D/C: No I don't.
A/N: I can only apologise for my twisted brain! =]
He was driving along the blackened streets. The ones he knows so well. They're lit only by that one flickering street lamp but that's enough to show up the shine of the red leather, thigh-high boots, black leather shorts and war-paint make-up. He sighed. It had been a bad day. He needed this, he told himself as he turned down a side alley. He looked for his regular. Then he spotted him. In amongst the drugged up woman and the desperate teenage mums. He's wearing those white platform shoes and impossibly tight jeans. His black hair is styled to perfection and his eyes are lined with black.
As the car drew near, the lady-man twitches like a cat that's heard it's food being opened. It was a strange instinctive recognition of a fee. He turned his head and the car headlights threw his profile onto the brick wall of the dead end. He licked his lips and then walked towards the car, hips swinging like a musical broad. The car window rolled down half way, so that the fair's face was obscured but it didn't matter, he knew who it was from the car and the nervous quake in the northern voice when he said,
"Get in."
The man in the platforms and the too tight trousers didn't need to be asked twice. He sauntered around to the passenger side, spitting his gum out as he went. He opened the door and slid into the seat. No sooner had he shut the door, the car hurtled away.
The driver was nervous, even though he'd done it before. He always gets nervous. It's usually about now that the feelings of doubt about what he's doing creep in. What if someone sees him? He's the councillor for god sake and he's getting married to the mayor's daughter next month. It's just one last time, he told himself. It's always one last time.
"Been a long time since I've seen you, Jim." The man in the passenger seat said, reaching over to play with the driver's ear.
Jim. The false name he'd given himself to protect his identity. In reality, it didn't do anymore to protect him than his massive aviator glasses. They both knew who he was but this pretty play-thing would keep up the charade of 'Jim the Bank Manager' because he was just a street whore and he needed the cash.
"It's been a while," the driver agreed as the man began to kiss his jaw and ear.
"Are things going well at the … bank?" the man whispered, putting unneeded emphasis on the final word. As though 'Jim' might have forgotten he worked in a bank or that bank was code for council.
"We don't talk about work," the driver reminded him.
The other man shrugged and pulled away a little but he wasn't finished. His hand found it's way to Jim's corduroy trousers and massaged the inside of his thigh.
"Stop," he hissed, squirming a little as the clever, practiced hand of the passenger moves higher, resting on his crotch.
"You'll make me crash," he insisted as the other man's lips return to his neck.
"Can't have that, can we?" The passenger said stopping all his attention and looking out of the window. It's mere seconds before the driver was begging for him to continue.
They didn't make it to the drivers four bedroom, semi-detached house in the suburbs. They usually do but tonight the driver was desperate for a fix. He needed that whorish, over-done, over-sexed excuse for a man now! He pulled over into a leafy lay-by and drove the car in as far as possible in a weak attempt at hiding it from view of the road.
"Romantic," the passenger scorned but he was already squirming his way onto the back seat, pulling varying colours of condom from his miniscule jeans pockets. "You're a brown man, ain't ya Jim?" He grinned, producing the square packet and waving it in front of the other man's face.
--
He felt dirty afterwards as he watched his fix squeeze himself back into his clothes and tidy his make-up in the wing mirror. He felt even dirtier when he handed over the money and he felt foolish when the man snatched it and pocketed it greedily. Sometimes, in the throws of passion, he actually believed what this blue eyed beauty said about needing him and love. But it's just words. Meaningless, useless words, all in the name of a tip. And the driver tipped well, twice the fee usually because somehow that allows him to justify his actions. He felt like he was saving the man in someway but he's not sure how.
"You gonna take me back 'en of wha'?" The man asked when he'd finished tidying himself up.
"Erm … yeah, of course. Where do you want to go?"
"Back where you found me please gorgeous."
"But it's four in the morning. Don't you want to go home?"
"Nah, I've got at least another fair to get in tonight."
"But I've paid you double."
"And that's great but I need as much money as I can. I dot a family to support."
"Family?" The driver asked.
"What's so surprising about tha'?"
"Well, I mean … I just assumed you were … you know, gay.""I'd say the same about you if I didn't know you were engaged to that pretty girlie who's dad's mayor. But that's not you, is it, Jim?"
The driver glares at the man ahead of him. He somehow hates him and needs him at the same time. He certainly doesn't want him out on the streets again that night.
"What if I pay you double again?"
"For wha'?" The man asked, raising his perfectly plucked eyebrow.
"Nothing. Just to let me take you home."
"Let me get this straight, you wanna pay me double again to take me 'ome?"
The driver nods carefully.
"An' wha's init for you?"
"Nothing." The driver answers honestly.
"So why?"
"Because …" But he was forced to stop because there was no reason other than petty, unexplainable, undeserving jealousy. Truth was, he wanted to be this boys only fair ever. He knew the boy was a whore, he'd just paid him for sex but he didn't want to share him. It was irrational but he hated the idea. The driver wanted to think that he was special but it was clear from the look in the kid's eyes that he really, really wasn't.
"Alrigh'," the kid agreed. "You pay be double, you can take me 'ome. Chandos Rise."
--
The driver wasn't sure what he had been expecting but it certainly wasn't this. Broken glass blanketed the floor and collapsed balconies were the decoration of the day. Burnt out cars, overflowing skips and fires in bins surrounded by people in holey gloves and flea-bitten coats and scarves. In the middle of the debris and carnage was a block of high-rise flats. The entrance to the building had a beggar asleep in the shelter and the majority of the windows were boarded up.
"H-here?" the driver asked nervously.
"Perfect," the passenger nodded. He clambered out of the car, thanking him for the lift, and then turned around and held out his hand expectantly. The driver had almost forgotten he'd promised to double his fair. He handed over the extra cash, it was only money after all.
"Same time next week, eh lover?"
"Erm … no. I won't be seeing you again."
"Ah, you say that every time."
"No. I know but … I'm getting married and …"
"Tell ya wha'. You take my number," the whore said, producing eyeliner from nowhere and scrawling the digits on the drivers hand. "Then if ya need me ever … you give me a ring, yeah?"
The driver could only watch as the man walked to the entrance to the tower block. As soon as he got to the door, children came from nowhere and the driver could only watch as the man greeted each one like a son, ruffling their hair, straightening their clothes and ushering them inside the run-down, teetering building.
The driver drove away. He couldn't bear to watch anymore.
I don't know where it's going ... but I sure know where it's been ... (okay, so lets pretend that weird missquote of Bon Jovi DIDN'T happen) What I was trying to say was i'm not sure where i'm going with this ... idea's would be nice if anyone wants to throw them my way. I've got quite a few floating about at the moment but they're all a bit odd. Either way I can promise they'll be corruption, underworld, love and hardship and probably some horrifically disneyfied happy ending! (there usually is in my attempts at fics). Also, I will attempt to return to cannon at some point! =]
xx