(no subject)
Title:Do It Like A Whore (Just Business) Chapter 5
Author: war_of_ataraxis
Pairing: Ville/Bam
Rating: PG-13 this chapter, NC-17 later
Summary: Ville is a street whore, running low on business for the night, when a cute guy in a nice car offers to pay him for his company. Ville accepts, and goes home with him - how much does this cute stranger have in mind, and how much is Ville willing to give?
Disclaimer: Do not own, don't sue me, I have no money, and god knows the RIAA wants me more for the 13,000 songs on my computer...
Previous chapters and writing archive found at love_sex_angst
Dialogue and unrealistic feelings. Check me, guys, I'm going into Denialland.
My brain was whirring as we drove. I continued glancing between Bam and the world outside the window that paled in comparison to the things that I was feeling between us. His eyes landed on me every few seconds, before he finally spoke.
"So, how was your night?" he asked lightly, a simple question compared to his glances. My mind reeled and I stayed silent. "What? You don't want to talk to me?" he questioned gently, almost sounding hurt.
"No, it's definitely not that," I finally replied. "My night was bad."
"Why is that?" he stopped at a stop sign on a quiet street and turned to me, concern in his eyes.
I can't take this.
"Why do you care?" The question slipped out of my mouth before I even knew I was thinking it, but I continued. "You don't know me..."
"Well... maybe I'd like to."
The answer was so simple that it hurt.
"I'm a whore," I mumbled. "You can't get to know a whore..."
He raised an eyebrow at me. "Why do you always bring up the fact that you're a whore? You act like it's not just a job."
I narrowed my eyes. "I knew you didn't understand," I said quietly, and he breathed out, staying silent and turning back toward the road. We pulled away from the stop sign, and he didn't speak until we pulled into his drive way.
"Are you mad at me?" he questioned, shifting the car into park.
"Does it matter?"
He bit his lip and then just climbed out of the car, heading towards the house, where I followed him soon after, feeling slightly bad for my snap at him. As I entered, he was leaning against the wall in the front corridor; I looked at him shiftily before shutting the door behind me.
"I don't know why I'm doing this," he suddenly spoke, and I jerked my head up to meet his eyes, which were glistening at me in a contemplative state. "Maybe I'm just lonely. I'm living on my own for the first time in my entire life. Maybe I'm messed up... or maybe it's you." He stopped speaking and just stared at me.
"What about me?"
A small smile pulled at the left side of his mouth and he broke our eye contact. "I don't even know. You seem... special."
The words stung like a slap across the cheek. It felt like an insult. "Special? What is this, some kind of joke?"
"Huh?" our eyes connected again, and I felt automatically bad for my harsh words.
"Nothing. I - I'm sorry. I'm just stressed... and I'm not special. I'm..."
"Why can't you be special?" he questioned and he was off of the wall and stepping towards me. By habit, I stepped back, and he ceased his movement. "Are you scared of me?"
A moment's lapse. "Yes," I said finally, sighing and casting my eyes to the ground.
"Why?"
"Because you're nice," I lifted my eyes to meet with his for what could have been the hundredth time that night and watched the grimace that crossed his face transfuse into his eyes.
"I don't understand."
It was unexpected, an admission that I wouldn't have figured he would put so simply. "You shouldn't ever have to." The answer was simple, and he just nodded.
"So, uh, wanna watch a movie or something... I can give you more money if you need it... Just... you know... for your time."
I smiled lightly, almost forced but half real. "Where do you get all this money from, anyway?"
He reached back and scratched his head, as if he were slightly uncomfortable. "You don't know who I am at all, do you?"
"Should I?"
He laughed and I just blinked at him. "I'm not trying to be conceited... but I'm kind of famous."
I didn't respond until he motioned me toward the living room, and I followed him. He reached under his glass top coffee table, the kind I had always wanted but had never actually owned growing up poor and living poor, and pulled out a magazine. He sat down and patted the space next to him as he flipped open the pages.
"Here," he pushed the magazine towards me, showing me a spread of what was unmistakably him.
"You're a pro skater?" I questioned in shock and he just nodded.
