Fic: Try (part one)
The street was cold. Big fucking surprise, considering it
was December. December 4th, the day Tommy Joe Ratliff went from upper
class teenager to a street kid, the day his rich, distant father decided he
didn’t want anything more to do with him. He snarled, thinking of the last
moments he had spent at home, the brightly lit, echoing entrance hall ringing
with the curses he threw at his father and stepmonster. He’d rather have the
rumble of distant traffic and faint shouts from other street dwellers in his ears.
Lingering on the corner he’d chosen, he shoved his hands in his pockets, ducking his head a little, blond fringe falling in his face. It wasn’t what he’d wanted… he didn’t think anyone would want something like this, but he had no other choice. It would be better to just get started with it than to spend a few days despairing about it and running completely out of money, right? He’d already pawned his guitar for some cash, and the old thing didn’t get much. Definitely not enough to justify losing his passion, but he’d taken it. His guitar wouldn’t be able to feed him, even though the artist in him was still kicking him in the ass for making that choice.
It wasn’t anything worse than what he was about to do. Glancing around, he thought it had to be painfully obvious that he had never done this before. One pale hand rose to his mouth, teeth chewing anxiously at already ragged nails, the thin material of his fingerless gloves not doing much to keep him warm. Privately, he thought he was a lot smarter than the other guys in their skintight jeans and thin jackets, practically showing off how hard their nipples were because of the cold. Tommy was fairly sure he could see the dimples in another boy’s ass as he flounced off to slide into the front seat of a Lexus.
However, as hours passed and the boys kept disappearing, maybe he would have to change the opinion. His nails were a mess by then, bitten to the quick, and his hands wouldn’t stop shivering because of the cold. Finally… finally another car pulled up, slowing and shutting off its lights as it idled by the curb. Tommy scurried over, hurling himself into the front seat, a grateful sigh sliding from his lips once he felt the heat pouring from the dash.
“So how much are you?”
Shit. This was something he hadn’t thought of before. Trying not to look like he was completely fucking freaking out, he licked his lips, keeping his hands held out over the vents of the dash to warm up his fingers as he wracked his brain for something that seemed like a reasonable price for his mouth.
“Forty for a blow. Eighty if you want to fuck.”
Oh where the hell had that come from? Sure he’d done stuff with other guys before, but he had never gone past some experimental fingers in his ass and a mouth on his dick. Tommy figured it was the desperado coming out in him, already realizing what he would have to do to survive on the streets. Otherwise he didn’t think he would have offered his ass up for sale. He wasn’t a romantic, one of those people who went through life believing in bullshit like true love and destiny and abstinence until marriage. That had gone to shit when he was about eight and he found his father in bed with another woman than his mother. But he knew it wasn’t something to fool around with, wasn’t like a chick losing it because well, their bodies were made for it. He could be in serious pain if it wasn’t done right, and being in pain wasn’t something he could afford to be right now. But still, he didn’t retract his offer, and he could only guess that he hadn’t offered as much as other boys did to let someone stick their dick in them.
The john didn’t say anything more, just reached over and ran his fingers through Tommy’s loose hair, touching it gently like it was something precious and rare. He didn’t buy it. This guy was grizzled and middle aged, his wedding ring winking up at him from where he hadn’t quite managed to hide it in the cupholder. He probably went out and picked up whores on a nightly basis while he told his wife he was going to a poker game with the boys in the next town. Tommy knew how men like him worked. Had to after living with one for nineteen years.
The car shuddered to a stop under a bridge near the river, lights cutting off and leaving them in the darkness. Figuring the john wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to get such cheap ass, Tommy started to climb into the backseat, heart thumping so hard he thought it might pop out of his chest. A hand on his shoulder surprised him. Without a word, the older man took one of his hands, placing it over the bulge in his neatly pressed khakis, and Tommy could feel his cock throbbing against his palm already. Awesome. So he wouldn’t be losing his ass cherry on his first night hooking.
That was a consolation, at least.
