Fic: Cherry Lipgloss (A Hooker AU)
Title: Cherry Lipgloss
Pairings: Nostalgia Critic/Angry Video Game Nerd, a bit of Dr. Insano/Linkara and a few more pairings implied.
Warnings: Guys, this is a Hooker AU (explanation later, promise) starring the Nerd, swearing and smut are pretty much a given. Also, crossdressing if you dislike that kinda thing.
Word Count: 2,100
Disclaimer: These people really aren't mine. And after this, we can all be glad for that.
A/N: (It's a long one, folks.) Written as a prompt request for the lovely bubosquared , who wanted a Nerd/Critic with biting, smut, crossdressing and it being their first time. And the hooker thing probably needs a bit of context. Back when it was just aunt_zelda , bubosquared , fuzzywezzy , pyrocrastinator (wherever the hell she is now) and I, a hooker!fic was wanted but everyone was too cowardly to write one. So I hope that they enjoy this and obviously, that everyone does too. Locked because, while Lewis and Doug might be alright with fic, I'm pretty sure that they won't have any goodwill toward their characters being made into rent-boys. Beta'ed by the ever lovely heirii , please remember that this is total crack and feedback is always love.
The Angry Video Game Nerd was in a pissed off mood, even more so than usual. For one thing, the only knowledge he had was that the south side of Chicago surrounded him and it was all because of that shitface Irate Gamer. After the filming had been done, he had refused to show him a decent place to stay, or at least a good place to drink. Having a long, much-less-epic-than-he-thought-it-would-be rivalry with someone wasn’t nearly as much fun if the only thing you ever really want to do was kick their face in 24/7.
But as he turned a corner in the dimly lit street, he heard shouting and music coming from a small, dingy-looking club. Thinking at the bare minimum, he could get hammered and forget about the shitty couple of days he’d just had, he went in and was immediately stirred with a sick sense of curiosity. The place was dark and crowded and packed with tables of both men and women, there was a bar in the corner and on a raised platform, a skinny guy with giant headphones was DJing a sound-system.
Although that wasn’t the odd part. When he skimmed over the crowd, he could see about ten people - mostly hot girls - skittering around, smiling nicely and dressed much sluttier than who he guessed were the guests. One in particular caught his eye; with their back to him and leaning over a table filled with women who looked like they were in their fifties, he couldn’t tell if they were male or female but they were wearing black thigh-highs, a blue mini-skirt that just skimmed over the edge of their ass, a men’s suit jacket and a baseball cap.
Taking the plunge, he went over there and listened in. Now that he could look closer, he could see that it was a guy. Along with all the other weird clothes, he was also wearing a red, loosened tie, a corset that matched his skirt and a fuckload of girly make-up. Maybe it was just the predatory, confident smirk on his face but despite the goatee and the whole “men shouldn’t be wearing that little” factor, it actually really worked for him. So that was why his brain completely disobeyed what his crotch said when the man noticed him and asked if he was alright.
“Why do you look like a fucking girl?”
The guy rolled his eyes, heavy black eyeliner and purple eyeshadow making them look unbearably green. “I have jeans and a t-shirt out back. People seem to like this,” he said politely but with an air of irritation.
He couldn’t help but look at his mouth, all shiny and glossy and pink. “I don’t,” he sneered.
“Well, you can just…” But then he trailed off and ran, obviously noticing something that displeased him in that direction. “Linkara, you fucktard!”
He turned around to see what the fuss was. The guy called Linkara was less obvious in the fact that he was working here, with a fedora hat, white shirt and an oversized jacket. It was the tight jeans and the red dog-collar around his neck that gave him away. He was with a skinny, twitchy man whose goggles covered his eyes and had a scummy-white lab coat that had obviously seen better days. Seeing Linkara looking annoyed, the man who he was with looking extra-fidgety, the girly guy who he had just talked to looking angry and a short, ridiculously attractive woman in a bowtie and pigtails looking like she’d rather be anywhere else, he took the nearest barseat and eavesdropped on the action.
“What is it, Critic?” Linkara gritted out, so close to the basement door.
“Chick! Linkara’s trying to skive off work.”
The Chick ran her fingers through her hair, suddenly looking exhausted. “Guys, Mike is being nice by letting you two work here. Screw up and you’ll both be on your own again.”
Linkara looked guilty but pressed his case. “But it’s not like we’re the only ones working tonight. Not everyone here wants to get laid and if they do, the women and Benzaie can look after them.”
“So that means you automatically get a night off to play with your creepy-ass boyfriend?”
“It’s not like I’m not paying!” Insano giggled manically while Linkara looked like he was going to scream.
