only the two of us here it seems a different place entirely.

He leaves the door open and turns to lean against the wall and look at me. It’s an appraising glance, and I find my face growing hot as he takes me apart with his eyes, even though I still have most of my clothes on. I try to keep myself loose and relaxed, though I have no idea what he plans to do next. My first instinct is to tense for a blow, but I know if he backhands me I’ll fetch up against the wall anyway. It’s not a large landing. I still have no idea if he plans to touch me at all here, though the memory of his hand on my chest, his fingers on my cheek is still so fresh I can feel him. That I should be so lucky again.

He finishes looking me over and orders me down, and I drop, laying my shirt in his hands without a second thought as I go to my knees, then all fours. I trust him enough to obey him, I find, to crawl for him, and that surprises me, because he’s not someone you’d look at and say he’s a good man. Nice man, maybe, smooth talker, good in a fight, devil in bed, but not a good man. A man who’d break your heart or your head or both together, and sleep easy that night. That’s what he looks like. And I am down on his floor while he stands above me and tells me to make him a drink. “Yes, sir.” Can hardly hear myself for the blood rushing in my ears. Never dreamed I’d be spending the night like this. I try not to get my hopes up.

When he snaps his fingers, I go, feeling flushed and giddy with shame. It’s been a very, very long time since anyone made me crawl for them. Well, he’s got a good view of the cross on my back, and maybe that’ll please him. Hell, maybe he wasn’t just being nice when he said he liked my ass. Maybe I can get his goddamned drink right.

I stand up cautiously when I get to the kitchen, looking around at his nice little setup. You can tell a lot about what someone likes to drink from what they have in their home, but he really does have a bit of everything. There’s a lot of whiskey, though, so I pull down the best bottle of that and then stand looking at the rest. If I get too complicated, I’ll screw something up, and the truth is that I’ve never had a specialty drink. If he were a girl and a little younger, I’d make him a pink vodka lemonade or something with cranberry and have done with it, but I can’t serve him anything like that fruity. I do know he has a sweet tooth, though, for all he smokes. Half a jar of sweet cherries catches my eye, and I pull them down, and then hunting for the vermouth is easy. I can do this.

Hands shaking, still hard as a rock, I find a shaker and go to the icebox. Then a double measure of whiskey, a bit of vermouth, and some of the juice from the cherries. That’ll make it sweeter than a regular Manhattan. He has nice martini glasses, so I strain everything into one of them and throw in a couple more cherries. And then I start thinking hard about how to actually get the drink to him. He’s all the way across the room and I’m not allowed to walk. I left my dignity downstairs, but I want to present nicely for him, not shuffling or stooping. I bend down and put the glass on the floor, then get down beside it. I will myself still as I pick up the glass in one hand and set it carefully on the small of my back. The base of the glass is wide, and it’s not overly full, or I’d have no hope of doing this.

[jaeresteade]

Very slowly and very steadily, I crawl back across the room toward him, the glass balanced on my back. I’m praying as much as I ever pray, willing myself not to ruin this, hoping that I at least look good, like something he wants to punish, not a hardship to touch. It seems ages until I reach him, but when I can see his boots in front of me, I reach back and take the glass and hold it up to him. I’m down under in my head, and there’s nothing but the smooth, blissful feeling of having at least gotten this small thing right. Even if he never tastes the drink, even if he pours it over my head and kicks me, I gave him this sight.

When he takes the glass I kneel up fully, keeping my knees wide as I sit back on my heels and bow my head until the front part of my hair falls over my eyes. Then I lace my fingers together behind my head, back straight, elbows out. It’s not comfortable, and I couldn’t hold it for long, but I know what I look like presented like that, and I hope to God that it pleases him. That I please him. Because right now, here in this place, that’s the only thing on my mind.

[iago_excolo]

His tone is low and breathless as he addresses me, "Yes, sir." And again, there's that heady rush of power ...but it's nothing compared to how I feel as I snap my fingers and watch him crawl to the kitchen. The shake and wiggle of his ass only adds to it. I pull my gaze away long enough to notice the tattoo on his back. It's a cross but without a closer examination, I can't tell what sort it is. Soon enough, I suppose, and I close the door behind me.

