Fixed [tom/sean][s/a]
Title: Fixed
Pairing/Character(s): Tom Conrad/Sean Van Vleet
Rating: PG-13
Summary: In which Sean is a male stripper (with no chest hair) and Tom is a poor, sad man who can't talk in complete sentences.
Sean grins like a little kid, his face splitting, and just to make it fair Tom pushes another bill into the waistband of his jeans, this time a twenty - Sean reacts by sucking in his stomach and shivering a little.
Warning: None
Beta: coldmero
Word Count: 2,149
A/N: For the hc_bingo prompt 'Strippers'. My first Empires fic. I am unsure how I feel about it. Thanks to Melissa for letting me know that Sean...is chest hairless. I suck at life. And yeah, okay, thanks for beta'ing, too.
Tom thinks he might make a habit out of this - like smoking or drinking. Make it a daily thing (nightly thing, whatever), because it’s a nice distraction. It’s a pretty distraction.
Tom’s not sure why he’s at a strip club, not really. It made sense when he told Ryan that there was no beer or alcohol in the fridge so he was going out. And Ryan had nodded and grunted and said, ‘See you tomorrow,’ (which was insulting, to an extent, as it was an assumption that Tom would not be returning for the night) without giving him so much as a second thought.
And yeah, Tom’s a little down, and who can blame him? Not that he’s not usually down, honestly, but he’s like - extra down now.
It seems a little redundant, if only because none of the strippers are even paying attention to him (though redundant is such a blatantly wrong word, but it makes sense, of course, in Tom’s head). They’re not paying attention because he’s not a wolf-whistling girl on the other side of the bar, tucking alcohol drenched dollar bills into the belts of dudes who are still wearing jeans, with extra drunken laughter.
If Tom’s honest (which, really, he usually is - just not out loud) he would probably note that there’s one guy who’s really catching his eye. The guy looks about his age (maybe younger, maybe older, Tom can’t really tell or care, since he’s certainly legal), but he’s got kind of soft features, scruff on his chin and pretty much no hair on his chest (which is kind of great, because him and Ryan sport carpets on their own chests, and it’s nice to see something else), and wide, wide blue eyes.
Damn, Tom wishes he had cash. All he could afford was this stupid beer. Fuck being broke.
What a bad idea.
Tom can’t even be drunk because he’s only had one beer. And that’s all he’s going to get to have. This is getting on his nerves.
The guy is walking back, and it’s almost a saunter, really (Tom thinks it’s kind of cute), but he pauses as he heads in Tom’s direction at the end of the table, bending over so the girls on the side can slide dollar bills into the back pocket of his too tight jeans, giggling, and Tom frowns.
He doesn’t know how long the guy’s even allowed to keep his pants on, but, whatever, it fits him. He’s got a nice ass and his jeans are tight enough that it probably wouldn’t be quite as nice to look at if he wasn’t wearing them.
Not that Tom is checking him out.
Not that Tom is so distracted by his thoughts that he doesn’t notice that the guy’s in front of him until he bends over a little so his face is almost directly in front of Tom’s.
Tom jumps, nearly spilling his beer and cursing.
The guy grins. “You’re boring. Twenty two year old girls are beating you out. What are you doing here without any cash?”
Tom blinks. He doesn’t answer - his brain isn’t functioning correctly.
“I’m. You. Yes.”
The guy raises an eyebrow and shrugs. “Get some money.”
Tom just nods automatically.
He thinks he knows what the guy means.
Unless he’s a really bad interpreter.
--
Unfortunately for Tom, by the time he does get money, he can’t get the guy to come back to the strip club. He’s never there, and it’s so frustrating because Tom brings a lot of cash every night. He ends up having to wait until the Friday after next to see ‘the guy’ as he has deemed the guy, again.
“You returned.”