“How the hell can you talk about judging creepiness when you’re still living with that jackass?”
The Critic hissed like a cat in pain. “Why bother playing the Ask That Guy card?”
Linkara’s face slid back into a smirk. “Because it’s such a good card to play, obviously.”
“Enough already! Critic, shut up or I’ll make Ask That Guy look like a pussy. Linkara, don’t spend too long down there or Marz will kill you. Insano, pay the full price or I’ll get you banned. Is that understood, all of you?”
There was a chorus of annoyed-sounding but obedient “Yes Ma’am”s and she smiled, looking like a smoking hottie again.
As soon as they started walking down the stairs, Insano asked excitedly “Can I pretend to be a super villain and have you tied up in my grasp this time?”
“Uh, yeah, sure.” And then they both were gone.
But the Critic and the Chick were still arguing. “You’re a giant pain in my ass, you know that?”
The Chick grinned knowingly. “Honey, in whatever way you meant that, that’s always been a nice perk for me.”
“You’re a total freak and I hate you,” the Critic sulked, but with a hint of a smile tugging at his mouth.
“Whatever. Now make like my good boy and go work. I’m way overdue for a drink,” she said, walking right by the Nerd’s sitting place and settling in on her own well-used seat further away.
“Bitch.”
“Slut.”
But instead of going back into the crowd, the Critic noticed him and with a pissed off look, strode over to his seat with a force that really shouldn’t have been possible on such dangerous-looking heels. “Dude, are you a cop?”
He just couldn’t seem to control his mouth when this guy was around. “What the fuck are you on about, dickface?”
The man scowled, kind of ruining the effect of such glossy lips, and leaned in, talking low. “You keep following me around, you cowhumper.”
He grinned, smugly. “So how does that automatically make me a cop?”
He was sure he could see the Critic suppressing a twitch. “Fine,” he said, conceding the point. “I don’t know any undercover cops with such lame-looking pens in their shirt pocket, anyway.”
Now that was going too far. He jumped up, ready for a fight. “Nobody insults my pens, pigfucker!”
To his credit, the Critic looked more than happy to rise up to the challenge. “What are you going to do about it?”
“Let’s take this outside, bitch.”
It was freezing outside, a soft drizzle visible by the few lights around. He got taken round back to the narrow alleyway, made even narrower by the large metal dumpster opposite the club’s wall.
He was given no warning when it started, the Critic deciding to play dirty by grabbing his shoulders and kneeing him in the groin. As he doubled over and let out expletives, he could have sworn he heard snickering. Fine. So taking advantage of his current state, he sneaked his hand up the Critic’s mini-skirt and squeezed, cursing his own crotch’s reaction to cupping another man’s balls.
It had the desired effect, as the Critic almost shied away, a bright blush evident in the faint light.
“What?” he spat. “Still not used to that? Then you’re kind of in the wrong profession, sweetie.”
There was that hard scowl again. “Fuck you.” And then his foot was in agony, as it got a six inch heel violently stamping down on it. But he was never one to let pain get in the way, as he slammed the other man against the dumpster and sunk his teeth into the pink bottom lip that tasted like cherries. Wait, what?
He pulled away, noticing that even through his panting and confusion that the Critic couldn’t quite keep himself held up under his own weight.
“Sorry,” he muttered, wanting to run. He wasn’t prissy, he really wasn’t the type to want to fuck people against hard surfaces outside and he definitely did not pay for hookers.
But the Critic’s lips now had blood tinged with pink and he licked it away, tasting metal and the remains of whisky along with fruit. He was now leaning up against him, rocking slightly into his body and his hands pressed on either side of his head.
He was rather enjoying the kissing, so that’s why it was a shock when the Critic grabbed the side of his head, fingers tangled in the short hair and hissed in his ear “Stop acting like a girl and do this properly.”
He was perfectly happy with that, taking one hand away from the dumpster and planting it possessively on the back of the Critic’s thigh. The man shifted, trying to spread out for him and give a good opening. This wasn’t going to be nearly as easy as it was with a woman, no matter how much he dressed like one.
“No.”
“Why?” the Critic whined, already starting to unbutton his white shirt.
“I don’t have any lube,” he mumbled, still feeling somewhat out of his depth.
“Oh,” the Critic said, seeming to understand, and sank down to his knees. “I’m just getting it wet, right?” he grinned up at him.
He swallowed in response. “How much money am I going to owe you?” He guessed that the cash earned by a minor internet celebrity wasn’t nearly going to be enough.