I lay Jarmyn's shirt on the arm of the couch and as I settle myself comfortably, I sigh. I love this couch but I likely can't take it with me. How fucking disappointing but I'm quickly distracted from that by the tinkling of glass. I glance in his direction and he's got his head in the icebox, giving me a bit more time to ponder all of this. Rules are rules are rules and I chuckle low, contemplating how I found myself in a place where the restraint is mine and not someone else's.

Ah yes, love and marriage. It gives me more food for thought as I wonder if my sweet love would be amenable to this sort of thing. Could she wield this sort of control over me? I doubt she'd be comfortable at my feet. Perhaps I'll ask and perhaps she'll slap me for it. Been there, done that but it would different, I think... and I set it aside for the moment as Jarmyn begins the slow journey from the kitchen to me.

I'm vastly impressed with his notion of presentation but I keep it to myself as I take the glass from its precarious location. As requested, he assumes a position that leaves him open to my wandering eyes and I rise from my seat to get a better look. I walk one slow circuit around him, noting the changing view from the different angles before stopping behind him. It occurs to me that I've not yet tasted my drink and I examine the liquid, trying to discern what it is first. A Manhattan, I believe, with quite a few cherries. I like Manhattans and I take a sip, enjoying the slow burn of liquor.

I take a step forward and squat to examine his tattoo closely. I was right about it being a cross and before I realize it, I'm running two fingers along the lines of it. Goosebumps raise along his flesh and the shiver that follows it is quite pleasing to me. Pulling away, I stand up and circle around to stop in front of him. I wasn't lying when I called him attractive and in another time and place, I would follow through but alas, we are where we are. I notice another bit of ink on his chest and again, I squat to get a better look. A woman's name, and perhaps it's a lover or a relative.

To his credit, he isn't shaking, not anymore than I'd expect and the light panting is a delicious touch as well. I rise and brush my fingers through the soft texture of his hair. It's as fine as silk and how unfortunate it is that I can't pull it. Perhaps I only want to because he told me I shouldn't and I chuckle at my unruly nature. Drink in hand, I sit back down on the couch and pull the lighter from my pocket before setting it on the floor in front of me.

The packs of smokes are fished out as well and I dangle an unlit smoke from my mouth as I ask, "Has anyone ever hit you for pleasure before?" He seems the sort to enjoy that and I smirk at him as I continue, "I enjoy tales and I want to know details. Names are unnecessary as I'm only interested in what happened." I lounge back, long legs stretched out as I add, "Ah, and rub my feet. That would be delicious."

[jaeresteade]

I think I pleased him, at least, and maybe impressed him a little, but he’s not giving much away. I concentrate on holding position as he walks around me, his glass in one hand. He still hasn’t tasted it. I’m not worried about the drink so much as what he’ll do next. I want so badly to be equal to what he’ll require of me. I hear him drink, and then the rustle of clothes as he squats behind me. I tense up and then force myself to relax. If I had to put money on it, I’d say he’s looking at my cross, and that’s confirmed when I feel his fingers, chilly from the glass, begin to trace the lines of it. He goes over the entire cross slowly, and by the time he finishes there’s a fine shiver running through me but I couldn’t smile any wider. This doesn’t feel like punishment any more.

He stands and comes around in front of me again. I lift my head enough to look at his face but I don’t dare meet his eyes. He squats again, bringing his face level with mine. I freeze, going absolutely still as he looks at my other tattoo. I wish he hadn’t noticed, because he seems the kind to ask and require me to answer. He doesn’t look long, though, thank God, and when he stands it’s to put a hand in my hair and stroke it softly. I catch myself leaning into his touch. He’s being so nice.

He chuckles a little, at what I don’t know, and then I hear him sit down. Is he done with me? Surely not. I hear him moving again, and I spare a glance up to see that he’s getting ready to smoke again. I drop my eyes again as he asks his question. Can’t help but smile at that too. “Yes, sir. Many times, though never as often as I’d like.” He wants more than that though, and also for me to-dear God, I could pine after this man, with his calm self-assurance and absolute knowledge that he’s in control here.

