#enjoy please

The large wall comprised of nothing but windows behind Viserys glittered with the sights of the city far below. The sun was beginning to sink lower in the sky, a drastic change from the early afternoon sky that had been shining overhead when Otto first arrived. The leather desk chair that Viserys sat in creaked as he moved, handing over several more pieces of paper for Otto’s inspection, pieces of evidence that needed to be reviewed and decided upon.

This was meant to be a simple case. Not that anything was simple when working for the Targaryens, but that’s where Otto’s reputable talent came into play. Viserys Targaryen, despite his open-secret status as the most powerful don in the city of King’s Landing, had never been accused of a crime. Money, bodies, drugs, all simply disappeared without a trace, and Viserys retained his impunity.

When the call mentioned no deaths, no illicit goods, and no senseless violence, Otto had almost dared himself to believe this would be an easy paycheck. How idiotic of him, with hindsight.

He rubbed a hand over his face, sinking further into his chair. 

“Okay,” he said, sighing heavily as he sat up again. “Run this by me again, alright? So your brother—”

“Daemon.”

“Daemon,” Otto repeated, feeling his blood pressure gradually rising, even as his face remained impassive. Years of listening to the stupidest men that had somehow been allowed to don judiciary robes had trained him for this moment. “His girlfriend—”

“Mysaria.”

“Right. Mysaria burned down the laundromat, because…?”

“It was an accident,” Viserys answered. “At least, Daemon said it was an accident.”

He followed his statement with a tug at the end of his cuffed sleeve. For a mafioso—for a don—he was surprisingly open with his emotions, letting stress tighten the muscles in his jaw and brow. Daemon’s story was as believable as pigs flying, and it was obvious that Viserys knew it too.

“And then Daemon urged you to file the insurance claim.” Otto’s eyes flitted over the notes beside him. “And you did, because he led you to believe that he had nothing to do with it.”

Viserys looked disgruntled at the plain way in which Otto stated his stupidity—no, Otto reminded himself, his blindness to his brother’s actions.

A blindness that led to the most obvious case of insurance fraud that Otto had ever seen, the man would add. A blindness that needed to be addressed, should Viserys have any desire to continue his life and legacy of organized crime.

“Yes,” Viserys said eventually, rising from his desk. Otto watched as the other man stood, moving to pour himself a rather full glass of whiskey. Viserys chugged it down in three quick gulps, before pouring himself another. “Would you like a drink, Otto?” he offered once the second was half-empty.

“No, thank you. I don’t drink with clients.”

Viserys hummed in acknowledgement, making no attempt to push it. Their relationship was entirely professional, no matter how many years they had known one another, or how many prison sentences Otto had managed to bail him out of. 

Any stolen glances that Otto may have taken when his client was distracted were entirely professional. Nothing more.

“I’ll be entirely honest with you, Mr. Targaryen, as I know you’re a competent man. This case is so cut-and-dry that there’s no way for you to get out of this without implicating your brother.”

“Absolutely not.” Viserys waved a hand, hoping to brush the idea away with the wind. “He’s my brother, despite his flaws, and I won’t throw him at the mercy of litigious vultures.”

The litigious vulture across from Viserys raised an eyebrow. “I’m afraid you might not have a choice. The cameras across the street caught the entire thing. The only way I could convince a jury that this fire wasn’t set purposefully is if they were blind and deaf.”

A loud sigh escaped Viserys as he leaned back in his armchair. He polished off the second glass of whiskey, his eyes settling on Otto over the rim.

“Y’know, Otto, I don’t know all that much about you,” the man mused, setting the glass down with a soft clink. “Even though we’ve been working together for, what, fifteen years?”

“Sixteen,” Otto corrected, “and that is by design, if I must be honest.”

Viserys chuckled. “Surely you know you’re as safe as can be around me. Wouldn’t do to dispose of the main person keeping me from a cell, would it?”

The older man was unconvinced. “I keep business and personal life separate.”

“So do I. Consider this small talk between two business partners.”

Otto leaned back in the seat, listening to the leather armchair creaking beneath him. It sounded as tired as he felt. “Fine.”

“So?”

Otto’s gaze flicked over the man warily. “There’s not much to say. My son graduated recently. He says he hopes to follow me to law school.”

“Ah.” Viserys smiled, and his affection seemed genuine. “My Rhaenyra has kept me busy since the school year began.”

Otto knew of Rhaenyra. Her name had come up in court documents before, and Viserys had often tried to commiserate over the shared trials and tribulations of having a teenaged daughter. In Otto’s professional opinion, Rhaenyra sounded spoiled rotten; Viserys once complained of having to buy her rottweiler some sort of heart charm for her collar

Ridiculous.

“She’s very close with her uncle,” Viserys continued. “She’d be upset to hear that I let him get arrested.”

Otto felt the corner of his eye twitch with the effort it took for him to restrain a roll of his eyes. “I understand that, Mr. Targaryen, but the fact of the matter is—”

“That my brother is a reckless idiot with poor taste in women,” Viserys interrupted. “Spare me the details, Otto. I know.”

Viserys stood again, moving back to the liquor cabinet. The sleeves of his jacket tugged at his arms, revealing the cuff of his satin shirt as he reached for a wine from a shelf along the top. Otto’s eyes ran the length of the other man’s body, noticing the fine tailoring of the suit. Every aspect of it, from shirt to the shoes, were picked and sized perfectly; perhaps even custom ordered. There was no doubt that Viserys had the money to afford it.

