That would be hilarious tbh. Like if she was an actually good therapist, but her life is a disaster. My initial thought was maybe Parsins but I really like their loyal retainer/master type relationship. I was also thinking Laurent?? As a disaster therapist? But that doesn’t fit their dynamic. I ended up thinking maybe Vannes, but I like the suggestions of the Akielons a lot.
Jokaste feels like one of those “it’s so crazy it just might work” ideas XD
So you know how Eliza Dushku (Buffy the vampire slayer, dollhouse, bring it on) is a therapist now?
That’s Jocaste. She had a very wild and beloved, if brief, career in show biz and now she is a therapist. Was she in reality tv or was she in scripted shows? Either way, her personal life is shocking and kind of public and she does so many drugs but also she’s the kind of mom that sets up sensory activities for her baby even if it means she has to vacuum rice out of the carpet for the next week, and also she’s a fantastic therapist. She might also be fucking her nanny.
Sometimes she gives Berenger bad advice just to fuck with him. Maybe he finds a way to give her extra money because he is a sugar daddy at heart. She goes on a much needed vacation to Greece to try to reconcile with kastor and/or fuck Greek guys on the beach and Berenger is left with Makedon as his “fill in” therapist and it goes poorly lmao
This is not what I initially intended, but Jocaste therapist is getting a mention in BDSM au lmao, so thanks all
I think maybe BDSM au Berenger doesn’t find therapy super helpful, but Jocaste has been having them do shit like break into junk yards and smash up cars or something, so it’s been going better than usual. And then she goes on maternity leave and he gets left out in the cold. Alas.
BDSM AU? Not so sure about this one lol but here we go. No porn here. Alas. lmao
***
Berenger was Ancel’s favorite client.
He was polite, predictable, and generally pleasant. He paid on time and he tipped well. And he was easy. He only wanted one thing, which Ancel had been understandably skeptical of at first, but after four months of weekly appointments it had turned out, incredibly, to hold true.
Which was why Ancel was so annoyed he was running late.
As he punched in the elevator code for Berenger’s penthouse, he smoothed back his hair and tried to think of how he could spin this without looking like an idiot, or an asshole, or otherwise completely fucking up their dynamic.
By the time the elevator door opened at 8:10 pm he’d settled on telling the truth and hoping for the best.
“Sorry I’m late,” Ancel said, unlocking the door and stepping into the apartment.
Berenger was reading on the couch. He looked up. He looked more tense than usual.
“I had to take a friend-“ roommate, technically, though Berenger didn’t need to know that part “-to the emergency room,” Ancel said, taking off his coat and scarf, moving to the closet to hang them up. Usually Berenger took his coat for him, but their routine was already fucked and Ancel wanted to try and get things moving in the right direction.
He set his bag down on the floor next to him and bent over to take off his snow boots, switching them out for the silk flats he kept at Berenger’s place. “He thought he broke his wrist. Six hours of waiting just to find out it was a sprain. I would have texted, obviously, but of course my phone died and there was only one outlet. I tried to fight an old lady for it but she won.”
“Ah,” Berenger said. He was still in his brown work suit, but he’d already loosened his tie, slightly, which was unheard of. He closed his book and set it on the side table before standing.
“We could reschedule, if you’d prefer,” Ancel said, turning towards him. “But I wanted to show my face and explain myself in person. I didn’t forget about you.”
“I see,” Berenger said. He picked up Ancel’s bag and took it to the living room, setting it beside the couch. So that was a good sign, probably. “Is your friend alright?”
“He’s fine,” Ancel said, rolling his eyes. “He’s a baby. But he’s fine.”
“I can charge your phone for you,” Berenger said, holding out his hand.
Ancel handed over his phone and watched as Berenger took it and set it on the end of the kitchen island. It lit up, showing a pathetic red lightning bolt. Because of course he had a fancy wireless charger built into his fancy kitchen.
“It sounds as though you haven’t had the chance to have dinner,” Berenger said.
Ancel hadn’t, and he was starving. But he could hold off for an hour and take care of it later. He smiled and stepped forward to smooth his hand down Berenger’s shoulder.
“Don’t worry about me,” Ancel purred, trying to get them back on track.
His stomach chose that moment to growl, loudly.
Berenger pursed his lips and stepped back. “I have shrimp pasta in the fridge.”
