(DANIEL SUNJATA,  HE/HIM,  CIS MAN)  careful, ISIAH MONTGOMERY has  arrived  to  the  city  of  dreams!!  he looks THIRTY-FIVE years  old  and  word  on  the  street  is  he is  from SOUTHAMPTON and  currently  resides  in TRIBECA.  he is  currently  living  life  in  the  city  as  an ART BROKER  one  thing  he  never  wants  anyone  to  find  out  is  HE GOT HIS LIFE-ALTERING KNEE INJURY TO PROTECT HIS FRIEND.  too  bad  nothing  remains  a  secret  for  long  even  in  the  city  of  dreams.  some  people  say  he is CALLOUS,  but  I  think  he is LOYAL.  (El, 29, PST, they/them)
tw. violence; homophobic abuse; drugs
the essentials
• born Isiah Keith Montgomery on 24th October, 1987 in Southampton, Massachusetts
• as the eldest son of a deeply moneyed family, Isiah could have enjoyed a quiet, comfortable life, but he was always one for adventure. He took up horseback riding, archery, various forms of martial arts, and anything that could keep his active mind busy. when he met his best friend Archibald Maycroft,  they took up fencing together, too.
• Isiah’s relationship with Archie served as a natural catalyst into the world of high-stakes, shady business deals. Isiah excelled at these, too – the strategy; the reading of people. it was just like the thrill of a fight, if not better.
• after university (where Isiah got a Master’s in business with a minor in classics), Isiah waded deeper and deeper into the trenches of suspiciously sourced goods. Isiah became an invaluable asset to Reginald Maycroft, his best friend’s grandfather. it was during this time that a deal went south, and Isiah took the blame. one of Reginald’s business rivals personally ensured that Isiah was hospitalized.
• the assault left Isiah with a permanent knee injury, for which Isiah sometimes needs the assistance of a cane. he chooses to keep the cane with him at all times, both for the fashion of it and for the way it lures others into underestimating him. he prides himself on remaining the most dangerous room in spite of, if not because of, his injury.
• during his recovery, Isiah received a letter from Archie in which Archie said he wanted nothing to do with Isiah for the risk he brought to the Maycroft family.
• Isiah left the hospital and returned to the life for which Reginald had shaped him, albeit independently this time.
• presently, Isiah is the owner, operator, curator, and sole financier of The Gilded Rose, Tribeca’s premier fine arts gallery.
• he will deny it when pressed, but Isiah has an inappropriate relationship with painkillers, brought on by complications from his fateful assault.
personality
• Isiah treats most human interactions as a puzzle he can solve, if not a game of strategy he can win. observe; orient; decide; act.
• despite this, Isiah is capable of deep wells of kindness toward others, particularly people he sees as less fortunate than himself.
• unless he’s working out, isiah dresses in fine, tailored clothes. rarely suits. Isiah can afford suits, of course,  and he likes them; but suits are for a special occasion. a man who wears a suit to every event has something to prove, and Isiah is long past seeking validation from others.
• Isiah’s love for classics and puzzles decorates most of his life. he has a private collection of first-edition books, and he hires gallery employees by giving them a puzzle of his design to solve.
• Isiah wine, dines, and sleeps with people of any gender, but he rarely lets them stay. he does not want anyone to see the man Reginald Maycroft made him into.
other key relationships
• Isiah was never close with his family, which is probably what made him vulnerable to Reginald’s machinations.
• Miranda Montgomery, Isiah’s sister, is the only exception to this. Miranda is Isiah’s whole heart and soul – brilliant and artistic and principled. Much like Isiah, she has a big heart that she protects with a solid block of ice. Much of Isaiah’s wardrobe was designed by Miranda, if not made by her own two hands.
• his mother, Marnie Montgomery, resents Isiah for his refusal to marry and for his so-called “homosexuality” – she once caught him sleeping making out with a boy after a polo game and beat him within an inch of his life. Miranda pulled their mother off of him, and she never harmed Isiah again.
• Isiah treats his employees (a personal chef; a small cleaning staff; some gallery managers) well, ensuring they have ample living wages and all the medical care they need.
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It takes effort to bite his tongue and swallow down age old accusations. Sometimes it always rolls back to why? And knowing there will never be an answer. Isiah looks better than him but then again one of them hasn’t been throwing punches in the rain and snarling like some feral creature in the face of some half-alive guy that had the unfortunate luck of squaring up for money.
Bruised and bloodied fingers tap restless on the table. It’s one of the few tells he’s yet to hide away even now when there’s more on his mind, words he’s not willing to say. Isiah fills the space easy enough looking like some tired alumni and reminding him to stop being so reckless.
In and out, quick and efficient. Isiah was always meticulous.
“I had it handled.”
Blue eyes are still fixed upon the menu, the USB untouched. Still he taps lightly against the table, knowing better than to look Isiah in the eye. Sure it was risky meeting like this but no one paid mind to the guy that looked homeless. “His name is Lukas, he’s a model or something. I didn’t ask I only needed to be seen.”
Now he looks, starting at familiar hands and dancing up to meet those eyes.
