[ while elle has grown up in the cold comforts of luxury, theon greyjoy has been accepting cash for mediocre fucks from lonely people since he was nineteen.
he's fucked timid women and timid men, mouthy redheads and nervous blondes, and every encounter ends the same, with his client spread across soiled hotel bedsheets or cracked leather chairs. sometimes a client calls back and asks for him again, and he fucks them with his hands closed around their throat until they come for him, sputtering and red-faced, and he rolls off with a biting get the fuck out.
no one ever asks him for more than twice. and the ones who do get a door slammed in their fucking face.
still, he makes a decent wage, despite his shortage of repeats.
his client for the night never gives him her name, and theon never bothers to ask. he gets lost twice on his way to the hotel, somehow passing right by the building entirely before he realizes he's going in the wrong direction and swerves his car around at the next left. by the time he finds his way to elle's door, he's slightly out of breath and a little irritated, pinching at the bud of his cigarette before flicking the stub into a nearby trash.
he knocks just once, leaning an arm against the wall and looking down as he kicks the toe of his boot against polished stone floors. whoever this woman is, she's got fine tastes — and a fuckload of cash. ]
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he's fucked timid women and timid men, mouthy redheads and nervous blondes, and every encounter ends the same, with his client spread across soiled hotel bedsheets or cracked leather chairs. sometimes a client calls back and asks for him again, and he fucks them with his hands closed around their throat until they come for him, sputtering and red-faced, and he rolls off with a biting get the fuck out.
no one ever asks him for more than twice. and the ones who do get a door slammed in their fucking face.
still, he makes a decent wage, despite his shortage of repeats.
his client for the night never gives him her name, and theon never bothers to ask. he gets lost twice on his way to the hotel, somehow passing right by the building entirely before he realizes he's going in the wrong direction and swerves his car around at the next left. by the time he finds his way to elle's door, he's slightly out of breath and a little irritated, pinching at the bud of his cigarette before flicking the stub into a nearby trash.
he knocks just once, leaning an arm against the wall and looking down as he kicks the toe of his boot against polished stone floors. whoever this woman is, she's got fine tastes — and a fuckload of cash. ]