Chapter Text
He’s made a habit of watching Crowley leave from the balcony. He simply adores the way red fringe glows like fire under the street lamps. They offer the other a gentle wave and then a smile neither can see but know is there. Except, today, Ferid can’t find the strength to untangle himself from the silk sheets they lay in only moments ago to send Crowley off.
He pulls the sheets closer, cocooning himself in some semblance of warmth that mirrors Crowley’s. But they are paper thin on a bed too wide. Too empty. They aren’t even close in supplement for the muscle frame that held him so carefully moments ago. How fragile he felt, how fragile he still feels. His body aches and his face is damp with tears; to be rejected, yet again, how humiliating.
There isn’t anything Ferid wouldn’t have given him. Yet the man chooses time and again to go back to that measly job of selling fantasies to people that aren’t him. He doesn’t care how phenomenal Crowley looks as he teases his audience with careful touches all over his taut figure before removing article after article of clothing. Or how beautifully he works the pole and entices his viewers with fake promises. Or the money, because what good is money when you can’t buy the things you desire?
Ripping the sheets from his body violently, Ferid turns off the looping soundtrack mid movement and blows out the dwindling candles as he makes his way to the ensuite. He can’t endure it anymore. How beautiful it all was, romantic ambiance at its finest, but what a disaster it all is now; with melted wax on counter tops, sheets soiled with cum, sweat, bits of candle. Welts forming from the burns, the bright red bruise on his inner thigh, hair tangled, and lace burnt and shredded Ferid fits right in. How charming.
He lifts himself from the toxic memories and sheds the lingerie from his body like it's on fire. Rolling the underwear into a ball he drops the fine fabric into the trash. There are a dozen more outfits where this one came from.
Ferid runs his hands over his body, fingers grazing over the bruise back and forth bringing a gentle smile to his grim face. It’s a shame it isn’t higher up. Ah, the look on little Mikaela’s face would’ve been precious.
Going through the vast drawers in the vanity of the lavish ensuite Ferid finds his vast collection of ribbons. Among them he picks out the one laying front and center, it’s adorned with purple stripes running horizontally on black satin. An unexpected gift from Crowley for his birthday last year. For a man so particular about the rules Ferid would think gift giving was off limits. Not that he's complaining, the gift is perfect much like the man he received it from.
It lays safely on the counter as he showers, peeling off hardened wax with a hiss. A mental note is taken to refrain from any sort of play regarding hot substances and his skin. There is no doubt that it’ll take a week for these burns to heal. The restricting formal attire won’t help the matter much either. Maybe something a little safer, it’s been awhile since they’ve done it in the shower. Or maybe the jacuzzi tub that sits unused to the left of him. Ferid licks his lips. How delicious would Crowley look naked in a bubble bath with a champagne flute in his hand. Sipping slowly as he runs his fingers through silver strands of hair right down to the ends, ghosting down his back, and maybe a gentle squeeze as he reaches his arse. He's definitely saving that for next week.
Ferid is careful when he dresses in his immaculately tailored suit as to not rub against any of the sensitive skin. After smoothing out all the creases and fixing the collar on his shirt, he brushes through the drying tangles of long hair. His appearance is the epitome of suave and confidence as he tugs the bow tightly to secure his hair in its ponytail. If he wasn’t watching his reflection crumble under the weight of his desperation, he’d believe it too.
With a glance down at the trash, he sneers at the tattered lingerie before walking out. For all the good it did at least Crowley looked beautiful in lust.
He leaves the sheets in array along with the rest of the room as he walks briskly through his penthouse suite. Gathering up his belongs for the day Ferid wakens his phone to have the time flash at him. Huh. Guess the sun rose with him this morning. Not that it mattered. Not that anything mattered at this point. It was 08:31 and nothing about Ferid Bathory mattered.