He held out his other hand, expectant, and the john nodded as he pulled out his wallet. Two crisp twenties slid easily into his back pocket. There wasn’t enough time to put it anywhere else, not with the john practically begging for it. It was wrong, but seeing the man so desperate for his mouth filled Tommy with an odd kind of power, something he never thought he would be able to experience now that he was where he was. It made him a little more confident, and the smirk he flashed at the other man was fueled by the heady control he felt he had over the situation now.
Steadier hands drew down the zipper of his pants, nimble fingers freeing his arousal from his boxers. Tommy didn’t need any instruction before bending his head down to work him with his lips and tongue. The hand on the back of his neck was nice, a lot lighter than he had been expecting from any kind of john, but he didn’t let that fool him into thinking they would all be like this. There would be men who would rape his mouth, who would yank his hair and bruise his lips without a second thought .He was nothing but a bought whore now, and he didn’t have a reason to stop thinking that way.
Lost in his thoughts, he bobbed his head mechanically, his soft slurping noises sounding so obscene in the still car. Tommy had no warning before bitter cum shot down his throat moments later, making him choke and tear up slightly, and it was only a miracle that he managed not to cough once he pulled off of the man’s softening member. Well, that was… interesting to say the least. While his john caught his breath, he licked his lips and swallowed hard, trying to get the aftertaste from his mouth with no avail. Whatever. Now he could afford coffee at some shitty diner somewhere before finding a bench or something to sleep on. Wasn’t like he hadn’t done it before.
Metal clinked on leather as the man did up his belt, and Tommy had to roll his eyes when he heard the worried noise that followed it. He almost expected the words before they came.
“It’s late… you don’t mind if I leave you here, do you?”
He glanced over and shrugged. Would it really make a huge fucking difference if he said he did mind?
“You know where to find me.”
With those parting words, Tommy slid from the car, acting all the world like an old pro at the game. He slouched into the shadows to wait for the car to peel away, taking a little piece of his dignity with it. The feeling of heady power had faded, leaving him shivering and with a sticky bitterness on his tongue. Suddenly he didn’t care so much about that coffee anymore. He didn’t want people to see him. The eyeliner he had so carefully applied that morning was probably smudged to all hell, his lips swollen and red… it wouldn’t be hard to guess just what he had been doing.
He slid to the ground where he was, in the cold darkness under the bridge. The metal at his back was so cold it almost burned through his clothes, and if he didn’t think about it too much, he could pretend it was a burning heat, and that he was somewhere warm instead of caught in the middle of a freezing December night next to the Hudson. Tommy decided it was too foolish to cry, that the tears would freeze on his cheeks if he did, and he gulped back that utter loneliness he had been trying to avoid thinking about all day in favor of ducking his head to his knees and trying to sleep.
--
The newspaper in front of him proclaimed the date as December 5th, but it had seemed like a lifetime since he’d left his father’s house. Tommy sat slumped over a sticky diner table, one of the hundreds in the borough of Manhattan, and he had already forgotten the name. Did it matter? They had the same food, the same disgruntled waitresses, the same shitty coffee… hey, now that he thought about it, diners were like hookers, in a way. The name didn’t matter, the services were the same. It was just a matter of personal preference that kept you coming back for more. He snorted, darkly amused with his own twisted logic.
He stared down at the paper without reading the words printed on the page. It had been free by the door, one of those shitty neighborhood newspapers that people published to try and give someone a sense of togetherness, and he figured if he had it in front of him he wouldn’t get kicked out as quick. Tommy flipped a page and sipped at his black coffee, the gritty taste finally washing away the lingering disgust in his mouth from the night before. He felt like a different person now that he’d sold his body. The cash he had now, the whole $150 he had to his name, was stashed in a hidden pocket in the liner of his jacket, a place he was fairly sure would be safe enough to hide while he was sleeping. The comfort of his money being safe was the only one he had. He’d always thought that this was the kind of life he was meant for. Cotillions and tuxes had never done much for him, so he figured maybe he was meant to be a starving artist, someone who lived solely for his music, and the dream he had of getting out of the stifling world his father lived in was the first step.
