Chapter Text
House examined his double from all angles, slowly circling him with his brow furrowed in concentration.
The actor simply stood and smoked his cigarette, quietly observing his new employer. His hair had been dyed and he was dressed in a finely-tailored suit--to the untrained eyes of the masses, this was Robert Edwin House. A face onto which they could project their grievances, a target for their vitriol.
For the trained eyes of his so-called industry peers, the real work had yet to begin. One must refine and test the product before it goes to market.
"The folds of your pocket square are uneven," House said. "We'll start there."
"You got it, boss," removing the offending fabric.
He was pleased with the casual deference, but not its casual delivery. The actor sensed it, too. There was an unspoken understanding that it would not be said again.
---
Robert House paced the vast, circular room of his penthouse while he and the actor discussed details of an upcoming trade show. He had proven adept at navigating meetings with shareholders, but these would be industry insiders--most importantly, leaders of companies with assets he would like to acquire.
"Again," House said, stopping to face his double.
"The house always wins," he answered with an easy smile.
House nodded for him to run the line again.
"The house," the actor paused a half-beat for emphasis, "always wins."
Robert House pressed a finger to his lips, considering his counterpart. His double's instincts were more honed to social performance than his own, a regrettable fact that made him question which was most correct.
"I defer to your judgement," he conceded. "What do you think?"
--
Robert House poured himself a whiskey and sat down to watch the security monitors. He saw his double had retired to his suite, reclining in an armchair with an identical glass in his hand.
His protege had been exceeding his expectations. He was intuitive and ambitious, needing minimal guidance to achieve goals set before him. A real performer. There were meetings where House did not have to speak into his earpiece at all.
He would call finding such capable help a stroke of luck, but that would imply he took a chance. House already knew he held a winning hand--he'd dealt it to himself.
He turned his attention to the casino floors, then the Strip, then further into the Mojave. There were no immediate fires to extinguish.
Quiet nights sometimes made him feel more restless than chaotic ones. He lit a cigarette and returned to the camera feed of his double's room, seeing two men where he expected one. House watched intently as they stood inches apart, barely moving.
He took a harried drag on his cigarette and tapped into the audio of the room, straining to hear their murmuring. He watched other-Robert run his hands over the lapels of the stranger's suit before pulling him in for a kiss.
House kept his eyes fixed on the screen as his hands moved across the control board, bringing up live feeds from other cameras in the room.
So--they would need to have a conversation about unknown variables and discretion sooner rather than later. He would also apparently need to be told that an imported Italian suit is not to be crumpled on the floor.
His double lowered himself to his knees and the stranger was frantic in getting his trousers open. Bare, desperate need. It was amateurish to behold.
House leaned back in his chair and sipped his whiskey, ashing his cigarette in a highly polished silver tray. With his other hand, he palmed a growing bulge in his pants, matching the pace of his counterpart's head.
--
"Do you know what makes Vegas so profitable?" Mr. House asked the actor upon his entrance to the penthouse suite. House was standing at an enormous window overlooking The Strip, his hands clasped behind his back. He did not turn to face him or wait for an answer. "Fools."
The actor knew denial wasn't an option and being obsequious might make it worse.
"You are being careless in ways you do not even realize are careless," House said, turning from the window and closing the distance between them. "For instance, the necktie you are wearing is made of silk that costs thousands of dollars per yard. It cannot be washed. It cannot be ironed. It cannot be dry-cleaned without a highly-skilled hand, or it will be destroyed."
House's posture was rigid and still, like a pit viper threatening to strike. The actor debated in his mind if it was worth mentioning avoiding his face as House took a step closer.
"I begin to train a necktie from the first moment I put it on," House said, sliding his thumb under the knot of the tie. "A single, centered dimple, secured with a pinch."
House demonstrated the fold, his eyes fixed on his double's. The actor did not risk looking down and knew he was not meant to.
"It's a delicate creature, you see. An impatient fool could stretch it irreparably by yanking it off their neck without undoing the knot first. Are you a fool, Robert?"
"No, sir," he answered quickly.
"You are to move and breathe and think as I do. Practice until you get it right." House narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing him further. "And if you insist on using my likeness to fulfill your base desires, then it behooves you to know that I would not get on my knees for a tourist."
The actor let out a quiet scoff, one House would not have heard if he had not been so close. The withering look House gave him almost put him back in line, but he couldn't let it go.
"For the sake of verisimilitude," the actor said, choosing his words carefully. "I should know your preferences."
"Verisimilitude," House repeated, brushing his knuckles against the other man's throat as he let go of his necktie. "My preference is for you to be less intemperate with patrons. This conversation is over. Get back to work."
The actor turned on his heel and reached into his pocket for his pack of cigarettes, walking too fast for the flame of his lighter to actually ignite it.
"Friend, you're hoppin' like a hare on hot asphalt!" Victor said as he reached the elevator.
The actor made a noise of acknowledgment and took a long pull on his cigarette, letting his head fall back against the elevator wall with a soft thud. He exhaled a steady stream of smoke and indulged in his panic for a few dozen floors, then he pushed himself away from the wall to stand up straight.
