The soft melodic tones of a piano filtered gently through the speakers in each corner of the room, immersing Vash in calm. He always prepared this way before meeting with a client, lying in bed, eyes closed, taking in the music. It was the only way he could endure the utter humiliation of what he was doing, the only way not to snap into a violent rage over the situations that had forced him to sell his body like this.
The soft piano was the one thing that kept Vash sane.
He had found the record at a shop in another era, when he had taken his sister to go buy the new album of her favorite artist. The face on the package had drawn him away from the glitzy pop section and into the rows of classical records. The album cover depicted a beautiful young man with brown hair and violet eyes, his hands poised lovingly over the ivory keys of the piano. This was the face of a man untainted by the temptations of the music industry, Vash had decided. His expression was too pure, too honest, to be fake, and depicted a passion for a music that Vash could barely believe was possible to capture in a photograph.
He had bought the album, an unusual expenditure for one who loved to save his money, for that face. That rare, pure face. And as it turned out, his music was just as pure and beautiful as the musician himself. Vash, not usually one prone to emotions other than anger, had loved it instantly.
When his sister had fallen ill, Vash had put on the album to sooth himself, and when his absent father's failure to send extra money to pay her medical bills had forced Vash into the arms of a local pimp to fund her treatments, he had listened as well. Thus, the music had taken on its unique role as his comforter in his life.
The door of the hotel room clicked open. Vash opened his eyes and sat up, ready to greet the man with his usual false seductive friendliness. When he met the other's eyes, however, his words died on his lips.
He isn't supposed to be here, Vash thought desperately. Please tell me this is a mistake, that he's been given the wrong room key, that he had no idea what he getting into when his pimp had offered him fun for the night at some hazy location in the outside world.
Standing before him, with his stupidly beautiful and pure face, was Roderich Edelstein, the man on the piano album.
Vash luckily recovered quickly, and offered the man his best coy smile. "Welcome," he purred seductively, hoping Roderich would miss the slight shake in his voice if he distracted him with the sensual moving of his body. When the man didn't move, at first Vash thought he had given his surprise away on his face. Then he realized he was listening to the music.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Vash asked, posing himself so the sight of his fists clenching in the sheets wasn't visible to his client. Life just loved to torture him, Vash thought bitterly. Now his one constant source of beauty, of purity and calm in his now dirty and shameful life was ruined. It was upsetting to say the least.
Roderich at least had the decency to blush slightly as he nodded, although he did not lay claim to the music. Vash had not expected him to — he had his image as a composer to uphold and could not just give his name to random prostitutes — but it still irked him nonetheless. He looked so pure, but was just as sullied as Vash himself. He wasn't sure if he was grateful for the sense of equality it gave him or angry about being so quickly and painfully disillusioned to the one source of calm in his life.
Standing, Vash began to undress himself, sure to move in a way that he knew showed off his best traits. He was a small, wiry man, average looking at best in his own opinion, but he knew how to turn a man on with his movements. Roderich watched, his face red, as Vash stripped before him, but made no move to remove his own clothes.
"Would you like me to undress you?" Vash asked in his huskiest voice, fighting to control his emotions. As much as his world was falling apart right now, he still had a job to do. Roderich nodded dumbly, wringing his hands in front of him nervously. His face was stricken, and Vash's eyes widened as he took in the brunette's expression. He knew that look.
"Have you ever done this before?" he inquired, already knowing the answer. Roderich shook his head.
"Don't worry," Vash assured him with a false smile. "I'll make this very good for you. Do you want to be on top or bottom?" Vash was used to bottoming in his line of work, but every so often he was asked to top. More often than not, it was the virgins who wanted to be on bottom.
Roderich turned even redder, if that was possible. "Bottom," he whispered. This time Vash's smile was genuine as he nodded at Roderich and moved to begin stripping him playfully. On top, Vash had control. On top, Vash could at least be the one to deflower this beautiful man himself.