“I’m allergic to shrimp,” Ancel said, annoyed at himself. He was fucking up his best gig and he was going to slap Nicaise when he got home.
“Not the pasta, then,” Berenger said. “A sandwich? I could do grilled cheese, or turkey. Do you have any other allergies?”
“Just the shrimp,” Ancel said, following Berenger into the kitchen and sitting at his island counter on a leather barstool. “A turkey sandwich sounds great.”
“Mayonnaise? Mustard?” Berenger asked, rummaging through the fridge.
“…both?” Ancel asked. He watched as Berenger made him a sandwich, moving carefully, deliberately. It was kind of sexy, which was annoying. Ancel made a point of not finding his clients sexy. But of course Berenger had to be- Berenger.
“You haven’t started the timer,” Berenger said mildly as he set the plate with the sandwich in front of Ancel on the counter. “It’s already twenty past eight.”
“Of course not,” Ancel said. “I’m not going to charge you for making me a sandwich.”
“I don’t want to hold up your schedule,” Berenger said. “You should eat. I don’t mind.”
Ancel smiled. “I do. I won’t be long. Go get ready.”
He ate the sandwich- which was delicious- while Berenger took off his jacket and draped it over the back of the chair, then slowly removed his tie, folding it and setting it down on the side table. While he unbuttoned his sleeves and rolled them fastidiously up to his elbows, Ancel stood and took his plate to the sink, pausing to wash his hands.
He took a few deep breaths. Then he turned and grabbed his phone before walking over to the living room, stopping to take the thin emerald scarf from his bag.
“Ready?” he asked Berenger, stepping closer.
“Yes,” Berenger said.
Ancel tied the scarf over his eyes, then left Berenger standing in the middle of the room while he grabbed the rope.
He worked quietly as he tied the harness around Berenger’s neck and torso, securing his hands behind his back.
“Tighter?” he asked, slipping two fingers under the rope over Berenger’s chest.
“Yes,” Berenger said quietly, his shoulders already lowered, his breath coming slower.
Ancel tightened the ropes, slightly. Berenger sighed, visibly relaxing.
Ancel paused to throw one of the couch cushions onto the floor, then curled a finger into the rope of Berenger’s harness and pulled him forward a few steps.
“Here,” he said. “On your knees.”
Berenger sank to his knees on the cushion and Ancel sat too, crossing his legs. He didn’t feel like reading a magazine, like he usually did. And it wasn’t as though Berenger would care.
Ancel reached out and curled a hand around the back of Berenger’s neck, pulling him closer to lean his forehead against Ancel’s thigh.
“Comfortable?” Ancel murmured.
Berenger didn’t answer, but he did seem to melt against him, his shoulders sagging, his breath growing slow and even.
Ancel set the timer for an hour and started carding his fingers through Berenger’s hair, tugging lightly once in a while, or scratching his scalp with his nails. The room was quiet, peaceful. He wondered, not for the first time, if Berenger was really content with just this. But he’d never asked for anything else, and he’d clearly seen Ancel’s website. He knew about the other services Ancel offered.
And it wasn’t as though it wasn’t sexual for him. He got hard, every time. He just never asked Ancel to do anything about it.
Which was fine. Just- strange. Then again, was it any stranger than the guy who wanted Ancel to walk on his back in stilettos, or the one who wanted to be force-fed hard boiled eggs? Probably not.
For once Ancel had a client he wouldn’t mind fucking, and of course he had to be the one where fucking wasn’t on the table.
Eventually the timer went off with a quiet chime and Berenger straightened slowly, leaning away.
Ancel stood and turned down the lights before returning to untie him and help him up onto the sofa.
“I’m going to take off the blindfold now,” Ancel said quietly.
Berenger nodded.
Ancel took off the blindfold, watching as Berenger winced before blinking slowly as his eyes adjusted.
“Alright?” Ancel asked.
“Yes,” Berenger said. “Thank you.”
“Same time next week?” Ancel asked.
“Unless your friend sprains his other wrist.”
Ancel laughed. “Don’t worry, if he sprains his other wrist I’ll leave him crying on the floor.”
“Harsh,” Berenger said dryly.
Ancel laughed again, standing. Berenger stood too, picking up Ancel’s bag and bringing it to the door. He took Ancel’s coat out of the closet and held it for him while he put it on.