I go forward only my hands and knees, which creak a little, and crawl over to the couch where he’s lounging. “I like being hit,” I start, and it comes out softer than I’d like, “with a belt or cane, or just with a hand. Mostly by men, but sometimes by women. I don’t like blood, but I do like marks.” God he’s letting me go on about myself, but I keep my fingers busy working at the fine laces of his boots until I can slide them off. I get his socks of next before I take his right foot in both my hands and begin to knead at it with my fingers and knuckles. He has fine, well-made feet to match the rest of him. He works on them, though, and I wonder if his pain him like mine do me sometimes. I want to ease that.

After a moment I switch to the other foot, and as I do I notice his lighter lying on the floor next to where I’ve neatly set his boots. That’s clearly a hint, but I want to see what he’ll do if I ignore it. “Is there anything else you’d like to know, sir?” I ask softly.

[iago_excolo]

I didn't miss the way he leaned into my hand, and he reminds me of a puppy, eager for affection but obedient to his master's voice. Well, mostly obedient but that's part of his charm, isn't it? The comfort of the couch calls to me and I seat myself as I begin to ask him questions. The fringe of his hair graces his long eyelashes, making him look extremely pretty and when he smiles it's even more so.

"Yes, sir. Many times, though never as often as I’d like." He goes on to explain the particulars and for someone so soft-spoken, he likes his punishments to be anything but. Again, he touches on the bit about no blood play but marks are more than acceptable. In all of this, I've not forgotten my smoke and the lack of fire to go with it. It's another test and I'm amused at the small infraction.

My right boot and sock are removed and I sip my drink as I turn over what he's told me. He begins kneading at my foot and anything I was going to say is lost in a moment of pure bliss as my eyes flutter closed. I'm certain I groan low with pleasure and I grin, imagining his reaction before finally looking at him. "You do that well." I take another sip of the Manhattan and continue, "You've done well with the Manhattan as well."

Making quick work of my left shoe and sock, he begins to massage my other foot and again, I sink into a delicious haze. His voice is all soothing tones as he asks, "Is there anything else you’d like to know, sir?"

It brings to mind a question I pondered earlier and I lean forward before catching his jaw in my hand. Immensely curious, I say, "Look at me," before brushing my thumb along the soft stubble there. I grin at him and ask, "What striking your face? You didn't mention anything about that, although I doubt a cane or belt would do well there." My hand moves under his chin and grazes along his flesh until I'm holding his chin up at sharp angle. Even if he casts his eyes low, I'll still be able to see his expression clearly.

"It'd be a shame to mark up something so lovely." My grin sharpens before smoothing away as I add, "Unless, of course, you've done something to deserve it."

[jaeresteade]

He listens to me talk about what I like, really listens, and he groans as I keep working on his feet. This man is something else, and I wish to God I could really show him my appreciation. He wouldn't thank me for that, so I've got to stick to what he'll allow me. When he compliments me about the massage and the drink, I have to close my eyes and look down for a moment. That's grace, and it's rare. I lean forward and kiss the top of his foot in my hand. "My pleasure, sir."

When he leans forward to catch my jaw, my first instinct is to jerk away, but I force myself to submit. I look him in the eye when he orders me to, though it's hard. He's so beautiful, and he has me, quite literally, in the palm of his hand. Speaking is even harder, but he asked me a question. "I've been hit in the face with a belt before, sir. I didn't like it. I'm partial to being slapped, though."

He pulls my chin up hard, examining me like he's buying me at market. God, what a thought. I hold his gaze, making a point of not looking at the still unlit cigarette still dangling from his lips. "Do you think I deserve to be slapped, sir?" I blink, just once, and drop my eyes. I dont know when I started trembling again, but I have. There's a kind of fear rising in me, and I wonder if he can see it, if it pleases him.

