A Case of Possession
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Summary: Long nights walking the streets and strange men are two things Stiles thought he'd never have to experience. And yet here he is, selling sex to another customer, on his knees, throat scratchy and eyes over-bright. When an unlikely man comes to his rescue his life is forever altered and thrown off course. Sterek. Prostitute!Stiles. Protective!Derek. AU.
Disclaimer: Don't own. Just dreaming.
Warnings: This story will be M-rated. Meaning it'll contain lots of sex, some drug use, non-con and of course a growly, protective, smitten Derek. Also a slightly out of his depths Stiles.
It's when the sun is low in the sky that my fear bubbles over. It's when darkness shrouds with shadows that dread comes alive in my stomach like a swarm of riled butterflies. I sit on the bed in a hotel room, hands clasped in my lap, teeth nervously tugging at my bottom lip, and my right knee bouncing up and down on the spot. I'm anxious. Painfully aware that my lungs don't want to breathe in air properly, that they want to insist on hyperventilating.
My palms are clammy with sweat, my head is a whirling mass of thoughts, scenarios and a constant stream of 'what ifs'. I try not to panic, I try and calm my racing heart, but it flutters all the more within my chest until all I can do is gasp in lungfuls of air and succumb to a panic attack.
It's only when there's a knock at the rooms door that I calm my breathing, only just, and go to investigate.
I pull open the door, peeking my head out.
"Stiles," greets Rollin'. My heart rate surely increases just from seeing his face, and not in the good way. "Let me in." He says, and then, not waiting for me to do so, he pushes back the door and subsequently me to let himself into the shabby hotel room.
His baggy jacket and even baggier pants are wrinkled and I give him a disgusted once over. Noticing his ever present slicked back hair, that held too much gel, his stubbled jaw and his squinted dark eyes. He didn't look like your average pimp – or how most people assume a pimp to look.
"What are you doing here?" I ask, my voice breaks on the last word and I look to my shoes.
Rollin' is giving me a look that plainly states he thinks I'm mad. "It's eleven, your first shift is due to start."
I glance at my wristwatch, noticing it is, indeed, exactly eleven. The nervous butterflies in my stomach start to grow teeth and begin to bite my innards, it's so painful I almost gasp. But as it is my breath is lost at the sheer thought of having to go out on the street for my first ever time.
"I'm not ready!" I say, for lack of anything else to say.
Rollin' looks me over, his beady eyes scanning down my form. "You look too covered up." He agrees. I look down at my red hoodie and dark denim jeans. If anything I feel under dressed to go out in the middle of winter.
"It's winter," I reply, as if that summed up my state of dress, and really, it did. "I'm not stripping off."
"I don't mean go stark naked, just lose the hoodie or something." Rollin' placates.
I shake my head. I am determined not to lose any clothing. "I'm fine the way I am."
"Do you want to get a good amount of money? Because I sure do and that won't happen with you dressed like that." Rollin' strides into the room and sits on the bed with the stained sheets. I don't even want to think about what they are stained with. It makes me sick just looking at them.
I set my jaw, watching him carefully. "Rollin'," I say. "I'll get you a good pay out. Just don't force me into doing something I don't want to do, okay?"
Rollin' for his part was a fair pimp. I wouldn't call him nice. That would be going to the extreme. But he was fair. He would listen to me and he understood that it was hard for me doing what I was doing. I had only known him a few weeks, but I knew I'd more than likely be working with him for quite some time. My current circumstances saw me living on the streets. I needed money. I had no other choice. Or at least that's what I kept telling myself, over and over, like a mantra, like a hymn.
"Yeah, okay, kid." Rollin' appeases. His nose twitches like it sometimes does when he wants to argue but decides to let the matter go. I give him a tight, tiny smile and walk over to stand in front of him.
"What's expected of me tonight?" I ask.
Rollin' seems to forget his annoyance and he stands up suddenly striding to the window of the hotel room. The grubby curtains are pulled so he opens them sharply. The moon is large and fat in the sky and shines luminescent light into the room. "See that street down there?" he asks.
I nod, coming to stand next to him and staring down at the street that is lit up by orange street lights.
"You'll be working it. When you get a customer you'll bring him back up to this room. Do not get in their car. You're not ready for that kind of work just yet, it can be dangerous. I've had more than my fair share of walkers end up battered and bruised or missing entirely from hopping into cars with strange men. Understand?" he says and his expression is too serious for my liking.
"Just how dangerous is it to lead them up to a room with a lock on the door?" I inquire, somewhat sarcastic.
Rollin' shrugs. "At least if anything happens there are people nearby. If you get into a car they can drive you anywhere they please. Leave you anywhere they please. Get my drift?"
I did so I nod with a dip of my chin. "How many people do you want me to bring back tonight?" I ask.
Rollin' wobbles his head from side to side as if trying to decide himself. "Make it two –"
"Is that all?" I interrupt.
Rollin' shoots me a glare. "I'm going easy on you, if you want more by all means take more." He says. I shiver at the thought of even letting just two strangers touch me.