Why are you still trying so hard to protect me?
Archie motions back to the booth and leans back, flagging down April and gesturing to Isiah and himself. It’s just a few moments later and there’s two cups of coffee set down. “We’ll need a minute,” he manages with a smile and watches her go before taking a sip of his coffee.
“It’s not like you to leave a puzzle unsolved.” Archie sets the sugar closer to the second cup and looks up at Isiah. “It’s even stranger for you to clean up without me.” A small smile surfaces, deceptive and warm. “But what I can’t understand is why you’re so insistent upon running away.”
No you didn’t, Isiah stops himself from saying. No one looks Isiah in the face and argues with his security assessments – least of all Archibald Maycroft. Isiah stays quiet. He lets Archie tell him the things he already said he didn’t care about; lets Archie flag down the waitress; lets Archie trap him, since Archie wants so desperately to make bad decisions. Isiah nods, but that’s all he shows as he sits back down.
Leave it to an amateur to turn a quick drop into a little meeting between friends. Isiah can play the part, no problem, but every second is a new, compounded risk for the both of them.
“You know damn well that I’m not running,” Isiah finally says, smiling for the benefit of April, in case she looked back over at them. “But if you want to make this a mess, let’s go ahead. You have ten minutes. Thrill me.”
It’s late on a Wednesday night which never boded well for the night.
But Mel’s Diner was closed for renovations and the Golden Griddle was an apt substitute at two in the morning. It was quiet and unassuming and no one looked twice at him when he waltzed in dressed looking like he crawled out of some back alley next to the feral cats and garbage piled high. It’s a Wednesday sure, but Archie is nothing if not consistent with his schedule sometimes and the bruises on his knuckles mean he’s still high off the rush of a fight he shouldn’t have been in to begin with.
Pulling the hood on his sweater up a little higher, there’s a brief glance cast around. Already he misses Mel’s and the comfort of familiarity and the booth at the back where his back is pressed to a wall and he can watch the rest of the room. When the waitress circles around, he glances up and skims her nametag - April - before looking thoughtfully down at the menu.
“So what can I getcha doll?”
Already he hates it here.
“Just coffee and water for now,” he says, flipping the menu over and skimming it quietly. “I’ll need a minute.” April gives a nod and Archie watches her leave with a pop of gum and a sway of her hips. It’s enough to distract him from realizing the thick vinyl is squeaking and the bench across from him is filled by company he hadn’t expected. A muscled jumps in his jaw and he gives them a careful once over.
Tugging his hood back there’s a fleeting smile for the sake of manners.
Rain hammers the windows of the Griddle, keeping time as Isiah makes his way to Archie’s booth. The weather’s as sideways as his stomach feels. God, Archie looks the same.
No he doesn’t, comes a more reasonable voice. He’s older. You’re older. That time is gone now.
Isiah masters himself, swallows the nostalgia down as he takes his seat. Like Archie, he’s dressed as plain as he can stand to be. Tennis shoes; jogging pants; a Duke sweater. Isiah Montgomery has never even set foot in Durham, North Carolina.
“I’m surprised you even agreed to come,” he admits. That’s about as much space as he dares leave for pleasantries. Better to spare them both.
“You’ve been seen around town with some young thing,” he goes on. “I don’t know his name; I don’t really care, either. I just thought you should know that I’m hearing about it, and I’m not even tracking you.”
He reaches into the pouch of his sweater and slides a silver USB drive across the table. “This is everything I found – and buried. Rotate your entire team. Assume you have a leak.”
Isiah leans back, picks up his cane with one hand, passes it to the other. He knows better than to expect a thank-you; he’s crossed too many boundaries even scrubbing Archie’s tracks.
“That’s all.” he starts to stand “Stay alive, Archie.”
it took alaric a little while to recover from the hideous dress that was staring at him from across the bar with such intensity that he felt personally offended, but once he managed to rip his eyes away from the neon-lace-ruffle-disaster-of-a-garment, he was met with a much more pleasing image. “ isiah. “ a soft smile melted on alaric’s lips as they leaned in to receive the playful kiss, the skin on their cheeks warm as isiah pulled away. “ I am so sorry darling, I didn’t even notice it was you. and how on earth did I miss you? “ alaric took a half-step back from isiah to examine the neatly tailored clothes he was wearing. “ you look fabulous. “
alaric could always rest assured isiah would look amazing - that was only one of the things that attracted them about him. the artistic eye and love of classics was only a very much enjoyed cherry on top. handsome and smart? who wouldn’t want to be around that? as alaric guided isiah to the bar, they carefully placed a hand on the man’s bicep, decorated fingers curling into a light squeeze. “ I didn’t know you’d be here tonight. you should have called! I would have put in more effort. “ eyes glued to the way the man’s shirt fit his upper body for a second too long, alaric managed to move his gaze away from isiah to place an order. “ a cosmopolitan, please. and… whiskey, neat? “
“Thank you, Sweetheart,” Isiah replied, giving Alaric a proper once-over in return. “You’re stunning, as always.”Â
Alaric was, as ever, a vision of beauty with a purpose. Miranda had once called Alaric “threateningly well-dressed.” Isiah had never told them, because the world probably couldn’t have survived Alaric’s ego if it got any larger.