He adjusted the cuffs of his shirt--"at least half an inch should be visible, and maintaining this is one of life's great challenges"--and placed a hand in his pocket, making sure the crook of his thumb did not put undue weight on the pocket's edge.
When the doors re-opened onto the casino floor, Robert House stepped out.
---
[A leather-bound notebook, written in an exquisite hand.]
His eccentricities are numerous and frankly, under-reported by the press. There must be a dedicated catch-and-kill department. I'm still unclear about the exact structure of the company and this seems very much by design.
My co-workers, such as they are, comprise mostly of robots. I often cross paths with the Securitron Victor, whom House seems to view as a confidant. I haven't seen another living soul on the penthouse floor, nor do I expect to--even the handlers assigned to my detail stop at the precipice of the elevator. Maybe it's possible to become so rarefied that friendship is tedious to maintain.
That sounds like something he would say.
I was reprimanded for an encounter he'd apparently watched--my suspicions about his surveillance extending to my room were correct.
I don't think I took away the intended message.
[the bottom half of the page has been torn off]
--
The actor did his usual late-night assignments alone, which was to say without House's voice in his ear. He considered 'casino owner' to be the lightest work of his many job titles, as much of what was expected of him amounted to free drinks and adoration from beautiful strangers.
He reached into his pocket for his lighter and instead felt the button-shaped earpiece, his touch lingering on the device.
A lit match appeared in his peripheral vision and broke his line of thought. He returned the hostess' smile and leaned closer, bringing the tip of his cigarette to her flame.
"Appreciate it, sweetheart," he said as she flitted away into the crowd without a word.
He took a contemplative drag and leaned against the bar, sliding a hand back in his pocket to turn on his earpiece. He noticed a Securitron briefly pivot toward him as he put the device in his ear.
"Yes? What is it?"
"I wanted to talk to someone interesting."
"And so you are," House said. "I hope you're not already tiring of vapid conversation with unimportant people, you have a hard row to hoe if that is the case."
The actor smirked, glancing up at one of the many cameras. He heard the familiar heavy click of House's lighter and the slow exhale of breath in his ear.
"How I sympathize with your plight, for it is my own, dear boy," House lamented. The actor noted with amusement that House sounded a little drunk. "Join me upstairs, so we might speak more freely. Stop talking to myself at the bar."
--
He found the real Robert House in the penthouse lounge, at a blackjack table across from a Protectron dealer. This was the most dressed-down the actor had ever seen House, without a jacket and with his dress shirt sleeves folded to the elbow. He ashed his cigarette and tapped the card in front of him, watching the robot intently.
"19, sir."
House gestured that he would stay and the robot dealt itself a card.
"24. The dealer goes bust, you win."
He let out a pleased hum and stretched an arm over the back of the chair next to him, turning his focus to the actor.
"There he is, my protege." House said fondly. "Deal him in," House said to the Protectron.
"No offense, but I'd like to keep my paycheck."
House let out an amused scoff and beckoned for him to sit.
"Oh, Robert, not for money, that'd be tantamount to taking it from my own wallet," he looked at the robot to share in the absurd notion, then continued. "Dealer draws to 16 and stands on all 17s."
The Protectron had a built-in card shuffler and the actor could tell it was using well beyond the standard amount of cards. He'd never seen a blackjack dealer use more than 8 decks to deter card-counting and raise the house edge, but considering the player--
"Are you rigging the game so it's harder for you to win?" he asked as he sat down on the leather barstool. House's arm was still draped over the back and he made no move to pull away. "How many decks are you using?"
The Protectron began to answer, but House quickly cut it off.
"Do not answer him," then to the other man, "I can't know how many cards there are. It's the only way I can retain a modicum of chance."
"I thought you didn't like uncertainty."
House gave him a weary look and ashed his cigarette with an audible tap.
"I like a small amount of uncertainty in my leisure time."
---
The actor settled into the strange dynamic of playing cards with the man who employed him to be him. He observed House in this odd, manufactured simulacrum where he was not the house with an impossible edge. He'd programmed a robot that was.
He couldn't imagine what he might have made of this scene before he'd gone through the looking glass.
The Protectron dealt him an ace and a king and House chuckled next to him, tossing his own cards back toward the dealer.
"Blackjack--you win," the Protectron said.
"Another natural," House mused.
"What are the odds?" the actor said off-handedly, pushing his cards toward the robot.
"Don't tempt me with a good time," House said, giving his cigarette a quick tap in the ashtray.
"I just might."
There was a tacit understanding of informality that the actor knew was conditional. He didn't need to call him 'sir', but he wasn't going to venture calling him 'Robert'. Other boundaries were much less clear.
"You want another drink?" House asked, the lit cigarette hanging from his lips.
The actor reached out to take House's cigarette in two fingers, took a slow and deliberate pull, then placed it back between House's lips.
"I want something else," he said, exhaling a steady stream of smoke.
"Well." House took another quick drag before crushing the cigarette into the tray. "Let's have it, then."