"Two's fine." I grit out.
Rollin' nods. "Good. Now I suggest you get to work, I'll be a phone call away if you need me." He informs. Then, with a confident air about him, he moves away from the window and heads for the door.
"What if something happens to me?" I ask in a pathetically weak voice.
Rollin' turns back at the door. "You know what you got yourself into, kid." Is all he can offer me. Then he is leaving me in the decrepit hotel room. As soon as the door clicks shut behind him the butterflies swarm up my throat and I'm forced to swallow down burning bile.
#
The street I was walking down was cold and darkened, only lit by soft orange light from the towering street lamps. I worry the hem of my hoodie between my fingers nervously waiting for my first customer. My teeth chatter in my head, more from dread than from the chill.
I swallow, it makes a noise in the back of my throat. Then I see pinpricks of two headlights appear at the end of the street and I realise this could be the moment my life was changed irrevocably. Irreversibly. I realise, with dread pounding through my veins and turning my blood cold, that this is my first customer.
The lights get closer until they bathe me in bright, yellow light, casting my shadow long and making it stretch down the street.
"Hey sweetheart, looking for some fun?" I blink through the brightness to make out a plump face and clear grey eyes watching me from a half unwound window.
I really wasn't looking for some fun, rather than looking to get it over and done with. I nod regardless and the man kills the engine. The bright lights die and we are both bathed in darkness.
He winds the window the rest of the way down and grins lasciviously at me. His grey eyes flick down my appearance and he grins wider. "How much for a blow-job?" he asks, it's said idly, but it makes my heart jump start and bang loudly, forcefully against my ribs.
"Ten." I reply, on edge and more than a little panicked.
The man seems to consider the price before he nods. "You want to get in?" he questions.
I immediately shake my head. "Actually, I have a room booked just down the street. If you want to...?" I trail off.
He shrugs. "It'd probably be more comfortable. And there's less chance of getting caught." He adds. I'm relieved, slightly, and I wait for him to get out of his car. "Lead the way." He gestures with his fat hand and I hesitantly walk back the way I had come.
While we are walking the man says something that makes me instantly on guard.
"It's your first time doing this isn't it?" he says.
I remember once Rollin' saying that the new streetwalkers sometimes got a hard time from customers. I'm debating whether or not I should lie when I look his way. But what I see on his face is something akin to pity, and it wipes away my lie and instead I answer with a breathy truth.
"Yeah, it is."
"Thought so," the man huffs and his breath fogs in the air. "You're a bit on edge. I can tell from the set of your shoulders." He says.
I try and relax my tense shoulders, but it's no use, they stay up around my ears.
"Names Wallis but most people call me Wally." He offers and I'm put to slight ease. I don't hesitate in answering in kind.
"Stiles." I reply.
We reach the lobby of the hotel and hurry inside, I'm thankful it's warm inside the hotel, my fingertips were beginning to feel numb. Wally allows me to lead the way to my room and once we're inside he heads straight for the bed.
"You want the money first, sweetheart?"
I think it's a joke, a cruel one, not many customers gave out money before the deed was done. Or so I had been told by Rollin'. I look at Wally, but all I see is honesty on his face.
"Would you mind?" I ask.
"Give me a good blow-job and I won't." He answers with a jaunty wink. I'm put off guard by the casual, almost friendly action and I smile; it's small and barely there, but a smile nonetheless.
"Deal." I say.
He rummages in his jeans pocket for a few bills and hands them over. I take them quickly and shove them into the back pocket of my jeans. Then I take a deep breath in through my nose and out of my mouth.
"So...?" I trail off. Not knowing how to initiate things.
"So now we get to it." Wally says with a smile. "Drop to your knees." He orders softly. I do as he says, elegantly dropping to my knees and kneeling in front of him. "Beautiful." He whispers. It's not meant for my ears, but I catch it regardless.
I reach out on instinct and reach for his belt, his chubby belly gets in the way, but he bats my trembling hands away to do it himself. His belt is undone quickly and swiftly and then he pops open the button of his jeans and pulls down the zip with a hiss of noise.
"Scoot back," he says and I hurry to comply. He stands up and shucks out of his pants and underwear, exposing himself to my eyes. Then he sits back down. He's already half hard, I'm not quite sure how to feel about that. I can smell the musky scent of his arousal. It's pungent in the air. Thick.
I swallow nervously, my throat is dry and so is my mouth, dry with dread. Wally watches me carefully, his eyes trailing down my body, taking in as much as possible.
"Use your hands." He says. I breathe out shakily but comply.
Hesitantly I reach out my right hand and trail my fingertips over the hardening flesh before me. Wally tips his head back and hisses. Brazened by his response I grip the shaft and tug once, eliciting a guttural noise from Wally. It's not like I'd never masturbated before, I knew how it was done, so I put my practice into action and focused on the wall behind Wally, pumping up and down all the while detaching myself from the act.
"Mouth now," Wally grunts after some minutes, his shaft is hard and leaking pre-come. I lick my lips, wetting them with my dry tongue. Wally watches every movement I make with dilated pupils. "Quickly!" he says and I can see he's close by the drawing up of his balls and the heaving of his chest.