“Loads,” the Critic perked, focusing on getting his slacks undone and his pants round his thighs. Oh joy, he thought, a knot of nerves forming in his stomach. But they quickly melted away as he rolled his hips and let the tip of his cock hit the back of the Critic’s throat, the man prepping him as fast as pleasurably possible.
When he felt that it had been enough, he pulled out - immediately missing the warmth - and dragged the Critic up by the collar of his tie.
“So how do you wanna do this?” the other man gasped. “Do you want my back to you?”
He scoffed. “You’re not that ugly.”
The Critic tutted, disapproving. “Then that makes it harder, dickcheese.” But then his eyes lit up. “Oh! Are you pretty strong?”
“I guess?”
“Topple over and I’ll kill you.” And then he did a weird half-jump thing, which ended up with his arms tight around the Nerd’s shoulders and his legs wrapped around his waist. It was a fine position to fuck and he grinned down at him, clearly proud of himself.
“Wasn’t that awesome?”
He pushed him almost gently against the dumpster again so he could better support the weight. “Your ability to think has to be the reason why you’re in this position in the first place.”
The Critic sulked and he responded by slamming him viciously rough against the metal, stroking his thigh in comfort when he groaned in pain and took the opportunity to wriggle his cock inside, more than pleased to be warm again.
But he wasn’t pleased when, for no reason that he could see, the back of the Critic’s heel swung back and knocked the back of his leg.
“Hey!”
“Mmmph?” The Critic didn’t lift his head from the Nerd’s neck, instead preferring to suckle hard at the soft skin, scraping it with his teeth. He wasn’t going to have fun explaining that bruise to anyone.
“Do you just wear those fucking heels so you can hurt people?”
The Critic finally looked at him, resting his head against the dumpster with his eyes hooded and wearing a lazy smirk. “Isn’t that a good enough reason?”
Forgoing the usual response, he instead ducked, nibbling at the Critic’s collarbone and holding him bruisingly tight as he squirmed and moaned.
“I promise you’ll pay for that.”
“Can’t wait, bitch.”
Half an hour later, they were both sprawled out on the floor. And although he was feeling nicely post-coital, real-life worries were starting to seep in again. Fuck.
“Are you going to go home now?” the Critic asked, using the wall to help himself up.
He adjusted himself, noticing that the collar on his white shirt was stained with blood from all the work done on his neck. “I don’t even know where the hell I am,” he said, suddenly feeling boneless and tired.
That got a grin. “So stay a while.”
Pairings: Nostalgia Critic/Angry Video Game Nerd, a bit of Dr. Insano/Linkara and a few more pairings implied.
Warnings: Guys, this is a Hooker AU (explanation later, promise) starring the Nerd, swearing and smut are pretty much a given. Also, crossdressing if you dislike that kinda thing.
Word Count: 2,100
Disclaimer: These people really aren't mine. And after this, we can all be glad for that.
A/N: (It's a long one, folks.) Written as a prompt request for the lovely bubosquared , who wanted a Nerd/Critic with biting, smut, crossdressing and it being their first time. And the hooker thing probably needs a bit of context. Back when it was just aunt_zelda , bubosquared , fuzzywezzy , pyrocrastinator (wherever the hell she is now) and I, a hooker!fic was wanted but everyone was too cowardly to write one. So I hope that they enjoy this and obviously, that everyone does too. Locked because, while Lewis and Doug might be alright with fic, I'm pretty sure that they won't have any goodwill toward their characters being made into rent-boys. Beta'ed by the ever lovely heirii , please remember that this is total crack and feedback is always love.
The Angry Video Game Nerd was in a pissed off mood, even more so than usual. For one thing, the only knowledge he had was that the south side of Chicago surrounded him and it was all because of that shitface Irate Gamer. After the filming had been done, he had refused to show him a decent place to stay, or at least a good place to drink. Having a long, much-less-epic-than-he-thought-it-would-be rivalry with someone wasn’t nearly as much fun if the only thing you ever really want to do was kick their face in 24/7.
But as he turned a corner in the dimly lit street, he heard shouting and music coming from a small, dingy-looking club. Thinking at the bare minimum, he could get hammered and forget about the shitty couple of days he’d just had, he went in and was immediately stirred with a sick sense of curiosity. The place was dark and crowded and packed with tables of both men and women, there was a bar in the corner and on a raised platform, a skinny guy with giant headphones was DJing a sound-system.
Although that wasn’t the odd part. When he skimmed over the crowd, he could see about ten people - mostly hot girls - skittering around, smiling nicely and dressed much sluttier than who he guessed were the guests. One in particular caught his eye; with their back to him and leaning over a table filled with women who looked like they were in their fifties, he couldn’t tell if they were male or female but they were wearing black thigh-highs, a blue mini-skirt that just skimmed over the edge of their ass, a men’s suit jacket and a baseball cap.
