Logan leaned against the wall of the elegant sitting room, arms crossed in front of his chest. He had staked out this spot in the corner, where the light was dimmest, his first night at the house. He could see the door from here, and it was as far as possible from where the few other men-for-hire tended to congregate, drinking casually in club chairs around small tables. The women-for-hire usually lounged in a similar room across the hall.
He soon learned that Miss Frost, as the silk-and-pearls crocodile preferred to be called, was as good as her word. She did not actually seem to care that Logan had been at the house for weeks and had yet to be picked. She had called him out of his corner a few times, even made him pop the claws for a few of the greying matrons and trophy wives who frequented the house, but he did his best to look forbidding and they always ended up choosing someone else. If he wasn’t so relieved he might have developed some sort of complex about it.
Miss Frost passed him now, heels clicking in the small gaps where lush oriental rugs did not cover the hardwoods. “Growly and scowly,” she murmured as she passed him, and Logan couldn’t entirely suppress the quirk of his lip. He was so scowly it was giving him a damn headache by the end of each night. When this was all over he might actually smile for three months straight just for a change.
The door opened, letting in a gust of wind, and three young women tumbled inside. Two, a brassy Asian girl in a yellow coat and a short-haired brunette in a black trench coat, were giggling and shoving each other. The third -- in a dark green hooded cloak, turned slightly away from his view -- seemed to be dragging her heels reluctantly, pulled along by the other two. Logan expected they were new recruits, he hadn’t seen them before and they didn’t seem to know that staff entered through the side door. Miss Frost glided up to meet them, and as Logan curiously watched he realized they were in fact customers, or at least one of them was.
Logan couldn’t make out every word, but it was clear that the brassy Asian girl was doing the talking. “...needs a date...this place...best...” Logan picked up on the occasional word, in between snaps of the girl’s gum. With another giggle she shoved the girl in the hooded cloak forward again, and Logan got a glimpse of her face for the first time.
His first thought was that she was way too young to be a client or even a new recruit. Wide, innocent brown eyes in a pale heart-shaped face, lush pink lips, and an embarrassed flush on her cheeks -- she looked like no more than a teenager. As he watched, however, she pushed the hood off her face and unclasped the fastenings of her cloak, slipping it off her shoulders, and he revised his age estimate upward, guessing she was probably in her early twenties.
She was dressed for an evening out, in a tasteful black cocktail dress and heels, the glimmer of silver jewelry at her neck and ears. Although she was young her body was definitely adult, lush and mature, and she carried herself with confidence despite her apparent hesitation about being there. Her auburn hair fell loose around her neck and shoulders, with two unusual white stripes falling to each side of her face. Even more oddly, she was wearing opera-length gloves, in black with the slightest shimmer, covering her from fingertips to upper arms, leaving only a small soft area of creamy skin exposed between the top of the gloves and the shoulders of her sleeveless dress. On anyone else the gloves would have looked like a ridiculous affectation, but for some reason they seemed exactly right on her. Logan had a sudden vision of those gloves running over his naked body, his tongue licking that small stripe of creamy exposed skin, and blinked in surprise at his reaction to it.
Miss Frost spoke a few more words to the other two girls, and with a laugh and a hug to the third they were tumbling out the door again, leaving the third girl in the hands of the madam. The girl with the unusual hair held her green cloak in front of her, folded over her arms, hesitating just the slightest bit as Miss Frost guided her to where the other men were congregated.
Logan watched with a feeling he couldn’t quite identify as the girl’s eyes ran over the other men. He wasn’t much for socializing, but of course in the weeks he had been there he had become familiar with the other men and the type of customer they usually attracted. There was an All-American Joe type, blond and buff and looking like he subsisted entirely on whole milk and apple pie. There was a sulky-looking slender young Latino man, who was equally popular with male and female clients. Logan watched as Roger, a somewhat older, elegant man raised a glass in acknowledgement of the girl -- he was especially popular with the rich girls looking to work out their daddy issues.
Instead of moving closer at his encouragement, the girl took a step back. Miss Frost, too practiced to try to push, spoke a few words to her, but the girl backed up a few steps more, half-turning toward the door. “...a mistake...” Logan heard her say. Without meaning to, Logan pushed away from the wall, taking a step toward the girl. The movement caught the girl’s eye, and she turned to look at him right as he froze, surprised by his instinctual action. Their eyes locked for a minute, and he felt the force of her gaze like a physical thing. The girl broke the contact in a moment, looking away, and Logan was surprised to feel faintly disappointed.
The girl turned her head toward Miss Frost. “Is he...?” she asked, flicking her gaze towards Logan again. Miss Frost expertly smothered the surprise on her face. “You have excellent taste,” she said in her smooth, practiced voice. “Come meet Logan.”
Logan took a step back as they approached, leaning against the wall in his usual pose, but he had trouble summoning his usual scowl. And if his crossed arms happened to flex a little as the girl approached, rippling the muscles under his flannel shirt, he was sure it was completely involuntary.
Miss Frost was in the middle of her prepared spiel about Logan. “...a superhealer, so guaranteed to be disease free -- if you are protected against pregnancy no further precautions are required...” she was saying, casting a significant glance toward the girl, who blushed but then nodded. “And one more feature...” Miss Frost said. Logan knew that was his cue. As much as it had irritated him to act like a trained dog in the past, he had been glad to pop the claws for the other potential clients, knowing that was the deciding factor in driving them away. He felt strangely reluctant to do it in front of this girl.