The actor leaned close and kissed him, bracing a hand on his thigh. House let out an excited breath when they parted, curling his hand around the back of his double's neck and pulling him in for another kiss.
Soon enough it was clear that the tall, curved-back barstools would not be conducive to their post-blackjack conversation.
House broke the kiss and considered the other man, tracing his thumb over the actor's lips. His double eagerly parted them, nearly pulling a whimper from House as he felt the plush warmth of his tongue.
"Robert," House breathed, urging his thumb deeper into his mouth. Clearly, he had judged the tourist too harshly for being so desperate, his own composure was faltering just the same. He drew his hand back with what he considered immense personal effort. "Let's--continue elsewhere," he managed.
---
House tried to regain his willpower as he lead the way to his personal suite, busying himself with the familiar motion of undoing his necktie. Months of observation gave his protege a kind of insight that House could not have predicted. 'Formidable' was the word that came to mind.
The actor undid his own tie as House unlocked the door; he too felt like a taut wire about to snap. He laid all his cards out as the door closed behind them.
"I'll take anything you want to give me," the actor said, taking House's loose tie in his hand and giving it a tug, slipping it out from under his collar. "I'll lead or follow, just say the word--"
"Get undressed," House told him, seeing the opportunity to re-establish authority and taking it.
"Yes, sir," he answered.
House left the actor to his assigned task and turned to his own, heading to the bar across the room to fix himself a drink. If he was going to indulge in his vices, he was going to do it. He glanced at his double while browsing through his humidor for a suitable cigar.
"That's enough for now," House told him. He'd undressed to his underwear and black dress socks, affixed in place around his calves with garters. His discarded clothes had, of course, been neatly folded. If it was a ploy for approval, it had worked.
House gestured for him to get on the bed, busying himself with clipping and lighting his cigar. His veneer of self-control was not one that would stand up to scrutiny, but it didn't need to here. He grabbed an ashtray and a hand towel from behind the bar, bringing them to an ornately-carved table near the end of the bed.
House settled into the elegant armchair beside his accoutrements, taking a puff on his cigar and giving his double an expectant look.
The actor knew how to adapt for an audience. He drew his fingers along the underside of his cock and watched House through the haze of smoke. He reclined further on the bed and worked himself slowly through the fabric of his underwear, arching into his own touch.
"That's good," House said, tracing the rim of his glass with a fingertip.
He seemed outwardly stoic, but the actor saw his tells. Some were obvious, like his conspicuous leg-cross and significant drop in his vocabulary. Others were more subtle: he was consciously focused on keeping his breathing even and could not keep his hands still.
"Let me see."
The actor urged his underwear off and held House's gaze, taking his cock in his hand and giving it a languid stroke. He felt emboldened enough to push him.
"You got off watching me with that tourist, didn't you?"
"Yes," House said easily, drawing on his cigar. His double seemed aroused by the admission, letting out a shaky breath as he touched himself.
"Let me suck you off."
"In time," House answered. He sipped his brandy and delighted in his good fortune. There were few things more intoxicating than a willing man who was eager to oblige. "Indulge me, first."
He returned to his labors and House gave him a hum of approval.
His chest rose and fell sharply as he neared his peak, bucking into his tightened fist. He grew still and tense before letting out a low moan, drawing House's full attention as spurts of come marked his stomach.
"Fuck," he exhaled harshly, stroking himself through the last spasms of his orgasm, his knuckles wet with his release.
House snuffed out his cigar and rested it in the ashtray, then swallowed the last of his brandy. He picked up the folded hand towel and tossed it to the other man.
"Clean up, then come here."
---
House undid his belt and his double was quick to open his trousers, urging the waistband of his underwear down. He took House's cock in his hand, pulling a needy whimper from him as he lowered his head.
House felt a hot exhale of breath and then a slow, wet swipe of his tongue. The soft warmth of his mouth followed, making him stifle another embarrassing noise.
Formidable.
He struggled to keep from thrusting into his mouth--it was poor form--nevertheless, his hands found the back of the other man's head. House was too overwhelmed to hold his tattered composure together and hungrily chased his release. Pleasure coiled tightly in his stomach as he pumped into the plush heat of his mouth and came.
His double was true to his word that he would take what he was given. He slowed after House finished but didn't pull back, though the overstimulating ache eventually began to set in.
"That's enough," House said, pushing him back weakly.
House soon felt his double's hands on him again, assiduous as always, righting his trousers and buckling his belt.
"Such a diligent boy," House murmured, reaching down to take the other man's chin in his hand. He looked debauched with his lips glistening and flushed. House pulled a kerchief from his pocket and carefully cleaned his double's face. He deserved a gesture of gratitude for his exceptional work.
House regarded his double, who smiled up at him. He was struck by the affection he felt for the other man.
"I'm glad you called," House told him.
----
The actor checked his appearance in the mirror as House re-lit his cigar, still slumped heavily in the armchair.
"Would you be amenable to another visit?"
"More clandestine blackjack?" the actor straightened his tie and gave him a wink. "Just say the word."
House smiled around the cigar and watched him head to the door.
"Goodnight, Robert," House said after him.
"Goodnight, Robert," his double answered.