[iago_excolo]

I compliment his abilities and my eyebrows briefly raise as he kisses my foot with a murmur. Truly, I need to introduce Jarmyn to Wanda as I believe their desires would be complimentary to one other. Extremely so and as sex of any sort is off the table, I'll happily content myself with information instead. I clasp his chin in my hand as I question him and I find myself blinking in surprise as he says, "I've been hit in the face with a belt before, sir. I didn't like it."

He continues with, "I'm partial to being slapped, though." That makes more sense to me but rarely have I enjoyed that sort of thing. It doesn't mean I won't give it another try though, pending Milady Glass' cooperation, of course.

I examine him further as I comment on his looks and he replies, "Do you think I deserve to be slapped, sir?" My first instinct is to say no but his shivering is giving me a strong sense that that's the incorrect answer in this case. He expects me to punish him, painfully I suppose, but beyond the occasional spankings I give to Milady Glass, this is a different beast entirely.

I decide to give it a try anyway, willing to entertain this for the sake of my curiosity. Letting his chin go, I sternly reply, "Yes, you were defiant downstairs and now you've purposely forgotten to light my cigarette." I push him away from me as I rise from the couch and set my drink on the coffee table. He's kneeling at my feet and I push my reluctance aside as I draw my arm back and aim the back of my hand for his cheek.

[jaeresteade]

He looks at me a moment longer after I ask, like he's deciding what to do with me. Has he ever slapped someone before, I wonder? Probably been slapped before himself, that's more likely. Still it's hard to go too badly wrong. I don't plan on moving. Finally he lets me go as he spells out my sins and shoves me backwards. I'm still frightened but at the same time I have to hide a grin. Finally.

He stands over me, hand raised, and I look him in the eye as though daring him to hit me. I don't want him to do this if he truly doesn't want to. Being stared up at like that would unnerve some men, but Iago lets fly, bringing his hand down like he's throwing a punch. The noise hits me first, and then his knuckles and the flat of his hand, an explosion of sharp warmth beside my head that lances into me. It hurts, plain and simple, hot and hard enough to make my eyes water. I work my jaw for a minute and try to figure out where the cut in the inside of my lip is. It's not bad, just enough to make me taste a little. A cut lip doesn't really count as drawing blood, not really.

I look up at him, smiling as best I can. "Thank you, sir." And I mean it with everything I have. But then I can't resist being cheeky. "May I have another?"

[iago_excolo]

When my hand connects with his face, the sound of it is louder than I expected and immediately I regret it. This... all of this reminds me too much of darker things and I'm standing stock still as he smiles up at me. There's an immense gratitude in his eyes as he thanks me before asking for another. Something inside my chest feels like it's suddenly stretched too thin, too quickly and I can't catch my breath.

I shake my head, quietly murmuring, "No." I sit back down, vaguely proud of myself for barely stumbling and I continue to shake my head as I whisper, "I can't."

He deserves an explanation of some sort and when I'm finally able to stop the head-shaking, I rub my face with one hand instead. I glance at him and spread my hands, palms up as I say, "Look, I know you expected something else but this..." I should be able to explain this, shouldn't I? Old memories shouldn't still have a grip on me but it seems that they do. Taking a deep breath to calm myself, I continue with a less-than-steady voice, "I'm not the right person for this."

I retrieve my lighter, firing up my smoke as I take another deep breath. Feeling better, I look at him and begin quietly, "I'm not judging you for your taste, not in pleasure and certainly not in your choice of myself either but..." A deep drag from my smoke and I continue, "My father was unkind to me, more so than most in my family and he was especially partial to striking me, whenever the whim took him."

I shake my head, tired of the movement and dizzy besides that. "This reminds me too much of that time, and I cannot do the same thing to someone else. Do you understand?"

[jaeresteade]

I should have known better than to ask for anything else. It takes him hard, hitting me, and he sinks back on the couch, shaking his head. I stay down on my knees until it looks like he’s just going to talk, and then I stand up, trying to pull myself together. He needs something else from me now, and I wasn’t lying when I said I liked taking care of people.

