(no subject)
Wrote this last night in about an hour. I. Am not always sure about my brain. Don't judge meee. I wanted to write something smutty and quick, because I hadn't finished a fic in months, and sure enough, I did. But it also turned out to be very . . . I think the polite way to put it would be 'gritty'.
Title: Survival, Surviving, Survived
Fandom: Blood-Smoke Series
Pairing/characters: OMC/Tony
Warnings: NSFW, prostitution
Tony's knees were going numb. The cold pavement still bit into them but he could hardly feel it anymore, a small mercy he didn't have time to appreciate. Not with the thick, heavy weight of a john's dick thrusting between his lips, forgoing any finesse Tony might have brought to the act in favour of crude thrusting, cockhead bumping the back of Tony's throat, balls slapping against his chin.
Tony hated this. Not giving blowjobs - he liked giving blowjobs, liked the taste of cock, the way it filled his mouth, the sounds a guy would make when he went down on them. That was good, that was hot. Tony could almost get off just by giving a really good blowjob. But getting his face fucked like this left his throat burning all day, sometimes longer if the john was really big, and Tony couldn't afford lozenges to soothe it, couldn't get enough clean water to wash the roughness away. He'd like to pull back and tell the guy where to stick it - and the 'where' definitely wouldn't be 'back in my mouth'.
But Tony needed the cash. Twenty bucks for ten minutes on his knees, and if he could make a full-time job of this, that'd be one hell of a salary. But business was never that good, and this would probably be the only twenty he made today. It was too cold for most of his regulars to come looking for him, way too cold for the one-offs who would pick him up at random, or for the tourists he got in the summer.
Spit slid down Tony's chin, dripped onto the pavement, and Tony had a sudden flash of icicles forming. He had to choke down a giggle, throat convulsing around the john's cockhead, and that was all the guy needed, fucking finally, thank god. Tony could barely taste the spunk as it went down, and he swallowed because with his mouth crammed full like this, the other option was choking. He didn't like to swallow for johns, but they didn't usually leave him much choice. Still, his instincts had kept him from infection so far - most of the guys who had been on the street as long as Tony had picked up HIV already, from the drugs or the hooking. Tony was still clear, and wanted to stay that way.
Because Tony believed in surviving. That was why he was on his knees in a Scarborough alley, lips friction-swollen, strings of mixed saliva and come drying on his face. He tucked away the john's cock, fastened him up and licked his chin as far as his tongue would reach. Even if he hated this guy, hated the way he fucked Tony's mouth like it was just a wet hole unattached to anything or anyone, he was a regular, and regulars were gold to street punks like Tony. He tilted his head into the hand that cupped his jaw.
"See you next week, kid," the man smirked, and Tony nodded.
"Looking forward to it," he lied, voice roughened from the abuse his throat had taken, and slid his hand into his pocket, grasping the two creased tens there as the john walked away. Dinner would be hot tonight, and not out of a dumpster. He knew a guy he could pay for crash space out of the cold with five and a suck or a fuck - and he might even enjoy that one. Five more would get him a shower, and that would be even better than getting laid.
Tony would make it one more day. Someone would freeze to death tonight, he could feel it. It was that kind of night, the kind he recognized from years of experience. But that someone wouldn't be Tony Foster. And every day he survived these streets was a day closer to something. He didn't know what it was, but he knew it was out there. Something was coming for him. He just had to live long enough to take advantage.
Title: Survival, Surviving, Survived
Fandom: Blood-Smoke Series
Pairing/characters: OMC/Tony
Warnings: NSFW, prostitution
Tony's knees were going numb. The cold pavement still bit into them but he could hardly feel it anymore, a small mercy he didn't have time to appreciate. Not with the thick, heavy weight of a john's dick thrusting between his lips, forgoing any finesse Tony might have brought to the act in favour of crude thrusting, cockhead bumping the back of Tony's throat, balls slapping against his chin.
Tony hated this. Not giving blowjobs - he liked giving blowjobs, liked the taste of cock, the way it filled his mouth, the sounds a guy would make when he went down on them. That was good, that was hot. Tony could almost get off just by giving a really good blowjob. But getting his face fucked like this left his throat burning all day, sometimes longer if the john was really big, and Tony couldn't afford lozenges to soothe it, couldn't get enough clean water to wash the roughness away. He'd like to pull back and tell the guy where to stick it - and the 'where' definitely wouldn't be 'back in my mouth'.
But Tony needed the cash. Twenty bucks for ten minutes on his knees, and if he could make a full-time job of this, that'd be one hell of a salary. But business was never that good, and this would probably be the only twenty he made today. It was too cold for most of his regulars to come looking for him, way too cold for the one-offs who would pick him up at random, or for the tourists he got in the summer.
Spit slid down Tony's chin, dripped onto the pavement, and Tony had a sudden flash of icicles forming. He had to choke down a giggle, throat convulsing around the john's cockhead, and that was all the guy needed, fucking finally, thank god. Tony could barely taste the spunk as it went down, and he swallowed because with his mouth crammed full like this, the other option was choking. He didn't like to swallow for johns, but they didn't usually leave him much choice. Still, his instincts had kept him from infection so far - most of the guys who had been on the street as long as Tony had picked up HIV already, from the drugs or the hooking. Tony was still clear, and wanted to stay that way.
Because Tony believed in surviving. That was why he was on his knees in a Scarborough alley, lips friction-swollen, strings of mixed saliva and come drying on his face. He tucked away the john's cock, fastened him up and licked his chin as far as his tongue would reach. Even if he hated this guy, hated the way he fucked Tony's mouth like it was just a wet hole unattached to anything or anyone, he was a regular, and regulars were gold to street punks like Tony. He tilted his head into the hand that cupped his jaw.
"See you next week, kid," the man smirked, and Tony nodded.
"Looking forward to it," he lied, voice roughened from the abuse his throat had taken, and slid his hand into his pocket, grasping the two creased tens there as the john walked away. Dinner would be hot tonight, and not out of a dumpster. He knew a guy he could pay for crash space out of the cold with five and a suck or a fuck - and he might even enjoy that one. Five more would get him a shower, and that would be even better than getting laid.
Tony would make it one more day. Someone would freeze to death tonight, he could feel it. It was that kind of night, the kind he recognized from years of experience. But that someone wouldn't be Tony Foster. And every day he survived these streets was a day closer to something. He didn't know what it was, but he knew it was out there. Something was coming for him. He just had to live long enough to take advantage.