[This was not what was supposed to happen. If Paul had wanted this, he could have done it himself, no magic required. His gut curls around a spike of realization, and raises his hand palm out to forestall Dito sitting.]
Don't.
[There's still something stricken to his tone, and he doesn't know why. There are things he can do with this, his point about the dangers of going against strangers' requests easier to make than ever, and it's not as though he came here meaning Dito no harm-]
Please. It was a silly idea. [He smiles, small and crooked.] You don't have to do that.
[At the sound of Paul's terse voice Dito freezes where he's crouched, looking up at Paul with an expression that is both inquisitive and filled with trepidation. He relaxes slightly as Paul adopts a more gentle tone, but not entirely. His body is still on edge, anxious to do something to keep himself in this man's good graces.
Quickly he rises to a standing position, glancing about the house with renewed interest.]
I mean... I'd really like to get started on doing something for you, sir. D'you have any tasks in mind? This place is looking kinda dusty, if you don't mind my saying so-- maybe I can clean it up for you. Or are you hungry right now? I could cook you some lunch, if you want.
[He passes a hand through his hair, looking thoughtful.]
Oh! I'm also a really good masseuse. Want me to work on you a little bit? It'd make you feel better, honest!
[ The only times Paul has ever used the Voice to command have been brief things, straightforward and blunt tools. He knows how more involved control functions, how it feels from the interior, but it has always been with his knowledge, at the hands of someone he trusted absolutely with his well-being.
This is not that. Dito is at his mercy, hideously so, as completely vulnerable as a person can be. Paul knows the chocolate's curse will end, but not when, or how. ]
I'd like you to take me back to your house. This one isn't very comfortable.
[ At least they'll be among Dito's things. There will be clues there which will help, and a modicum of creature comforts, he hopes.
(He almost asks Dito not to call him sir, the honorific catching strangely on his ear, but when he imagines doing so, he flinches from the possibility of hearing Dito apologize for it.) ]
I believe you, about the massage, but I'm all right. [ He doesn't want to look at him; he needs to monitor him closely. ] You don't have to touch me. All right? I don't want that.
[Whereas Paul is dealing with conflicting emotions of guilt and horror, Dito feels nothing but confusion bordering on frustration. What is with this guy, anyway? It's almost like he doesn't want Dito to serve him for some reason. And what was all this about going back to his house?
The young man's gold eyes suddenly flicker with realization, and he offers Paul a knowing smile.]
Ah. Lunch then. Very good, sir. I'll have easier access to all the ingredients I need to make you a good meal. Would you like to head there now?
[ Dito is smiling again. It doesn't strike Paul as an improvement, but he bobs his head in a nod, turning away to led them out of the house. He considers, on the way down the steps, if he should stay in the lead. It's not as though Dito is unaware that Paul knows where he lives, though the implications of it will only strike the other man later. ]
What sort of ingredients do you have?
[ He's making - small talk. This is a horror. He only continues to make it worse. ]
[Dito rolls one shoulder in a shrug. What he likes to eat is somehow much less important than what Paul likes to eat. But perhaps the other man is looking for options.]
I'm pretty much open to anything, really. Stew's my favorite-- I'd eat that three meals a day if I could. Not a big fan of seafood, though. The smell makes me sick. [He suddenly blinks, as if realizing he might have said something out of turn.]
Th-that doesn't mean I wouldn't cook it for you, sir! If that's what you wanted, I mean. I'll just... y'know. Hold my nose the whole time. It's no trouble.
[ Paul grew up on seafood. Grilled fish, butterflied butter shrimp, plump rockcrabs steamed and cracked apart to dip into herbal sauces. Hardly any meal escaped having something of the sea in it, the oceans the most abundant source of protein on the water-covered planet. ]
I don't like seafood either.
[ Paul reassures him, with a touch of approval for their supposed shared taste. It's not difficult to make people feel like they've gotten a right answer. It's the type of lie that comes as easily to him as walking. ]
Why don't you make us a stew, then? [ Multiple ingredients, requiring a long period of cooking - a good, harmless way to keep him busy. ] I want to see what you're best at.
[At that Dito's smile becomes positively beatific. Here at last is something he's capable of-- something he can do for this man who has somehow become so important to him in such a short time. He isn't sure why, of course, and that troubles him-- at least, it troubles the rational part of his mind that still can be troubled. But that part is very quickly subsumed by his desire to be useful, and so the faint warning bells going off inside his head are ignored.
It probably doesn't matter all that much, anyway.]
I'll make you the best stew you've ever tasted, sir. I promise you that.
[It doesn't take long before they've arrived at Dito's house. The smaller man quickly climbs the steps and unlocks the door, opening it with the flourish of a doorman who's been at it for twenty years or more.]
Right this way, sir. You can have a seat in the living room if you like. I'll get to work on preparing some lunch for you.