I can’t go around the couch, but I can kneel beside him on it and put a hand on his shoulder while he gets himself a cigarette. Does he think he’s offended me? Probably. Have to see to that. He smokes and the story comes out. God, I feel for him. My hand moves to his hair, and then I’m hugging him, quick and tight.

I pull back and look him in the eye. “I understand, brother, more than you know.” I manage a smile for him, trying to think of a way to talk about this to him. “Who do you think hit me in the face with a belt? This one I’m wearing, as it happens. I took it when I left, for a trophy and to spare my brothers.” Not that’d it would have worked for long, but it was what I could do. “Not that he usually hit us in the face, mind.” Don’t want him thinking he reminded me of something bad, too. “That was just because I moved, and he missed.” Another smile, maybe not quite working. Need to change the subject, get off of this. “Was it just you at home? There were six of us boys, which made it easier sometimes.” And sometimes made it a hell of a lot harder, but still, I can’t imagine what it would have been like with just me. I wouldn’t have made it.

I can’t read his face. Shit. “Or…do you not want to talk about this? Can I get you another drink?” Does he want me to stop touching him? Does he want me to stop being here. “Do you want me to go?”

[iago_excolo]

I try to explain myself to him but I don't know if he'll understand, or perhaps, if he'll be angry. I'm vastly surprised when he embraces me into a hug, and not a sexy hug either, but one of simple comfort.

He lets go, looking at me as he says, "“I understand, brother, more than you know." His smile goes a long way to making me feel better and he explains further, talking about his father's rough treatment of him before he asks about my siblings.

Another deep drag from my smoke and I quietly say, "No, I had an older brother but he was the favorite and I was the fuck-up." Nodding, I continue, "Yes, I'd love another drink, something strong." Sighing, I continue, "My brother died in an accident but my father always blamed me for it. I couldn't take it anymore so I took off right after that but it didn't last long and when he found me, he tried to drag me back. There was a marriage contract and family obligations to honor, he said, but I refused and married my sweet Glass instead."

I close my eyes and shake my head again before saying, "He tried to buy her off and when that didn't work, he tried to poison her. He tried a few more things, each one worse than the last, until finally he died in a duel. There was snow on the ground that day."

[jaeresteade]

The nicotine looks like it's helping some. Dont know if I am at all. He explains about his brother, and I nod. We have more in common than I thought, this man and I. It's strange. He asks me for a drink, and I get up and go to the kitchen to do what I do best. I decide he needs another double Manhattan, this one on the rocks because I don't feel like making noise with the shaker. I pour myself a glass of red wine while I'm in there. He may have forgotten that I'm stone sober, but I haven't, and I need something to calm me down as I come off the high he had me on.

As I get our drinks I listen to him spin his tale of woe. Good God, his father sounds like a piece of work. Mine was never that inventive, but he did well enough at causing misery. I bring his glass over to him and then sit beside him with my own. I reach my free hand around and start kneading at the back of his neck as I talk. "Joshua was the oldest, then my brother Jacob, three girls, and me. Jacob was the favorite. Fucking toady." If we were outdoors, I'd spit on the ground, but not in his apartment. "He tried to beat me exactly once, and Joshua broke his arm." Not going to say what happened to Joshua after that, not now. "Sounds like you had it worse, though. My father was glad to be shed of me, for all I left with his belt and the milk profits for that month." Smile at that thought. That money got me so far, and in so much trouble.

I keep working at his neck, sipping my wine. "Anything else I can do for you, Iago?" I slip my fingers up into his fine hair and start rubbing at his scalp, just gentle little circles, and I don't look at him. I'll do what I can, and get him home afterwards. Not like it's out of my way.

[iago_excolo]

He sits next to me and hands me a second drink, which works out well because I've already finished my first one. I'm caught up in my own misery but I force myself to stop and listen as he tells me his history.

"That's quite a few siblings. I was lucky enough that my brother never beat me or lorded anything over me. In truth, he actually gave a damn about me where few others didn't." His brother Jacob sounds like someone my father would have appreciated. "Have you heard from any of your family since you left?"