Like all dreams, it hadn’t quite come true the way he’d anticipated.
Loud laughter drew him from his musings. Tired brown eyes snapped up to see a group of kids around his age coming into the diner. From the way they looked, he figured they were high school students, playing hooky from physics class and pretending maybe they were punks by doing so. But as they passed closer, Tommy thought he recognized one of the boys, a slight young man with sandy brown hair. Yeah. That was definitely him. A glance at his ass confirmed it further. He was the guy he saw last night on the corner, the one who climbed into the Lexus like he fucking owned it. No wonder he could afford jeans like that, he thought sarcastically.
His critical gaze swept over the rest of the group. A spunky looking girl with bright red and blue hair, her laugh definitely the loudest of them all. Another skinny brown haired guy who looked more wholesome than the one with the tight ass. A brunette, with one of those perfect figures that was all slim and curvy but she probably thought she was fat anyway. And then the last boy, a long legged black haired vision, his bright eyes lined with thick dark blue to make them stand out on his broadly featured face. He slid in next to the redhead, throwing one arm around her shoulders to draw her close.
Fuck. Try as he might, he couldn’t keep his eyes from shifting to the guy, like he was a fucking magnet or something. He wasn’t helping either, with the way he was waving his hands and talking loudly and animated and making the people he was with burst out into raucous laughter as if he had timed it perfectly. Tommy shook his head a little, trying in vain to actually focus on the paper in front of him to try and keep himself from thinking about the group a few booths down from him, but he felt his eyes sliding. Damn magnet dude.
He took a moment to weigh whether or not looking like a complete creep was worth losing the warmth of the diner and the rapidly deteriorating heat of his shitty coffee. Maybe. He could always bounce to another diner and maybe see if their pancakes were cheaper than they were here. As he shifted, sliding one hand into his jacket to fish out some cash, he glanced again at the booth to see the black haired boy looking back. Oh fuck. He was caught.
The rest of his companions were caught up in some story the boy he saw hooking was telling, but the object of his curiosity was staring right at him. Those lips curled into a friendly smile and he waved him over. Tommy stared back like a deer caught in the headlights. What the… why was he waving him over? Did he think he could get some ass or something? Maybe Hooker Boy was telling them how Tommy was new at this and how his attempts to pick up johns the night before were laughable? Suddenly he couldn’t get out of there fast enough.
He left two dollars on the table and shuffled out the door before he could full comprehend that the look in the other boy’s eyes had been both amused and disappointed all at the same time.
--
That night, the routine was the same. The dick was different.
Tommy wanted to laugh when the john batted his hands away from his pants. Thick fingers slid his zipper open, undoubtedly trying to look sexy as he stroked his unimpressive length, trying to get Tommy to watch him grow to life. Brown eyes glittered with hard amusement, the twenties crinkling in his back pocket as he leaned forward to do the job he had been paid for. The excuse was the same, the late hour making the john unable to drive him back to the corner where he had been picked up. He didn’t even bother telling this one he would be able to find him in the same place. It wasn’t worth it. The slam of the car door had barely faded into the night before Tommy was alone again. Tonight though, the breeze off the river was biting cold, and he hunched his shoulders as he started back towards the buildings, hoping to find some sort of meager shelter from the wind.
He could get used to this. It wasn’t quite what he thought he was getting himself into, but it was something he could grow into. Maybe in a few months he would have enough to get a shitty place of his own, somewhere with a bed to sleep on and a door that locked. Other hookers might have sneered at his thought, telling him to go back to his penthouse on Fifth Avenue if he didn’t want to be out on the street. That was why Tommy was going to keep his fucking mouth shut. He wasn’t a poor little rich kid. Might seem that way to most people though. He couldn’t expect them to understand that having a lot of money didn’t mean life was a fucking field of daisies for everyone involved.