“Logan?” Miss Frost cued, the subtlest edge to her voice, and Logan held one hand out, letting the claws glide out slowly in contrast to the vicious snap with which he usually displayed them.
To his surprise the girl reached out, running a satin-gloved finger along the blunt edge of one claw, stopping just short of the skin of his knuckle. Logan suppressed a shiver. “Does it hurt? When they come out?”
“Yeah,” he said gruffly. And then, without really intending to, he heard himself adding, “Every time.” The girl simply nodded in acknowledgement, as if that was what she expected. Miss Frost looked taken aback. Logan wasn’t sure if Miss Frost had never thought about the display of claws hurting him, or if she was simply as surprised as Logan himself was by his honesty. He slid the claws back in, and they all watched as the skin healed over.
“A mutant,” the girl said. But she said it with wonder, not disgust as most did. “I never expected...” she said, and trailed off.
Miss Frost filled the awkward silence. “We can meet some of the others...”
“No,” the girl interrupted. Adding more softly but with equal certainty in her voice, “He’s the one I want.” Logan felt his heart rate speed up as the girl met his gaze briefly again, and then looked away.
“Well then.” Logan had never seen the usually unflappable Miss Frost so disconcerted. “Let’s go to my office and discuss the details.”
Logan had never been inside Miss Frost’s office, and had idly wondered what went on there during these “pre-appointment consultations,” as she liked to call them. He sat awkwardly in one of the two chairs in front of the desk, and the girl sat in the other. He realized belatedly he should have held her chair for her in a gesture he had only seen on television. What the fuck am I doing here? he thought, not for the first time but certainly more fervently than he had ever thought it before.
Miss Frost sat in her chair across the desk, tapping her nails thoughtfully on the leather blotter. “As you may be aware, Miss D’Ancanto, we pride ourselves at The Manor House on fulfilling all of our clients’ special requests. Your friend -- Jubilee was it? -- mentioned that you had a few requirements?”
The girl blushed, but seemed to be making a conscious effort to hold her head high. She looked Miss Frost in the eye, again flicking only the occasional glance to Logan.
“I want the whole night,” she said. Miss Frost nodded calmly. Logan knew that this was not uncommon, but he felt a warm tendril of satisfaction uncurl in his belly at the girl’s words.
The girl took a deep breath. “And I want...” she seemed to be searching for the words. “If I say stop, I want it to stop right away. Not even a second later. And I want him to only touch me when I say.” She looked Logan right in the eye, her head held high even as the blush on her cheeks intensified. “I want control. Complete control.”
Logan felt a growl start in his chest at the thought of it. Miss Frost was looking quite concerned again. “You should probably know...Logan is new to this. He is not as...practiced...as some of the others. Perhaps there is someone more suitable...”
They both saw the disappointment flash over the girl’s face before she schooled her expression into neutrality.
“No,” Logan growled, making both women jump. “No one else. I can do it.”
Miss Frost’s brief look of bafflement echoed Logan’s own thoughts. What the hell are you doing? She just gave you an out and you turned it down.
She turned back to Miss D’Ancanto. “Well. Then. Was there anything else?”
The girl hesitated, dropping her eyes to her lap. Her gloved hands fidgeted nervously before she seemed to still them with a conscious effort. She looked up at Miss Frost, and then away again. Logan wondered what request she could possibly be formulating that was apparently more outrageous than the last had been.
“I want...” She took a deep breath. “As much as possible, I want it to seem real.” Her gaze flicked to Logan, and then back down to her hands. When she spoke again it was so soft he could barely hear it, even sitting next to her as he was, but he heard the loneliness and desolation in the soft words. “I want him to pretend like he really wants me.”
Logan felt her words jolt right to his groin. Pretend? He realized now that he had been uncomfortably hard since the girl took off her cloak. In any other situation he would have had her up against the wall already.
He realized belatedly that Miss Frost had been checking in on his thoughts again, and he closed his mind against her with irritation as her amused smile turned to one of reassurance aimed at Miss D’Ancanto. “I don’t believe that will be a problem,” she said in her smooth professional voice. “Now if that is all, your friend has already authorized a charge to her credit card that will be more than sufficient. Room 8.”
She handed a key to Logan, and he stared at the object in his palm as if he had never seen anything like it before. What the fuck am I doing here? he thought again. He realized that both women were watching him uncertainly. He tightened his fist around the key and stood up. “Let’s go,” he said.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Okay, now that you know where this is going, I totally blame Rhion for this story. She has a series called Leather and Metal (Find it here: http://www.wolverineandrogue.com/wrfa/viewseries.php?seriesid=173) that involves Marie and Logan meeting in a whorehouse, and I got stuck on the idea of what set of circumstances, if any, might actually lead to a believable Hooker!Logan. And this was it.
Apparently I can't even do PWP without a long-winded build-up. Oh wells, forgive this additional chapter of set-up. Next stop, Smut City!
Apparently I can't even do PWP without a long-winded build-up. Oh wells, forgive this additional chapter of set-up. Next stop, Smut City!