It started as a one-time thing.
Blow me, and I’ll give you twenty bucks.
Then it continued.
These are my friends, and we wanna ask a favor.
Soon it was the only thing paying for his rent and helping him crawl out of an endless pit of favors owed, loans, and debt. Any other job would barely meet the requirements, and real jobs meant late nights, and late nights meant trouble. At least, he could make his own hours and, if he decided to leave the house, be back before the alleys came to life.
But, sometimes, even home felt dangerous.
Kellen woke up in a lousy mood, late for whatever, and hungover on something terrible. He kicked Fen in the stomach, waking him up with pain and blaming him for sleeping in late. He stormed through the house, gathering his belongings and screaming fatal threats he wouldn’t carry out, but sure as hell meant, and Fen prayed he didn’t show up again tonight too.
One of these days, he hoped Kellen would piss off the wrong mother fucker—someone who’d make him feel the same terror and pain he brought onto others, though it was unlikely. Every customer he had—not to mention most people with sense—would hightail it out of his apartment with their pants around their ankles the moment Kellen showed his face.
All except one.
And that evening, when Fen answered the door to Vic standing in the hallway, he leaped into the man’s arms without thinking and smiled so hard that it started to hurt.
“Whoa, you’re gonna make me spill the coffee, kitten,” The man said, stepping inside with Fen hanging from his neck and both hands full carrying coffee and jelly donuts.
No one on this side of the city would cross Vic the wrong way, not even Kellen, who was smart enough to know better given their history together.
Vic was hideous to anyone who stared too long, probably handsome once, Fen could tell by the strength of his jaw and the curve of his mouth that lifted into a smile akin to a beast baring its teeth, too vicious, and one canine gleaming with gold. Dark circles shadowed his good and bad eye—one marred by a scar and a milky appearance, and many more scars fought with countless tattoos for dominance on his skin. Obscure images tracing and crossing over uneven raises, including Fen’s name surrounded by a stylized rose on the top of his right hand, and others decorated define lines built throughout a life of preparing to defend himself against the people who knew him least of all.
And to Fen, the man was nothing but beautiful.
Vic removed his jacket and tossed it over the couch, where he took a seat, letting Fen dig into the bag of sweets.
“Been eatin’ alright?” His voice was always so deep and gentle, and after lighting a cigarette, he inhaled and laid his head back to relax. Exhaling smoke into the air as strands of ink-black hair touched the shaved undercut portion of his head.
“Instant food mostly, things have been pretty bad on the streets lately, so I’ve stayed in,” Fen unwrapped the fresh donut, revealing its warm body oozing with jelly and dusted with extra powdered sugar. “A lot of screaming, a lot of fighting.”
“Mm.” It wasn’t much of a response, but Fen knew better; Vic was bothered.
After a few moments of silence, Fen felt the man’s fingers and the cold touch of silver rings on his skin. Vic lifted his shirt and made a low noise when he uncovered the bruise Kellen left earlier.
Fen covered it quickly and swallowed the food in his mouth before glancing to the man.
“Who did that?” His eyes darkened.
“N-No one, don’t worry about it.” He looked away and took another bite.
“If it was Kellen, I’ll gut that asshole tonight,” Vic tensed, rage humming deep within his bones and pushing him toward a path of violence and sin. “I told him not to fucking hit you!”
He stood, and Fen dropped his donut, desperately grabbing Vic’s wrist to stop him from walking away. “Wait, Vic, don’t go! I don’t want anything bad happening tonight. Stay with me, please?”
Vic stared at him, his expression slowly softening up the more Fen watched him with such big, kitten eyes, and—against his better judgment and the urge to rip Kellen apart—he forced himself to calm down.
One arm linked around Vic’s, and their fingers locked together, assuring he wouldn’t go anywhere as Fen ran his free hand moved up the man’s chest. “You…haven’t been around lately, right?”
“I was…locked up for a little bit,” He rubbed the back of his neck childishly, struck by a sudden sensation of guilt. “Sent you money, didn’t I?”
“It wasn’t money I wanted, Vic,” Fen said, licking the last bit of sweetness off his lips, his grip loosening so his fingers could teasingly caress Vic’s hand.
A pierced brow rose, and he caught the man’s attention. Thank god.
Kellen warned him numerous times not to rat him out to Vic.
Naturally, Fen didn’t want to end up dead in an alley from a sudden stab wound committed by friends of friends, but what scared him even more was imagining Vic getting hurt—or worse.
It wasn’t that Fen doubted Vic’s ability to take care of himself, but it was safer to be quiet and protect Kellen from the man he avoided most. This way, Vic wouldn’t have any trouble, because the last thing he wanted was to be a burden to the only man who’s been good to him without the expectation of anything in return.
“So, what is it you wanted then?” Vic lowered himself, leaning in closer to Fen till their noses touched, and he could smell smoke and spearmint on the man’s breath.
Fen smiled and closed the distance, teasingly licking the fresh scar on the man’s lip. “I wanted you.”
A stolen heartbeat passed, and Vic brought Fen closer.
The dimmed-lights cast shadows across his beastly features, and he smiled—sexy and insidiously.
“Oh, I’m here, baby, and I promise to make it up to you ‘til morning.”
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