Title: Streetwise
Author: Miss Capitaine/deliciouslycrzy
Rating: M
Genre: Angst/Drama
Characters: Unnamed Protagonist , Megan Wheeler
Summary: He had been on the street for years and knew how to deal with that, but when it came to love, something the boy had no experience with whatsoever, he was clueless and it scared the crap out of him, because in his world, not knowing something was always the difference between living to walk another street and ending up in the city morgue.
Warnings: Alternative Universe, drug use, drug dealing, underage sex, prostitution, non-con, non-descriptive sex, demeaning things squeal/tissue warning
Spoilers:
Disclaimer: If I owned, the show would have a much higher rating and Zach would have an onscreen personal life. And love life. Full of sexy young men with blue eyes and curly hair. Who he has empty and loveless relationships with because he's trying unsuccessfully to replace a certain curly-haired, blue-eyed Captain. Also, Wheeler and Eames would come back and kick out Stevens and Callas. And Goren would be brought back as an independent consultant. And Danny would be revealed to have been in witness protection... Yeah, I don't own it.
Note: This is completely and utterly AU. Ages have been tweaked to make this work, but no characters were harmed( fatally) in the making of this story.
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He'd been on the streets since his eighth birthday.
He didn't really remember much of his life before the streets, just flashes and snippets and from what he could recall, he was pretty sure he was better off not knowing.
Birthday cake, left out to mold, the crying of his baby sister, a man holding a beer bottle and yelling. Happier times, he's four and his that man is pushing him on the swing, laughing and smiling. A woman holds a baby, both of them smiling and laughing too.
He'd been standing on the sidewalk, his sister's hand small and warm in his own cold one, both of them staring around the busy and noisy street corner they'd found themselves on, both shell-shocked and frightened, when the man had approached them, with a smile and an offered hand. The boy had been scared, at first, but the man's face had been kind, and he'd offered them food and a place to stay. The boy hadn't wanted to say yes, but it had been getting dark, the air had become colder, and he and he and sister were wearing t-shirts and jeans; he could feel her shivering next to him.
So he took the man's hand.
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That had been nine years ago.
That boy wasn't really a boy anymore, seven years on the street had hardened him, taken the child-like expression from his eyes and replaced it with a cold, hard truth: that life was hard and people were out for their own.
He stood where he usually did, the corner connecting 42nd and 43rd, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket (leather, so it didn't do much) for warmth. He had his bottom lip in between his surprisingly white teeth and he chewed on it absentmindedly. He'd been standing on the corner for awhile now without any customers or clients, and he was getting nervous. The boss didn't like it when one of his boys came back empty-handed, especially not this boy; he'd proven his worth to the boss over and over again, which came with both perks (his own place and the protection of his sister for starters) and consequences, mainly that if he didn't come back with at least enough to break even, he'd get his ass kicked, and he wouldn't be able to work for at least a week.
The boy couldn't afford not to work, so he pushed off of the mail box and started to walk down 42nd street, where he'd be most likely to find some business.
The bright lights flash above and the people move around him, less hurried than on most New York streets, more friendly, and the boy felt someone brush his ass more than once, and even though he wanted to jump at the contact, he pushed the more emotional side of him down and replaced it with the facade he'd cultivated over the years; friendly, eager and willing to do what his customers asked for, given the price.
It wasn't long until he found a customer (they were customers, nothing more, he couldn't think of them as people, not any more), an older guy, with a graying beard, grizzled features, dopey eyes and more than a few teeth missing, which flashed when he smirked at the boy in an unflattering way; it made him want to run and disappear into the anonymity of the crowd that mulled behind them, but he didn't, he just gritted his teeth and did what he'd been paid for, there, in a dark alley behind a seedy gay bar that the boy wouldn't go into even if he was desperate.
The garbage-stained cement of the alley was cold and hard on his knees, and the boy thought about the mess it would make on his jeans instead of the writhing, moaning customer in front of him. He moved mechanically, having done this enough to have perfected it to a science; slow strokes, speeding up only when the shuddering increased, one lick here, one lick there, let his teeth scrape over the skin lightly, do it more if the customer liked it, stop if they didn't. Do that long enough, the customer would be satisfied, the boy would swallow, stand, wait until the customer paid him and leave, downing a cup of mouthwash as he walked, followed by a mint.
Wash, rinse, repeat.