Tom snorts, holding another bottle of beer by the neck. He’s more comfortable now - getting over heartbreak and not needing as many drinks anymore (plus the fridge is restocked, though Ryan’s been drinking his shit) - and talking to the guy isn’t as tough. “I did,” he agrees easily, and he slips the cash from his wallet, “but I ended up waiting for you.”
The guy shrugs, twisting so he doesn’t look quite as into Tom and he starts unbuckling his belt slowly.
Tom watches his back as he walks off, back towards a gang of girls who are more than a little drunk and laughing their asses off. He grins at them.
Other guys approach Tom (not necessarily - but they’re close enough) but he can’t stop looking at the guy on the other side of the room.
Which is so stupid, and he knows that.
The guy comes back about seven minutes later, if Tom’s watch is correct (which it most certainly is) and grins at Tom, pulling off his belt completely. His shirt was gone before Tom even got to the bar, club, whatever. He’s hardly keeping track.
“You work slow,” Tom comments, and he frowns, realizing that could possibly come off as an insult, “but I’ve noticed you’re popular,” he adds. The guy smiles back, though something seems a little off in his face. “Girls seem to like you.”
The guy nods, toying with the button of his jeans and sinking into a crouch in front of Tom - Tom does what he knows he’s meant to, slipping a five from his cash and tucking it into the tight waistband of the guy’s jeans. The guy grins at him and bobs his head, pleased. “I’m here every Friday night.”
“You weren’t here last Friday.”
The guy blinks. “You were here…?”
“Yeah, like I said, I’ve been showing up every day,” Tom snorts, and he pulls out a ten dollar bill, tucking it next to the five. His hand lingers. The guy only tenses a little.
“I like you,” the guy says, and when Tom looks up at him he licks his lips. He doesn’t explain why he wasn’t at the bar last Friday - or how they might have missed each other. “You’re sweet.”
Tom laughs, voice rough, and shakes his head. “Not true,” he says lightly, subconsciously licking his own lips when he realizes how dry they are. He takes another slug of his beer. The guy is still on his knees in front of him.
“I’m Sean.”
Tom blinks and looks up at the guy - at Sean - and then nods. “That’s cool.” He pauses, then adds, “I’m Tom.” It seems natural to reveal his name. Sean smiles. Suddenly Sean seems a lot more real, with a name attached to his pretty face.
“Well, Tom, do you have a nice place to stay?”
Tom begins to laugh, truly laugh, shaking his head. “I live with a mooch and we don’t even have a heater anymore. You don’t want to end up there.”
They blink at each other after a moment of silence and Tom realizes what he said. “Not that. You’d.” He stutters. He’s not usually a stutterer.
Sean seems to laugh it off pretty easily, slowly shaking his head. “No, no, I like the way you think, Tom. Tom…?”
“…Conrad,” Tom fills in, surprised that Sean cares. He adds, “Sean…?”
Sean grins like a little kid, his face splitting, and just to make it fair Tom pushes another bill into the waistband of his jeans, this time a twenty - Sean reacts by sucking in his stomach and shivering a little.
Then he answers, his voice a little softer, “Van Vleet. Sean Van Vleet.”
“That’s cool,” Tom answers, not sure if it really is. It seems like the appropriate thing to say. His eyes aren’t meeting Sean’s. They’re stuck on his stomach. And his hip bones. He licks his lips again and as soon as he realizes it (and realizes that he’s been staring) his head snaps up. Sean is smiling at him,.
“What d’you think I’m here for?” Sean asks, and he undoes the button of his jeans. “I get off of my shift in about an hour, if you want to hang around.”
Tom looks into Sean’s eyes - he looks fucking adorable, and his eyes are so fucking hopeful, like he needs to get out of this place as soon as possible. Maybe Tom can’t fill his lungs properly. Just momentarily.
“Uhm,” Tom begins, not really understanding why he’s stuttering (again, with his stupid voice and its stupid inability to form proper, complete sentences). “Yeah.”
Sean gives Tom a crooked half smile and a wink. “I’m glad you’re speechless.”
