Yussa's very deliberate phrasing stirs Caleb's interest and his arousal both. Fifty gold, and I am yours. That was what they discussed: an exchange that would put Caleb in a position to make demands, to speak freely, to have Yussa in whatever ways he might wish.

"Sehr gut," he murmurs. "That is what I have prepared."

As he opens the pouch carrying his coin and begins to transfer it neatly to the table--three platinum, and the rest in gold--he glances to Yussa, unsubtly looking him over again as the corner of his mouth quirks up in a bemused little smile.

"I am not a wealthy man," he reveals--distinctive, when the Chateau's patrons typically are. "So it has taken me months to save enough to afford you." It's clear that thrills him. The cost is steep. Attaining Yussa is a lofty goal--something to aspire to, to be treasured. Something that is not for everyone. But he is one of the lucky few to earn a night with this man.

There is his price on the table: fifty gold. Yussa is his.

"Having been an...admirer for some time, I have no doubt that you are worth this and more," he confesses, earnest, yet with a clear undertone of longing, of want. "May I touch you?"