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Sam should've known this job was going to be more hassle that it was worth.
One of the Ha'la'than higher-ups had asked him to convince a local business owner to give up some of his profits as payment for their protection. Rather than getting with the program and saving Sam some grief, the shop owner decided he didn't need their help, had honestly gone as far to say, but thanks for the offer, really. Now Sam's forced stake out the sodden place, waiting for the owner to walk by so that Sam can rough him up a bit, just enough to get him to get him to see things their way. Whenever a random passerby so much as thinks about glancing his way, Sam glares hard enough to them stop before they've even started. It's a testament to how good he is at playing the part, because his mark spots him way before he's supposed to, and is trying to get away as quick and subtly as he can. Which is to say, not at all.
Sam curses quietly to himself and runs after the bastard, but he's a quick frakker. He ends up tramping through some run down apartment building deep in the heart of Little Tauron.
The guy obviously knows the place; he manages to give Sam the slip once they reach a stairwell. It's ridiculous how difficult it is to navigate the thing. When Sam hits the fifth flight he looks around frantically, trying to figure out if this is where his mark slipped out. All the doors are intact, only one having light coming out from underneath it, so Sam goes for broke. He takes a step back and kicks the door in.
There's a guy in the living room, drying his hair off and lounging on the couch in nothing but shorts that leaving almost nothing to the imagination, clinging tightly to the tightest bit of his thigh. He is definitely not Sam's mark, but Sam can't help but feel like suddenly this job doesn't isn't so bad anymore. They guy just stares at Sam, not bothering to move or stop rubbing the towel over his head.
Sam takes the opportunity to notice that a) the man is Tauronese b) he's more than fairly attractive — Sam would argue that the word gorgeous could be applied — and c) since the guy lives in this area and he isn't phased to have a guy like Sam kicking down his door — Sam is well aware that that he looks like the poster child for all Ha'la'tha stereotypes — Sam probably won't have to go though the whole ordeal of telling him about his involvement with the aforementioned and all that that involvement entails. Color Sam lucky.
Sadly, a noise from the fire escape brings Sam back to the current task at hand, and with one last longing look towards the Adonis perched on the couch, Sam runs across the room to the open window and makes his way down the steps, vowing to make this guy pay for tearing him away from a situation he very much wanted to see play out to the end.
When he finally catches his mark, the man starts bawling, swears up and down to pay the protection fee; he even makes a promise to Sam specifically, vows to give him free fruit whenever Sam so much as passes his stand.
Sam drags him back to where this whole ordeal started to get the down payment. By the time he has everything settled, it's the early morning and, honestly? Sam's burned out from chasing that clown all over the damn city, so he makes his way home and falls into his bed.
That night he dreams of soft linen towels warmed by tan skin and a sharp gaze that he has to work his ass off to impress.
A few days later, when he's finally got some time off from being everyone's go-to-guy, Sam makes his way deep into Little Touran to a rundown apartment. Rather than go inside and bypass a broken down elevator to take five flights of stairs, he makes his way up the buildings fire escape. When he reaches his destination he knocks on the window.
He hears footsteps and then there's a more than fairly attractive Tauronese man — fully dressed this time, sadly — lifting the window open, who still doesn't seem to be phased that a guy like Sam is bothering him at random hours of the night, if the smirk he's donning is anything to go by.
"Good evening," Sam says, friendly.
"To what do I owe the pleasure?" the guy drawls back, putting more of his weight onto the windowsill, intentionally using his body to prevent Sam from entering the apartment. This guy is good, Sam thinks.
"I felt bad for kicking your door in," Sam raises the bag he brought along with him, "I've returned with gifts of good tiding." It's filled with fruit from a certain stand. Sam hadn't been all that keen on the guy's offer, but once he tried some of his produce and found that it was actually pretty good, he decided this was the least the man could do after cockblocking him so spectacularly.
"How kind of you," the other man says slowly, going for unimpressed but coming off more amused as he reaches out for the bag.
Sam yanks it away right before his fingers grab it, "It's only fair that I get something out of this trade—"
"Besides practically breaking my door in two, you mean."
"—besides that. Your name seems like payment enough." Throughout the exchange, the other man has been trying to keep himself from smiling. The indignant tone Sam used to deliver his last line finally tipped his frown upwards, lips twitching at the corners. Sam is utterly and completely enamored.
He breathes out a sigh, as if just speaking with Sam has exhausted every ounce of his patience. "Larry," he replies simply, and with a speed Sam has only seen few possess, Larry plucks the bag from Sam's grasp, pushes him back to make sure none of Sam's appendages prevent the window from closing fully — which Sam is going to take as Larry liking him enough to not want to harm him, rises to his full height and walks into what Sam can only assume is the kitchen, the curtains fluttering in his wake.
Sam has been chastised, robbed, used, and abandoned in the span of six seconds. He may be a little bit in love.