vamphile (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} vamphile) wrote in ![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} qaf_drabbles,@ 2007-12-09 21:05:00 |
 |
|||
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| Entry tags: | author: vamphile, challenge #42: author's choice, epic series: hustler!j/whore in a hoody |
Challenge #42: Author's Choice
Title: Hustler!Justin IX
Author: Vamphile
Condom(s): 10 to Justin 3 to Brian
Hustler!Justin
Hustler!Justin II
Hustler!Justin III
Hustler!Justin IV
Hustler!Justin V
Hustler!Justin VI
Hustler!Justin VII
Hustler!Justin VIII
Hustler Justin IX
I can’t look up. His fingers press into my shoulders. I wince. He softens his hold but remains behind me putting a finger under my chin. I close my eyes.
“Justin.”
“I can’t.”
His touch is gentle, he runs a hand down my arm and then his hand is holding mine. “You have to.”
I open my eyes and have trouble recognizing myself. I look like hell. I’ve lost weight. There are dark circles under my eyes and I look pale, even for me. His hand moves slowly down my neck to my chest. My eyes follow and I gasp.
~~~93~~~
“And that’s just your torso. Your back is worse.”
He’s examining the bite mark, checking for broken skin. There isn’t any. I get the bandages and antiseptic. When I come back in he hasn’t moved.
“Still want to tell me it’s not so bad?”
“I didn’t realize… I mean… fuck.”
“So can we start again? What happened?”
I’m smoothing antibiotic ointment onto the broken skin on his back but watching his face in the mirror. I can’t read his expression but he’s hesitant. I tape a large bandage over the worst of it and he starts talking.
“I knew him.”
~~~94~~~
I close my eyes because I can’t look at myself anymore. I can’t look him in the eye, not even in the mirror, not while he seems nauseated and furious at the same time, and really, I’m just very tired.
I tell him what happened. His hands are gentle as he treats each red mark with care. He pulls back when I wince, and he doesn’t ask questions, or say a word until I stop.
“That’s it?”
“Yeah, were you expecting melodrama? He picked me up. I wasn’t paying attention. I let him get too rough. I’ll be more careful.”
~~~95~~~
I don’t know what to say. He’s standing here, damaged, and his response is not, “I won’t do it again” but that he’ll be more careful. I finish applying the bandages and hand the pair of sweats and a shirt that are still sitting out where he left them.
He takes them, tying the drawstring tight at his waist and they still fall low on his hips. The legs are way too long and he’s swimming in the shirt. He moves slowly to the sofa and I rummage through the medicine cabinet for painkillers and consider what to do next.
~~~96~~~
I can’t find a comfortable position. I hurt all over. I think I was happier when I couldn’t feel it so much. He hands me two pills and I have to explain the whole allergy thing to him. He takes them back. “So what do you usually do?”
He’s not going to like the answer, so I don’t answer him.
He hands me a beer and asks me if I’ve eaten. I shake my head. He makes a phone call. I wonder idly why he has that expensive kitchen and no food. He sits down and then stands up, pacing.
~~~97~~~
I can’t keep still. I need to do something, but there’s nothing left to do. He’s as comfortable as he’s going to be with nothing but aspirin. He’s out of commission for at least a couple of days, and however long it takes him to be ready to resume his current occupation, that’s how long I’ve got to convince him not to. He pulls the legs of the sweatpants over his feet and I go to get him some socks. It’s not much but it’s something. I toss them to him and he startles and then blushes. “Sorry.”
“Sorry’s bullshit.”
~~~98~~~
He’s making me nervous pacing but when he sits down and stares at me intently, it’s worse. He starts to say something but the buzzer sounds. Once he’s back with pizza and a salad he seems content not to talk. I try to eat slowly but I find I’m actually pretty hungry and end up finishing most of the pizza in record time. The third beer, the extra cheese and pepperoni, combined with the stress of the day and the warmth of the loft make it impossible to keep my eyes open. I shut them, just for a few minutes.
~~~99~~~
He’s asleep. I lead him to the bed and I don’t think he ever fully wakes up. I just kind of watch him for a while. Lying here like this he looks like what he should be, a kid, but he’s not. He’s making stupid decisions but something forced him out into the world way too early and made him grow up way too fast.
It’s still early, although it’s already dark outside. I set the alarm and move to the computer but his bloody hoody is lying on the chair and suddenly I can’t seem to concentrate on work.
~~~100~~~
I wake up quickly. I can’t figure out where I am and when I try to sit up it hurts. It all comes rushing back. Speaking of rushing he’s at my side before I have time to stand up. He tries to help me but I shake my head. He lets me pass and when I’m done in the bathroom I stand up a little straighter and retrieve my jeans. “Thank you.”
“Where are you going?”
“To work.”
I actually step back from the anger in his eyes but it’s gone almost as soon as it appears. “Stay here tonight.”
~~~101~~~
“You can’t keep paying me to stay here just because you don’t like what I do. You’ll go broke.”
“Let me worry about my finances.” He’s right, but I need more time to convince him he’s wrong about so many other things
“Brian, I appreciate the charity but…”
“It’s not charity. You give great head.”
“I know.”
“So let me spend my money on what I want.”
He drops to his knees.
Fuck. I can’t, not like this. “Not yet, Justin, okay?”
He looks at me distrustfully. Where was that look when he went to a motel with that bastard?
~~~102~~~
This is when Isaac was handy. He’d book me with someone who wanted to see me like this, but tonight I realize I don’t have much of a choice. I could give some guy head for fifty bucks, or I can stay here for three hundred dollars… it’s an easy decision except I get this feeling that the longer I stay, the harder it’s going to be to leave.
I think he’s counting on that but not in the way I want. We all dream about someone keeping us, having something permanent, but I don’t think that’s what he wants.
~~~103~~~
I’m relieved when he stands up. I help him. He’s still sore. I take his hoody and reach into the pocket, pulling out his money. He watches me closely. I’m cleaning out the pocket of his jeans when he snatches them from me. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to throw them in the laundry… or the trash.”
He walks away with them and shakes his head. “Fuck you. I’d rather just…” but he stops.
I wait. I’d actually like to know what he’d prefer over a soft bed and clean clothes.
“I thought you were paying to fuck me.”
~~~104~~~
He looks physically ill when I mention fucking me. Am I that repulsive to him like this? He shakes his head. “I thought you were looking for an apartment.”
The frustration from earlier returns. “I can’t get one without a job or a reference.”
“I can help with that.”
“'Justin works for me, he gives great head', is not going to get me approved.”
He rolls his eyes and sits down in front of his computer motioning to the chair next to him. I put my money back in my hoody and fold my jeans. We’re back where we started.
Cont...