Warnings: Mentions of prostitution, eventual smut, some sexual assault (not explicitly described) I'll add more as I go. For this part there's really not much.
A/N: Fill for this GKM prompt: Blaine is a cop who works for vice. Lately, he's been put on duty as an undercover prostitute and hates it. He has to dress provocatively, pretend to be underaged, and try to get as many johns caught as possible. Kurt owns a coffee shop across the street and hates seeing the small boy selling himself on the street. He overhears some conversations between him and some of the johns sometimes and is disgusted when he hears the boy tell them he's underaged and to meet him around the corner. One day he decides to get a hot cup of coffee and some treats before walking up to the prostitute. The boy waves him off when he finds out he isn't interested in sex and Kurt keeps trying to give him money. Finally, he takes the food and coffee and thanks Kurt but goes right back to work, leaving Kurt to go back to the shop. Later that night Kurt is locking up the shop when he hears the boy screaming for help from a nearby alley. He runs to see what is happening and sees the boy struggling to get a man off him. Kurt hurries to help when suddenly the alley is flooded by cops and the boy knees the man in the groin and pulls a badge and gun. Afterwards, he introduces himself to Kurt and properly thanks him for the coffee. They hit it off right away.
Word Count: ~2,100
Kurt was always surprised at the number of prostitutes he saw. Sure, he lived in New York, and the coffee shop he owned wasn't exactly in the best part of town, but there really shouldn't be that many. Should there? He couldn't go more than a few days without seeing one pacing back and forth in front of his shop, and the guys that picked them up sickened him. Maybe there was a secret club nearby he didn't know about, or maybe it was just the alleyway to the right of his shop that lured them there. That place always creeped him out, and it was probably as good a place as any to make their transactions.
For the most part, Kurt had learned to ignore them. For some of the younger one's who looked scared, he'd give them something to eat, and the option to call their parents, since they were clearly underage. They always refused, and he wasn't about to call the cops, knowing the poor kids would probably end up worse off in juvie or foster care, or maybe even sent back to abusive parents. He'd be there to help if they would let him, but he'd let them make their own decisions. Most of the time they'd stick around for a few days and then be gone, he always wondered if his help made them anxious, trying to figure out his angle and what he would get out of helping them.
The strangest was a boy across the street. He'd been around for a few weeks, never approached anyone and just leaned against the wall, one boot clad foot propped against the bricks, waiting for them to come to him. So different from the others who would stop anyone on the street to offer their services to. They always came to him anyway, not that Kurt could blame them. He was beautiful, dark brown curls slicked back to his head, strong jaw line, broad shoulders, trim waist, he was probably a john's dream. He was shorter too, which gave him an air of innocence and youth, though he didn't seem like he was that young. He just held himself differently than any of the others.
Kurt watched him while he wiped down the counters. A man approached him and cupped his elbow, eyes roaming over the boys body, taking in his tight short, shorts and tanktop, topped with a leather jacket that hugged the muscles of his arms in just the right way. The boy grimaced but plastered on a flirtatious smirk when the man finally reached his face. They talked for a few minutes, the older man inching closer and closer to the boy until they were almost pressed together and his other hand rested on the boy's hip. The boy shrugged him off and started walking down the street, hips swishing seductively. The man trailed closely behind him.
Kurt sighed, tossing his towel in the dirty laundry.
—
Blaine walked away as Sam read the john his rights, a disgusted shiver running down his spine. He scrubbed a hand across his mouth, trying to wipe away the taste and feel of that guy's mouth on his. He reached into his back pocket, pulling out a tin of altoids and popping three into his mouth. He sucks on them, grateful to replace the taste of nicotine and whiskey with cinnamon.
"Hey," Sam said, slamming the door to the squad car shut an thumping his fist on the roof. It pulled away, taking the pervert with it. Sam was dressed in dark, casual clothes, perfect for hiding in the shadows while Blaine lured the creeps to the designated alley to bag them for soliciting prostitution. They changed the alley after every arrest. "You wanna be done for the night?" Sam asked, putting a hand on Blaine's shoulder.
Blaine rolled his eyes, shrugging him off, "It's not even midnight, Sam." He started walking back towards his spot on the street.
"That guy got a little hands—"
"Not anything worse than the others. The more we put away, the fewer guys like that there are to take advantage of actual teenagers." Blaine leaned back against his wall again, resting his head on the bricks.
Sam was still new to this. Him and Blaine had met in the police academy, but Sam had failed his exams the first time around and had to retake them. When he'd finally graduated, him and Blaine had been paired as partners, as Blaine's old partner had retired from the stress of the job. He seemed to dislike watching Blaine act like a prostitute as much as Sam did, whether it was because he actually cared about Blaine, or the whole gay thing weirded him out, Blaine had never been sure of. They moved around every few weeks, staying in one area was suspicious, but Blaine hoped they would stay here for as long as possible.
It had a nice view.
He smiled, watching the young man from across the street as he danced around his coffee shop, sweeping the floors and picking up an extra trash or dishes as he went. He was gorgeous, really, perfectly coiffed chestnut hair, legs that seemed to go on forever, and his arms… Blaine would be perfectly fine with standing out in the cold, brisk air for the rest of time, as long as he got to watch the arms flex and twist as the man flitted around his shop. He was the only good thing about Blaine's job.
"I don't know how you do this," Sam muttered, making Blaine jump. He didn't usually hang around for too long, it made people nervous of approaching Blaine, and as a rule Blaine wasn't allowed to approach them. He just had to look the part and be in the right place for pervs to come to him.
"Practice," Blaine sighed.