With this newfound power running through his veins, Vash stripped Roderich quickly and wasted no time pushing him back onto the bed. Before even he knew what he was doing, he had taken the pianist's length into his mouth and begun sucking on the velvety flesh, coaxing it to hardness. It did not take Vash long to discover that the other man was very vocal, whimpering and moaning with pleasure as Vash worked him with his mouth. The sound of the other man'a pitiful keening sent Vash into a fever pitch, a combination of incised anger and fevered lust that he hadn't experienced since he had taken his first client. Anger, that Roderich wasn't as pure as Vash had always pictured him to be. Lust, because his impurity, his breathy moans and lustful thrusts into Vash's mouth, was something Vash had induced. Lust, because he had given Vash his virtue, and Vash was drunk on the taste of it.
Vash took his mouth away when Roderich was on the cusp of losing himself, drawing a needy whine from the musician's lips. Vash ignored this, as well as the rush of power it made him feel, as he went for lube. Slicking his fingers, he nudged the other man's legs open with his knee and traced his finger around his dusky entrance. Roderich shivered and gave another lustful moan. Happy to oblige him, Vash pressed a finger in, relishing the way the other man stiffened at the intrusion. This is what he deserved, for betraying Vash's vision. He would become just as dirty as him.
By the time Vash had finished stretching him, Roderich was practically begging to be penetrated properly. Vash had his slicked cock against Roderich's entrance, teasing. The pianist's wanton moaning angered Vash even further as it continued to shatter his perfect image of the man, his comfort in rough times. Overcome for a moment, he pulled away. How could Roderich do this to him? How could he be so much like him, so filthy, when he was supposed to be perfect and pure?
Then Roderich moaned again, and Vash remembered how much power he had. He alone got to ruin Roderich, to bring him to Vash's humiliating level. Because no one could be that perfect.
Vash pressed in with one quick thrust, and Roderich bit back a scream. Usually his job demanded that he wait for the other to adjust, but Vash had no intention of offering such a luxury to a man who had unwittingly betrayed him so deeply. Vash reached down and gripped Roderich's length, pleasuring him roughly as he slammed into him again and again, their thighs slapping loudly against each other with each thrust. In the background, the music was still playing, its rhythm in harsh contrast with the violent movements of their sex.
Roderich did end up screaming as he finished, and the sound of it brought Vash over the edge. He pulled out and fell to the side of the bed, suddenly exhausted and overcome with emotion. He had done it, had stripped his lone source of comfort of its beauty and mystery. It couldn't hold any power over him anymore, for better or for worse, and Vash wasn't sure if that made him feel free or very sad.
After a while, Roderich stood and retrieved his clothes. He dressed in silence, not even glancing over at Vash, who was still lying naked on the bed. Without a word he reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills and placed them on the foot of the bed. Vash looked up in surprise — he must have already paid his pimp for him to have made it to the room, so why was he leaving more money?
Before he could ask, the brunette had already turned and exited the room. Vash sat up as the door clicked shut behind him, a mixture of emotions churning within him. The highs of anger and power had left him, leaving him with the dull ache of remorse, confusion and loneliness. The piano played on, but it only hurt to hear it now. The peacefulness, the purity, the escape from the filthiness of his life were all gone, replaced by the image of the very man he had bought the album for, dirtied and begging beneath him.
He had ruined his own source of comfort.
Ruined, Vash thought. Yes, I've ruined everything. And even though he had felt in power at the time, he knew he'd had none. In the end, life had forced him to take away his precious music, present the maker to him in such a way that he would never be able to see him the same, no matter how the encounter had gone.
The realization reawakened Vash's anger. He leapt to his feet and strode angrily over to the record player and pulled the album off the turntable with shaking hands. With one fluid motion he smashed it against the wall. There it shattered into dozens of tiny pieces, much like his image of Roderich had just an hour ago. Something within Vash broke just then, and he sank dejectedly to his knees beside the splintered pieces.
What had he done? He despaired as he stared at the broken record, searching desperately for something, anything that would full the emptiness that was suddenly threatening to overwhelm him. What was he going to use for comfort now?
He had no answer.
A/N: My very first one shot, reviews are very much appreciated dear readers! :)