"Sounds like you had it worse, though. My father was glad to be shed of me, for all I left with his belt and the milk profits for that month." He smiles after that and I find I'm smiling in return. "I took his favorite watch and the necklace my brother had given him. It was petty but it made me happy at the time."

I shake my head and say, "I didn't run far enough though. My grandmother found me first, to warn me but it was already too late. My father came to take me home, by force if necessary." I take another sip and contnue, "As the current eldest, I was to marry the bride he'd already chosen for me and breed with her as quickly as possible. I refused and he tried to beat me into agreeing. It was a bad time."

"Anything else I can do for you, Iago?" His fingers are in my hair and I enjoy it for a bit before smiling softly. Gently catching his hand, I say, "Thank you but you don't have to right now. I appreciate you thinking of me though. Very much so." I squeeze his hand gently and let it go as I continue, "Your type of desires aren't unknown in these parts and you shouldn't have any shame over them. There are ...professionals in town but I know they charge for their services."

Sipping at my drink, I'm thankful that it's strong and I offer, "I have more money than I know what to do with and I'd be amenable to helping you out with the cost, if that's something you wanted."

[jaeresteade]

He’s still telling parts of his story to me, although he seems lost in his own thoughts, or maybe just in his drink. I can’t imagine how bad it must have been for him, being followed and forced like that. I wonder if he was the one who killed his father, but I know better than to ask. I just shake my head when he asks have I heard from anyone at home. Nothing to say to that. I finish my glass and get up to pour myself another. On my way back I grab the whiskey bottle and bring it over with me. Makes things easier on both of us.

He only lets my fingers stay in his hair a little while before he takes my hand away. I let him do it and don’t protest. Maybe he doesn’t want to be touched just now, or maybe it’s too close. He’s not being rude about it. “Not doing it because I have to,” I say to his thanks. “You’re a rare man, and I’d like to think we’re friends.” I let myself look at him, just a turn of my head that takes a few seconds, but it’s too much. In the lamplight he looks beautiful and tired and sad enough to break anyone’s heart. And that would be when he starts talking about my desires, making me such an offer. I have to put my head in my hand a minute, and then drain my glass again before I can talk. “Iago, you don’t know me from Adam, and you’re offering me that. Won’t let me do a goddamn thing to pay you back for it though, either.” My voice cracks. Shit.

I’m not drunk yet, and I have no excuse for going on like this. I clear my throat. “Thank you, but I just can’t accept that.” I get up to have another glass of wine, though that’s rude, three glasses of the same bottle, in his house, unoffered, but I just can’t be next to him for a little bit or I’ll do something stupid like kiss him or offer him the best damn blowjob he ever had. He’s being so nice. I didn’t expect that.

[iago_excolo]

Like magic, the whiskey appears from nowhere and I'm not going to question my good fortune. Jarmyn's tones are softly-spoken and I'm appreciating it more and more as I don't believe I could stand anything louder than the repeated flow of liquor into my glass. My smoke's died away without my notice and I put it out before automatically reaching for another.

"You’re a rare man, and I’d like to think we’re friends." I laugh, and its a short, stunted noise. "If you knew how many thought ill of me, you might reconsider." I glance away and back, considering his offer before continuing, "Friends? I think I'd like that. I only have one rule though: you can't fall in love with my wife. She's mine." And I nod to emphasize that but I'm still a tad dizzy so it feels strange.

I offer to pay for Wanda's services and he looks torn before emptying his drink in one gulp. His voice is shaky and at least I'm not the only one. "Iago, you don’t know me from Adam, and you’re offering me that. Won’t let me do a goddamn thing to pay you back for it though, either." Now he sounds worse off and I watch him closely as he continues, "Thank you, but I just can’t accept that."

At that, I do chuckle but its a rough sound and I say, "Don't refuse me yet as that's not exactly true. I do have to finish packing this place," and I gesture around me at the half-packed boxes and crates. "If you help me with this, I'll happily pay whatever your service charges are. Hell, I'll make sure you never see the bill." I light my smoke and take a deep drag before adding, "And if you truly want to be my friend, you'll accept it with good grace."