daemon_angelus: (ffxv | noctis [ ... ])
[personal profile] daemon_angelus
was listening to freesia from GGXRD-revelator- and THIS HAPPENED. think pack rat era, glided/golden age jazz-filled, smoke-filled, rich classy (trashy) hedonistic casino/VIP rooms and you get the basic idea - even if it's set in the modern era because LOL [personal profile] devils_solitude is the one with the expertise to possibly even attempt something like a 1950s gang au (๑•̀ㅂ•́)و✧ warning: the most AU thing about this AU is that 1) ky drinks and 2) sol is a businessman LOL

 
Who's that

- mumbles the question into his glass of gin, ice cubes clinking as he takes a mouthful - before sliding golden eyes to the escort hanging off his arm - she looks up from her phone to give him a bored look, lets loose a dramatic sigh as she re-crosses long slim legs, porcelain skin contrasting starkly against the rippling deep red of her high-cut dress -
 
What, you don't even know who Ky Kiske is?
 
- she coughs gently into her hand and shifts further away along the plush couch when he flashes canines and a dangerous smile in warning -
 
H-he's only been coming by to this casino recently, probably has new VIP business in the area - 
 
Sol hums a little in response, his curiosity piqued. With that sort of family name and the air of elegance surrounding the other man, graceful politeness almost innate in his gestures and expressions, long blond hair strikingly paired with vibrant cerulean eyes, Sol's sure Ky's one of those old money type heirs from across the pond (unlike many of the fortunes built not too long ago around these parts, coming from nothing except American grit, sweat and well, maybe some good ol' oil - )
 
You know - and Sol just hides a grimace behind another mouthful of gin when her bright lilac eyes - just contacts, he thinks distastefully - widen with gossip interest, a sly undertone in her whisper - they say he's even got royal blood running in those veins - a descendant of the House of Bonaparte maybe?
 
You honestly can only think of Napoleon when you think 'French royalty', don't you? - ignores the heated glare being thrown his way as he reaches to pour himself another round -
 
It's not like Sol's interested in her anyway - never really was, in any of them - of course he doesn't treat them bad and sure, when things go right, he's not one to shy away from a good fuck every once in awhile - 
 
(Is mostly just to stop the rumour mills and old geezers from spinning completely ugly and unnecessary tales about his preferences - )
 
- is the kind of world Sol deals in, where even he wasn't spared the upkeep of false appearances (for the sake of reputation, money and it's all just for business, right.)
 
---
 
It's not all bad, Sol surmises, as he pretends to eye the caviar laid carefully on top of the tiny cracker held gingerly between his thumb and finger (that he would've started wolfing down by the tray load if he wasn't busy with something else) -
 
- is actually eyeing Ky in the middle of the posh ballroom, one of the grand marbled ones on the main floor of the casino-cum-hotel-cum-playhouse-for-the-rich. Sol can't remember how he'd got an invite to Ky's event, or even whom he'd came with - didn't really matter as long as he foot the bill for her time at the end of it - is much more interested in observing how the young Frenchman conducted himself, with poise and a glowing aura, earnest and heartfelt that Sol suspected had to be real or at the very least, habits that'd long been sewn into the very fibres of his being -
 
(May or may not have felt a spark of glee when he sees the embarrassed hue colouring Ky's cheeks whenever he has to turn down the advances of a lady, a slightly uncomfortable tick in his eyebrows when he air-kisses them on the cheeks - )
 
- just calmly pops in what's probably his twentieth piece of hors d'oeuvre (judging from the dirty look the same waiter had been shooting him) when Ky comes over to Sol's corner, high blond ponytail swaying slightly in time with the movement of long, elegant legs, a delicate glass of champagne in each hand -

"I trust you are enjoying the food, Mr Badguy?" - the smile on Sol's face sharpens into a smirk, the tips of their fingers brushing as he accepts the spindly glass from Ky -

"Who have you been talking to to learn that name - "

And Ky merely shrugs, concealing his expression and intentions behind a sip of the bubbly drink - 

"Just, people. You know how it is."

"Why would you be asking people about me?"

Ky laughs (and Sol likes to think it's different from the too-bright, almost too-courteous smiles he's been giving the other guests) -

"It's just business, right?"

Only answers what he's sure is a playful shine in brilliant cerulean eyes with his own bark of laughter and a wide grin.
 