Tommy walked without thinking, wandering across streets and ignoring the constant stream of digital orange hands telling him to stop. Something managed to cut through his blank brain though. Music. Faint music coming from the alley he was standing in front of. Drawn and bold, he ducked into the alley, rounding a couple dumpsters before finding himself under a flickering light, facing a nondescript gray door. Faded lettering spelled out the name of the place - the One Note - which made Tommy smirk. He wondered if it was irony or history that gave the place the name. The sounds drifting through the door made him forget that line of thought though. It sounded like something pop-ish, but the melody screamed glam rock, a faint bass line matching the thud of his heartbeat as his fingers picked out chords in the air. It had only been a day since he lost his guitar ,and already he could feel the ache, the need to be playing somewhere, with someone, or just by himself. Sliding down to sit next to the door, he closed his eyes, leaning against the brick and wishing he could be inside there, playing his heart out and being where he knew he was meant to be.
Focused as he was on the faint sounds, he didn’t hear the approaching figures until one of them chuckled lowly. By then he had been boxed in by two on his side and one in front, a dumpster providing the final barrier to him escaping. Tommy opened his mouth to yell, to do something, but a fist closed it for him, and he went down. He tried to fight back, his arms and legs flailing everywhere to no avail. Fists and boots rained down on him, beating his pale skin dark, blood trickling sluggishly down his chin from a busted nose. Tommy was sure he heard something crack, though whether it was the sting of the drums from inside or the rip of his ribs, he couldn’t be sure. His head whipped around when he saw a fist flying, teeth catching the fleshy bulge under a bony thumb. An expletive split the air, something in Spanish he vaguely remembered learning from some maid long forgotten, and then the world went black in a clang of cymbals when his head connected with the dumpster in a deafening crash.
--
“Oh my… fuck, are you okay? Can you hear me?”
He forced his eyes open, vision swimming around lazily, like that time he had done acid with a couple of his ‘rebellious’ friends after some fancy ass dinner. After a few disoriented moments, he blinked, trying to make sense of the blob above him, still asking if he was okay. It looked like a vaguely familiar blob at any rate. Fuck, if he had been found by one of those rich society snobs then he would be back in that fucking penthouse by dawn.
“Come on, say something… hey, you’re that guy I saw in the diner this morning…”
Oh. So that was why he looked familiar. He’d seen him in passing, or something. Tommy was the kind of person people remembered, thanks to his hair and pretty features. He wasn’t surprised that this person recognized him from just seeing him in the diner. He squinted his eyes, straining his concentration to force the blurry shapes in front of him into something resembling a person, but alas, his brain was swimming thanks to the recent relationship his head had developed with the side of a dumpster.
“Man, you don’t look good at all… Don’t freak out, I’m going to take you somewhere people can help, okay?”
Tommy wasn’t in any shape to protest, so he didn’t even try. Hell. With the pain he was in, if this guy wanted to take him back to his apartment and kill him by cutting him into tiny little pieces, he was fucking all right with that. Man. He couldn’t stop the pained whimper that he let out, sounding like a pathetic kicked dog as the guy bent over him and scooped him into his arms, and it was the first time in his life he was glad he was tiny. If he was going to die, he would rather it be indoors somewhere than in a freezing cold alley.
“Sorry honey… shh, you’ll be all right, I promise.”
The guy was just so warm, radiating heat and protection and Tommy let go of his cynical nature for one second and just let himself bask in how good it felt to be in someone’s arms despite the pain edging away at his already spotty consciousness. But of course, he couldn’t stay wistful and adorable for long, and before he could stop himself, words came tumbling out of his mouth, breathless and halting.
“You know… you can’t… fix all this with a promise… right?”
Crap. He should have sounded more harsh and intimidating saying that. If he was going to be an asshole about something, he needed to commit. Committing did not involve sounding weaker than his great-uncle Milton. Tommy could practically feel the guy holding him smile, and he definitely heard him laugh above the pounding in his skull. Asshole. Who did he think he was, offering to help Tommy out and then laughing at him when he said stupid shit? He groaned softly, wondering when his logic went to hell, prompting the man to speak again.