A wine glass was placed on Otto’s side of the desk, earning him a reproachful look from the lawyer.

“Come on,” Viserys urged. “One glass won’t kill you.”

It was incredibly tempting, Otto had to admit. This wasn’t the first time he had been called to deal with a problem caused by Daemon, and he doubted it would be the last.

The wine went down smooth, something that would no doubt cost a small fortune despite the way that Viserys didn’t blink twice at sharing it with his lawyer. Not that Otto was particularly complaining; he had never been one to waste money on such frivolous things, but he would also never refuse the other man’s ostentatious offer.

The smile on Viserys’ lips was quickly hidden by his own sip of wine.

“It was a gift.”

Otto simply stared at Viserys as he waited for an explanation.

“The wine,” the other man continued. “It was a gift. I’ve had it forever, but…” His shrug wasn’t as nonchalant as Otto would have expected.

“But no time to open it like a meeting with your lawyer?” Otto offered, earning a chuckle from Viserys.

“Precisely.” His hand moved to loosen the knot in his tie, causing Otto’s gaze to dart away. The last thing he needed was to give his client the wrong impression by letting his eyes wander at the wrong moment.

Or the right moment, depending on Otto’s mood.

“So, Mr. Hightower, what does a lawyer do when he’s not busy saving men from the justice system?”

A hum was Otto’s reply. He always did his best to maintain the kind of privacy a top-grade therapist would be proud of, but the feeling of heavy resignation in the air compelled him to open his mouth. Maybe if he shared a little about himself, he could further convince Viserys that he was choosing the best course of action.

“When I’m not hauling Alicent around to her practices?” he said, rubbing a hand over his bearded chin. “I suppose I like to read. I’ve been trying to teach Alicent chess.”

Viserys said nothing. Otto sighed and continued, searching his mind for something that may interest the both of them, a leaping point into getting Viserys’ final agreement to build the case the way he needed.

“And I have a wine tasting event this weekend.”

That made Viserys’ eyes light up, his body leaning forward to rest an elbow on the desk, his chin resting upon the back of his hand. “Wine tasting? Really? I thought you didn’t drink.”

“I don’t drink with clients,” Otto corrected. The glass in his hand felt heavier with the realization. “...usually.”

“Where are you going for this wine tasting?”

Otto’s brow pinched together, pausing for an imperceptible moment. “The Ice Wall.”

“Bah!” Viserys slumped back in his chair like a string above his head had been snipped, his head shaking at Otto’s words. “You disappoint me, Otto. I thought you had better taste in bars than places like the Ice Wall.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s shite.”

In truth, he had been invited to the wine tasting by his brother, and he hadn’t found an adequate reason to say no. To hear Viserys so openly condemn the choice, however, had him feeling oddly defensive.

“It’s a fine place.”

“It’s not.” Viserys smiled, attempting to bring a levity to his words that made Otto inwardly roll his eyes. “If you settle for ‘fine’, you should come to one of my places. It’ll make you regret ever praising that hovel.”

This was quickly approaching a line that felt dangerous—if not for Otto’s business practices, then his personal life.

“One of your places?” he heard himself ask. “Are you inviting me, then?”

The grin that stretched across Viserys’ face didn’t feel entirely innocent. “Of course. You’ve done good work for the last sixteen years, as you reminded me. Perhaps it’s time I gave you a free drink. Or five.”

The papers on the desk rustled as Viserys pushed them aside, mumbling to himself as he began to search through his desk drawers.

“Ah, here we are.” He extended two business cards, earning another frown from Otto as the dark haired man slowly reached out to take them.

One was black, with a red dragon curling across the top of the card. The letters across it read Dragon’s Dance. The other one was white with blue lettering, proudly advertising The High Tide.

“High Tide is older. Bit of a hole in the wall, really, but the drinks are strong. The Dragon’s Dance is nicer, but the clientele is more…unusual.”

That piqued Otto’s interest. “Unusual?”

Viserys hummed. “Men—and women—of…particular persuasions.”

Oh.

Oh.

Something told Otto that the smirk Viserys wore when he said that was not an accident.

“Right.” He cleared his throat, dropping the cards into his breast pocket. “Well—”

Whatever Otto had intended to reply with, the polite rejection and attempt to redirect the conversation, was lost when the wine glass slipped through his fingers and poured directly onto his white dress shirt.

He leapt to his feet, cursing under his breath as the scent of alcohol overpowered his nose. He could feel the liquid seeping through the waist of his pants, his patience immediately stalling as frustration overtook him.

“I need to leave,” he said, moving to his briefcase.

Viserys nodded, looking almost disappointed that their conversation had been cut so abruptly. “Right. I’ll speak to Daemon, call you with the details.”

Otto nodded as he packed up his briefcase, only half-listening. The papers were shoved inside with little care for order or neatness, the locks narrowly missing his finger as he snapped it shut.

His hand was on the handle when Viserys spoke again.

“I hope to see you this weekend, Otto.”

He grunted in reply, wrenching open the door and leaving the room. His heart pounded in his chest, and he had a feeling it wasn’t only with frustration.

God above. What was that? What was he getting himself into? And why was he tempted to go?