---
 
Turns out the Kiske family really were interested in carving out a portion for themselves in the American market, and, ironically as always, the pompous old European men had got a bit fed up with the pompous old American men, so they'd got Ky to handle the matter of speaking to one rather outlier, but nonetheless exceptionally shrewd and profitable company - 
 
But then, all those things are better left to their directors and managers -
 
Because it's hard to focus on what's going on around him when Sol's really only interested in whatever is going on between them (light teasing conversations on the fringes of charity galas and self-important dinners, that stretch into something much more serious and private in personal suites until the wee hours of the morning; sitting in on meetings between their companies that really didn't need someone of their rank involved but they just wanted to spar (verbally) with each other and, on Sol's part, play mind games with his subordinates, to the amusement and chastisement of Ky; meet-ups over coffee, tea, and fancy dinners, all under the pretense of just another business meeting - )
 
---
 
The first time they kiss, Sol's not even sure who initiated it - could have been a coy smile hiding from behind a wine glass, could have been a hooded look from under dark brown strands - 
 
But there'd been a considerable amount of alcohol thrumming in his blood by then (or maybe it was just some sort of giddiness from Ky finallyactually, kissing him) so when one of them crosses the distance and melds them together, Sol's not even sure where he ended and Ky began anymore - 
 
Only feels - soft insistent lips moving against his, open-mouthed - warm breaths mingling - with a sense of urgency rapturous avarice in vivid cerulean eyes that fuels his own -
 
Thinks that someone can't be this gorgeous without it being an absolute sin - when he pulls off Ky's hair tie and threads his right hand through silken gold, Ky letting him tug and nudge until Sol's running his tongue flat and up against a smooth pale neck - 
 
And there's a kind of muted beauty to the whole situation - both of them on a dark and quiet balcony almost fifty stories above the hustle and bustle of Vegas' nightlife - the way thousands of tiny dots of illumination from below dance across Ky's cheekbones, gives the hint of shine in already mesmerising cerulean eyes - gives gravity and substance to the whole thing (that it's not just some fantasy or dream playing out in the confines of their minds - maybe it's just a fleeting moment, but it's a real one nonetheless) - to how Ky is slowly, gently, tracing the tip of his thumb across Sol's lip even as Sol leans in close again - both needing a moment to suspend their disbelief - 
 
Feels the sudden shiver of Ky's body under his - goosebumps running along where Sol pins Ky to the railing by his wrist - from the cold night breeze or from arousal, Sol's not sure - maybe both -
 
"We should - ahSol -" a smile unfurls where his lips meet the juncture of Ky's neck and shoulder, when Ky can't think to stop the gasp and moan of his name right into Sol's ear the moment he starts gnawing on the tender flesh there (doesn't need to see to know that Ky is probably giving him a look from under furrowed brows) - "Should head in - " lets Ky shift away after one, two more bites, leading them back into the suite - "Someone might see - "
 
"Fuck 'em - " Sol growls out low, annoyance already bleeding into his tone and pulling the corners of his features into a scowl -
 
When Ky reaches the foot of the luxurious bed, he turns, hands stilling in unclasping the buttons just below the collar of his dress-shirt, a mock-frown and a very-real-smirk on his face as he teases - "Shouldn't you mean me?"
 
Goddammit, this man - 
 
They share the joke between the quirked edges of their lips and breathless laughter - even as Sol all but tackles Ky into the sheets, the latter's arms going to loop around his neck - 
 
(And somehow, nothing's ever felt more right than this.)
 
---
 
It gets (painfully) easier afterwards - to read the subtle cues of Ky's discomfort at the various events they have to attend - the tension in the fingers he clasps to the side of a slender waist (probably the family's latest attempt to match-make a son out of Ky), the twist in the edges of his lips that's nothing like the soft radiant smiles he seems to reserve only for Sol, and the tick in his eyebrow that never goes away - when he has to come into close physical contact with someone he dislikes (a handshake that dawdles for too long, a group photo with someone's arm slung over his shoulder - )
 
But it's not like Ky's under any illusions either - when Sol starts appearing at these things with female escorts who are all (naturally) blond haired and blue eyed.
 
Both of them already know though - 
 
That the same wealth that had brought them together in the first place - was the same thing driving them apart outside of clandestine meetings under the cover of night and within private suites.
 
---
 

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