“I know I can’t. But will you at least let me try?”
He couldn’t argue with that. Tommy just sighed and closed his eyes, welcoming the darkness of unconsciousness, refusing to believe that he was lulled into it by the steady heartbeat of his savior thumping under his ear.
Part Two
Lingering on the corner he’d chosen, he shoved his hands in his pockets, ducking his head a little, blond fringe falling in his face. It wasn’t what he’d wanted… he didn’t think anyone would want something like this, but he had no other choice. It would be better to just get started with it than to spend a few days despairing about it and running completely out of money, right? He’d already pawned his guitar for some cash, and the old thing didn’t get much. Definitely not enough to justify losing his passion, but he’d taken it. His guitar wouldn’t be able to feed him, even though the artist in him was still kicking him in the ass for making that choice.
It wasn’t anything worse than what he was about to do. Glancing around, he thought it had to be painfully obvious that he had never done this before. One pale hand rose to his mouth, teeth chewing anxiously at already ragged nails, the thin material of his fingerless gloves not doing much to keep him warm. Privately, he thought he was a lot smarter than the other guys in their skintight jeans and thin jackets, practically showing off how hard their nipples were because of the cold. Tommy was fairly sure he could see the dimples in another boy’s ass as he flounced off to slide into the front seat of a Lexus.
However, as hours passed and the boys kept disappearing, maybe he would have to change the opinion. His nails were a mess by then, bitten to the quick, and his hands wouldn’t stop shivering because of the cold. Finally… finally another car pulled up, slowing and shutting off its lights as it idled by the curb. Tommy scurried over, hurling himself into the front seat, a grateful sigh sliding from his lips once he felt the heat pouring from the dash.
“So how much are you?”
Shit. This was something he hadn’t thought of before. Trying not to look like he was completely fucking freaking out, he licked his lips, keeping his hands held out over the vents of the dash to warm up his fingers as he wracked his brain for something that seemed like a reasonable price for his mouth.
“Forty for a blow. Eighty if you want to fuck.”
Oh where the hell had that come from? Sure he’d done stuff with other guys before, but he had never gone past some experimental fingers in his ass and a mouth on his dick. Tommy figured it was the desperado coming out in him, already realizing what he would have to do to survive on the streets. Otherwise he didn’t think he would have offered his ass up for sale. He wasn’t a romantic, one of those people who went through life believing in bullshit like true love and destiny and abstinence until marriage. That had gone to shit when he was about eight and he found his father in bed with another woman than his mother. But he knew it wasn’t something to fool around with, wasn’t like a chick losing it because well, their bodies were made for it. He could be in serious pain if it wasn’t done right, and being in pain wasn’t something he could afford to be right now. But still, he didn’t retract his offer, and he could only guess that he hadn’t offered as much as other boys did to let someone stick their dick in them.
The john didn’t say anything more, just reached over and ran his fingers through Tommy’s loose hair, touching it gently like it was something precious and rare. He didn’t buy it. This guy was grizzled and middle aged, his wedding ring winking up at him from where he hadn’t quite managed to hide it in the cupholder. He probably went out and picked up whores on a nightly basis while he told his wife he was going to a poker game with the boys in the next town. Tommy knew how men like him worked. Had to after living with one for nineteen years.
The car shuddered to a stop under a bridge near the river, lights cutting off and leaving them in the darkness. Figuring the john wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to get such cheap ass, Tommy started to climb into the backseat, heart thumping so hard he thought it might pop out of his chest. A hand on his shoulder surprised him. Without a word, the older man took one of his hands, placing it over the bulge in his neatly pressed khakis, and Tommy could feel his cock throbbing against his palm already. Awesome. So he wouldn’t be losing his ass cherry on his first night hooking.
That was a consolation, at least.
He held out his other hand, expectant, and the john nodded as he pulled out his wallet. Two crisp twenties slid easily into his back pocket. There wasn’t enough time to put it anywhere else, not with the john practically begging for it. It was wrong, but seeing the man so desperate for his mouth filled Tommy with an odd kind of power, something he never thought he would be able to experience now that he was where he was. It made him a little more confident, and the smirk he flashed at the other man was fueled by the heady control he felt he had over the situation now.
