kseda
in
thegraygale
Rec: Services Randered
Story: Services Rendered
Author: e-p-kitty
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 4,168
Author's summary: How did Cain come up with twenty platinums to pay off the fortuneteller?
Characters/pairing: Cain/Glitch
Warnings: *deep breath* sexings, dubious!consent, exhibitionism, prostitution, and hints of past non-con. Um. It goes without say but DARKFIC.
Recced because: As the author's notes say, "it’s not a story for everyone - and, I think, requires a certain mood to read it - I hope it will find its niche with interested readers. Chiefly other angst-ridden, sordid souls like myself." When I stumbled into Tin Man fandom I rediscovered my love of darkfic, and this story encapsulates the sort of twisted, depraved universe the O.Z., or at least the Realm of the Unwanted, may well be. There are hints of a tragic but plausible past for Glitch, and Cain's horror at that and the situation they find themselves in is heartbreaking. Yet, and this is where I resign myself to being a bit screwed in the head, it's pretty damn hot as well. It skirts that line between uncomfortable and uncompromising while staying true to the characters and the canon. Steady nerves and a strong cup of tea (or wine if it suits you) recommended.
“Yeah, I do, and after drugs and death, you know the next best thing that sells down here.”
Cain blinked. “Sex.”
“Mm. I hear you ain’t gotta wife no more, so-”
“You want a skull packed full o’lead, feel free to finish that sentence,” Cain growled, the muzzle of his pistol stamping at the center of the man’s one, long eyebrow.
Don held up his hands in surrender, but showed no real fear. “Look, I’m on’y sayin’, what you got to sell, side from yerself? Nothing to feel guilty about, if’n ya need the money. There’s a Madame down round Green Specs Alley, got a taste fer men who’ll do what they’re told. You’ll get 20p easy.”
At this, Cain gradually lowered the gun.
Don resumed his intimate lean upon the greasy counter. “It’s a scrap o’ purple paint by the name of Arby Lounge. Password’s ‘elphaba.’ Ask fer Ms. Low. Tell’m you’re in a hurry and that I sent ya, should get you in quick.”
Cain holstered his gun and stalked away, eyes hidden beneath the low brim of his hat.
After a moment, Glitch surged after him, tripping over his own feet in his haste.
“Whatta you say, Glitch? Coming to the whorehouse or heading back?”
“We’re partners!” Glitch said happily, and with a finality that settled the matter, though Cain wondered how much of the conversation Glitch had followed.
Author: e-p-kitty
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 4,168
Author's summary: How did Cain come up with twenty platinums to pay off the fortuneteller?
Characters/pairing: Cain/Glitch
Warnings: *deep breath* sexings, dubious!consent, exhibitionism, prostitution, and hints of past non-con. Um. It goes without say but DARKFIC.
Recced because: As the author's notes say, "it’s not a story for everyone - and, I think, requires a certain mood to read it - I hope it will find its niche with interested readers. Chiefly other angst-ridden, sordid souls like myself." When I stumbled into Tin Man fandom I rediscovered my love of darkfic, and this story encapsulates the sort of twisted, depraved universe the O.Z., or at least the Realm of the Unwanted, may well be. There are hints of a tragic but plausible past for Glitch, and Cain's horror at that and the situation they find themselves in is heartbreaking. Yet, and this is where I resign myself to being a bit screwed in the head, it's pretty damn hot as well. It skirts that line between uncomfortable and uncompromising while staying true to the characters and the canon. Steady nerves and a strong cup of tea (or wine if it suits you) recommended.
“Yeah, I do, and after drugs and death, you know the next best thing that sells down here.”
Cain blinked. “Sex.”
“Mm. I hear you ain’t gotta wife no more, so-”
“You want a skull packed full o’lead, feel free to finish that sentence,” Cain growled, the muzzle of his pistol stamping at the center of the man’s one, long eyebrow.
Don held up his hands in surrender, but showed no real fear. “Look, I’m on’y sayin’, what you got to sell, side from yerself? Nothing to feel guilty about, if’n ya need the money. There’s a Madame down round Green Specs Alley, got a taste fer men who’ll do what they’re told. You’ll get 20p easy.”
At this, Cain gradually lowered the gun.
Don resumed his intimate lean upon the greasy counter. “It’s a scrap o’ purple paint by the name of Arby Lounge. Password’s ‘elphaba.’ Ask fer Ms. Low. Tell’m you’re in a hurry and that I sent ya, should get you in quick.”
Cain holstered his gun and stalked away, eyes hidden beneath the low brim of his hat.
After a moment, Glitch surged after him, tripping over his own feet in his haste.
“Whatta you say, Glitch? Coming to the whorehouse or heading back?”
“We’re partners!” Glitch said happily, and with a finality that settled the matter, though Cain wondered how much of the conversation Glitch had followed.