The first sign of distaste had been the building its self, but the second came in the more bitter feeling of not being able to hear his expensive, black loafers on the sticky floor - which he did not want touching any part of him, or his shoes, for that matter. It has been a long time since he has even remotely come near a place like this, somewhere so entirely destitute, especially in a city like New York. This time, however, he was going to make much better use of his valuable time, and especially his presence… and limousine parked over the litter collecting on the sidewalks instead of outside a five star restaurant.
His bodyguard takes position at the door after pushing it open for him; as if touching it himself was ever an option. He keeps his eyes fixed between the limousine and his employer; resisting conversation from a lingering girl to keep the other man happy with his job performance.
Blue eyes scan the cheap-smoke filled room, far from his imported cigars. Scents lingering somewhere between the distinct smell of poverty and alcoholic vomit until his eyes settle fondly on what was going to be added to the collection of his things… an unsuspected, but very pleasing prize, adorned with cotton-candy pink lips that must have held the taste of cheap wine and lust. With a roll of hundreds in his pocket that was more than enough, he sets to getting and leaving with what he came for with a quick gesture to his guard at the door that sets the large man to removing the obnoxious Scotsman and his Cowboy longing over the buxom blonde by the scruff of their necks.
There's a glare on the blonde's face as he attempts to get up from the bar stool, being pushed back down by the same vain man who was removing his clientele for the night, and being immediately beyond "just a little annoyed." With anger quickly turning to abrupt confusion, he can feel the rich cobalt eyes studying every inch of him, awkwardness thrown into the mixture of feelings.
The Million Dollar Man takes a few moments to look over his latest conquest… It was a very rare occasion that he had to think twice about something that he wanted; and he wonders if he has ever even taken a second guess at something he desired… especially something so … low class. The latest fling holding the current possession status was quickly paid off with no question, sending the older man back to his table at the bar with a "Woo!" that he simply rolls his eyes at and gets back to what is officially his.
He peels the feather trimmed wrestling robe from his blonde accolade, tossing it off on the floor for that rambling idiot to come collect it. With a boisterous laugh, he licks his lips and grabs his new toy by the chin, turning his head for their eyes to meet - he could already tell this was going to be just perfect - with a few selective changes. He feels an unusual amount of pity as he observes the changes needed to be made for his weekend, the disdain of those disgusting red and white, dirty cowboy boots. The extremely tight Miami Beach Sport Center shirt that had been so clearly not his size - maybe if he had lost a hundred or so pounds - and those god damned denim jeans with holes, bleach, and food stains all over the place, simply disgusting.
DiBiase's focus is brought back to those ocean blue eyes that still so obviously held many a dream awaiting to be broken, with that southern drawl referring to him as 'Daddy' in a less than casual manner, so much more alluring and sultry than he had ever heard before. As if in a trance of stupidity, he almost sits on the bar stool before standing straight up, grabbing his toy rather roughly and heading for the door.
He is certain that he had never lost control of himself, his inhibitions, even his pants, so quickly in his life as the throws the hefty Barbie into the limousine. He quickly tears through the other man's all too tight, non-fitting tee, a primal need taking over his senses. He would have given any amount of money to this man to see him splayed out on these leather seats.
For a moment, his thoughts are distracted by the laughable fact that how something about a limousine could make these destitute cockroaches so excited and willing to do anything. This one, though, really would do anything. His thoughts gladly taken over by the feeling of lips on his neck moving to his mouth - replacing that rumble of laughter in his throat with a skilled moist tongue. He can only wonder what makes Dusty Rhodes turn from trash to perfection so quickly. Just as soon as DiBiase throws the plump prostitute on the bed and tears through his clothes, he's rolling over, smacking the blaring clock radio from the night table and searching the sheets to find them absent of his blonde lover. He pushes himself up as his eyes open, fixing the tussled sheets around him and untangling his legs. His eyes roll at the obnoxiously loud singing coming from Dusty in the next room, an annoying rock and roll tune that was not worth knowing in his opinion.
His singing turns to a casual hum, strolling out of the bathroom with nothing but the towel he tosses onto the floor after drying off his hair. He sits straight up in the sheets when his eyes take in the sight of the nude blonde, unable to help being turned on all over again when the man bends over to pick his dirty jeans up off the floor. Dusty for one, may have had trouble getting into some of his ratty old clothes, but Ted certainly had not.
He does not make any type of conversation to DiBiase's surprise, who utters a few things that are just met with a few nods or shrugs. He directs Rhodes to where he had thrown that stupid t-shirt and gets himself out of bed, finding his house slippers beside the askew cowboy boots on the floor - whose bottoms had been held together with a few strips of duct tape - he grimaces at them and covers himself up in one of his luxurious bathrobes.
He makes a swat for that massive ass while Rhodes walks past him, though he sways his plump hips with such knowing expertise that his palm just misses colliding with the denim-covered flesh.
