Work Text:
Steve's been selling himself for two years, and while it's not what he would have chosen, he's pretty damn good at it.
He's working a club downtown, a backstreets place that caters for a clientele with certain tastes, and he's doing alright. Better than he might have done, anyway, his mental state fucked over by what happened in the 'Stan, honorably discharged on a psych eval without any trade under his belt other than killing people. He works the club most nights, takes a couple of days off and holes up when he has an episode, and he gets by. He tried working the streets, after the first night that some guy picked him up in a bar and offered to pay him, but he's a big guy, looks like he can handle himself, and that intimidates some people. It's been better since he started working the club, he's known here, the johns feel safer around him. He's got his regulars, and Chin, the barman, looks out for him, checks up on him if he has one of his episodes and doesn't show for a couple of days. Chin's the nearest thing that he's got to a friend these days, he knows he can trust him, but mostly Chin leaves him alone, and that's the way he likes it. He doesn't want people getting too close, it complicates things.
He does this because there's nothing else he can do. And he’s good at this. He’s got the looks, he’s got the body, he’s got the ability to compartmentalize and focus and take himself out of the equation, to be whatever the john wants him to be. It’s only sex, after all. Some of them want to take him, use him, abuse him, put him on his knees, make him beg while they get off on the illusion that they’re a big man who’s in control. Others want him to do the taking, to dominate them, to punish them for their weakness or hold them while they pretend that they’re special and that a guy who looks like him could want them. Either way, it doesn’t matter to him. It’s just sex, it pays well enough, and his clients don't ask anything more of him than the physical, the play-acting.
Plus, he likes having an apartment to live in, enough food on the table and decent clothes on his back, prefers it to scraping by on the streets or in some shelter somewhere. Likes having somewhere he can shut himself away from the world and be alone. And since he got discharged there’s been nothing else he’s good for, he’s not fit to be around civilized human beings for any length of time. It's best this way.
It's midweek and the club's quiet. He snags a beer from Chin, just the one that he'll make last, and arranges himself at the bar where he can be seen, leaning back and letting his legs sprawl apart invitingly, putting himself on display, taking the time to look around. Chin leans over, jerks his head sideways and says "Fresh meat, brah. You might want to take first shot."
He looks where Chin indicated, and yeah, there's a new guy in tonight, sitting alone at the far end of the bar nursing a beer. His blond hair is slicked back, and he's wearing a dress shirt stretched over what look like some pretty impressive muscles. He's also wearing a tie. Law enforcement, then. Steve knows he should be wary, but this guy looks fidgety, nervous, like he's unsure of what he's doing here. He doesn't look like he's part of some undercover op. When something's going down the undercover guys always look a little cocky, Steve can spot them a mile off. This guy just looks as though he's having a tough week, like he's looking for a little R&R.
"Know anything about him?" he asks Chin, and Chin shakes his head. "Never seen him before. Looks like he's fresh meat from the mainland to me."
What the hell, it's a slow evening . Steve slips off his bar stool and slides himself onto the stool next to the new guy. "You looking for some company?" he says.
The new guy eyes him warily. "What sort of company?"
He's good-looking in a rugged sort of way, pale eyes and a belligerent jaw, and there's no way that a guy who looks like him should be needing to pay for it. Maybe Steve's got it wrong. The guy's eyes flick up and down, assessing Steve, taking in the tattoos and the tight white T and the ripped jeans, and he licks his lips nervously. No, Steve's not wrong. Maybe this guy's after something he can't get at home. He pulls his card out of his jeans, pushes it across the bar.
"This sort of company."
The john picks up the card and studies it. "Steve," he says. "I'm Danny. How much?"
"On the back."
The john - Danny - flips the card and raises his eyebrows. "That much?"
Steve allows himself to smile the lazy predatory smile that he knows from experience works every time. "I'm worth every cent."
"You'd fucking well better be at that price. What do I get for that?"
"Whatever you want. But if it leaves marks it costs extra. Nothing permanent, that's the only rule. Can't afford to damage the merchandise."
Danny nods, swallows. "What if I just want to... to talk?"
He shrugs. "Whatever gets you off. It's your dollar, what you do with the time is up to you." He knows his johns, though, and this guy doesn't look like the type who just wants to talk. "So. You buying?"
Danny looks at him, a long look, deciding, and Steve knows that look, half scared, half turned on, and yeah, he's pretty sure he knows what the answer's going to be.