Steadier hands drew down the zipper of his pants, nimble fingers freeing his arousal from his boxers. Tommy didn’t need any instruction before bending his head down to work him with his lips and tongue. The hand on the back of his neck was nice, a lot lighter than he had been expecting from any kind of john, but he didn’t let that fool him into thinking they would all be like this. There would be men who would rape his mouth, who would yank his hair and bruise his lips without a second thought .He was nothing but a bought whore now, and he didn’t have a reason to stop thinking that way.
Lost in his thoughts, he bobbed his head mechanically, his soft slurping noises sounding so obscene in the still car. Tommy had no warning before bitter cum shot down his throat moments later, making him choke and tear up slightly, and it was only a miracle that he managed not to cough once he pulled off of the man’s softening member. Well, that was… interesting to say the least. While his john caught his breath, he licked his lips and swallowed hard, trying to get the aftertaste from his mouth with no avail. Whatever. Now he could afford coffee at some shitty diner somewhere before finding a bench or something to sleep on. Wasn’t like he hadn’t done it before.
Metal clinked on leather as the man did up his belt, and Tommy had to roll his eyes when he heard the worried noise that followed it. He almost expected the words before they came.
“It’s late… you don’t mind if I leave you here, do you?”
He glanced over and shrugged. Would it really make a huge fucking difference if he said he did mind?
“You know where to find me.”
With those parting words, Tommy slid from the car, acting all the world like an old pro at the game. He slouched into the shadows to wait for the car to peel away, taking a little piece of his dignity with it. The feeling of heady power had faded, leaving him shivering and with a sticky bitterness on his tongue. Suddenly he didn’t care so much about that coffee anymore. He didn’t want people to see him. The eyeliner he had so carefully applied that morning was probably smudged to all hell, his lips swollen and red… it wouldn’t be hard to guess just what he had been doing.
He slid to the ground where he was, in the cold darkness under the bridge. The metal at his back was so cold it almost burned through his clothes, and if he didn’t think about it too much, he could pretend it was a burning heat, and that he was somewhere warm instead of caught in the middle of a freezing December night next to the Hudson. Tommy decided it was too foolish to cry, that the tears would freeze on his cheeks if he did, and he gulped back that utter loneliness he had been trying to avoid thinking about all day in favor of ducking his head to his knees and trying to sleep.
--
The newspaper in front of him proclaimed the date as December 5th, but it had seemed like a lifetime since he’d left his father’s house. Tommy sat slumped over a sticky diner table, one of the hundreds in the borough of Manhattan, and he had already forgotten the name. Did it matter? They had the same food, the same disgruntled waitresses, the same shitty coffee… hey, now that he thought about it, diners were like hookers, in a way. The name didn’t matter, the services were the same. It was just a matter of personal preference that kept you coming back for more. He snorted, darkly amused with his own twisted logic.
He stared down at the paper without reading the words printed on the page. It had been free by the door, one of those shitty neighborhood newspapers that people published to try and give someone a sense of togetherness, and he figured if he had it in front of him he wouldn’t get kicked out as quick. Tommy flipped a page and sipped at his black coffee, the gritty taste finally washing away the lingering disgust in his mouth from the night before. He felt like a different person now that he’d sold his body. The cash he had now, the whole $150 he had to his name, was stashed in a hidden pocket in the liner of his jacket, a place he was fairly sure would be safe enough to hide while he was sleeping. The comfort of his money being safe was the only one he had. He’d always thought that this was the kind of life he was meant for. Cotillions and tuxes had never done much for him, so he figured maybe he was meant to be a starving artist, someone who lived solely for his music, and the dream he had of getting out of the stifling world his father lived in was the first step.
Like all dreams, it hadn’t quite come true the way he’d anticipated.
