Archive of Our Own

Danny can’t keep away. He knows he should, knows it’s wrong, knows it’s illegal (he is a cop, after all), but he just can’t help himself.

Danny Williams picks up hookers.

No, fuck that. Danny Williams picks up one particular hooker. Has done so more than once. Has every intention of doing so again, if he’s brutally honest with himself, and fuck the fact that it’s wrong and against everything he’s supposed to stand for and is eating into the meagre amount of money he has left over after he’s paid child support and rent and his utility bills. He’s going to do it again.

He doesn’t know why he ever went into the club in the first place… except he does, of course. The failed drug bust, the argument with Rachel, the fact that he just felt so fucking lonely and desperate to be touched and couldn’t face going back to that shitty apartment alone without a beer or something first… they’re not excuses, but they are reasons.

And then once he was in there he’d realized it was a mistake, had intended to drink his one beer and then leave, really he had… until Steve happened. Steve, all long body, lean muscles and tattoos, who was Danny’s for a price, who’d gone to his knees, swallowed him down, let him fuck that perfect mouth and come all over his face because that’s what Danny had paid for. There’s a twisted and heady whiff of power about that, and Danny hates himself for feeling it even as he tells himself that it’s a sad and pathetic thing to do and he’s a sad and pathetic little man for doing it.

Danny’s never thought of himself as the sort of sad loser who pays for sex before. And when he walked out of there that first night he told himself he was never doing it again.

He was lying, of course, just like he was lying to himself when he bought the collar (by mail order, there's no way he can afford to be seen going into a store to buy a sex collar). Bought it and paid for it online, all the while telling himself that it was just a private fantasy, that he’s wasn't actually going to do anything with it. Meet Danny Williams, the sort of sad loser who pays for sex and then lies to himself about it.

Steve in the collar, on his knees, was everything he'd pictured, and more. Right then Danny knew that he was totally, utterly screwed.

He doesn’t call Steve, even though he’s still got the card with his cell phone number on it. If he were to call him… well then, that would be an arrangement, premeditated. If he doesn’t call then he can still pretend to himself that he might not be planning to do this, that he’s just dropping in for a beer after work, no ulterior motive.

Steve’s not there when he walks in, and he tries very hard to be as relieved as he thinks he should. He slides onto a bar stool and signals the bartender for a beer. "Steve in?" he asks, acting far more cool than he actually feels. The bartender smiles knowingly. "Yeah, he's here. He'll be down in ten, brah." Down in ten. That means Steve's upstairs, most likely with another client, and Danny's gut gives a hot, sour twist at that thought. He takes a mouthful of his beer and tells himself how stupid that is. Steve's a hooker, of course he has other clients, Danny knows that. It's not like Danny's some millionaire who can afford to buy Steve permanently, set him up in an apartment somewhere and keep him all to himself, however nice that fantasy might be.

The door bangs, jerking Danny out of his daydream, and he looks up, but it's not Steve, it's an older guy, grey hair, expensive suit and a slight paunch. Must be Steve's client, then, and Danny fights down the rush of jealousy he feels at the thought of this man fucking Steve, of Steve on his knees for him, of Steve's mouth on this guy's cock. But then, the harsh fact is that he's no different. They're both paying for Steve's attentions, after all. It's a business transaction.

It's another five minutes before Steve comes down. He's dressed in the ripped jeans again, teamed with a tight white T with sleeves short enough that the tattoos on his upper arms just show from beneath them, and his hair is tousled and damp from the shower. He looks like sex on legs, and Danny loses his breath along with any vestige of willpower that he might have had left. He watches Steve lean over the bar to say something to the bartender, passing over a twist of bills that Danny supposes is payment for the room, and the bartender smiles and nods towards Danny. Steve looks up, dark eyes calculating, and for a second his face is blank before he slides a smile onto it and heads in Danny's direction with that loose, easy slouch that Danny knows is designed to pull customers.

Hell, it works. Danny's not complaining.

"Danny," he says, flicking his eyes up and down Danny's torso in a way that suggests Danny's what he's been waiting for all night. "You should've called," and fuck, Danny thinks, swallowing down disappointment, he must be expecting another client.

"If... if you're busy I could always..."

That gets him a lazy and lascivious grin. "I've got an hour to spare, if you're interested..." and his eyes flick up and down Danny's body again, and fuck it, Danny knows he's being played, but he doesn't give a fucking damn right now, because yeah, he's so interested it's positively indecent.

The sheets are clean, he notices that, Steve must have changed them after his last client left, and hey, look, at least Danny's chosen a hooker with class. Danny puts his money on the dresser and then stands there, still feeling slightly awkward. Steve sprawls back onto the bed, legs apart, casually on display, fingers trailing lightly over his crotch, and Danny's breath catches. "What d'you want, Danny? D'you want me on my knees again?"

But no, that's not what Danny wants this time, he knows what he wants, finds his voice at last. "Can I fuck you?"

"I told you before, Danny, you're the boss."

