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PROSCIUTTO was being watched.
That much was obvious — expected, even. He often commanded attention, eyes flocking to him as he passed, in envy, in passion, in lust. But this, this, was deeper. Darker. Seductive, he’d call it, as Prosciutto raised a glass of liquor to his lips, letting the taste linger on his tongue. A polite clearing of the throat to his left, and he turned, tearing his gaze from those piercing dark scleras back to the woman beside him.
“Of course, how rude of me,” he offered, slipping back into conversation as easily as if he had never left, “to assume that you would know of your husband’s conquests, seeing as, well, your… inexperience with the murkiness of men.” His voice lowered, a touch darker, a touch deeper. “However, he does not only pursue business. Your husband seems to me a man who enjoys his pleasure as much as he does his wealth.”
Prosciutto leaned in closer, his lips just barely brushing the woman's ear. “It is unfortunate to inform you, but we found a tape last month, removed from our most private records. Inside, we found shocking evidence of his various affairs. Myself, and those who I represent, would be more than glad to hand it over to you — however, we’d require, let’s say, certain details regarding your husband’s accounts.”
She nodded silently, eyes darting about the room as if afraid of being overheard. He smiled warmly, clasping her gloved hand and raising it to his lips to place a kiss to the black velvet. She closed her eyes for a moment, composing herself before replying. “I was… not aware of the affairs. You’ll have the information you require, I just… I assume this will all be confidential?”
His smile was coy.
“Of course.”
She offered him her thanks in a low voice, cheeks flushing crimson by the shame of the scandal before she was swept away by another diplomat. Prosciutto watched her disappear into the crowd, and having finalized the business he had come here to attend, let his attention wander to the figure who was watching him earlier.
As if feeling eyes on him, the strange man turned, their gazes meeting for a moment and holding as they stared. Prosciutto wasn’t shy as he worked his gaze across the length of him, taking in the height, the suit, the maddening self-assurance and the cool superiority with which he viewed the throng. And those eyes; dark as death, searching him with interest and captivation.
The man was young, handsome, and tall, the golden light above them shimmering across his skin, glittering in the glass. Certainly worth the chase, if Prosciutto would allow himself to indulge, just this once. He tilted his head in consideration, watching the way the man smiled wolfishly to himself when spoken to by another, blue-haired, beside him. Without breaking eye contact, he leaned over to speak to his partner before nodding at him once. The blue-haired man departed, clearly having been given instructions.
The stranger’s eyes seemed to beckon him over, and Prosciutto, never one to refuse an invitation, picked his way through the crowd carefully, liquor forgotten and cigar glowing red between his fingertips. There was finer intoxication to seek, tonight. Indulgence, indeed.
“You’ll have to forgive me for not approaching you sooner,” Prosciutto began, looking up at him with a smile poised on his lips, “I was...” He paused. “Occupied.”
The man acknowledged the remark, raising his eyebrows in mock surprise, as if to say, oh, is that so? He ran a hand through his immaculately styled hair, the color of fresh snow. “You chose your words too carefully.”
“You would have to excuse my business tonight for that,” Prosciutto offered graciously, staring up at those daring scleras, “though I wouldn’t be able to tell you exactly what it is that I do.”
“And why might that be?”
With a voice as smooth as pride and as potent as something narcotic but far more addictive, Prosciutto leaned forward. “Attachment in my line of work is deadly, and distraction is dangerous. You’ll understand if I don’t seem so… taken, by you.”
He drew back coyly, the remnants of a smile playing upon his lips.
The man smiled in return with aggravating confidence. “It’s a shame, then, that indulgence wasn’t your business tonight.” The words were imbued with meaning, emotion dripping heavy with every syllable. It made something within him throb with need, something sinful and dark and luxurious that whispered and murmured, hush, to take.
The allure was such a tease, tempting, and depravedly so. Prosciutto took a drag from the cigar placed between his plush lips, expelling the clouds of smoke through his lungs. “You’ve misunderstood my intentions. Indulgence is… what I seek most,” he drawled, admiring the way the smoke spiraled into the air. “If I’m not incorrect, I believe it's something that you seek too.”
A pause, an air of baited breath. Faint cigarette smoke and the scent of expensive liquor lingered in the air, the moment too tantalizing not to capture. An inhale. An exhale. Prosciutto felt the sweep of his gaze across him, through him. Considering.
“Then, let’s begin with an introduction.”
Introductions weren’t necessary, it seemed, when there were more pressing matters at hand. Or, perhaps, to phrase more accurately, introductions were necessary — exchanged in the form of love-bites etched across bare shoulders and whispers marked into skin.
“Risotto,” he’d offered, after the night was spent in decadence, the early morning sun gracing their sleeping bodies when they’d awakened. In the sunlight, his features were softer, not so much cut-glass and sharp, as it had been last night, but more reverent. Warmer.
“Prosciutto,” he told him as he tied his hair, and Risotto smiled, watching the way his hands meticulously arranged every strand into place. It was something Prosciutto noticed more and more often: the gazing, the watching. His eyes seemed never to leave him, whether it was coy, teasing, or something darker, something deeper, as if Risotto wanted to strip away his layers and reveal what was underneath, to see him as he truly was.
It was intriguing, to say the least.
“I don’t mix business with pleasure, if you’re wondering.” Prosciutto said, tilting his head to critique his appearance in the mirror. His suit was the deepest shade of blue, heavy fabric pressing into his shoulders. Fine stitching showed off the details, the flawlessness of the design. Dark calligraphy written across the pristine lining, a signature, a brand.
Not the only one he wore, after last night.
“I wasn’t wondering,” Risotto replied easily, “but since you’ve mentioned it, tell me. Was I business, or pleasure?”
Prosciutto laughed, low and dark, catching Risotto’s gaze in the mirror. “Would you believe me if I said pleasure?”
“Then you must have enjoyed yourself.”
Prosciutto turned, taking in the view. Risotto — lying lazily by the window, illuminated by the morning sunlight filtering through the curtains, through his hair, across the room, shadow and light playing delicately upon his face. “I did, and so did you,” he said, noting the blossoms of red across his body with satisfaction. Risotto smiled indulgently.
“Then perhaps this is an arrangement that benefits us both. You’re business, I’m pleasure.”
“Tempting.”
“You say that like you’re going to refuse.”
“And if I am?”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“You’re right. I wouldn’t.”
“You’re a tease.”
“And you aren’t?”
“Only for you.”