"Not so much anymore... but I used to. I even had my own TV show... but I'm guessing you don't watch much TV..."
I shook my head and just stared at the magazine in amazement, further my confusion.
Why me? A fucking celebrity... and he's taking his time to pick up me?
I guess to save himself from appearing conceited he pulled the magazine back towards him, flipping it shut and laying it on top of the pile of magazines that I'm sure his face was spread among. My eyes just stared incredulously at him.
"It's not that big of a deal, man," he said, smiling and reaching out to touch my shoulder but I pulled back.
"Is this some kind of game?" I whispered, eyes filling with tears as I looked at him. He only blinked.
"A game?" once again I had confused him, only this time I didn't feel bad for him.
How could I be so stupid?
"I need to go home... this needs to stop. I can't do this," I started muttering under my breath, moving slightly around on the couch but not rising; my eyes focused on him, wide and panicked, not knowing what to do, and he just stared back.
"Why do you always want to leave?" he flopped back on the couch, defeated. "Are you really that uncomfortable around me?"
"I - " I didn't know how to respond. I couldn't say yes because I wasn't sure, but I couldn't give him a no. "I don't know what it is."
"Then, calm down, until you figure it out... I'm going to put on a movie, okay?"
I was too lost in my own thoughts to even look at what he was putting into the DVD player, staring at the indent in the couch where he had just been sitting.
Why couldn't he have just picked me up and fucked me like everybody else? Why does he have to be famous? Why did I even get excited that he came back? He's fucking famous... he's famous, I'm nothing, why is he doing this?
A tear slipped down my cheek for the second time today and I wiped it away hurriedly, cursing myself from becoming such a wuss.
Men don't cry...
But I'm barely a man.
I could feel his eyes on me, but I didn't look up until he had settled beside me; I didn't say anything, until I gasped as he pulled me into his arms. I couldn't fight back, weakened and unable to resist this amazing feeling.
I haven't been hugged in so long.
He didn't let go of me quickly either, He held on, pulling me closer to him until I was settled against him, and he rocked me slightly, this suddenly sign of affection and comfort from someone I hardly even knew pushing me over the edge and into more prolific tears.
Why do you have to restore my faith, Bam? Why can't you just let me go, and let me go back to hating the whole world? Why do you have to be so goddamned wonderful?
But I couldn't fight against him as much as my brain wanted to, because for the first time I felt comfortable, and even in all its wrongness my body would not respond to the urgent messages of panic my mind was sending out. I was limp in the arms of a famous skater who I didn't know, and could just be playing a game.
My mind screamed danger, but the rest of me didn't care.
If I'm going to be broken, why not do it with a few smiles, no matter how temporary?
Finally he released me, a small shy smile on his face, looking at me unsure, probably waiting for me to freak out again. Instead I just drew in a shaky breath. "Thanks," I breathed, wiping idly at my tear streaked face with my thumb, which was quickly swatted away as he pulled his hoodie down over his hand, wiping the trail of makeup off of my cheeks.
"There... beautiful."
I blushed slightly, heat warming my cheeks, turning my eyes to the movie instead of dealing with the feelings boiling inside of me, thanking him silently for also turning away, so that he didn't have to see how my eyes were unfocused and not at all paying attention to the random movie playing in front of me.
Why can't life be simple?
I was sunk deep in my thoughts through the entire movie, until he stood up to turn it off, looking at me. "I guess I need to take you home?" he looked possibly unwilling to do so, but would if I asked.
My mind flashed to my job... making more money, and my eyes drifted over his body without meaning to. "I guess... unless you want me to do something... "
He shook his head. "No... none of that. Come on..." We headed back out the door, into the car and back to my street, idle conversation of absolutely no meaning being thrown between us until he pulled up to my street. "Do you want me to just drop you off at your house... or do you have to... ya know..."
A sad smile came to my face. "I..." I glanced at his dashboard clock before sighing. "I guess I should work more..."
"Why do you do it?" he cut in suddenly as I glanced back toward the street with a moment of silence.
"Because I have to," I gave the typical response. "I don't have another choice... there is no other choice for someone like me."