Another nervous swallow, and then another nod. "I'm buying. You got somewhere...?"
"I've got a room, upstairs."
Danny follows him up, quiet all the way, closes the door behind him and stands there looking jittery. "Cash up front," Steve says, and Danny pulls out his wallet, counts out the bills and lays them on the dresser, hands shaking slightly. "So, uh, " he says, "How does this work? Only I don't exactly do this sort of thing much..."
Steve takes pity on him, reaches down and strips his t-shirt off over his head, letting his muscles flex, giving Danny a bit of show. He needs to figure out what exactly it is that Danny's after.
"Just tell me what you want, Danny. Anything. It's what I'm here for."
"Anything?"
"Anything. You want me to suck you, you want to fuck me, paddle my ass, whatever. Or you want me to fuck you. You're paying. Hell, if you want me to crawl round on all fours barking like a dog, it that's your thing, it's fine by me."
That gets a slightly-startled half-grin and the raised eyebrows again. "Do some guys really...?"
He grins back. "Client confidentiality, Danny." He lets his voice drop. "But yeah, sometimes... collar and leash and all that, too..."
Danny's squares his shoulders, suddenly looks a lot less nervous and a lot more determined.
"OK then, " he says, "I want you on your knees. I want... your mouth..." And that's simple enough, that's easy. He walks Danny backwards until his back's against the wall, and then goes to his knees in front of him, fingers working on his belt buckle and fly. Danny's cock is thick and sturdy, just like the guy himself, and he's relieved to see that Danny's hard already, no problems getting it up despite his nervousness, which will make his job a lot easier. Danny's skin smells of soap, he's clean down there, personal hygiene's obviously important to him, and that's a bonus. He gets his fingers round the base, tongues the head and Danny groans, so he licks his lips and goes down further, running his tongue along the underside of the shaft and using just the right amount of suction to get Danny's hips arching forwards off the wall, to drag another groan from him. He feels fingers thread into his hair, allows them to grip, to angle his head just so, and he can tell that Danny's fighting back the urge to move, to thrust forward, so he sets his free hand on Danny's hip, encourages him to let go, to fuck his mouth, relaxes his muscles so that he doesn't gag as Danny's cock hits the back of his throat. Danny slows it down, takes his time, and the noises he's making say that he's certainly enjoying the experience, so Steve takes him as deep as he can, working the muscles of his throat around Danny, using all the skills he's picked up, mindful of the fact that repeat business is easier to get than picking up fresh.
After a couple of minutes Danny's thrusts start to come shorter and sharper, his balls tighten up, he's getting close, so Steve increases the suction, wraps his tongue around the shaft on each upstroke, and suddenly Danny's pulling out of his mouth and coming hard, spilling all over Steve's face. Steve closes his eyes, tips his head back and takes it, feels the warm liquid striping his skin, painting his cheeks and eyelashes, and thinks, if that's this guy's kink, it's not so bad. Danny's fingers untangle from his hair, slip downwards, and Steve feels his fingertips drag lightly through the sticky mess on his skin and press against his lips. He parts them slightly, sucking Danny's fingers in and suckling on them, tilting his head slightly and throwing in a moan for effect, and he can feel Danny shiver, and maybe this is what he can't get at home, what the wife or partner won't give him, what he needs to pay someone like Steve for. It's not that uncommon.
Eventually Danny pulls his fingers away and Steve lets his head drop, kneeling at Danny's feet without making a move or saying a word. Sometimes it's better that way, sometimes johns just want to get out of there clean and clear once they've gotten whatever it is they paid for. Truth told, he prefers those to the ones who want to talk.
He hears Danny zip himself up, feels him come away from the wall, step away from him and walk into the middle of the room, hears him hesitate there. "If... if I wanted to... you know... see you again..."
Steve opens his eyes, lifts his head and stares at the wall. There's a mirror above the dresser, and out of the corner of his eye he can see Danny's reflection in it. Danny looks slightly shell-shocked, his skin flushed and his hair mussed, and like he can't quite believe what he just did.
"I'm here at the club most nights. And you've got my card, my cell number's on there."
"OK. OK then. That was... yeah... well, I might, you know... I might be seeing you." And with that Danny's gone.
Danny's gone. But Steve's been doing this a while now, knows his johns. This one'll be back.