post #60 [closed]
TL;DR RULES
1. post anonymously unless linking to a fill posted somewhere else
2. use the subject line to indicate pairing (in alphabetical order using stage names i.e.baekhyun/chanyeol) prompt details go in the comment.
3. use necessary content warnings
4. do not embed on meme. link to images/videos. label nsfw content.
5. do not repost prompts ( Read more... )
The streets are deserted and the flashing red light reflects off of the puddles in the road from the rain earlier in the day. It’s pitch black out. Everyone has gone to sleep long ago, save for the lone figure slouched against a metal pole, body bathed in the meager light from the street lamp above. He’s dressed scantily for so early in spring, short black shorts that leave little to the imagination and a netted top that may as well not be there at all.
The boy looks both ways to make sure no one will see him before tugging his shorts down and crossing his arms over his chest, shivering in the cold. He can feel the makeup caked on his face, cheap concealer to hide the breakouts on his skin and thick, smeared eyeliner to emphasize his eyes and make him seem that much tawdry. He doesn’t think he needs any of it, but his employer disagrees.
He sees a car drive up and quickly positions himself: one hand on his hip, shoulders squared, legs shoulder-width apart. If he had a jacket, he’d loosen it to expose his shoulders, but his last one had gone missing from his room just last week and he was trying to make do with what he had.
The car slows to a stop beside him and the window rolls down. He knows the protocol by now, stepping forward to lean inside the car, lips forced in a confident smirk. “What can I do for you, love?” He asks slowly, tongue coming out at the end to lick at his lips.
The middle-aged man inside tries to match his front but fails miserably. Though this is the usual demographic for his customers (old, balding, and male), this man is obviously new to the whole deal. “I’m-um,” he struggles, hands shaking on the wheel, “how much?”
The boy cocks an eyebrow. Straight to the point. “Eager, are we?” He jibes playfully, adding a wink to the end and to his joy-horror-the man in the car grins back, yellowing teeth visible from the llt buttons on his dashboard. “I’m fifty an hour. I’m worth it, I promise. You won’t regret it.” He hopes he doesn’t sound desperate.
The man’s face falls. “I don’t have that much on me.” He’s lying, it’s obvious. the boy vaguely wonders if he was hoping to land him for free. “Maybe… another night?” He sounds hopeful. The boy’s throat constricts in displeasure.
“Come back soon,” he whispers with finality, stroking the window sill as he backs away and the car drives off into the night. He shivers again and a wave of disappointment-joy-washes over him, quickly replaced by fear. He has to find someone tonight. He has to. He’s already behind on his payment for the week, and if he misses another one he won’t get any cut of the profits. The next person he can’t let go so easily. He’ll drop the price or something, he just can’t have another rejection.
The cold March wind tosses his dry, heavily bleached hair into his face. He hugs himself with one arm and uses the other to push his hair back. He sniffles and pulls his booty shorts down once more, hopping in place as he waits.
Headlights appear after what feels like an hour later and the boy reluctantly puffs out his chest, back stiff and fingers numb. The car pulls up in front of him and the boy plasters the smirk on his face, forcing his body to move. He leans on the door and catches the silhouette of a tall man with a full head of hair and finds himself hoping. He squashes the feeling and leers at the potential customer. “What can I get for yo-”
“You’re perfect.”
The boy startles, almost shivering again before he catches himself. He’s not used to being interrupted. Usually, he’s the only one who talks, having to bring attention back to himself and not on his clearly visible attributes. He gives them ample time to stare though, he wouldn’t hope to sell them if he didn’t. “I’m sorry?” His voice is small and he mentally hits himself. This isn’t the time to be demure. He doesn’t even know if the man wants him that way.
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The boy looks away, feeling ignorant. “I haven’t heard of you,” he mumbles.
“Oh,” the man frowns. “Nevertheless, my offer stands. What do you usually charge?”
The boy looks the man straight in the eyes, trying to get back into the persona he’s developed. His smirk is weak, but it’s still there, holding him together. “Fifty an hour.”
“I’ll pay you ten thousand for the night.”
The boy’s smirk falters. That’s more than he owes. That’s far more than he could ever hope to make. This is a scam. Has to be. There’s no way he’d ever be so lucky.
“Kai!”
The boy turns and sees a man standing under the streetlight, eyes rimmed with kohl and thin body bathed in a faux fur coat. He stands straight. “Yes, Yi-” Never use real names on the street. “Lay,” he corrects. “What is it?”