His mouth twisted in what I almost feared would be an argument, but instead he just reached into his pocket, pulling out another hundred and forcing it into my hand. I pushed it back to him.
"I didn't earn it..." I muttered. "I still haven't earned any of the money you've given me..."
"You don't need to... Plus you need it more than I do..." he attempted to hand it back, but when I pushed it back again, he finally relented and stuffed the bill back into his hoodie pocket, looking at me for a few seconds until I felt uncomfortable and shifted away. I grasped the door handle, turning to him to say good night when I noticed him pulling his hoodie off, my eyes automatically jumping to the exposed torso before his shirt was pulled back down.
"Here, at least take this... its fucking freezing out there. Don't argue. Take it. I have a shitload."
I let out a small smile, pulling the hoodie to me, knowing he would force it on me if he had to, and feeling actually grateful as a rough wind shook the car. "Thanks... but I need to be going now..."
His eyes betrayed the smile he offered me, with an emotion I wasn't quite sure of. "Okay... I'll see you later."
I nodded back to him, climbing out of the car and watching as he pulled away. He was around the corner before I eagerly pulled on the hoodie, his smell and warmth washing over me.
I shouldn't be doing this... but... who cares?
I'm at my ends anyway, might as well enjoy the fall.
So I turned towards home, head filled with thoughts of the blue eyed boy, shoving my hands into the pockets, stopping automatically as my hand brushed against a piece of paper inside the pocket. Pulling it out, I cursed under my breath.
He tricked me.
But there was no use fighting, I could see that Bam got to do what Bam wanted to do, so I pushed the bill back into my pocket, resuming my walk back to my shitty home, where I would surely dream unfulfilable dreams of the kind stranger who probably didn't understand the way he was making me think.
He's just being nice... right?
It's just business.
Hope is only for those too weak to grasp reality...
A/N: Sorry, sorry, if you're still reading this. I didn't update for like ... awhile. I was having drunken fun, and a life. It's a weird feeling, yes. Hopefully this chapter was okay. I'm trying to get back into the groove... Let me know what you think. I didn't know exactly where to go.
Do parts of this story seem unrealistic to you guys? I'd really like to know.
Author: war_of_ataraxis
Pairing: Ville/Bam
Rating: PG-13 this chapter, NC-17 later
Summary: Ville is a street whore, running low on business for the night, when a cute guy in a nice car offers to pay him for his company. Ville accepts, and goes home with him - how much does this cute stranger have in mind, and how much is Ville willing to give?
Disclaimer: Do not own, don't sue me, I have no money, and god knows the RIAA wants me more for the 13,000 songs on my computer...
Previous chapters and writing archive found at love_sex_angst
Dialogue and unrealistic feelings. Check me, guys, I'm going into Denialland.
My brain was whirring as we drove. I continued glancing between Bam and the world outside the window that paled in comparison to the things that I was feeling between us. His eyes landed on me every few seconds, before he finally spoke.
"So, how was your night?" he asked lightly, a simple question compared to his glances. My mind reeled and I stayed silent. "What? You don't want to talk to me?" he questioned gently, almost sounding hurt.
"No, it's definitely not that," I finally replied. "My night was bad."
"Why is that?" he stopped at a stop sign on a quiet street and turned to me, concern in his eyes.
I can't take this.
"Why do you care?" The question slipped out of my mouth before I even knew I was thinking it, but I continued. "You don't know me..."
"Well... maybe I'd like to."
The answer was so simple that it hurt.
"I'm a whore," I mumbled. "You can't get to know a whore..."
He raised an eyebrow at me. "Why do you always bring up the fact that you're a whore? You act like it's not just a job."
I narrowed my eyes. "I knew you didn't understand," I said quietly, and he breathed out, staying silent and turning back toward the road. We pulled away from the stop sign, and he didn't speak until we pulled into his drive way.
"Are you mad at me?" he questioned, shifting the car into park.
"Does it matter?"
He bit his lip and then just climbed out of the car, heading towards the house, where I followed him soon after, feeling slightly bad for my snap at him. As I entered, he was leaning against the wall in the front corridor; I looked at him shiftily before shutting the door behind me.