“You know, meditation would be a lot cheaper,” Ancel said.
“So would Xanax, but it makes me dizzy.”
“If your job is that stressful, maybe you should do something else.”
Berenger smiled. “If you’re angling for more frequent appointments, talking about my job is an excellent strategy.”
Ancel smiled too, pleased to have a theory confirmed. Usually he knew a lot more about his clients four months in, but Berenger was always so reserved. The weekly Friday appointments had seemed like the only clue. Well, that and the fancy apartment. Clearly Berenger wasn’t a school teacher, or a cashier.
“I wouldn’t want to ruin all my hard work,” Ancel said, miming zipping his lips closed.
“If you find yourself missing dinner again, let me know,” Berenger said. “I usually start cooking at seven. I can make a larger portion if you tell me in advance. No shrimp.”
Ancel blinked in surprise. “You’re inviting me to dinner?”
“Well,” Berenger said, blushing faintly. Getting tied up and kneeling at Ancel’s feet didn’t phase him, but apparently dinner did. “I wouldn’t want you to go hungry.”
“I might take you up on that,” Ancel said flirtatiously, running a finger down the buttons of Berenger’s shirt while looking him up and down. He was still hard. Ancel waited to see if Berenger would take the hint, or say anything else. As usual, he didn’t.
Ancel didn’t take Berenger up on his offer of dinner until two weeks later.
He arrived early and they had medium-rare steak, and salad, and truly excellent wine. Berenger was reserved, as usual, but perfectly pleasant. They didn’t talk about his work, even though Ancel was burning up with curiosity. Maybe he was a surgeon, or a lawyer at some cutthroat corporate firm. Maybe he drowned kittens in a well while his corporate overlords held his no-doubt exorbitant paycheck over his head.
Instead, Ancel asked about the books on Berenger’s shelves, boring poetry for the most part along with a few thicker classical tomes. He listened attentively while Berenger talked, and asked all the right questions.
Afterwards they had their session as usual- Berenger tied up and kneeling, Ancel reading a fashion magazine until their time ran out.
Later that night Ancel checked his account to see that Berenger had paid him twice as much as usual.
He agonized for nearly an hour about what to do. Send the money back? Text Berenger? Call him?
But they’d never talked on the phone, and they didn’t text either, not since the first time Berenger had reached out to schedule their first session. And anyway, Berenger was probably asleep by now. So there would be no point.
In the end Ancel bought himself a new pair of shoes and went to bed. They’d talk about it next week.
***
“You know, you don’t have to pay me for dinner,” Ancel said.
“I was trying to be considerate of your time,” Berenger said, taking Ancel’s coat for him and hanging it up in the closet.
“That’s very sweet,” Ancel said. “But not necessary. You’re paying me for your hour session, and that’s it. Everything else is… on the house.” He winked.
“I see,” Berenger said.
“You’re not getting a refund, though,” Ancel added. “I already bought shoes.”
“I’m sure they’re very nice,” Berenger said. He picked up Ancel’s bag and took it over to the couch. He slipped off his suit jacket, folding it neatly and draping it over the back of a chair.
Ancel watched him take off his tie and roll up his sleeves, then walked over to blindfold him, as usual.
Everything was going exactly as usual, except then Ancel found himself saying-
“Take off your shirt.”
He bit his lip, not sure what had come over him. It was too late to take it back. He didn’t want to take it back.
Berenger froze, uncertain.
Ancel waited to see what he would do. Had he read Berenger all wrong? But suddenly he was sure he hadn't. Berenger wanted him, he could tell by the way Berenger looked at him sometimes, after their sessions, during dinner. But maybe most of all, Berenger wanted to stop thinking, to let go. He wanted more than what he was getting, but didn’t want to- couldn’t?- ask for it.
Or maybe he didn’t even know what he wanted. Maybe he needed Ancel to show him.
Ancel waited patiently. He didn’t say anything else.
Berenger raised his hands to his collar and started unbuttoning his shirt.
Ancel couldn’t help smirking, watching as each button came undone.
Berenger was fit underneath his clothes, lean. He clearly took care of himself. Maybe he went running, or swimming. Surely his fancy apartment building had a pool, and a gym or two.