Steve leans over and pulls open the nightstand drawer, and tosses a bottle and a small foil packet onto the bed. "I don't do bareback," he says, and Danny nods dumbly, mouth dry at the thought that he's actually about to fuck Steve. Steve rolls off the bed, strips off his t-shirt, toes off his boots and socks and shimmies out of his jeans and then he's standing there naked in front of Danny, all lean and tattooed and utterly gorgeous, and Danny's suddenly acutely aware that he's still fully clothed and that he's actually going to have to get naked too if this is going to happen. "How d'you want me?" Steve asks, and Danny swallows hard, tells himself that this is OK, it's a business transaction, Steve expects him to be upfront about what he wants. "I want to watch you prep yourself," he says, and that comes out far less shaky than it sounds in his head, which is probably a good thing.

Steve on the bed, propped against the headboard with his legs spread wide and his fingers up his ass is just about one of the hottest things Danny's ever seen, and all he can think about as he pulls off his own clothes and rolls on the condom is that his dick is about to go where those fingers are now, he's about to fuck Steve, to sink himself in until he's balls deep and just...

"On my knees or on my back?" Steve asks, voice low and rough, eyes hooded by those long lashes, and yeah, if that's meant to be seductive it's working.

"On your back," because he knows how he wants this to go, wants to see Steve's face as he fucks him, wants to fix it in his mind, not just pretend this is some faceless body he's using to get off. Steve slides down, pulls his knees up and cants his hips towards Danny. "Come on, then," he says, "Fuck me, Danny," and Jesus God, yes.

Danny knows his hands are shaking as he fumbles with the lube and slicks himself up but he doesn't care, and then he's crawling forward and settling himself between Steve's legs, and he's got his dick in his hand, lining himself up. "You ready?" he says, and Steve nods, "Yeah, go on, do it," and he starts to push in. It's a long time since he's done this, the last time was before Rachel, and he's forgotten how tight it is, how good it feels. He's trying to be careful, trying to make it good, but of course he doesn't have to be careful, Steve does this all the time, and the thought makes his gut twist with jealousy so he rams home hard and hears Steve draw a sharp breath as he does so. He pulls back and thrusts again, and it feels so fucking amazing, Steve's so tight around his cock, so fucking gorgeous spread out under him, and he'll take anything that Danny gives him, and that thought is so hot and dirty that it floods Danny with another sharp wave of lust, makes him snap his hips again. "That's it, Danny, go on, fuck me, do it," and Steve's voice is ragged, his eyes fixed on Danny's, "Feels so fucking good, Danny, go on, don't stop," and he throws his head back and arches his body as Danny fucks into him, bucking his hips up to meet Danny's thrusts, and it's fucking awesome.

Fucking awesome, and Danny braces himself on his arms and gives into it, caught up in the rhythm, and the feeling of Steve's body moving under him, of Steve opening up for him and just taking it. He knows he should be going slower, he is paying for Steve's time, after all, should be making it last, but it feels so fucking good that he doesn't care. He hitches forward, changing the angle slightly, and Steve gasps "Danny," clenching tight around his cock and writhing against him, and Danny's close to losing it, close to coming right there and then, but he forces himself to pull back slightly, to drink in the sight of Steve under him. Steve's still got his head thrown back, lips parted and neck bared, and Danny can't help himself, he leans in for a taste, licks a broad stripe up Steve's throat, tasting sweat and hint of cologne, and Steve moans as he does it, and fuck, Danny's going to come, he's going to come right now, he can't help himself, feels the pressure building at the base of his spine as he thrusts deep into Steve and then it floods through him and he's there, spending himself hard with one, two, three short sharp stutters of his hips before collapsing, shaking, onto Steve's chest.

He stays there for a long moment, floating, breathless and unable to move, he feels so fucking good, that was fucking amazing. "You OK, Danny?" he feels the rumble of Steve's voice, and "Yeah, babe, I'm good," he answers, and he is, he really is, better than he's been for a long time. Steve is broad and strong under him, he can feel the rise of his chest as he breathes, hear the thud of his heartbeat, and it's the closest he's been to another adult human being for months, and he's missed this so fucking much, he could stay like this forever...

But this isn't real, it's an illusion, he knows that, he can't stay like this, however much he wants to. He gathers himself together and pushes up on his arms, his spent cock sliding out of Steve's ass as he does so, sits back onto his heels to deal with the condom, and looks down at Steve sprawled across the sheets in front of him.

Steve, who hasn't come, who wasn't doing this for fun, or for pleasure, and Danny catches the slight wince that Steve gives as he pulls his legs together and rolls to sit on the edge of the bed, the fleeting shadow of weariness that slips across Steve's face as he does so, and it's like a punch to Danny's gut, ice cold and brutal, and he feels slightly sick. Danny Williams just paid for it, just paid another guy to have sex with him, and what the fuck sort of sad, pathetic creep does that make him?

All of a sudden Danny really doesn't like himself very much.