DiBiase turns when the other man finally speaks, he feels as if he wanted something else to come into discussion, but he is only questioning his payment and dually noting with a laugh that breakfast was separate from his nightly fee. With that, DiBiase's eyes do a little more realizing than they do just lusting,
Somewhere during the course of the morning, Rhodes had not only managed to shower, but by the looks of the plate stack, he had even turned the room service of DiBiase's favorite New York City hotel had become kin to the Waffle House. The older man picks up the last strip of bacon on an otherwise empty plate, the only item left that had not been the small bowl of fruit. Though he had already stuffed himself earlier - much to the objecting too-small shirt from the day before that was now riding up even higher on his distended stomach. He still savors each bite with a noticeable ecstasy, one hand rubbing at his belly, while DiBiase fumbles with his wallet, wanting to pin both hands on the wall and take Dusty Rhodes all over again.
He is stuck in the visual fantasy of throwing the prostitute up against the wall and grinding his hips into the plush bitch. Dusty just saunters over and picks the roll of hundreds out of his fingers, parting ways with a delectable, soft, quick kiss that he knows - even with his back turned as he walks out the door - leaves The Million Dollar Man tremble with euphoria… Just like everyone before him.
DiBiase finds his weekend cut painfully short with the momentary absence of Dusty that he just would not stand for; if he had it his way, he would have sent Virgil after him, throw Rhodes over his shoulder and bring him straight back to him. He rolls his eyes, hating that he has to do every single thing himself and runs toward the door, and though he returns a few minutes later with out the larger man slung over his back, he is dragging him along nonetheless, sitting him back down on the bed where he belonged.
He throws a few rolls of hundreds down on the table in front of him, making sure that the blonde knows very well that he would always be able to afford those skills much more than who ever was next on his client list. He realizes quickly that he would want nothing else than to destroy that client list, and have Dusty Rhodes all to himself. Cobalt eyes study the man before him who looks less than impressed, picking at the loose strings of tape on his cowboy boots. He tells himself that the man on his bed is nothing else than revolting… and yet, what he wants to be fact is just entirely false to his once better judgment.
Why was there something about Dusty that made him admire his precious toy so much? There was nothing meant to be attractive about the man, and yet he oozed such confidence about each and every one of his features and held some sense of pride about his personality. He was certainly nothing to look at, that was for sure, immensely overweight, his face and body full of deep scars and a few bruises that come and go. Even with his platinum blonde hair done in a perfect perm and one of Ric Flair's robs draped around his gargantuan frame, he was still a gussied up trailer trash whore.
He reasons with himself as much as he can until he drops down on the bed beside Rhodes, grabbing and pulling the completely pose-able Barbie on top of him, admiring those perfect, orgasmic pink lips before pressing his own, now seemingly inadequate ones to them. He loves the taste of his Superstar, and it is just as comparable to champagne at brunch. He looses himself in just kissing the blonde, and just as fast, he looses him completely as he rises up and swipes the cash from the table. He's simply stunned that, with his notoriety and endless millions, that his prostitute would choose to leave when he was so obviously desired. Sashaying to the door, he leaves DiBiase behind with a triumphant smirk.
Sixteen years later, not much has changed, and the chase still continues well into the third generation. The Million Dollar Man doesn't allow it by any means, and yet, Ted Jr. brings home the next generation of seduction on a regular basis. He shakes his head with disapproval as Cody walks through the door way, with his lips ravishing Ted's neck.
He pushes his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, leering at the young Rhodes and his heir, who was attempting to conceal him as he tried to get the not-so virginal Cody upstairs. Unfortunately for DiBiase Sr. the next generation of wannabe Superstars - this which he had also not approved of - had rested their hips long enough to put their minds into action for better use.
They just stare at each other, equal devious smirks on their faces rather than the usual heartrending look of being kept apart - to public knowledge, the elder DiBiase supposed… they had to think he was a complete idiot. His speech does not go far, in fact, it is ignored until their gaze turns to the doorway momentarily before they run up the stairs like children.
He is ready to just start screaming, the way his son would do that right in front of him, in his own house. His eyes fleetingly look towards where their focus had been before taking off after them, not getting so much as a step further before he turns back around.
It has been a long time since he had laid eyes - or anything else - on Dusty Rhodes… and those duct-taped cowboy boots long gone now. He shifts self consciously, something that he had never seen Rhodes do before. DiBiase smiles, leaving the kids to themselves - after all, it meant that they had been out of his way, and his body guard could go ahead and stop answering the door and make sure innocent little Ted stayed, well, innocent - God willing he still was with Cody running around.
As if his Palm Beach estate was not enough to point out the obvious, he, for some reason falling in the category of nervousness, he lets the Common Man know that he was still very, very rich. Dusty laughs, shifting awkwardly again, playing with the hem on his plaid shirt until Ted grabs onto his waist, pulling him against his body and kissing his lips. This time, Dusty was not going anywhere.