Berenger’s breath was coming a bit faster than usual as he let his shirt drop to the ground. He was nervous. But that was alright. Ancel wasn’t going to push him any further, tonight.
“Very good,” Ancel said, stepping closer with the rope.
He took his time, letting his fingers trail over Berenger’s warm skin, brushing over his nipples as if by accident, enjoying the way Berenger shivered, his lips parting. Ancel made sure the ropes were nice and tight before tugging Berenger over to the couch and the waiting cushion.
“On your knees,” Ancel said.
Berenger let out a breath and sank to his knees. And then it was as though his strings had been cut. He melted against Ancel’s thigh, his breath slowing. Ancel wrapped a hand around the back of his neck, two fingers pressed against his pulse.
Berenger’s heart was slow, even. Ancel let himself relax too as he ran his fingers through Berenger’s hair, scratching at his scalp.
He was startled when the chime of his phone signaled the end of their session.
Berenger was a bit slower to straighten than usual.
“Let’s get you up,” Ancel murmured, helping him rise from his knees to sit on the couch.
He untied the ropes, moving slowly and carefully, not shy about letting his fingers trail over Berenger’s bare skin.
He wanted to touch him. He wanted to lick him. Berenger always smelled so good- fresh and clean, his clothes so pristine. He probably showered before Ancel came over. It seemed like it should have been the bare minimum, but for so many of his other clients it wasn’t.
Once the ropes were put away, Ancel helped Berenger into his shirt and fastened all the buttons. Finally he rose to turn down the lights before returning.
“I’m going to take off the blindfold now,” Ancel said quietly.
Berenger took a deep breath. He nodded.
Ancel took off the blindfold, watching closely to make sure Berenger was alright, that Ancel hadn’t gone too far.
“Alright?” Ancel asked.
“Yes,” Berenger said, still somewhat out of it. “Thank you.”
They sat together for a few moments longer before Berenger cleared his throat and stood, neatly tucking his shirt into his slacks before picking up Ancel’s bag and taking it to the door.
“What do you do, after I leave?” Ancel asked, following him.
“I go to sleep,” Berenger said, opening the closet to get Ancel’s coat.
“At nine? Like an old man?”
“Exactly like an old man,” Berenger said.
Ancel laughed. “That figures. But I meant- do you jerk off?”
Berenger paused, blushing faintly.
“Tell me,” Ancel said, turning his back to slip on his coat while Berenger held it for him.
“I- yes,” Berenger said.
“Next time, I want to watch,” Ancel said, moving to face him.
Berenger blinked, his blush deepening. “What? Why?”
“Because I want to,” Ancel said. “We’ll have our session as usual. And afterwards- I want to watch.”
“Ah,” Berenger said.
“Think about it,” Ancel said lightly. “You have all week. If you decide you don’t want to, just text me no and I won’t bring it up again.” And then, because he was feeling bold and a little giddy, he leaned up and brushed a kiss against Berenger’s cheek. “Good night.”
Ancel looked at him shrewdly, his eye narrowed. “Are you trying to run away because you don’t want to talk to me? Or because you think I don’t want to talk to you?”
Berenger took a breath, looking past Ancel rather than at him. “You didn’t want to talk to me before.”
“I was angry, before,” Ancel said. “Do you blame me for that?”
“Of course not.”
“Even I can’t hold a grudge for five years,” Ancel said. He smiled, faintly. “I’d get wrinkles. I have to maintain what’s left of my looks.” He gestured to his face.
I’m in the mood to draw some Berencel, but running low on ideas at the moment. So I’m taking art requests! Feel free to send an ask, or reply to this post. No guarantees! But please shoot your shot :)
I always picture a modern Berencel as Ancel walking around with a fancy drink and a Giant rock on his finger chattering away and Bereger carrying 25 shopping bags with the most patient, loving smile on his face
Bestie you are SO RIGHT for this take but tbh I don’t know if I can do it better than it’s already been done-
Art by @laur-the-cat-prince and you can see their full art post here- https://www.tumblr.com/laur-the-cat-prince/773038295015931905/i-stared-this-like-a-year-ago-and-then-came-back
And you absolutely SHOULD because it’s amazing and so many characters are included!