"Ever wished they'd asked me to switch you when I got assigned?"
"You're not pretty enough," Blaine said with a smirk.
"Oh yeah, I'm sure I'd pick up twice as many john's in one night as you do," Sam said, trying to pull of teasing, but Blaine could tell he was torn between wanting to relieve Blaine from having to do this, and terrified of maybe ending up in his position if their superiors decided he would be better at it.
"Yeah, keep telling yourself that, " he punched Sam's shoulder playfully, "Now get out of here before you blow my cover."
Sam laughed and walked away. Blaine relaxed into the wall, his head lolling to the side. Officer Blaine Anderson, undercover prostitute. Not exactly what he'd expected when he graduated the police academy. He'd expected his own squad car and the classic blue-black uniform, driving around, checking for suspicious characters and rambunctious teenagers. Instead his pretty young face and knack for acting got him tight red shorts that barely covered his ass and a bunch of middle aged (mainly closeted) men feeling him up every night.
Yes, that was exactly what he'd always dreamed of doing when he became a cop.
Blaine blinked his eyes open when he heard someone clear their throat, surprised at how quickly someone else had approached him. He normally only got two or three a night. At this rate (this guy being his third) he could possibly get half a dozen guys off the street. His job was frustrating, gross, and sometimes scary, but it was also very fulfilling. He looked at the man and his stomach dropped, eyes growing wide and jaw falling slack. Oh no.
"Um, hi," his voice was high and lilting, almost like a bell, and, god, his eyes were gorgeous. Blaine probably would have been a stuttering and/or drooling mess had they met under any other circumstance, but, no, his life sucked and he was probably going to have to arrest his beautiful coffee shop boy. Just his luck the only guy he'd been interested in (like, truly interested in, not just interested in fucking) in the past year had to be willing to pay for sex.
Blaine swallowed down his sense of disappointment and dread and plastered on a sexy smile, "Well, hi there."
The man laughed and rolled his eyes, "Before you try seducing me, I don't want to sleep with you."
Blaine raised an eyebrow at him, spirits daring to stir from where they'd shattered at his feet. "I'm thinking I should be offended by that…" Blaine knew his guy wasn't off the hook just yet, just because he didn't want to sleep with him didn't mean that he didn't have other ideas.
He smirked, "Don't get me wrong, I mean, you're gorgeous, but I don't pay for sex."
"Damn," Blaine mumbled but inside his heart was doing a happy dance, not unlike Hank Green's.
"I just wanted to offer you some coffee," he shook the cup in his hand, "and a warm place to sleep tonight if you need it, I have a cot in the back of the shop. Also," he pulled a folded up piece of paper out of his back pocket, shaking it out, "a job application, it case you want to stop doing…" he gestured vaguely to Blaine, primarily, it seemed, his shorts, "this."
Blaine just cocked his head to the side, "You don't even know me."
"True, but I know many people like you, or at least did, before they moved on to a new location because they didn't like accepting my help, but also hated how sad I got when they denied it. Wink, wink, nudge, nudge."
Blaine laughed, "So basically you're saying I have no choice but to accept."
"Unless you want to see me pout, I do very good puppy dog eyes, I promise," the man shrugged.
"What if I already have a place to stay?"
The man's face drooped a little but he seemed to push away his disappointment, "Then at least accept the coffee and the job application, even if you don't fill it out."
Blaine bit his lip, "How do I know it's not drugged?"
The man looked genuinely surprised, and mildly hurt that Blaine would think he would do that to him. "Why would I do that when you know where I work? You could turn me in."
"Unless you killed me after you raped me."
The man swallowed, "Do I look like a killer rapist to you?"
Blaine lifted one shoulder in a half shrug, "I dunno, you got some pretty nice arms there."
He blushed and looked down, "I'm trying to decide whether that was a compliment or an insult."
Blaine laughed, "Depends, is the coffee drugged."
The man gave him a challenging look before lifting the cup to his lips and pouring some into his mouth, purposefully making sure Blaine could see the brown liquid pouring down his throat. He swallowed and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Nope," he said confidently.
"Then it's a compliment," Blaine replied, taking the cup from him and taking a sip.
"And the job application?" the man waved the paper in front of his face.
Blaine sighed, "I'll take it, but I won't guarantee I'll fill it out."
"Why not?" he pouted, and, damn, he was right, he did have exceptional puppy dog eyes.
Blaine glanced down the street, "I kinda like this gig." Thank god for all the acting classes he'd taken as a kid.
"You like having sex with gross guys every night?" the man scoffed.
"It pays well."
He sighed, "I can't guarantee I'll pay better, but I will promise safety at work. And you'll be able to wear clothes that actually do their job of protecting you from the elements."
"I like these shorts!" he protested. He didn't really. He'd liked them at first because they'd made his ass look fantastic, but now they were just frustrating. He was pretty sure they'd shrunk.
"Still doesn't mean you should wear them at night in the middle of October."
Blaine rolled his eyes, "Yeah, yeah," he'd been meaning to ask about a new outfit. New York in the winter wasn't exactly a time when he wanted to be wearing shorts, but he didn't have anything in his personal wardrobe that screamed "underage teen prostitute, please come fuck me".
"Well," the man sighed, "it's cold out here, I have cat to feed, and you, sadly, have a job to do, so, goodbye," he waved and started to walk away.
"I'm Blaine!" he shouted after him, "By the way."
The man turned around, walking backwards, a bright smile on his face. "Kurt."
"I'll see you around, Kurt!"
Kurt laughed, "Yeah, see you around, Blaine."