"I don't know why I'm doing this," he suddenly spoke, and I jerked my head up to meet his eyes, which were glistening at me in a contemplative state. "Maybe I'm just lonely. I'm living on my own for the first time in my entire life. Maybe I'm messed up... or maybe it's you." He stopped speaking and just stared at me.
"What about me?"
A small smile pulled at the left side of his mouth and he broke our eye contact. "I don't even know. You seem... special."
The words stung like a slap across the cheek. It felt like an insult. "Special? What is this, some kind of joke?"
"Huh?" our eyes connected again, and I felt automatically bad for my harsh words.
"Nothing. I - I'm sorry. I'm just stressed... and I'm not special. I'm..."
"Why can't you be special?" he questioned and he was off of the wall and stepping towards me. By habit, I stepped back, and he ceased his movement. "Are you scared of me?"
A moment's lapse. "Yes," I said finally, sighing and casting my eyes to the ground.
"Why?"
"Because you're nice," I lifted my eyes to meet with his for what could have been the hundredth time that night and watched the grimace that crossed his face transfuse into his eyes.
"I don't understand."
It was unexpected, an admission that I wouldn't have figured he would put so simply. "You shouldn't ever have to." The answer was simple, and he just nodded.
"So, uh, wanna watch a movie or something... I can give you more money if you need it... Just... you know... for your time."
I smiled lightly, almost forced but half real. "Where do you get all this money from, anyway?"
He reached back and scratched his head, as if he were slightly uncomfortable. "You don't know who I am at all, do you?"
"Should I?"
He laughed and I just blinked at him. "I'm not trying to be conceited... but I'm kind of famous."
I didn't respond until he motioned me toward the living room, and I followed him. He reached under his glass top coffee table, the kind I had always wanted but had never actually owned growing up poor and living poor, and pulled out a magazine. He sat down and patted the space next to him as he flipped open the pages.
"Here," he pushed the magazine towards me, showing me a spread of what was unmistakably him.
"You're a pro skater?" I questioned in shock and he just nodded.
"Not so much anymore... but I used to. I even had my own TV show... but I'm guessing you don't watch much TV..."
I shook my head and just stared at the magazine in amazement, further my confusion.
Why me? A fucking celebrity... and he's taking his time to pick up me?
I guess to save himself from appearing conceited he pulled the magazine back towards him, flipping it shut and laying it on top of the pile of magazines that I'm sure his face was spread among. My eyes just stared incredulously at him.
"It's not that big of a deal, man," he said, smiling and reaching out to touch my shoulder but I pulled back.
"Is this some kind of game?" I whispered, eyes filling with tears as I looked at him. He only blinked.
"A game?" once again I had confused him, only this time I didn't feel bad for him.
How could I be so stupid?
"I need to go home... this needs to stop. I can't do this," I started muttering under my breath, moving slightly around on the couch but not rising; my eyes focused on him, wide and panicked, not knowing what to do, and he just stared back.
"Why do you always want to leave?" he flopped back on the couch, defeated. "Are you really that uncomfortable around me?"
"I - " I didn't know how to respond. I couldn't say yes because I wasn't sure, but I couldn't give him a no. "I don't know what it is."
"Then, calm down, until you figure it out... I'm going to put on a movie, okay?"
I was too lost in my own thoughts to even look at what he was putting into the DVD player, staring at the indent in the couch where he had just been sitting.
Why couldn't he have just picked me up and fucked me like everybody else? Why does he have to be famous? Why did I even get excited that he came back? He's fucking famous... he's famous, I'm nothing, why is he doing this?
A tear slipped down my cheek for the second time today and I wiped it away hurriedly, cursing myself from becoming such a wuss.
Men don't cry...
But I'm barely a man.
I could feel his eyes on me, but I didn't look up until he had settled beside me; I didn't say anything, until I gasped as he pulled me into his arms. I couldn't fight back, weakened and unable to resist this amazing feeling.
I haven't been hugged in so long.
He didn't let go of me quickly either, He held on, pulling me closer to him until I was settled against him, and he rocked me slightly, this suddenly sign of affection and comfort from someone I hardly even knew pushing me over the edge and into more prolific tears.