💬 21 🔁 298 ❤️ 1327 · I stared this like a year ago and then came back to it the other night. I’m so glad I did. Modern AU Capri is finally
I’m in the mood to draw some Berencel, but running low on ideas at the moment. So I’m taking art requests! Feel free to send an ask, or reply to this post. No guarantees! But please shoot your shot :)
BDSM AU? Not so sure about this one lol but here we go. No porn here. Alas. lmao
***
Berenger was Ancel’s favorite client.
He was polite, predictable, and generally pleasant. He paid on time and he tipped well. And he was easy. He only wanted one thing, which Ancel had been understandably skeptical of at first, but after four months of weekly appointments it had turned out, incredibly, to hold true.
Which was why Ancel was so annoyed he was running late.
As he punched in the elevator code for Berenger’s penthouse, he smoothed back his hair and tried to think of how he could spin this without looking like an idiot, or an asshole, or otherwise completely fucking up their dynamic.
By the time the elevator door opened at 8:10 pm he’d settled on telling the truth and hoping for the best.
“Sorry I’m late,” Ancel said, unlocking the door and stepping into the apartment.
Berenger was reading on the couch. He looked up. He looked more tense than usual.
“I had to take a friend-“ roommate, technically, though Berenger didn’t need to know that part “-to the emergency room,” Ancel said, taking off his coat and scarf, moving to the closet to hang them up. Usually Berenger took his coat for him, but their routine was already fucked and Ancel wanted to try and get things moving in the right direction.
He set his bag down on the floor next to him and bent over to take off his snow boots, switching them out for the silk flats he kept at Berenger’s place. “He thought he broke his wrist. Six hours of waiting just to find out it was a sprain. I would have texted, obviously, but of course my phone died and there was only one outlet. I tried to fight an old lady for it but she won.”
“Ah,” Berenger said. He was still in his brown work suit, but he’d already loosened his tie, slightly, which was unheard of. He closed his book and set it on the side table before standing.
“We could reschedule, if you’d prefer,” Ancel said, turning towards him. “But I wanted to show my face and explain myself in person. I didn’t forget about you.”
“I see,” Berenger said. He picked up Ancel’s bag and took it to the living room, setting it beside the couch. So that was a good sign, probably. “Is your friend alright?”
“He’s fine,” Ancel said, rolling his eyes. “He’s a baby. But he’s fine.”
“I can charge your phone for you,” Berenger said, holding out his hand.
Ancel handed over his phone and watched as Berenger took it and set it on the end of the kitchen island. It lit up, showing a pathetic red lightning bolt. Because of course he had a fancy wireless charger built into his fancy kitchen.
“It sounds as though you haven’t had the chance to have dinner,” Berenger said.
Ancel hadn’t, and he was starving. But he could hold off for an hour and take care of it later. He smiled and stepped forward to smooth his hand down Berenger’s shoulder.
“Don’t worry about me,” Ancel purred, trying to get them back on track.
His stomach chose that moment to growl, loudly.
Berenger pursed his lips and stepped back. “I have shrimp pasta in the fridge.”
“I’m allergic to shrimp,” Ancel said, annoyed at himself. He was fucking up his best gig and he was going to slap Nicaise when he got home.
“Not the pasta, then,” Berenger said. “A sandwich? I could do grilled cheese, or turkey. Do you have any other allergies?”
“Just the shrimp,” Ancel said, following Berenger into the kitchen and sitting at his island counter on a leather barstool. “A turkey sandwich sounds great.”
“Mayonnaise? Mustard?” Berenger asked, rummaging through the fridge.
“…both?” Ancel asked. He watched as Berenger made him a sandwich, moving carefully, deliberately. It was kind of sexy, which was annoying. Ancel made a point of not finding his clients sexy. But of course Berenger had to be- Berenger.
“You haven’t started the timer,” Berenger said mildly as he set the plate with the sandwich in front of Ancel on the counter. “It’s already twenty past eight.”
“Of course not,” Ancel said. “I’m not going to charge you for making me a sandwich.”
“I don’t want to hold up your schedule,” Berenger said. “You should eat. I don’t mind.”
Ancel smiled. “I do. I won’t be long. Go get ready.”
He ate the sandwich- which was delicious- while Berenger took off his jacket and draped it over the back of the chair, then slowly removed his tie, folding it and setting it down on the side table. While he unbuttoned his sleeves and rolled them fastidiously up to his elbows, Ancel stood and took his plate to the sink, pausing to wash his hands.