“Are you okay?” The older man’s voice is nonchalant, but he’s obviously worried. It’s evident in the way he carries himself, leaning forward slightly as if to pull the younger boy away. “Is this guy bothering you?”
“No, no.” The boy shakes his head violently, pulling away from the car slightly, hand still resting on the sill. “I’m fine.”
Yixing marches forward and inspects the boy briefly. “Alright. But you know where I am if you need me.” He motions to somewhere behind him, and leans in closer. “Be careful, Jongin,” he warns with a voice barely above a whisper before turning on his heel and making his way back to his post, ass swaying as he walks.
“I’ll do it,” Jongin says, turning his attention back to the man.
“Really? Great!” Park Chanyeol cheers, buckling himself back into his seat. “Come on in!”
Jongin opens the door and settles himself into the seat, buckling the seat belt just as they take off.
“So, Kai,” Park Chanyeol speaks, drawing out each syllable, “is that your real name, then?”
Jongin keeps silent entirely too long before murmuring, “yes.” Park Chanyeol hums cheerfully and Jongin slouches into the seat cushion, playing with the holes in his shirt. He watches as the hotels that line the street, each getting more and more expensive, and then disappearing altogether as they hit the inner city, full of business buildings and apartment complexes. Jongin purses his lips. “Are we not doing this in a hotel, then?”
Park Chanyeol’s eyes grow comically wide, though he keeps them on the road. “Is that how it’s usually done? I’m so sorry, I had no idea. I can circle back and-”
“It’s fine,” Jongin dismisses, back into his comfort zone. He knows what’s going on, he’s in charge now, he repeats in his head. “I’ve had customers take me elsewhere before.” He’d once been paid five hundred by a man who wanted to fuck him on a beach. He’d had sand on him for days after, and the man’s sickly scented cologne stained into his clothes for even longer.
“We’ll be doing this in my studio,” the man says. “It’s only a few blocks from here.”
Jongin nods, memorizing the street names they pass and playing with escape route ideas as he waits. When Park Chanyeol stops the car inside a garage, Jongin unfolds himself and steps out of the car, holding his head high and allowing his shorts to ride up as he follows Chanyeol into the building and into the elevator, where he can feel the man’s eyes on him as he counts the seconds that it takes to reach the room. Chanyeol unlocks the door and moves to the side to allow Jongin to enter first-a gentleman, he observes with a hint of humor-and the younger’s jaw drops.
It’s disorganized, sure, but it’s also so open. Jongin marvels at the slightly paint-splattered walls, the steel stairs that lead to the lofted platform with a neatly made king-size bed and Jongin can’t believe this is real. He turns and sees Park Chanyeol sitting in one of the lounge chairs, pulling off his fleece jacket and tugging off worn sneakers.
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Jongin puts his foot down as he watches Chanyeol hurry over towards a claw-footed bathtub-there are no walls in this room-and turn on both faucets. “Wait. What exactly is your project?”
“It’s a study on the human body,” the man explains, running a hand under the water and adjusting the taps as necessary. “I needed a model to pose nude for me, but most of the people I asked were unwilling.” He frowns at the memory. “I’m sorry. I just kind of assumed you’d be alright with that.” He sounds apologetic. Jongin is confused.
Fears of the possibility that he was tricked into being filmed leave him-it wouldn’t be the first time-and Jongin nods slowly. “I can do that. But I’d prefer payment up front,” he tries to make it a demand instead of a request but the running water is just louder than his voice.
Park Chanyeol jumps up. “Oh, of course, I’m sorry.” He roots through bags on the kitchen counter and pulls out a wad of money, handing it to Jongin. The younger boy counts the money as his customer returns to the bath and when he’s sure the man isn’t looking, Jongin slips the bills into his boot, in between the no longer elastic insole and the bottom of the shoe. “It’s ready!” Chanyeol announces with glee and Jongin hesitantly makes his way over.
It looks harmless enough. He dips a hand into the water and almost moans. It’s so warm and he hasn’t had an actual bath in ages.
“Do you like bubbles?”
Jongin frowns at the question. “I don’t-”
“Good, because that would mess everything up,” Park Chanyeol interrupts, fiddling with the lens. “Well, whenever you’re ready.”
Jongin looks down at his feet and starts by undoing his laces. Boots off, he slips his fingers under the waistband of his shorts and hearts a shutter go off. He glares at Chanyeol and the man freezes.
