Chiaroscuro

Smoke swam through the stifling, humid air. Xander pulled the cigarette from his lips and let a curl of blue smoke drift between his lips. He surveyed the room with a cool, practiced gaze. He knew what he was looking for.

The red wallpaper and low lights gave the place a seedy feel, only helped by the threadbare carpet, black and worn crimson, littered with cigarette butts, crumpled paper and sticky bits of lint and God only knew what else. It stank of alcohol and the sweat of a hundred people. A throbbing, almost tribal music pounded through the room, seeming to move the air to its rhythm.

It was crowded tonight, wall-to-wall, and the little bit of light there was shone off metal studs, zippers, silk and black leather. Some stood on six-inch heels, some knelt by chairs. Some slid against each other, performing, showing off. All were connected by some chain or tether to one of the seated patrons of this place - the suits said money, whether they were on men or women, and they exuded the same casual ennui Xander did tonight.

Xander let his eyes play over tonight's stable, searching out the traits he needed. It's got to be perfect. If he's not completely perfect, I'll never get finished. Finally, his gaze lit on one in the back.

Shining, platinum blond hair, close cropped but not too much. Small build, not overly developed. Cheekbones Katherine Hepburn would kill for. Blue eyes.

From a distance, he looked good. Xander crushed out his cigarette and walked over to where he stood, parted the leather duster he wore. Nice touch. Kinda punk. He ran his fingers over the torn black shirt, felt taut washboard abs underneath.

Nodding, he turned to the redhead who held the strip of leather that attached to the collar the blond wore.

“Not bad, I gotta say. I'm Xander.” He held out his neatly manicured hand.

The redhead took it in hers; strong, firm grip. “Willow.” Her voice was liquid and smooth; she was a professional. She looked him up and down, and he carefully maintained his upright posture, his artfully bored expression. She couldn't be allowed to sense weakness, or he'd pay ten times the man's worth. “I've never seen you here... but you're no first timer.”

“I dabble. A hobby, really. But I want something particular today, and he might be okay.”

She looked at him again, speculatively. “Okay, Xaaaanderrrrr.” She drew out his name, tasting it. She smiled then, oily, a snake in the garden. “Go ahead.”

Xander coolly turned back to Spike, took him by the jaw and turned his head to one side. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Willow deflate a little. Thought you'd hook me with that? Only a total rookie would try to grab him without looking him over. Try again, baby.

The blond's head turned smoothly in his hand, the lips opening just slightly. Nice. Xander held his head turned, twisted uncomfortably to one side, while he stroked the man's groin. The blond groaned, a quiet, wordless hitching of the breath. He widened his feet and closed his eyes, and Xander felt him move his hands behind his back to clasp there. Very nice.

“Speak.” He used the tone of command he'd developed just for this, just for tonight.

“Yes, sir.” The blond's voice was smooth as silk, the English accent coming through clearly, even over two words. That clinched it. Xander turned back to Willow.

“Three. For the night.” The tone he used this time wasn't much different.

Her eyes widened slightly. “The night? But...”

“It's more than fair. Take it.” A guy didn't spend a year in Africa, haggling with old women in the market without learning to bargain. He knew what the man was worth, and he wasn't lying. It was fair.

Her eyes flattened as she realized she wouldn’t get any further with him. “Back by sunrise, don't forget.” She unclipped the leash from the ring on her hand and tossed it to him. He counted out the three grand from the hundreds in his pocket and pressed them into her hand.

“Thanks. I'll have h-”

“Bored now,” she singsonged, and fluttered her hand at him.