I descend on him with a deep intake of breath. I screw my eyes shut tight and my tongue peeks out to lick up his straining erection. He shivers, I feel it, and his hands move from the bed covers to my hair. He grips handfuls of my hair and forces my head down so that I'm swallowing his cock into my mouth and down my throat. He doesn't force me to take it all, he lets me decide the depth and speed, which is a small mercy.
The act continues for a good minute or three before his groaning reaches its peak and he gently pushes my head back and off his shaft, removing his hands from my hair. I look up at him curiously, wondering why he wanted me to stop. Was he into orgasm denial? I got my answer moments later.
"I didn't think you'd want to swallow. Finish me off with your hands." He explains and I give him a small smile of thanks.
I didn't have any desire to swallow his come.
I reach out and wrap my fingers around his shaft before moving my hand up and down in a series of movements. And that's all it is, just a series of actions being played out. There is no emotional ties, no sensual seduction, just one man wanking another. It is crude and disgusting, but I need the money. What would be left of it once Rollin' got his share that is.
It's not long until Wally comes, with a shout and a spurt of come. I look down in time to see my sticky hand stop moving and I pull away with something very much like disgust on my features. I'm not adverse to men coming, don't get me wrong, and it's not like I haven't been involved with men before, it's just, usually, my trysts involved more sensuality and less crass wanking.
I stand to my feet, my knees feel shaky, wobbly and like they won't hold me up much longer.
The man cleans himself up in the bathroom and then, without much concern, he leaves me alone in the hotel room, but not before giving me some words of advice.
"If you ever come across a man named Hale, run in the opposite direction, never go near him. He's a bad egg. Many prostitutes go missing after seeing him. So be careful."
I had thanked him. Cleaned my sticky hand off and washed my mouth out before deciding to get the second customer out the way. The sooner the deed was done the sooner I could sleep. Rollin' had rented the hotel room for three days, it gave me a place to rest my head for a couple of nights, which I was thankful for.
#
Hands, touching my face, cupping my jaw, running down my neck and gripping my shoulders as I suck on the hard shaft before me. I swallow convulsively, working my throat around the erection and trying to bring the man off as quick as possible. He's a nameless man, far less talkative than Wally. And much more cold eyed. He gives me moans, trembling slightly as I blow him. It's not sensual, it's cold and quick and dirty. I hate it. But I have no choice. I need the money. And he offered me extra if I could make it quick, in other words, if I brought him off before he was due home to his wife, he'd give me five dollars more.
His hands move up to my hair, gripping handfuls and tugging roughly. His pubic hair tickles the tip of my nose and I try to resist a gag. I pretend to be anywhere but where I am, I shut my eyes tightly and hope and pray that he comes soon.
He bucks into my mouth, splitting the corners of my lips with his size and I choke, I can't help it, I was never one to be very adept at giving out blow-jobs. He doesn't pay any heed to my gagging, in fact he's ruthless in his orgasm and he thrusts wildly into my mouth until I lose my breath. I can't pull away, I'm trapped. And for the first time that night, I regret my decision. I regret it with heart wrenching pain and I just want to stand up and leave the man alone to his own devices, but then I wouldn't get my money, I wouldn't be able to have dinner.
Hot, sticky and decidedly disgusting tasting come floods my mouth and I realise with some fear that Wally was a rare one, nice and somewhat rakish, most my customers would just use me and not call me endearments and notice my unease. I felt, in that one moment, suddenly, inexplicably empty.
I craved a warm bath to soak in and wash away the dirtiness from my body. I longed to curl up under fresh smelling sheets and fall into oblivion. Instead I was face down in some man's crotch and gagging on his come which refused to go down my throat without a fight.
When finally I did get it down I pulled away, not caring that he was still trying to buck into my mouth. I'd given him his climax, he was now going to give me my money.
I swallow thickly, tasting bitter seed on my tongue. "The money," I say. He tugs up his slacks and nods, not speaking to me, it was as if I was below him, when in reality I was another human being. I didn't deserve to be treated like shit.
He pulls his wallet from his pants pocket and throws fifteen dollars my way. The bills flutter to the ground and I hurriedly scoop them up, reduced to a sad, sorry man.
"Thanks for your service." He says, as if I'm some thing to be played with. Toyed with. I feel suddenly saddened and out of place on my knees in a dirty hotel room, my throat scratchy with semen and my hands trembling from the adrenaline rush that comes with being with a complete stranger. I feel used, dirty, I feel...pathetic.
I don't answer him and he walks from the room without a glance back at me.
I feel bereft and I can't control the hot sting of tears behind my eyes. I don't let them fall however, I'm stronger than that. Instead I get to my feet and make my way into the bathroom, intent on a hot shower and much brushing of my teeth.
#
Note: You made it to the end! Hurrah? Please leave me a comment and tell me what you thought! No hate, please. Not that I can dictate what you do, but please try and be nice, I'm new to Sterek Fanfiction.