“Sorry, but,” his features twist and pull on his face for a minute and Jongin wonders why the man doesn’t do stand up, “this is what my project is about. You’ll need to let me take pictures of you.” His eyebrows knit in thought. “Are you okay with that?”
“Of course I am,” Jongin huffs, slipping his shorts down his legs. It’s weird, not having to put on a show, he thinks as he tugs his shirt over his head, but it’s also kind of liberating. He realizes he’s smiling as he lowers himself into the warm water and quickly wipes the emotion from his face when he sees the man kneeling at the other end of the tub. After a second, he sinks further into the water, submerged up to his nose. He opens his eyes and sees flesh-colored specks polluting the clear water and remembers his make up. He sits up, moving the water around, but settles when Chanyeol assures him that it’s fine, he can play around with effects later.
Jongin’s completely wet by the end of the luxurious bath, having dunked his head under a couple times after hearing the camera’s shutter. He’s sure his face looks a fright, and Chanyeol takes a break from his camera to hand Jongin a washcloth and assure him that he looks fine. Jongin ignores him and scrubs at his face, only stopping when Park Chanyeol tears the washcloth from his hands and chastises him for scrubbing too hard, bemoaning the fact that he’ll have to wait now that Jongin’s face is beet red.
He’s playing with the water, fingertips peeking out of the murky water only to submerge themselves again seconds later, when he feels the urge to confess, “my name isn’t Kai.”
“Hmm?”
Jongin swirls around the water with his fingertip and speaks a little louder this time, “my real name is Kim Jongin. I use Kai because we all had to pick street names so that we wouldn’t be taken advantage of.” He remembers the debriefing he received in the basement of the house, hungry and still unsure of what he was doing. Jongin still isn’t sure what he’s doing.
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Jongin thinks back to previous nights and compares them to Park Chanyeol’s straightforwardness and where he is right now, soaking in a warm bath and not out in the cold. He shakes his head. “No. You seem trustworthy.” His lips quirk up in a smile when he hears an amused laugh and the sound of a shutter going off.
Chanyeol jumps up to fetch a towel when Jongin starts complaining about his pruny fingertips, and the younger gladly accepts the fluffy white towel, standing and burying his face in the fluffiness when he hears the shutter. His head snaps up and he looks at Chanyeol questioningly.
“I’d like a few more shots, if that’s alright. A few with the towel and… a couple on the bed.”
Jongin stares up at the bed and feels a phantom shiver of dread before reminding himself that no, it’s not going to be that way. He nods in affirmation and steps onto the tile, drying himself off as Chanyeol takes pictures. He cocks an eyebrow when it’s only his hair left that’s slightly damp, and leaves the towel hanging over the side of the drained tub. “Was that mundane enough for you?”
Park Chanyeol groans. “Kim Jongin,” he huffs. “You do not understand that when you dry yourself, you emulate the Greek Gods.” He pouts as Jongin rolls his eyes at the comment. “You shall see,” he says, playing around with the camera. “Go ahead and make yourself comfortable on the bed. I think I need to grab another lens.”
Jongin nods and spares a glance for his forgotten pile of clothes-he’s probably better off without them anyway-and heads up the stairs, staring at the massive bed. He hears Park Chanyeol coming up the stairs and quickly scrambles onto the bed. He lies on his back, feet flat on the comforter and knees facing the ceiling.
Chanyeol stops dead at the sight. “Um,” he starts, “what are you doing?”
Jongin huffs. “I am lying on the bed. Like you asked.”
“You look like you’re waiting for something,” Chanyeol muses. “I don’t like it.”
Jongin sighs and stares at the concrete ceiling. “Then how do you-” Jongin stops dead, realizing that, out of habit, he was about to ask how do you want me. Thankfully, Chanyeol doesn’t seem to notice and asks Jongin to pretend he’s going to sleep and lie like that. Jongin nods and wriggles upwards, dropping his head onto the pillows and curling himself into a ball.
Chanyeol purses his lips. “Not quite what I was looking for,” he mutters, then louder, “you’re too stiff! You need to relax, Jongin.”
The boy frowns but tries his best, letting the tension ease out of his shoulders. He allows his body to unfurl and his frustration melt out of his features. For a moment he feels at peace, the he hears the sound of the shutter and he has to hold himself back from grinning, pleased with himself. He lets Chanyeol move him this way and that with gentle commands, going from lying on his side to his back, then the other side and briefly on his back. It’s only when silence falls for a little too long that Jongin frowns, falling back onto the bed.