[ Dito isn't difficult to make happy in this state, as it turns out. He has a purpose that he can follow, and Paul knows something about the comfort than comes of that. Amplified to this degree, manipulated by the blood-tide magics of this world, it must approach bliss. ]
I'm sure it will be.
[ The front door is as Paul remembers it. He brushes through the doorway with head high and scanning for threats, as is his custom. He doesn't stoop to take off his boots. Both things bother him now, creeping up the back of his throat like stealthy strangling hands of social taboo.
It would have been one thing to break into Dito's house in an act of aggression. It feels like another to be welcomed in, given a place of honor. He doesn't like the way it sits with him even while he makes his way to the living room. ]
Is there anything here I should know about, besides you?
[ He saw no suggestion of another person under this roof during his observations, but that rules next to nothing out. ]
[Dito is so focused on gathering the necessary ingredients for lunch that he almost misses Paul's query. The other man's question stops him in his tracks, and he glances curiously over at him.]
Nnnno? [The word comes out as a hesitant drawl, as if he's worried this isn't the correct answer.] I'm not much for roommates, and I don't really have many visitors, normally.
[His brow furrows in concern.]
That's not a problem, is it? I promise there's nothing wrong with my hosting skills. I've had training. [He utters an awkward, self-conscious laugh.]
[ There's something a touch sad about that isolation, even if it prevents further complication. The man had been so dramatically unpleasant it doesn't come as a surprise, but - still. ]
Yes. You seem like you have experience in service.
[ Paul had never seen one of these chocolates' effects up close before, but the jittering edge of tension in Dito's compliance somehow doesn't seem entirely the product of magical interference. Paul offers up another reassuring smile, but this time he allows some of his concerns to shine through in a careful construct of sympathy. ]
It seems like you had a strict instructor.
[ He doesn't want to hover, but he also doesn't want to lose track of Dito out of sight. Getting him to keep talking will solve the problem neatly. ]
[Luckily for Paul, the living room isn't out of earshot of the kitchen, so Dito's voice carries through quite nicely. He feels guilty that he won't be able to give Paul his undivided attention, but hopefully his cooking skills will make up for it.
There's a brief silence, broken up only by the sound of chopping vegetables, and when he speaks again a trace of the old Dito comes back a little.]
"Strict" isn't really the right word. More like... "overbearing". I was tasked with doing everything for her-- picking out her outfits, ordering supplies, going along with her on quests to collect rare commodities...
If I did well, I was "rewarded". If I didn't, then I was punished. Didn't really matter-- they both amounted to the same thing in my opinion.
[ Paul is trained to read nuance, but he wouldn't have to be in order to catch the inflection on Dito's "rewards". It gives him no precise insight into what that means, no flash of knowledge, but it has an oily sheen that makes his stomach twist as he braces his elbows against his knees and hangs his head. He has to take three careful breaths before he trusts his own voice again. ]
I won't be like that.
[ A faint edge of urgency through his affable lightness. He doesn't know how much of Dito might still be resisting this, if any at all, but it's necessary to Paul to make sure that this is understood even if the answer is 'none'. Clear expectations, defined boundaries - ]
That's not how I treat anyone in my service, is what I mean. You care for my well-being, I care for yours.
[There is the sound of vegetables being dropped into a pot; the sound of simmering liquid. Dito crosses the threshold into the living room where Paul sits, lowering himself hesitantly onto the couch as if worried that Paul will disapprove.
That grateful, sycophantic look is back in his eyes again, and when he speaks it's with the shyly affectionate tone of someone in love.]
Oh, I know you'd take care of me, sir. You seem very kind. I know you wouldn't make me do anything I wouldn't want to do. And maybe I would want it. Eventually, I mean. I get the feeling it'd be better with you than with my last mistress.
[His smile warps to goofy embarrassment and he turns away, flushing slightly.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Don't.
[There's still something stricken to his tone, and he doesn't know why. There are things he can do with this, his point about the dangers of going against strangers' requests easier to make than ever, and it's not as though he came here meaning Dito no harm-]
Please. It was a silly idea. [He smiles, small and crooked.] You don't have to do that.
Would you tell me how you feel, right now?
no subject
Quickly he rises to a standing position, glancing about the house with renewed interest.]
I mean... I'd really like to get started on doing something for you, sir. D'you have any tasks in mind? This place is looking kinda dusty, if you don't mind my saying so-- maybe I can clean it up for you. Or are you hungry right now? I could cook you some lunch, if you want.
[He passes a hand through his hair, looking thoughtful.]
Oh! I'm also a really good masseuse. Want me to work on you a little bit? It'd make you feel better, honest!
no subject
This is not that. Dito is at his mercy, hideously so, as completely vulnerable as a person can be. Paul knows the chocolate's curse will end, but not when, or how. ]
I'd like you to take me back to your house. This one isn't very comfortable.
