“Hey, uh…thanks for making the house call.” Gavis Bettel looks awkward as you walk into his bedroom, hurriedly closing the door behind you so that you’re not seen by any other member of the Tempus guild.

The chance encounter between the two of you came only a month earlier. Apparently the jester had been on his feet all day, and just so happened to stumble into your little massage parlor in order to sit somewhere with A/C. The two of you struck up a conversation, and once he learned about your profession, he gave you some money in order to have his weary feet tended to.

You quickly realized that he liked it just a little more than most.

Gavis gives you an awkward smile as you guide him over to the edge of his four-poster bed, gently easing him down as you slide two of his pillows underneath his lower back. Striding across the room, you steal a chair from his desk and pull it up to him, reaching down and slowly drawing one of his feet into your lap.

He’s already kicked off the boots. The slight glint to his eye shines through the sheer embarrassment.

You begin your work in earnest. You start by gently leaning down and pressing your thumbs into his soles, holding his feet firmly as you work out the tension that’s built up over the course of the day. You smirk as you hear him gasp, drawing back one of your thumbs so you can ghost your pointer and middle finger from his heel to his big toe. You gently spread them after a few more seconds of teasing, massaging each one from tip to base as you observe his little flinches.

When you lean down and blow out a hot breath against his foot, you can hear a high-pitched noise from his throat. This is more of a reaction than you usually get – there’s something more personal about doing it in his bedroom, after all.

Without so much of a warning, you plant a kiss against his arch, fluttering your lashes at him and earning yourself the sight of him licking his lips. Riding the wave, you poke out your tongue and slowly drag it down to his heel, and all the way back up to his toes. When you pop one into your mouth and swirl your tongue around it, you watch his hips float off the bed for just a moment.

Christ, the man looks like he’s about to jump you. He also looks like he wants to be jumped. You smirk at him, drawing back and looking him dead in his multi-colored eyes.

“How long are you looking to book me for, Bettel?” He looks down at your lips for just a moment, and he tries his damn best to keep his eyes on yours.

“F-For the night, please.”

“Then sit back. I’ll make you feel things you could only dream of.”

The jester gulps.