Soooooo I hate to be that person but now I wonder whether TED talk Sam has any particular thoughts about zucchini as well.
It’s always a gamble when you get booked to one of the really fancy apartments uptown. These rich guys are into all kinds of fucked-up shit. After seven years in the business, she’s seen most of it. But this? This is a new one on her.
She recognises this particular client as soon as she walks in the door. Ryan, her ex, was obsessed with him. He used to play the guy’s “inspirational” talks on repeat through his headphones while he worked out. That and all the affirmations he used to post-it to the mirror were a big part of why she broke up with him. All this ‘you can dream it, you can do it’ crap gets kind of try-hard and exhausting after a while.
Anyway, no slight on this dude, who’s certainly done well for himself; better than Ryan ever did. (As far as she knows, Ryan’s still working in the shoe store downtown, spending all his money on Nikes and talking big shit about the start-up he’s never going to get off the ground.) This guy - “call me Sam” - seems like a nice person, as well, polite and softly spoken and not as pompous as he comes over on camera. Probably hard to be pompous when you’re paying for this kind of service. Everybody’s vulnerable when they’re naked.
Unsurprisingly, when he strips off he’s ripped to fuck, hard-edged and lean. She can’t help her appreciative eyebrow raise. She doesn’t offer that to everyone.
He wants to be tied up; that’s not surprising. Lots of these big power executive types like the chance to have someone else take charge. The rest of it… yeah, the next bit she might not have predicted. (She should have predicted it. Ryan and his fucking smoothies. What would he think of his hero now?)
She’s got him bound to the bed by his wrists and ankles, spreadeagled, when he gives his instructions in a voice that’s tense with expectation. Well. She’s paid not to judge.
The kale’s in the salad drawer in the enormous chrome-and-white kitchen, crisping nicely alongside a head of lettuce and a couple zucchini. She brings the whole bag. “It’s best when it’s cold,” he says.
As soon as she brushes it against him, dark green curly fronds across the tan flesh of his chest, he gasps. His body bows upwards towards her touch; his skin prickles goosebumps; his nipples pebble tight. Those muscles stand out stark as an anatomy diagram. “Yes,” he says, breathless; “yes, perfect, just like that.”
(i don’t know who you are, anon, but i do know that @denugis made a similar enquiry ahahaha) (the zucchini fic is here, for those who haven’t yet been subjected to it)
