Chapter Text
Blitzø's aware this is a bad idea. He never thought it WASN'T. But nobody's looking. (And if Loona eats a full meal tonight, he'll go without again.)
The idea came to him during class (Queer Lit, but it's not like that matters). That rich twink had intentionally decided to argue against Blitzø, again. It's not a new behavior pattern, but it's almost starting to piss him off a little. (Doesn't feel like he's doing it TO make Blitzø mad. But it's having the effect anyway.)
RICH twink.
Rich, in contrast to Blitzø, who is very much NOT RICH.
Rich twink who could afford, literally and metaphorically, to lose... say, a phone?
Follow behind him when he leaves the classroom. Wait until he steps away. He always leaves his phone on his desk when he goes to take a piss. Classroom's too crowded, but behavior consistency... he'll probably do it somewhere else too.
Twink heads into the library.
Perfect.
Blitzø sits a little ways away. Scrolls on his phone. Tries to look bored.
There. Another piss trip. Twink drinks too much water.
Slow approach. Look uninterested.
Just reach out. Slip it into your pocket. Walk away.
Reach out.
Done.
Slip it into your pocket.
Done.
Walk—
"Excuse me?"
Ah, fuck. That's the target, too, isn't it? Posh British accent that always plays the devil's advocate in class... or whatever it's called.
Blitzø turns around. Twink—Stolas or something?—has a hand on his hip. Disapproving look. Reminds Blitzø of someone's mother when they misbehaved.
"Where are you going with that?"
This is still under control. Stolas hasn't shouted, nobody is looking (still), he can bring it back around.
"Nowhere." Blitzø slides the phone out of his pocket and back onto the table. "My bad, thought this was mine. Seeya."
"No." It's not a command, so why does Blitzø stop like it was? "I need to talk to you. We can work this out in my dorm room." It's still not a command. And he's got this under control.
So why does he follow?
Blitzø’s caught up in mental nightmare scenarios. Whatever's coming won't be nearly as bad… but worst-case scenario preparation. In case of, you know, worst case scenarios.
"I, uh." Think of an explanation he'll believe. "Look," Blitzø starts over, trailing behind the tall man, "you're rich, I think? And you could've bought another. That would go for a lot if I sold it—"
Stolas stops, and Blitzø looks around. He lives in an apartment a couple of blocks off-campus, so he's never seen the dorms in person. If this hallway is anything to go by, Stolas is living the good life.
Swipe of the digital keycard, and the door swings open effortlessly. (Contrast that with Blitzø's physical key, which he fumbles regularly, and which ends up on the floor half the time.)
Room is big. Might even be bigger than his apartment. Blitzø wonders if Stolas is paying more or less than he is. Wonders if Stolas knows how much he's paying at ALL.
Stolas doesn't order him inside. Maybe he doesn't even say anything—Blitzø doesn't remember entering, but one minute he's in the hallway, and the next...
Stolas is shutting the door behind him. The lock clicks.
Alright. So Blitzø's sticking it out, whatever this rich guy has in mind.
What he doesn't expect is for Stolas to brighten as soon as they're alone.
"Blitzø—right?"
He knows Blitzø's name? Why?
(Sure they're classmates, but it's not like Blitzø knows the names of anybody ELSE. It's just because Stolas is always the one arguing against him.)
"Uh, yeah?" Is he confessing to something by saying yes?
Stolas claps lightly. "Excellent." Approaches with a calm confidence. (Little unnerving.) "I have something to ask of you—in return for not reporting you for theft."
"Okay...?" Blitzø has the feeling he's gonna regret this.
"Have sex with me."
What?
"What?"
Stolas' face turns red and his hands flutter. "I'll pay you! If that would suffice, NOT that I'm assuming you're a prostitute or anything of the sort—"
"I AM a sex worker," Blitzø cuts in.
"Oh! Well." Stolas blinks rapidly. "I hope no offense was taken either way, then...?"
Blitzø raises an eyebrow.
"I, er, it's not strictly because you stole (tried to steal) from me," Stolas hastens. "Rather... you're out." He says it softly, almost yearningly, and it clicks with Blitzø that Stolas must be in the closet.
(Is he the only openly queer guy Stolas knows? That might explain the sudden moves.)
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked," Stolas shakes his head. "This was inappropriate, you should leave—"
"I don't mind." Blitzø can't help the crooked grin as Stolas looks at him with wide, shocked eyes. "It's what I do for a living anyway. Like you said, we make this an exchange of money for services, and just take the theft out of the equation."
Stolas stares. "I, well... that sounds amenable."
"That mean you agree?" Fancy-ass rich people words.
"Oh! Yes. I agree." Stolas is still chewing his lower lip.
"What?" Blitzø said yes, didn't he? What else is there?
"Are you sure?"
"I said yes."
"I do... want you," Stolas says, like he's never said the words before in his life. (Probably hasn't.) "But I regret asking you here under false pretenses. I, ah... perhaps this should wait, until you've thought a bit more? And... I won't report you. Even if you don't... have sex with me. That's your choice."
...
"Alright."
Weird guy.
"Whatever." Blitzø stretches, trying to act nonchalant as he walks to the door. For half a second, he expects it not to unlock, but it does.
Enough of campus for the day.
He just wants home.
Tuesday. Blitzø’s with a recent client—a younger man with a nervous tendency who's pretty new to sex—when it happens.
Wonder if Stolas is this inexperienced.
Okay. No. Focus.
Thursday. Maybe his favorite client—an experienced young woman who keeps him for a few hours and offers an hourly wage—will be able to get him back on track.
No similarities there, right?
So why's Stolas come back to mind?
Blitzø, what the fuck?
You know what? Fine.
Maybe it's worth trying him out just once.