He pushes himself up with the palms of his hands and leaves Tom alone again.
Tom really needs a smoke.
--
“You’re out here.”
Tom looks up from his fourth cigarette at Sean, eyebrows knit together, working his bottom lip between his teeth. “I am,” Tom agrees easily, flicking the cigarette so that ash falls to the cold pavement.
Sean’s fully dressed in a dark button up coat and the same pair of jeans and sneakers. He looks young.
“I thought you were going to wait for me.”
“I did.”
“…Inside.”
Tom flicks his cigarette again and he thinks about taking another drag but it’s not worth it. He tosses it on the ground and steps on it with the toe of his shoe. He reaches into his pocket for another cigarette and his lighter.
“You want one?” he asks Sean, who’s still standing and staring at him with raw lips.
“I…” Sean starts, but he hesitates.
Tom takes his first drag of the fifth cigarette of the night and then breathes the smoke out towards Sean. It floats around Sean’s face for a moment, and Sean blinks, shaking his head and waving his hand, even though it doesn’t make sense. Tom turns, leaning his shoulder against the brick wall, and holds out the used cigarette to Sean.
Sean hesitates again, but then he leans forward and lets Tom hold the cigarette between his fingers as he pulls the smoke deep into his lungs.
Tom removes the cigarette and Sean lets out a long breath, the smoke now hitting Tom’s face. Tom leans back, putting the cigarette back between his lips. “You don’t like working here.”
Sean looks at the ground. “What does it matter?” he asks flatly, shrugging. “Money, money, money.”
“Do you live alone?”
“I do.”
“Sucks.”
They’re both silent for a moment, though Sean rearranges himself and leans against the wall next to Tom. There’s something about sharing body warmth that makes them both relax. Minimally, but it’s something. They’re both breathing the same rusty air. Tom offers Sean another drag. He takes it.
“You’re kinda beautiful,” Tom says, quietly - it’s a kind of compliment he usually leaves for later. He doesn’t know.
“Thank you,” Sean says back, just as quietly. He scoots a little closer to Tom. Their shoulders touch. Tom stomps out the fifth cigarette of the night but doesn’t reach into his pocket for more. Cigarettes, booze, guys. It seems like he’s having a good night. But he just feels tired.
“I work at a shitty department store,” Tom says into the silence. “I sell shitty appliances to shitty people with just as shitty jobs who can’t afford anything but shitty discount department store prices. Whose driers don’t work anymore. Who need a new sink for their bathroom. Whose flooring fell out when their downstairs got flooded. People whose lives might as well be a wreck. I kind of realize how lucky I am.”
Sean doesn’t say anything.
“Because I live in an apartment with a good friend. And we don’t always have heating but we have lots of blankets and a working stove. And we don’t get flooded. And I can afford to go out and get drunk and talk to a stripper outside of a strip club.” Tom turns his head a bit to look Sean right on. “You know?”
Sean looks at his feet, refusing to meet Tom’s gaze. It feels like a refusal.
“Yeah,” he finally agrees.
It gets quiet again, just their breathing, off beat.
“You said we would go somewhere,” Sean says.
Tom thinks that Sean has a surprisingly rough voice for someone who looks so cute. He can’t help it - cute is the word that fits him so he uses it.
“Yeah.”
Sean sighs, frustrated. “I don’t want to deal with this, you know, you being a bitch,” he says, a little too quietly (but of course Tom still hears him). Tom looks at Sean and Sean looks at Tom before leaning in and pushing their dry lips together.
It’s barely a kiss, but Tom hums and smiles a bit.
Sean huffs again, against Tom’s mouth.
“You seem lonely,” Sean says, drifting back from Tom.
“I am,” Tom agrees.
“Let’s fix that,” Sean whispers, and this time he sounds nervous - he touches Tom’s arm and clenches his fingers against the fabric of his coat, pulling Tom closer - but at the same time, almost confident.
“Yeah, okay,” Tom agrees and they kiss again.
