"Mm. Lemme lay a few things out for you, alright?" He holds up his fingers, counting out these next few points. "One: you can't spend money without a contract that says you can, but you can get a job if any Dominant gives you permission. Two: this place doesn't just do pastries, they also got some kickass curries. Real stick-to-your-ribs shit. Three: pretty sure we're still hiring, and I can put you in touch with my boss."
Quentin glanced at the building, nodding. "I'll definitely keep that in mind. There's, um, apparently a version of me was here before, and he had...friends? Um, and he worked at this theater so I want to check that out first before I make any like, decisions."
He glanced up at it again, then at Bash. "Besides, kinda hard to swallow working when I can't even use my money until I have a contract."
"Oh." Okay, so Quentin was a dumbass, but that wasn't news. He nodded. "Okay, yeah. Yeah, I could definitely do that." An hour or three of pulling espresso shots would be worth the promise of real coffee and food.
"Sorry," he added, belatedly. "Brain's still not, like, working."
"You'll wanna talk to David Loki--he's the bossman of the place. I can't promise he'll go for the deal, but I think it oughta work out for you both." He grins. "And don't worry about your brain--mine never worked at all."
Bash always finds it easy to mock his own intelligence or lack thereof. He's a dyslexic high school dropout whose only paying job before Dupe was as a cab driver.
"Yeah, makes sense. You know what you're looking for in a contract yet? I mean, not everyone does, but it's good, I think, to have some idea of where your lines are, or how you're thinking about it."
Bash is vividly aware his own tactics for contracting aren't standard and probably shouldn't be.
"Um, I have some ideas," Quentin said, nodding. "I mean, like, at a certain point, like, I'm gonna stop caring and I'm just gonna take whoever comes as long as they don't want something I'm actively against. But, um, I've heard about hands-off contracts and I don't want that," he said, shaking his head. He had his hands pressed together and tucked between his thighs, putting a little pressure on them, a self-comforting sort of gesture. "I want to be, like, at least friends with benefits, I guess, even if...I mean, yeah. Um, obviously I have to be allowed to work and spend money. Like, as many freedoms as is legal to have in a contract, I would probably want even if it's not stuff I think I'll even do. I guess partly because like, if a dom really doesn't want me to be allowed to like, I don't know, take a taxi or something, then like, why? It's a red flag, you know?"
"Yeah, I'm with you there. In my own contracts, I've tried to be as free as possible. But my second partner--we ended up putting a couple rules in writing in the contract, things to make sure he takes care of himself. Must eat at least two meals a day, must get sleep, stuff like that. Because if it's on paper, he'll take them more seriously."
It's clear from the look on his face that he's pretty damned fond of the partner in question. At least friends with benefits, probably much more.
"I don't like the idea of hands-off contracts, myself, in part because I want to know if something's going wrong with my partner, if he needs me. But I'm kind a sentimental fuck."
Quentin nodded, privately thinking he could see why a contract partner would want to put that in a contract for him, and also knowing that he would resist it. It was his god-given right to neglect his self-care if he wanted to.
"Yeah," he said, looking down and taking another piece of his muffin. "I guess I just don't really have any confidence in being able to find a partner who...wants what I want."
Being called sweetheart made him blush, and he took a big bite of the muffin -- the bottom part was almost gone -- to give himself time to think a little bit, put his words in the right order. Rude to talk with your mouth full and all.
"I mean, that's a really broad question, though," Quentin said. "Like what kind of wants are we talking about here? Life wants? I'm holding out hope I won't be here long enough to have to make a life. Sex wants? Like, yeah, I can talk about that but I'm not just gonna be like 'well I like sucking dick,'" he said, talking in a falsetto and waving his hands around to indicate...something, presumably, "to someone who wasn't actually asking that."
"You'd be surprised how many people have expressed just that to me, pretty explicitly. Usually right before they demonstrate, but not always. But like, if you want dick-sucking to be something you do with your Dominant, letting prospects know that at some point seems like it oughta be important."
"I think...I may have misunderstood the term 'hands-off'," Quentin said, now playing with his coffee cup lid. "I sort of assumed we were talking about literal hands on or off. Is sex not the difference? Or like, at least part of the difference?"
"I mean, not the only difference? Like, I could imagine such a thing as a contract between friends who don't necessarily have sex, but don't just ignore one another. Or between people who fuck but who try not to get feelings involved--that one wouldn't work for me at all, but I'm a sentimental asshole."
"Okay, well, the point, anyway," he said, shaking his head. "Was that obviously like someone I'm gonna be having sex with I'll hopefully at some point have a conversation about what's good and what's bad. Especially if it's gonna be kinky, anyway. That's not, like, exclusive to contract partners."
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He glanced up at it again, then at Bash. "Besides, kinda hard to swallow working when I can't even use my money until I have a contract."
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That's where he was leading with all of those points together.
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"Sorry," he added, belatedly. "Brain's still not, like, working."
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Bash always finds it easy to mock his own intelligence or lack thereof. He's a dyslexic high school dropout whose only paying job before Dupe was as a cab driver.
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Bash is vividly aware his own tactics for contracting aren't standard and probably shouldn't be.
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It's clear from the look on his face that he's pretty damned fond of the partner in question. At least friends with benefits, probably much more.
"I don't like the idea of hands-off contracts, myself, in part because I want to know if something's going wrong with my partner, if he needs me. But I'm kind a sentimental fuck."
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"Yeah," he said, looking down and taking another piece of his muffin. "I guess I just don't really have any confidence in being able to find a partner who...wants what I want."
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"I want...a lot of things," he said, fidgeting with the edge of the muffin wrapper. "Too many of which depend on people wanting to give them to me."
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"I mean, that's a really broad question, though," Quentin said. "Like what kind of wants are we talking about here? Life wants? I'm holding out hope I won't be here long enough to have to make a life. Sex wants? Like, yeah, I can talk about that but I'm not just gonna be like 'well I like sucking dick,'" he said, talking in a falsetto and waving his hands around to indicate...something, presumably, "to someone who wasn't actually asking that."
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"You'd be surprised how many people have expressed just that to me, pretty explicitly. Usually right before they demonstrate, but not always. But like, if you want dick-sucking to be something you do with your Dominant, letting prospects know that at some point seems like it oughta be important."
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The self mockery is shameless, though.
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