He took a few deep breaths. Then he turned and grabbed his phone before walking over to the living room, stopping to take the thin emerald scarf from his bag.
“Ready?” he asked Berenger, stepping closer.
“Yes,” Berenger said.
Ancel tied the scarf over his eyes, then left Berenger standing in the middle of the room while he grabbed the rope.
He worked quietly as he tied the harness around Berenger’s neck and torso, securing his hands behind his back.
“Tighter?” he asked, slipping two fingers under the rope over Berenger’s chest.
“Yes,” Berenger said quietly, his shoulders already lowered, his breath coming slower.
Ancel tightened the ropes, slightly. Berenger sighed, visibly relaxing.
Ancel paused to throw one of the couch cushions onto the floor, then curled a finger into the rope of Berenger’s harness and pulled him forward a few steps.
“Here,” he said. “On your knees.”
Berenger sank to his knees on the cushion and Ancel sat too, crossing his legs. He didn’t feel like reading a magazine, like he usually did. And it wasn’t as though Berenger would care.
Ancel reached out and curled a hand around the back of Berenger’s neck, pulling him closer to lean his forehead against Ancel’s thigh.
“Comfortable?” Ancel murmured.
Berenger didn’t answer, but he did seem to melt against him, his shoulders sagging, his breath growing slow and even.
Ancel set the timer for an hour and started carding his fingers through Berenger’s hair, tugging lightly once in a while, or scratching his scalp with his nails. The room was quiet, peaceful. He wondered, not for the first time, if Berenger was really content with just this. But he’d never asked for anything else, and he’d clearly seen Ancel’s website. He knew about the other services Ancel offered.
And it wasn’t as though it wasn’t sexual for him. He got hard, every time. He just never asked Ancel to do anything about it.
Which was fine. Just- strange. Then again, was it any stranger than the guy who wanted Ancel to walk on his back in stilettos, or the one who wanted to be force-fed hard boiled eggs? Probably not.
For once Ancel had a client he wouldn’t mind fucking, and of course he had to be the one where fucking wasn’t on the table.
Eventually the timer went off with a quiet chime and Berenger straightened slowly, leaning away.
Ancel stood and turned down the lights before returning to untie him and help him up onto the sofa.
“I’m going to take off the blindfold now,” Ancel said quietly.
Berenger nodded.
Ancel took off the blindfold, watching as Berenger winced before blinking slowly as his eyes adjusted.
“Alright?” Ancel asked.
“Yes,” Berenger said. “Thank you.”
“Same time next week?” Ancel asked.
“Unless your friend sprains his other wrist.”
Ancel laughed. “Don’t worry, if he sprains his other wrist I’ll leave him crying on the floor.”
“Harsh,” Berenger said dryly.
Ancel laughed again, standing. Berenger stood too, picking up Ancel’s bag and bringing it to the door. He took Ancel’s coat out of the closet and held it for him while he put it on.
“You know, meditation would be a lot cheaper,” Ancel said.
“So would Xanax, but it makes me dizzy.”
“If your job is that stressful, maybe you should do something else.”
Berenger smiled. “If you’re angling for more frequent appointments, talking about my job is an excellent strategy.”
Ancel smiled too, pleased to have a theory confirmed. Usually he knew a lot more about his clients four months in, but Berenger was always so reserved. The weekly Friday appointments had seemed like the only clue. Well, that and the fancy apartment. Clearly Berenger wasn’t a school teacher, or a cashier.
“I wouldn’t want to ruin all my hard work,” Ancel said, miming zipping his lips closed.
“If you find yourself missing dinner again, let me know,” Berenger said. “I usually start cooking at seven. I can make a larger portion if you tell me in advance. No shrimp.”
Ancel blinked in surprise. “You’re inviting me to dinner?”
“Well,” Berenger said, blushing faintly. Getting tied up and kneeling at Ancel’s feet didn’t phase him, but apparently dinner did. “I wouldn’t want you to go hungry.”
“I might take you up on that,” Ancel said flirtatiously, running a finger down the buttons of Berenger’s shirt while looking him up and down. He was still hard. Ancel waited to see if Berenger would take the hint, or say anything else. As usual, he didn’t.
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