Isiah allowed Alaric through the room, noting a lingering glance from the crowd here and there. Alaric’s magnetism at work. Let them look, Isiah thought, and when they paused at the bar, he looped his free arm right around Alaric. He thought of squeezing Alaric’s ass (as he had thought of many times), but he settled for curling his hand around Alaric’s hip and squeezing. Look all you want; he’s mine.
When Alaric guessed his drink order, Isiah nodded. “Yes, but you must let me pay. Consider it a thank-you for brightening my night.”
it was raining. alaric hated when it rained, because it meant that their hair ( carefully constructed on top of his head to practically defy gravity ) and makeup ( dark eyeliner on a thickly applied glittery base ) were about to undergo dangerous territory. whipping out his black umbrella straight out of the cab, alaric hurried inside the busy bar, his eyes scanning the dimly lit room for a familiar face. as his gaze made its way across the room, his eyes got stuck on what he would so kindly classify a fashion disaster. alaric grimaced, leaning close to the person next to them. “ I might have to skip on the cosmos… witnessing that has made me dizzy enough. “
As always, The Diamond Lounge ebbed and flowed with a rhythm of chatter. As always, Isiah wasn’t sure what he wanted it to do for him. He was here, alone, forcing himself to be part of a scene he couldn’t quite fit into – all perfectly polished tabletops and winning smiles and clinking glasses. A life he could step into when he needed; a life he could play-act for a while. The life Miranda so desperately wanted him to lead.
Isiah massaged a bruise on his knuckle. She had to know, even if she did him the kindness of keeping it to herself.
Just when Isiah thought he might get up to leave, to stop pretending, he heard a familiar voice and found himself smiling. He greeted Alaric with a kiss just beside his mouth, saying, “What a nice surprise. Please, join me for a drink.”
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oliver talked a big game, especially when it came to fighting. for the longest time, he thought he was one of the better fighters. he was notorious for moving quickly and dodging attacks that were thrown at him, but with isiah, he may have finally met his match. the man was skillful and intelligent, predicting each of his moves before he could make them. it only made sense to oli that he become his apprentice. “one more set –” he breathlessly confirmed, taking a few seconds to breathe before getting back into his fighting stance. the man focused on everything he had been taught, quickly using those skills to land fierce blows on the dummy, grunts escaping his lips with each hit. “fuck yeah!” he couldn’t help but yell as he finished the set assigned to him, lifting his arms in the air in triumph as the sweat dripped down his body. oli couldn’t help but grin as isiah offered him a smile of approval, which he took as an invitation to join the man. “you know, isiah… if you weren’t such a serious trainer, i’d think you brought me here to objectify me.” the shirtless, sweaty man said with a smirk. “i mean, who would blame you, really?”
--
As Oliver slid up next to him on the couch, Isiah made sure to drink him in. Lithe and panting, muscles begging to escape the skin they were trapped in. It was enough to make Isiah’s throat run dry, but he kept his cool. He simply hiked his brow at the accusation. To Oliver’s credit, Isiah was dressed only in his robe. That was less about his desires and more about comfort. Why should a man not relax in his own home?
“Sweet boy –” Isiah grunted as he leaned forward to pour some water into a glass, then he leaned back to offer it to Oliver. “– I am nothing if not an admirer of the arts. As long as you continue to bless me with your body, I will continue to look.”
Pouring himself a glass of water, he added, “I ordered some pizza from that place you mentioned; it should be here soon. In the meantime, you’re welcome to use my shower. I’ve laid out towels, bath products, and the like for you.”
for @glasshousesx​ (oli)
location: isiah’s apartment
-
Oliver looked for all the world like someone had plucked him up out of another life and placed him here, in Isiah’s apartment. Oliver, shirtless and sweaty and panting; his surroundings spacious and immaculate. From where Isiah sat, Oliver was framed by a panoramic window overlooking the city. He was a virile jewel set against a backdrop of lights – a littering of tiny stars.
Isiah counted Oli’s blows as they landed on the training dummy. One-two-three-four-five. One-two-three. One-two-theree-four. He tried to mind Oli’s form – the placement of his arms, the distribution of his weight – but there were dangerous thoughts that way. Thoughts of higher, more rhythmic grunts; thoughts of Oli’s throat in his hands; thoughts of Oli’s soft, sinful mouth cradling Isiah’s name like a prayer.
“Nice grouping,” Isiah finally said aloud. “Do one more set, and then come have a seat with me.”
Sure, they could have done this in the gym. They could have done this just about anywhere other than Isiah’s apartment. But the gym was loud and sterile and public, and Isiah was tired. Lonely. Oliver was young, foolish, but he had to know what Isiah wanted.Â
Isiah spent so long as the beautiful boy feeding himself to bad men. When had he become the man doing the eating? Get out now, Isiah wanted to say. I am going to climb inside you and ruin you. But he did not say it. He just smiled approvingly when Oliver looked over at him.