Loud laughter drew him from his musings. Tired brown eyes snapped up to see a group of kids around his age coming into the diner. From the way they looked, he figured they were high school students, playing hooky from physics class and pretending maybe they were punks by doing so. But as they passed closer, Tommy thought he recognized one of the boys, a slight young man with sandy brown hair. Yeah. That was definitely him. A glance at his ass confirmed it further. He was the guy he saw last night on the corner, the one who climbed into the Lexus like he fucking owned it. No wonder he could afford jeans like that, he thought sarcastically.
His critical gaze swept over the rest of the group. A spunky looking girl with bright red and blue hair, her laugh definitely the loudest of them all. Another skinny brown haired guy who looked more wholesome than the one with the tight ass. A brunette, with one of those perfect figures that was all slim and curvy but she probably thought she was fat anyway. And then the last boy, a long legged black haired vision, his bright eyes lined with thick dark blue to make them stand out on his broadly featured face. He slid in next to the redhead, throwing one arm around her shoulders to draw her close.
Fuck. Try as he might, he couldn’t keep his eyes from shifting to the guy, like he was a fucking magnet or something. He wasn’t helping either, with the way he was waving his hands and talking loudly and animated and making the people he was with burst out into raucous laughter as if he had timed it perfectly. Tommy shook his head a little, trying in vain to actually focus on the paper in front of him to try and keep himself from thinking about the group a few booths down from him, but he felt his eyes sliding. Damn magnet dude.
He took a moment to weigh whether or not looking like a complete creep was worth losing the warmth of the diner and the rapidly deteriorating heat of his shitty coffee. Maybe. He could always bounce to another diner and maybe see if their pancakes were cheaper than they were here. As he shifted, sliding one hand into his jacket to fish out some cash, he glanced again at the booth to see the black haired boy looking back. Oh fuck. He was caught.
The rest of his companions were caught up in some story the boy he saw hooking was telling, but the object of his curiosity was staring right at him. Those lips curled into a friendly smile and he waved him over. Tommy stared back like a deer caught in the headlights. What the… why was he waving him over? Did he think he could get some ass or something? Maybe Hooker Boy was telling them how Tommy was new at this and how his attempts to pick up johns the night before were laughable? Suddenly he couldn’t get out of there fast enough.
He left two dollars on the table and shuffled out the door before he could full comprehend that the look in the other boy’s eyes had been both amused and disappointed all at the same time.
--
That night, the routine was the same. The dick was different.
Tommy wanted to laugh when the john batted his hands away from his pants. Thick fingers slid his zipper open, undoubtedly trying to look sexy as he stroked his unimpressive length, trying to get Tommy to watch him grow to life. Brown eyes glittered with hard amusement, the twenties crinkling in his back pocket as he leaned forward to do the job he had been paid for. The excuse was the same, the late hour making the john unable to drive him back to the corner where he had been picked up. He didn’t even bother telling this one he would be able to find him in the same place. It wasn’t worth it. The slam of the car door had barely faded into the night before Tommy was alone again. Tonight though, the breeze off the river was biting cold, and he hunched his shoulders as he started back towards the buildings, hoping to find some sort of meager shelter from the wind.
He could get used to this. It wasn’t quite what he thought he was getting himself into, but it was something he could grow into. Maybe in a few months he would have enough to get a shitty place of his own, somewhere with a bed to sleep on and a door that locked. Other hookers might have sneered at his thought, telling him to go back to his penthouse on Fifth Avenue if he didn’t want to be out on the street. That was why Tommy was going to keep his fucking mouth shut. He wasn’t a poor little rich kid. Might seem that way to most people though. He couldn’t expect them to understand that having a lot of money didn’t mean life was a fucking field of daisies for everyone involved.