Taking the plunge, he went over there and listened in. Now that he could look closer, he could see that it was a guy. Along with all the other weird clothes, he was also wearing a red, loosened tie, a corset that matched his skirt and a fuckload of girly make-up. Maybe it was just the predatory, confident smirk on his face but despite the goatee and the whole “men shouldn’t be wearing that little” factor, it actually really worked for him. So that was why his brain completely disobeyed what his crotch said when the man noticed him and asked if he was alright.
“Why do you look like a fucking girl?”
The guy rolled his eyes, heavy black eyeliner and purple eyeshadow making them look unbearably green. “I have jeans and a t-shirt out back. People seem to like this,” he said politely but with an air of irritation.
He couldn’t help but look at his mouth, all shiny and glossy and pink. “I don’t,” he sneered.
“Well, you can just…” But then he trailed off and ran, obviously noticing something that displeased him in that direction. “Linkara, you fucktard!”
He turned around to see what the fuss was. The guy called Linkara was less obvious in the fact that he was working here, with a fedora hat, white shirt and an oversized jacket. It was the tight jeans and the red dog-collar around his neck that gave him away. He was with a skinny, twitchy man whose goggles covered his eyes and had a scummy-white lab coat that had obviously seen better days. Seeing Linkara looking annoyed, the man who he was with looking extra-fidgety, the girly guy who he had just talked to looking angry and a short, ridiculously attractive woman in a bowtie and pigtails looking like she’d rather be anywhere else, he took the nearest barseat and eavesdropped on the action.
“What is it, Critic?” Linkara gritted out, so close to the basement door.
“Chick! Linkara’s trying to skive off work.”
The Chick ran her fingers through her hair, suddenly looking exhausted. “Guys, Mike is being nice by letting you two work here. Screw up and you’ll both be on your own again.”
Linkara looked guilty but pressed his case. “But it’s not like we’re the only ones working tonight. Not everyone here wants to get laid and if they do, the women and Benzaie can look after them.”
“So that means you automatically get a night off to play with your creepy-ass boyfriend?”
“It’s not like I’m not paying!” Insano giggled manically while Linkara looked like he was going to scream.
“How the hell can you talk about judging creepiness when you’re still living with that jackass?”
The Critic hissed like a cat in pain. “Why bother playing the Ask That Guy card?”
Linkara’s face slid back into a smirk. “Because it’s such a good card to play, obviously.”
“Enough already! Critic, shut up or I’ll make Ask That Guy look like a pussy. Linkara, don’t spend too long down there or Marz will kill you. Insano, pay the full price or I’ll get you banned. Is that understood, all of you?”
There was a chorus of annoyed-sounding but obedient “Yes Ma’am”s and she smiled, looking like a smoking hottie again.
As soon as they started walking down the stairs, Insano asked excitedly “Can I pretend to be a super villain and have you tied up in my grasp this time?”
“Uh, yeah, sure.” And then they both were gone.
But the Critic and the Chick were still arguing. “You’re a giant pain in my ass, you know that?”
The Chick grinned knowingly. “Honey, in whatever way you meant that, that’s always been a nice perk for me.”
“You’re a total freak and I hate you,” the Critic sulked, but with a hint of a smile tugging at his mouth.
“Whatever. Now make like my good boy and go work. I’m way overdue for a drink,” she said, walking right by the Nerd’s sitting place and settling in on her own well-used seat further away.
“Bitch.”
“Slut.”
But instead of going back into the crowd, the Critic noticed him and with a pissed off look, strode over to his seat with a force that really shouldn’t have been possible on such dangerous-looking heels. “Dude, are you a cop?”
He just couldn’t seem to control his mouth when this guy was around. “What the fuck are you on about, dickface?”
The man scowled, kind of ruining the effect of such glossy lips, and leaned in, talking low. “You keep following me around, you cowhumper.”
He grinned, smugly. “So how does that automatically make me a cop?”
He was sure he could see the Critic suppressing a twitch. “Fine,” he said, conceding the point. “I don’t know any undercover cops with such lame-looking pens in their shirt pocket, anyway.”
Now that was going too far. He jumped up, ready for a fight. “Nobody insults my pens, pigfucker!”
To his credit, the Critic looked more than happy to rise up to the challenge. “What are you going to do about it?”
“Let’s take this outside, bitch.”
It was freezing outside, a soft drizzle visible by the few lights around. He got taken round back to the narrow alleyway, made even narrower by the large metal dumpster opposite the club’s wall.
