The Rose Bowers are not, strictly speaking, a brothel. They're a place you can go where your needs will be catered to. It doesn't really matter what those needs are. It's just that usually, lesser needs can be met at a lower price. There's a reason you go to the Rose Bowers.

Tintin is a virgin. He's twenty-four years old. He's had plenty of opportunities to lose his virginity - he went to college, after all, he was in the army for a while, he's spent time on planets with more prostitutes than the entire population of his home colony. But... it just never felt right. He doesn't know why.

He also doesn't know why he's tempted by the Rose Bowers. He should be sticking his tongue out and putting the brochure at the bottom of the stack. Instead, he's staring at it.

And he's accepting the offer.

And, a week later, he's stepping through a portal into the reception area of the Rosethorn Hotel.

He's got his omni-tool and the clothes on his back. By all accounts, the Bowers will provide anything else he needs. Toiletries, clothing, food. Sex toys. Miscellaneous potions. Magic items, even, though he can't keep them after his visit is over. More sex toys.

He approaches the receptionist, blushing a bit. "Um. Room for Valentin Saint-Martin?"

     "You're in Room 284, honey," he says.

"- do I need a keycard -"

     "Your omni-tool will do the trick. Or your retina, if you're nude."

He exhales. "I- I don't think I'm going to be getting that nude anytime soon. Thanks."

     "No problem. Enjoy your stay, alright?"

"I'll try."

He goes up the stairs to his room. His omni-tool does indeed open the door.

Inside the room: a bed! Couches! Chairs! How many people do they think he's going to have over??? A TV! A bookshelf! A giant flower with a tablet and a box of chocolates on it!

The tablet on the giant flower explains some things about the Bowers: blackberries as a warning that things might get intense, a listing of events that are going on, how ordering on the console works. He checks out the catalogue. It's... some items appeal, but on the whole it's completely overwhelming, and he regrets it almost immediately.

He tries one of the chocolates. Vanilla cherry creme. He wonders if he's being mocked, then casts the thought aside as deeply paranoid.

The tablet suggests various meeting groups. Club Coze sounds a bit... something. He's not sure he needs to be coddled right now. There are others, all of which sound intimidating.

"Kind of want to build a pillow fort and hide in it for two weeks," he says aloud.

Then he takes a deep breath. He's a grown man. He will find something to do, and he will have fun with it. He takes another look at the events.

Apparently "Club Farseek" is doing... speed dating. He can probably do speed dating. Even if it is Rose Bowers speed dating, which for all he knows is done in the nude and if you don't have sex with someone on the table by the end you're kicked out. Probably it's not that.

...he orders some Perfidious Perfume, to make his sweat smell pleasantly cinnamon-sugary. He gets the impression he's going to be sweating a lot. Then he makes an outfit. A black dress shirt, pearly snap buttons, with white slacks. He leaves the top two buttons undone, as a sort of concession to reality.

He steps out the door to his room and heads down the stairs to the lounge with the event.

The door is open, and a man the approximate size of a krogan battlemaster stands outside. He's wearing chaps over unreasonably tight jeans, and his purple Western shirt is open, revealing monumentally unfair musculature. "Hey! You here for the Farseek speed dating?"

"- yes, actually! Nice to meet you, I'm, my name is Tintin -"

He extends a hand lamely. How is this man so incredibly large.

"Tintin! I like it. I'm Ari." The man grips Tintin's hand with the gentleness of a man who knows he could crush someone's bones into powder, and draws him into a fierce brohug. "Come on in, it's starting."

Tintin can feel himself starting to drip into his sensible briefs at the brief physical contact and the display of strength. This was a mistake.

"Okay!" he says blithely. "Um, lead the way."

"Right this way, monsieur," Ari says with a deep bow. He leads the way ten feet into the room and then claps, causing the door to close.

Tintin is one of sixteen people in the moderately sized room, all of whom quieted down when Ari clapped his hands. "Hello, everyone!" Ari says loudly. "Welcome to speed dating! The basics are simple: try to get to know each other in one minute. That means thirty seconds apiece. That probably doesn't seem like enough time to get to know someone! It isn't. What you want to do is get a first impression; you can get to know them later, when we move from speed-dating into snacks and general mingling. It's just enough time to know if you want to get to know someone."

He outlines a couple more things - notably, there's a safeword ("succotash"), which Ari encourages them all to use if they're even slightly uncomfortable with a discussion topic. Then he herds everyone into seats, sits opposite someone, and sets a timer on his watch.

"And... go!"

The next two hours or so are... largely disappointing. Tintin meets a few people who seem interesting. Tintin meets a few people who seem interested in him. The categories don't seem to overlap;  It doesn't help that he's stammering, trying to get out meaningful information in far too little time. He should be better at this, he works with his words for a living. Maybe he's spent too long killing people, recently, and not enough knowing them.

That's not the problem. The problem, really, is that as he makes the rounds, he keeps thinking about brushing against Ari's bare chest, and that handshake, and his cunt pulses with desire.

The room is set up in such a way that he and Ari are in the last set of pairs.

"Good to see you again," he says.

"I know! It's nice to see you too. Been enjoying yourself?"

"Um. Somewhat."

"No is also an option. You're a bit shy, aren't you?"

"Not in any other circumstance, I assure you."

"I get that impression. It's kind of hot."

Tintin bites his tongue. "I. Really? What about this is hot?"

"You're a confident man, a strong man if I don't miss my guess, acting like a blushing teenager on prom night because you're thinking about me holding you down and fucking you. It's very enriching."

"H-how do you know that," Tintin asks, managing somehow not to double over.

"Coup de chance."

The timer rings. Ari stands up. "Alright, everyone, it's time to mingle! Or you can go back to your rooms, if you didn't have much luck... or if you feel very lucky. It's up to you."

He turns to Tintin. "Your room or mine?" he asks.

"I. Um. M- uh."

Ari circles around the table with predatory grace that belies his size, stoops down to look Tintin in the eyes, and hums thoughtfully to himself.

Then he hooks a finger in one of Tintin's belt loops and turns to tug him along. "My room it is. Follow me."

He walks briskly, but not so fast Tintin can't keep up if he hurries.

Tintin follows, damp spots starting to visibly show up on the front of his slacks.

Ari stops just outside the room and hails someone, apparently an old friend, to continue moderating the speed-dating group as they mingle. Then he leads Tintin through the halls.

"You look thoroughly indecent," he says approvingly, glancing back.

"And whose fault is that," Tintin asks, blushing furiously.

"Mine, naturally. Are you acting out so I'll spank you?"

Tintin does not have a response to this cached except, impossibly, to blush deeper.