Tommy walked without thinking, wandering across streets and ignoring the constant stream of digital orange hands telling him to stop. Something managed to cut through his blank brain though. Music. Faint music coming from the alley he was standing in front of. Drawn and bold, he ducked into the alley, rounding a couple dumpsters before finding himself under a flickering light, facing a nondescript gray door. Faded lettering spelled out the name of the place - the One Note - which made Tommy smirk. He wondered if it was irony or history that gave the place the name. The sounds drifting through the door made him forget that line of thought though. It sounded like something pop-ish, but the melody screamed glam rock, a faint bass line matching the thud of his heartbeat as his fingers picked out chords in the air. It had only been a day since he lost his guitar ,and already he could feel the ache, the need to be playing somewhere, with someone, or just by himself. Sliding down to sit next to the door, he closed his eyes, leaning against the brick and wishing he could be inside there, playing his heart out and being where he knew he was meant to be.
Focused as he was on the faint sounds, he didn’t hear the approaching figures until one of them chuckled lowly. By then he had been boxed in by two on his side and one in front, a dumpster providing the final barrier to him escaping. Tommy opened his mouth to yell, to do something, but a fist closed it for him, and he went down. He tried to fight back, his arms and legs flailing everywhere to no avail. Fists and boots rained down on him, beating his pale skin dark, blood trickling sluggishly down his chin from a busted nose. Tommy was sure he heard something crack, though whether it was the sting of the drums from inside or the rip of his ribs, he couldn’t be sure. His head whipped around when he saw a fist flying, teeth catching the fleshy bulge under a bony thumb. An expletive split the air, something in Spanish he vaguely remembered learning from some maid long forgotten, and then the world went black in a clang of cymbals when his head connected with the dumpster in a deafening crash.
--
“Oh my… fuck, are you okay? Can you hear me?”
He forced his eyes open, vision swimming around lazily, like that time he had done acid with a couple of his ‘rebellious’ friends after some fancy ass dinner. After a few disoriented moments, he blinked, trying to make sense of the blob above him, still asking if he was okay. It looked like a vaguely familiar blob at any rate. Fuck, if he had been found by one of those rich society snobs then he would be back in that fucking penthouse by dawn.
“Come on, say something… hey, you’re that guy I saw in the diner this morning…”
Oh. So that was why he looked familiar. He’d seen him in passing, or something. Tommy was the kind of person people remembered, thanks to his hair and pretty features. He wasn’t surprised that this person recognized him from just seeing him in the diner. He squinted his eyes, straining his concentration to force the blurry shapes in front of him into something resembling a person, but alas, his brain was swimming thanks to the recent relationship his head had developed with the side of a dumpster.
“Man, you don’t look good at all… Don’t freak out, I’m going to take you somewhere people can help, okay?”
Tommy wasn’t in any shape to protest, so he didn’t even try. Hell. With the pain he was in, if this guy wanted to take him back to his apartment and kill him by cutting him into tiny little pieces, he was fucking all right with that. Man. He couldn’t stop the pained whimper that he let out, sounding like a pathetic kicked dog as the guy bent over him and scooped him into his arms, and it was the first time in his life he was glad he was tiny. If he was going to die, he would rather it be indoors somewhere than in a freezing cold alley.
“Sorry honey… shh, you’ll be all right, I promise.”
The guy was just so warm, radiating heat and protection and Tommy let go of his cynical nature for one second and just let himself bask in how good it felt to be in someone’s arms despite the pain edging away at his already spotty consciousness. But of course, he couldn’t stay wistful and adorable for long, and before he could stop himself, words came tumbling out of his mouth, breathless and halting.
“You know… you can’t… fix all this with a promise… right?”
Crap. He should have sounded more harsh and intimidating saying that. If he was going to be an asshole about something, he needed to commit. Committing did not involve sounding weaker than his great-uncle Milton. Tommy could practically feel the guy holding him smile, and he definitely heard him laugh above the pounding in his skull. Asshole. Who did he think he was, offering to help Tommy out and then laughing at him when he said stupid shit? He groaned softly, wondering when his logic went to hell, prompting the man to speak again.
“I know I can’t. But will you at least let me try?”
He couldn’t argue with that. Tommy just sighed and closed his eyes, welcoming the darkness of unconsciousness, refusing to believe that he was lulled into it by the steady heartbeat of his savior thumping under his ear.
Part Two