Why do you have to restore my faith, Bam? Why can't you just let me go, and let me go back to hating the whole world? Why do you have to be so goddamned wonderful?
But I couldn't fight against him as much as my brain wanted to, because for the first time I felt comfortable, and even in all its wrongness my body would not respond to the urgent messages of panic my mind was sending out. I was limp in the arms of a famous skater who I didn't know, and could just be playing a game.
My mind screamed danger, but the rest of me didn't care.
If I'm going to be broken, why not do it with a few smiles, no matter how temporary?
Finally he released me, a small shy smile on his face, looking at me unsure, probably waiting for me to freak out again. Instead I just drew in a shaky breath. "Thanks," I breathed, wiping idly at my tear streaked face with my thumb, which was quickly swatted away as he pulled his hoodie down over his hand, wiping the trail of makeup off of my cheeks.
"There... beautiful."
I blushed slightly, heat warming my cheeks, turning my eyes to the movie instead of dealing with the feelings boiling inside of me, thanking him silently for also turning away, so that he didn't have to see how my eyes were unfocused and not at all paying attention to the random movie playing in front of me.
Why can't life be simple?
I was sunk deep in my thoughts through the entire movie, until he stood up to turn it off, looking at me. "I guess I need to take you home?" he looked possibly unwilling to do so, but would if I asked.
My mind flashed to my job... making more money, and my eyes drifted over his body without meaning to. "I guess... unless you want me to do something... "
He shook his head. "No... none of that. Come on..." We headed back out the door, into the car and back to my street, idle conversation of absolutely no meaning being thrown between us until he pulled up to my street. "Do you want me to just drop you off at your house... or do you have to... ya know..."
A sad smile came to my face. "I..." I glanced at his dashboard clock before sighing. "I guess I should work more..."
"Why do you do it?" he cut in suddenly as I glanced back toward the street with a moment of silence.
"Because I have to," I gave the typical response. "I don't have another choice... there is no other choice for someone like me."
His mouth twisted in what I almost feared would be an argument, but instead he just reached into his pocket, pulling out another hundred and forcing it into my hand. I pushed it back to him.
"I didn't earn it..." I muttered. "I still haven't earned any of the money you've given me..."
"You don't need to... Plus you need it more than I do..." he attempted to hand it back, but when I pushed it back again, he finally relented and stuffed the bill back into his hoodie pocket, looking at me for a few seconds until I felt uncomfortable and shifted away. I grasped the door handle, turning to him to say good night when I noticed him pulling his hoodie off, my eyes automatically jumping to the exposed torso before his shirt was pulled back down.
"Here, at least take this... its fucking freezing out there. Don't argue. Take it. I have a shitload."
I let out a small smile, pulling the hoodie to me, knowing he would force it on me if he had to, and feeling actually grateful as a rough wind shook the car. "Thanks... but I need to be going now..."
His eyes betrayed the smile he offered me, with an emotion I wasn't quite sure of. "Okay... I'll see you later."
I nodded back to him, climbing out of the car and watching as he pulled away. He was around the corner before I eagerly pulled on the hoodie, his smell and warmth washing over me.
I shouldn't be doing this... but... who cares?
I'm at my ends anyway, might as well enjoy the fall.
So I turned towards home, head filled with thoughts of the blue eyed boy, shoving my hands into the pockets, stopping automatically as my hand brushed against a piece of paper inside the pocket. Pulling it out, I cursed under my breath.
He tricked me.
But there was no use fighting, I could see that Bam got to do what Bam wanted to do, so I pushed the bill back into my pocket, resuming my walk back to my shitty home, where I would surely dream unfulfilable dreams of the kind stranger who probably didn't understand the way he was making me think.
He's just being nice... right?
It's just business.
Hope is only for those too weak to grasp reality...
A/N: Sorry, sorry, if you're still reading this. I didn't update for like ... awhile. I was having drunken fun, and a life. It's a weird feeling, yes. Hopefully this chapter was okay. I'm trying to get back into the groove... Let me know what you think. I didn't know exactly where to go.
Do parts of this story seem unrealistic to you guys? I'd really like to know.