He doesn’t need to know.
Pairing/Character(s): Tom Conrad/Sean Van Vleet
Rating: PG-13
Summary: In which Sean is a male stripper (with no chest hair) and Tom is a poor, sad man who can't talk in complete sentences.
Sean grins like a little kid, his face splitting, and just to make it fair Tom pushes another bill into the waistband of his jeans, this time a twenty - Sean reacts by sucking in his stomach and shivering a little.
Warning: None
Beta: coldmero
Word Count: 2,149
A/N: For the hc_bingo prompt 'Strippers'. My first Empires fic. I am unsure how I feel about it. Thanks to Melissa for letting me know that Sean...is chest hairless. I suck at life. And yeah, okay, thanks for beta'ing, too.
Tom thinks he might make a habit out of this - like smoking or drinking. Make it a daily thing (nightly thing, whatever), because it’s a nice distraction. It’s a pretty distraction.
Tom’s not sure why he’s at a strip club, not really. It made sense when he told Ryan that there was no beer or alcohol in the fridge so he was going out. And Ryan had nodded and grunted and said, ‘See you tomorrow,’ (which was insulting, to an extent, as it was an assumption that Tom would not be returning for the night) without giving him so much as a second thought.
And yeah, Tom’s a little down, and who can blame him? Not that he’s not usually down, honestly, but he’s like - extra down now.
It seems a little redundant, if only because none of the strippers are even paying attention to him (though redundant is such a blatantly wrong word, but it makes sense, of course, in Tom’s head). They’re not paying attention because he’s not a wolf-whistling girl on the other side of the bar, tucking alcohol drenched dollar bills into the belts of dudes who are still wearing jeans, with extra drunken laughter.
If Tom’s honest (which, really, he usually is - just not out loud) he would probably note that there’s one guy who’s really catching his eye. The guy looks about his age (maybe younger, maybe older, Tom can’t really tell or care, since he’s certainly legal), but he’s got kind of soft features, scruff on his chin and pretty much no hair on his chest (which is kind of great, because him and Ryan sport carpets on their own chests, and it’s nice to see something else), and wide, wide blue eyes.
Damn, Tom wishes he had cash. All he could afford was this stupid beer. Fuck being broke.
What a bad idea.
Tom can’t even be drunk because he’s only had one beer. And that’s all he’s going to get to have. This is getting on his nerves.
The guy is walking back, and it’s almost a saunter, really (Tom thinks it’s kind of cute), but he pauses as he heads in Tom’s direction at the end of the table, bending over so the girls on the side can slide dollar bills into the back pocket of his too tight jeans, giggling, and Tom frowns.
He doesn’t know how long the guy’s even allowed to keep his pants on, but, whatever, it fits him. He’s got a nice ass and his jeans are tight enough that it probably wouldn’t be quite as nice to look at if he wasn’t wearing them.
Not that Tom is checking him out.
Not that Tom is so distracted by his thoughts that he doesn’t notice that the guy’s in front of him until he bends over a little so his face is almost directly in front of Tom’s.
Tom jumps, nearly spilling his beer and cursing.
The guy grins. “You’re boring. Twenty two year old girls are beating you out. What are you doing here without any cash?”
Tom blinks. He doesn’t answer - his brain isn’t functioning correctly.
“I’m. You. Yes.”
The guy raises an eyebrow and shrugs. “Get some money.”
Tom just nods automatically.
He thinks he knows what the guy means.
Unless he’s a really bad interpreter.
--
Unfortunately for Tom, by the time he does get money, he can’t get the guy to come back to the strip club. He’s never there, and it’s so frustrating because Tom brings a lot of cash every night. He ends up having to wait until the Friday after next to see ‘the guy’ as he has deemed the guy, again.
“You returned.”
Tom snorts, holding another bottle of beer by the neck. He’s more comfortable now - getting over heartbreak and not needing as many drinks anymore (plus the fridge is restocked, though Ryan’s been drinking his shit) - and talking to the guy isn’t as tough. “I did,” he agrees easily, and he slips the cash from his wallet, “but I ended up waiting for you.”