[ At least they'll be among Dito's things. There will be clues there which will help, and a modicum of creature comforts, he hopes.
(He almost asks Dito not to call him sir, the honorific catching strangely on his ear, but when he imagines doing so, he flinches from the possibility of hearing Dito apologize for it.) ]
I believe you, about the massage, but I'm all right. [ He doesn't want to look at him; he needs to monitor him closely. ] You don't have to touch me. All right? I don't want that.
no subject
The young man's gold eyes suddenly flicker with realization, and he offers Paul a knowing smile.]
Ah. Lunch then. Very good, sir. I'll have easier access to all the ingredients I need to make you a good meal. Would you like to head there now?
no subject
What sort of ingredients do you have?
[ He's making - small talk. This is a horror. He only continues to make it worse. ]
What do you like to eat?
no subject
I'm pretty much open to anything, really. Stew's my favorite-- I'd eat that three meals a day if I could. Not a big fan of seafood, though. The smell makes me sick. [He suddenly blinks, as if realizing he might have said something out of turn.]
Th-that doesn't mean I wouldn't cook it for you, sir! If that's what you wanted, I mean. I'll just... y'know. Hold my nose the whole time. It's no trouble.
no subject
I don't like seafood either.
[ Paul reassures him, with a touch of approval for their supposed shared taste. It's not difficult to make people feel like they've gotten a right answer. It's the type of lie that comes as easily to him as walking. ]
Why don't you make us a stew, then? [ Multiple ingredients, requiring a long period of cooking - a good, harmless way to keep him busy. ] I want to see what you're best at.
no subject
It probably doesn't matter all that much, anyway.]
I'll make you the best stew you've ever tasted, sir. I promise you that.
[It doesn't take long before they've arrived at Dito's house. The smaller man quickly climbs the steps and unlocks the door, opening it with the flourish of a doorman who's been at it for twenty years or more.]
Right this way, sir. You can have a seat in the living room if you like. I'll get to work on preparing some lunch for you.
no subject
I'm sure it will be.
[ The front door is as Paul remembers it. He brushes through the doorway with head high and scanning for threats, as is his custom. He doesn't stoop to take off his boots. Both things bother him now, creeping up the back of his throat like stealthy strangling hands of social taboo.
It would have been one thing to break into Dito's house in an act of aggression. It feels like another to be welcomed in, given a place of honor. He doesn't like the way it sits with him even while he makes his way to the living room. ]
Is there anything here I should know about, besides you?
[ He saw no suggestion of another person under this roof during his observations, but that rules next to nothing out. ]
no subject
Nnnno? [The word comes out as a hesitant drawl, as if he's worried this isn't the correct answer.] I'm not much for roommates, and I don't really have many visitors, normally.
[His brow furrows in concern.]
That's not a problem, is it? I promise there's nothing wrong with my hosting skills. I've had training. [He utters an awkward, self-conscious laugh.]
no subject
Yes. You seem like you have experience in service.
[ Paul had never seen one of these chocolates' effects up close before, but the jittering edge of tension in Dito's compliance somehow doesn't seem entirely the product of magical interference. Paul offers up another reassuring smile, but this time he allows some of his concerns to shine through in a careful construct of sympathy. ]
It seems like you had a strict instructor.
[ He doesn't want to hover, but he also doesn't want to lose track of Dito out of sight. Getting him to keep talking will solve the problem neatly. ]
Am I right?
(cw: vague mentions of sexual abuse)
There's a brief silence, broken up only by the sound of chopping vegetables, and when he speaks again a trace of the old Dito comes back a little.]
"Strict" isn't really the right word. More like... "overbearing". I was tasked with doing everything for her-- picking out her outfits, ordering supplies, going along with her on quests to collect rare commodities...
If I did well, I was "rewarded". If I didn't, then I was punished. Didn't really matter-- they both amounted to the same thing in my opinion.
(cw: vague mentions of sexual abuse)
I won't be like that.
[ A faint edge of urgency through his affable lightness. He doesn't know how much of Dito might still be resisting this, if any at all, but it's necessary to Paul to make sure that this is understood even if the answer is 'none'. Clear expectations, defined boundaries - ]
That's not how I treat anyone in my service, is what I mean. You care for my well-being, I care for yours.
[ He can feel the debts piling up already. ]
(cw: vague mentions of sexual abuse)
That grateful, sycophantic look is back in his eyes again, and when he speaks it's with the shyly affectionate tone of someone in love.]
Oh, I know you'd take care of me, sir. You seem very kind. I know you wouldn't make me do anything I wouldn't want to do. And maybe I would want it. Eventually, I mean. I get the feeling it'd be better with you than with my last mistress.
[His smile warps to goofy embarrassment and he turns away, flushing slightly.]
I-If I'm not overstepping. Sir.