“I think,” Chanyeol says thoughtfully, staring at the boy on the bed, “that I’m done.”
Jongin stays right where he is, determined to make this last for as long as possible. He feels the mattress dip beside him, and then the sound of Chanyeol clicking through the pictures.
“You know, Jongin,” the man says, voice low and steady and just enough to break Jongin, “you are beautiful.”
Jongin sobs, body shaking with the power of it. Beautiful. He’s been called many things, some nicer than others, but he’s never been called beautiful. It’s enough to send him over the edge. He throws an arm over his eyes to hide his eyes which are likely bloodshot and already wet with the onslaught of tears.
“Are you crying?” Chanyeol asks, voice surprised and quiet. He’s trying to be gentle, like Jongin is something delicate. Something that hasn’t been broken before.
Jongin considers lying. He decides against it when another sob shudders out of him, knowing that denial is useless at this point. He nods, pulling his arm away.
“Why?”
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“Jongin,” the name is murmured reverently and Jongin cries harder, “how old are you?”
“Nineteen,” he manages between hiccupy sobs, “but I was seventeen when I started.” He sucks in a breath. “I dropped out of school and ran away from home. I wanted to make it big in the city. I didn’t. This was my only choice, you know?” He realizes that his snot is getting on the sweater and he tries to pull away but the arm keeps him close. “I thought. Just a year. I’ll only do this for a year and then I’ll find something better. But I won’t. I’m stuck and I can’t get out.” He sniffles and repeats, “I’m stuck.”
Chanyeol is quiet, running his hand up and down Jongin’s bare back. “It gets lonely, being an artist.” The change of subject confuses Jongin enough so that his cries die down. “All of my friends are already married. Still in their twenties and they’re married,” he scoffs. “I usually do landscape. I’m famous for landscape. But I wanted to try something different. But I didn’t know what. I’ve been brainstorming for weeks, driving around and looking for inspiration. As soon as I saw you, I knew. It had to be you.” He leans down to whisper in the younger’s ear, “Kim Jongin, you can stay here as long as you like.”
Jongin looks up, eyelashes wet and clumped together. He’s sure he looks like a mess. “Why would you do that?”
“I’m lonely and I have more money than I need.” He playfully flicks Jongin’s forehead. “And I’ve been searching for some arm candy.”
Jongin laughs, voice rough but otherwise hopeful. “Are you sure?”
“Never been more sure,” Chanyeol says, voice sober. “This is my studio apartment. I don’t even live here, so you can kick me out whenever you want to.” Jongin looks appalled at the suggestion and Chanyeol laughs, wiping away stray tears with his sweater. He pulls back for a second to take one last picture before setting his camera on the floor and pulling the covers over the both of them. “Jongin, you should never be sad. It doesn’t suit you.”
Jongin doesn’t fall asleep. Instead, he talks animately with Chanyeol, learning that the man is even more odd than he seems. Though he assures Jongin that he doesn’t just let anyone stay in his apartments, he younger says he is unconvinced. They joke and laugh and Jongin refuses to fall asleep. If he does, he fears that when he opens his eyes, he’ll find that this was all a dream.
Chanyeol’s hand never strays from Jongin’s back. When the conversation dwindles into murmurs punctuated by yawns, Chanyeol states drowsily, “Kim Jongin, you may not believe that you are beautiful, but you are. And I’ll have the entire world agreeing with me soon enough.”
(When the light of dawn creeps in through the windows, Jongin remarks that the way it hits Chanyeol makes the man look like an angel. The older man guffaws and emphatically disagrees. He points to the way that the beams of light completely pass him and land on Jongin, giving his features an ethereal glow and reflecting off his hair to form a halo.
He tries to subtly reach behind himself and grab the camera, but Jongin catches the movement and rolls away from the man. Chanyeol whines at the missed opportunity and Jongin chuckles, hiding his laughter in the sheets. He dozes off, but when he wakes up, he’s still in Chanyeol’s bed, wearing no clothes, and a long arm is tossed over his middle. Jongin beams and wonders if the happiness radiating off of him looks anything like the beams of sunlight from earlier in the morning, because it sure feels like it.)
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not op but i'm so glad to see this was filled
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