The guy shrugs, twisting so he doesn’t look quite as into Tom and he starts unbuckling his belt slowly.
Tom watches his back as he walks off, back towards a gang of girls who are more than a little drunk and laughing their asses off. He grins at them.
Other guys approach Tom (not necessarily - but they’re close enough) but he can’t stop looking at the guy on the other side of the room.
Which is so stupid, and he knows that.
The guy comes back about seven minutes later, if Tom’s watch is correct (which it most certainly is) and grins at Tom, pulling off his belt completely. His shirt was gone before Tom even got to the bar, club, whatever. He’s hardly keeping track.
“You work slow,” Tom comments, and he frowns, realizing that could possibly come off as an insult, “but I’ve noticed you’re popular,” he adds. The guy smiles back, though something seems a little off in his face. “Girls seem to like you.”
The guy nods, toying with the button of his jeans and sinking into a crouch in front of Tom - Tom does what he knows he’s meant to, slipping a five from his cash and tucking it into the tight waistband of the guy’s jeans. The guy grins at him and bobs his head, pleased. “I’m here every Friday night.”
“You weren’t here last Friday.”
The guy blinks. “You were here…?”
“Yeah, like I said, I’ve been showing up every day,” Tom snorts, and he pulls out a ten dollar bill, tucking it next to the five. His hand lingers. The guy only tenses a little.
“I like you,” the guy says, and when Tom looks up at him he licks his lips. He doesn’t explain why he wasn’t at the bar last Friday - or how they might have missed each other. “You’re sweet.”
Tom laughs, voice rough, and shakes his head. “Not true,” he says lightly, subconsciously licking his own lips when he realizes how dry they are. He takes another slug of his beer. The guy is still on his knees in front of him.
“I’m Sean.”
Tom blinks and looks up at the guy - at Sean - and then nods. “That’s cool.” He pauses, then adds, “I’m Tom.” It seems natural to reveal his name. Sean smiles. Suddenly Sean seems a lot more real, with a name attached to his pretty face.
“Well, Tom, do you have a nice place to stay?”
Tom begins to laugh, truly laugh, shaking his head. “I live with a mooch and we don’t even have a heater anymore. You don’t want to end up there.”
They blink at each other after a moment of silence and Tom realizes what he said. “Not that. You’d.” He stutters. He’s not usually a stutterer.
Sean seems to laugh it off pretty easily, slowly shaking his head. “No, no, I like the way you think, Tom. Tom…?”
“…Conrad,” Tom fills in, surprised that Sean cares. He adds, “Sean…?”
Sean grins like a little kid, his face splitting, and just to make it fair Tom pushes another bill into the waistband of his jeans, this time a twenty - Sean reacts by sucking in his stomach and shivering a little.
Then he answers, his voice a little softer, “Van Vleet. Sean Van Vleet.”
“That’s cool,” Tom answers, not sure if it really is. It seems like the appropriate thing to say. His eyes aren’t meeting Sean’s. They’re stuck on his stomach. And his hip bones. He licks his lips again and as soon as he realizes it (and realizes that he’s been staring) his head snaps up. Sean is smiling at him,.
“What d’you think I’m here for?” Sean asks, and he undoes the button of his jeans. “I get off of my shift in about an hour, if you want to hang around.”
Tom looks into Sean’s eyes - he looks fucking adorable, and his eyes are so fucking hopeful, like he needs to get out of this place as soon as possible. Maybe Tom can’t fill his lungs properly. Just momentarily.
“Uhm,” Tom begins, not really understanding why he’s stuttering (again, with his stupid voice and its stupid inability to form proper, complete sentences). “Yeah.”
Sean gives Tom a crooked half smile and a wink. “I’m glad you’re speechless.”
He pushes himself up with the palms of his hands and leaves Tom alone again.