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He got home around eleven that night, the bottle of mouthwash and baggie of mints in his jacket pocket noticeably lighter than before, and he made a note to buy some more as he shrugged off his jacket and tossed it on the couch. The apartment was dark, his sister's bedroom door already locked for the night, the other bedroom door next to it slightly ajar, so he kept quiet as he moved around the kitchen, pulling out bread and peanut butter so he could make dinner.
As he did, he let his mind wander for the first time in a few hours; he thinks about the slow night, the meager pay he'd gotten from the boss after turning in his earnings, the bruises staining his chest and lower regions to insure it wouldn't happen again. It was just a list, no emotion behind it, because the boy had long ago learned that emotions were best kept under wraps; his were currently tightly bound and secured in a little box at the back of his head.
The slow night was expected, Sunday nights were bad ones for business because all of the usual customers had 9-5 jobs that they didn't want to be late for. The meager pay was also expected, the boss had been cutting into all of their 'paychecks' recently- 'expenses,' he'd said.
The bruises, on the other hand..
He's pressed up against the bar, bent over it, really, eyes closed and gritting his teeth as the boss thrusts into him. His boss is rough, much bigger than he is and has an aversion to foreplay, so every thrust hurts, and the boy clamps his jaw shut and presses his face against the warped wood of the bar to keep from screaming. Every movement, from the grinding of the boss inside him to the rocking against the bar makes the pain worse, so when he hears the grunts and groans coming behind him that signal that it's almost over, he almost smiles… almost. It's more of a grimace.
The boss comes, pulling out before he does, splattering the boy's back with it; all he can think about is how he's going to need a shower now and curses his boss for making him waste water. The boss is perceptive, but ignores it, simply pats the boy on back, says, "That was good, kid, keep it up, remember that for next time," and has the audacity to lean over and kiss him on the cheek before leaving.
The boy takes ten to recover; the tears go away in five, but it's another five before he thinks he can try and walk. The pain is almost unbearable, but it's not his first time, so he just pulls his t-shirt off, balls it up to hide the mess, and tosses it in the nearest trashcan before popping an aspirin and walking towards the door. The boss gets a perverse pleasure out of making him buy things, probably because it means he'll be around more often, looking for work, and he knows that waving a couple hundred bucks for food and rent in front of the boys face will get him whatever he wants.
" You okay?"
They boy wiped crumbs from the counter after finishing his sandwich, and then looked up, his eyes stinging; his sister was standing in the doorway of her room, her red hair mussed and tangled, green eyes sleepy but alert, staring at him with a wide, curious expression. "Yeah, I'm fine, Megan." He muttered, wiping a clenched fist over his blue eyes to mask the red in them. "Shouldn't you be in bed?" he added gruffly, tugging his leather jacket closed as he turned to put the peanut butter and bread away.
"I was worried about you." Megan answered, leaning against the bar to look at her brother. She may have been young, but she had been raised same as her brother, so she knew more than the average thirteen year old did. "Did they hurt you again?"
The boy took a breath, pausing as he closed the fridge; the perceptiveness of his sister amazed him sometimes. He didn't think that she knew the details of what he did at night, but she knew enough to know that he came home bruised and bloodied most nights."I-yeah."
"Should I get the first aid kit?"
"Nah, just bruises. Thanks though."
Megan smiled, and the boy couldn't help but smile back; she was the reason he did this, so she could live differently, so seeing her smile was enough to make it worth it. He extended his arms slightly, and Megan came over and hugged him, barely coming up to his shoulders. It hurt, but he wrapped his arms around her anyway and squeezed, knowing that he needed this as much as she did.
Megan pulled back, yawning and blinking owlishly. "I should go to bed," she admonished, and he nodded. "Goodnight." and then she was gone, skipping off to bed like the little pixie she was.
The boy sighed, the smile gone; he ran a hand through his dark, knotted curls, the action painful, some of his clients liked to 'encourage' him by yanking on his hair. He did it anyway, the motion comforting for some reason. Now that Megan was gone, he let himself sag heavily against the counter. He balanced the pros and cons of taking a shower. After a few moments he decided that the cons out weighed the pros, so he made his way to the couch, one hand supporting himself on the wall.
He collapsed on the couch; it hurt, but it also felt good to be lying down. His blue eyes flickered close, and he fell asleep almost instantly.
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Okay, well this is definitely different from anything I've ever done or posted before. So, what did you think? Questions, comments, concerns? I'd love to hear from you!