He was given no warning when it started, the Critic deciding to play dirty by grabbing his shoulders and kneeing him in the groin. As he doubled over and let out expletives, he could have sworn he heard snickering. Fine. So taking advantage of his current state, he sneaked his hand up the Critic’s mini-skirt and squeezed, cursing his own crotch’s reaction to cupping another man’s balls.
It had the desired effect, as the Critic almost shied away, a bright blush evident in the faint light.
“What?” he spat. “Still not used to that? Then you’re kind of in the wrong profession, sweetie.”
There was that hard scowl again. “Fuck you.” And then his foot was in agony, as it got a six inch heel violently stamping down on it. But he was never one to let pain get in the way, as he slammed the other man against the dumpster and sunk his teeth into the pink bottom lip that tasted like cherries. Wait, what?
He pulled away, noticing that even through his panting and confusion that the Critic couldn’t quite keep himself held up under his own weight.
“Sorry,” he muttered, wanting to run. He wasn’t prissy, he really wasn’t the type to want to fuck people against hard surfaces outside and he definitely did not pay for hookers.
But the Critic’s lips now had blood tinged with pink and he licked it away, tasting metal and the remains of whisky along with fruit. He was now leaning up against him, rocking slightly into his body and his hands pressed on either side of his head.
He was rather enjoying the kissing, so that’s why it was a shock when the Critic grabbed the side of his head, fingers tangled in the short hair and hissed in his ear “Stop acting like a girl and do this properly.”
He was perfectly happy with that, taking one hand away from the dumpster and planting it possessively on the back of the Critic’s thigh. The man shifted, trying to spread out for him and give a good opening. This wasn’t going to be nearly as easy as it was with a woman, no matter how much he dressed like one.
“No.”
“Why?” the Critic whined, already starting to unbutton his white shirt.
“I don’t have any lube,” he mumbled, still feeling somewhat out of his depth.
“Oh,” the Critic said, seeming to understand, and sank down to his knees. “I’m just getting it wet, right?” he grinned up at him.
He swallowed in response. “How much money am I going to owe you?” He guessed that the cash earned by a minor internet celebrity wasn’t nearly going to be enough.
“Loads,” the Critic perked, focusing on getting his slacks undone and his pants round his thighs. Oh joy, he thought, a knot of nerves forming in his stomach. But they quickly melted away as he rolled his hips and let the tip of his cock hit the back of the Critic’s throat, the man prepping him as fast as pleasurably possible.
When he felt that it had been enough, he pulled out - immediately missing the warmth - and dragged the Critic up by the collar of his tie.
“So how do you wanna do this?” the other man gasped. “Do you want my back to you?”
He scoffed. “You’re not that ugly.”
The Critic tutted, disapproving. “Then that makes it harder, dickcheese.” But then his eyes lit up. “Oh! Are you pretty strong?”
“I guess?”
“Topple over and I’ll kill you.” And then he did a weird half-jump thing, which ended up with his arms tight around the Nerd’s shoulders and his legs wrapped around his waist. It was a fine position to fuck and he grinned down at him, clearly proud of himself.
“Wasn’t that awesome?”
He pushed him almost gently against the dumpster again so he could better support the weight. “Your ability to think has to be the reason why you’re in this position in the first place.”
The Critic sulked and he responded by slamming him viciously rough against the metal, stroking his thigh in comfort when he groaned in pain and took the opportunity to wriggle his cock inside, more than pleased to be warm again.
But he wasn’t pleased when, for no reason that he could see, the back of the Critic’s heel swung back and knocked the back of his leg.
“Hey!”
“Mmmph?” The Critic didn’t lift his head from the Nerd’s neck, instead preferring to suckle hard at the soft skin, scraping it with his teeth. He wasn’t going to have fun explaining that bruise to anyone.
“Do you just wear those fucking heels so you can hurt people?”
The Critic finally looked at him, resting his head against the dumpster with his eyes hooded and wearing a lazy smirk. “Isn’t that a good enough reason?”
Forgoing the usual response, he instead ducked, nibbling at the Critic’s collarbone and holding him bruisingly tight as he squirmed and moaned.
“I promise you’ll pay for that.”
“Can’t wait, bitch.”
Half an hour later, they were both sprawled out on the floor. And although he was feeling nicely post-coital, real-life worries were starting to seep in again. Fuck.
“Are you going to go home now?” the Critic asked, using the wall to help himself up.
He adjusted himself, noticing that the collar on his white shirt was stained with blood from all the work done on his neck. “I don’t even know where the hell I am,” he said, suddenly feeling boneless and tired.
That got a grin. “So stay a while.”