Tom really needs a smoke.
--
“You’re out here.”
Tom looks up from his fourth cigarette at Sean, eyebrows knit together, working his bottom lip between his teeth. “I am,” Tom agrees easily, flicking the cigarette so that ash falls to the cold pavement.
Sean’s fully dressed in a dark button up coat and the same pair of jeans and sneakers. He looks young.
“I thought you were going to wait for me.”
“I did.”
“…Inside.”
Tom flicks his cigarette again and he thinks about taking another drag but it’s not worth it. He tosses it on the ground and steps on it with the toe of his shoe. He reaches into his pocket for another cigarette and his lighter.
“You want one?” he asks Sean, who’s still standing and staring at him with raw lips.
“I…” Sean starts, but he hesitates.
Tom takes his first drag of the fifth cigarette of the night and then breathes the smoke out towards Sean. It floats around Sean’s face for a moment, and Sean blinks, shaking his head and waving his hand, even though it doesn’t make sense. Tom turns, leaning his shoulder against the brick wall, and holds out the used cigarette to Sean.
Sean hesitates again, but then he leans forward and lets Tom hold the cigarette between his fingers as he pulls the smoke deep into his lungs.
Tom removes the cigarette and Sean lets out a long breath, the smoke now hitting Tom’s face. Tom leans back, putting the cigarette back between his lips. “You don’t like working here.”
Sean looks at the ground. “What does it matter?” he asks flatly, shrugging. “Money, money, money.”
“Do you live alone?”
“I do.”
“Sucks.”
They’re both silent for a moment, though Sean rearranges himself and leans against the wall next to Tom. There’s something about sharing body warmth that makes them both relax. Minimally, but it’s something. They’re both breathing the same rusty air. Tom offers Sean another drag. He takes it.
“You’re kinda beautiful,” Tom says, quietly - it’s a kind of compliment he usually leaves for later. He doesn’t know.
“Thank you,” Sean says back, just as quietly. He scoots a little closer to Tom. Their shoulders touch. Tom stomps out the fifth cigarette of the night but doesn’t reach into his pocket for more. Cigarettes, booze, guys. It seems like he’s having a good night. But he just feels tired.
“I work at a shitty department store,” Tom says into the silence. “I sell shitty appliances to shitty people with just as shitty jobs who can’t afford anything but shitty discount department store prices. Whose driers don’t work anymore. Who need a new sink for their bathroom. Whose flooring fell out when their downstairs got flooded. People whose lives might as well be a wreck. I kind of realize how lucky I am.”
Sean doesn’t say anything.
“Because I live in an apartment with a good friend. And we don’t always have heating but we have lots of blankets and a working stove. And we don’t get flooded. And I can afford to go out and get drunk and talk to a stripper outside of a strip club.” Tom turns his head a bit to look Sean right on. “You know?”
Sean looks at his feet, refusing to meet Tom’s gaze. It feels like a refusal.
“Yeah,” he finally agrees.
It gets quiet again, just their breathing, off beat.
“You said we would go somewhere,” Sean says.
Tom thinks that Sean has a surprisingly rough voice for someone who looks so cute. He can’t help it - cute is the word that fits him so he uses it.
“Yeah.”
Sean sighs, frustrated. “I don’t want to deal with this, you know, you being a bitch,” he says, a little too quietly (but of course Tom still hears him). Tom looks at Sean and Sean looks at Tom before leaning in and pushing their dry lips together.
It’s barely a kiss, but Tom hums and smiles a bit.
Sean huffs again, against Tom’s mouth.
“You seem lonely,” Sean says, drifting back from Tom.
“I am,” Tom agrees.
“Let’s fix that,” Sean whispers, and this time he sounds nervous - he touches Tom’s arm and clenches his fingers against the fabric of his coat, pulling Tom closer - but at the same time, almost confident.
“Yeah, okay,” Tom agrees and they kiss again.
He doesn’t need to know.