You're reviews were all so sweet and I'm happy to present the next chapter to you
He had no idea how he was possibly going to fix this, Mikoto was utterly lost. He had spent that night brooding in his apartment, taking three showers because he just felt wrong. The boy had taken his money, not a lot but still cash, he had payed for a blowjob from a sixteen year old boy. It didn't help that it was the best fucking blowjob he had ever gotten, and he realized that the boy must have reacted from when he had said it would have been better if the person doing it was experienced.
He had just stated an opinion, he hadn't asked the boy to unzip his pants and suck him off! He felt like he had molested someone even though it was more the other way around. He felt a little bit nauseous, but he wasn't about to throw up his dinner of ramen and booze.
He could barely wrap his head around the idea that the boy was sixteen, in high school, and a prostitute. It was obvious the boy was selling his body for money, at least now it was. Who did you go to about something like this? The police? Bullshit, he wasn't going to someone who he'd avoided his whole life, not to mention he could run circles around them. Scepter 4? What was the point of that when it wasn't their specialty.
He wasn't about to ask Yata about it because it was more than likely that the boy had no idea that his roommate was promiscuous. All that was left was either to ignore the situation entirely, it wasn't like it was doing him harm, or to find a way to fix it all. Which he had no idea how to do.
In the end he decided to sleep on it, unable to figure out an immediate solution.
A week passed in which Mikoto spent his alone hours trailing the raven haired youth, not sure why he cared so much and at the same time fighting the urge to throttle every man the boy disappeared into a motel with. The boy truly was a prostitute, wearing beneath the blue jacket he wore daily a neon pink tank top that hung loosely off his frame and showed off his midriff. The whole thing made Mikoto feel ill, wondering how young the boy had started such a vile job.
Prostitutes were people down on their luck and out of cash, pushed into a corner with no other choice. Prostitutes were not sixteen year old high school students who were at the top of their class. At least in Mikoto's book that was the case. Why on Earth would the boy ever sell his body, let old men and curious college boys violate him in exchange for a billfold.
There were so many things wrong with the whole thing, adding on that Mikoto had only known of the boy's existence for a month and he was already giving him sleepless nights with worried thoughts. It was just that Fushimi's predicament hit him like Eric's had, made him feel nauseous pity and cold chilling worry grip him tight and refuse to let him go no matter how hot he burned. He took his frustration and inaction on small rival gangs, and while the rest of Homra was having a ball he just couldn't keep his eyes off the boy as he fought.
Fushimi was strong, very strong, though instead of using his flames he preferred to use the throwing knives he kept hidden in his long sleeves. Yata burned red and blossomed fire everywhere he went, his spit fired quick tempered personality getting the better of him while Saruhiko barely conjured up a single flame during his fights. It was only afterwards, standing in ash and blood, that the boy's body would glow with his Aura, head hung and eyes hidden, and it was in those times that Mikoto wondered how the boy thought of himself.
Did Fushimi hate himself for what he did? Did he find pride in it? Mikoto thought it would be strange if he did, how could anyone pride themselves in selling their rights? Was the boy in heavy debts? He wouldn't know, didn't particularly want to dive into the boy's background in fear of what he would find, and he was conflicted whether or not to even continue caring. Everyone in Homra was damaged, and in comparison to the rest Fushimi was capable of balancing appearances regardless of his personal problems.
At three months and still unable to muster up the courage to face the boy directly about his life choices, Mikoto gave up on the idea completely.
He did not expect that he would wake up from a nap in his Homra bedroom to find a certain sixteen year old straddling his lap.
Once again Mikoto did not know how things were happening as they were, where the boy got it in his head that he was interested in his...services.
However with a single roll of his hips over Mikoto's crotch trapped any and all words from leaving his mouth other than a choked hiss. It was the middle of the afternoon, still light outside but the blinds had been pulled closed in the small room so he could nap without disturbance. The sunlight hit the boy in slats not unlike the black and white of old time prison outfits, and Mikoto wondered if he could be convicted of pedophilia since the boy grinding their hips together was underage.
First off, he had to get the boy to stop, to get off of him, and in a way that wouldn't get Mikoto angry, lest he burn the boy to something less than ash. That was his own personal promise to himself, that he wouldn't harm any member of Homra, that he had vowed to protect them, but it was hard not be angry, even if it was with himself, with a teenage boy rutting against him like a dog in heat. It didn't help that the boy was smirking, looking like a minx, with sultry bedroom eyes that reminded him of a certain alleyway encounter.
Mikoto felt bile rise in his throat and he growled, one hand grabbing the boy's left leg and the other the boy's left arm. He didn't care at the moment that the grip would likely bruise the boy, as he was more focused on regaining control over his libido and forcing the kid to stop what he was doing. It was wrong, this was wrong, and it had to stop.
Saruhiko's lips curled into a feral grin, "Finally going to do something?" The satisfaction and lust in the boy's voice was nauseating, and he narrowed his eyes and forced the boy's movement's still.
"Yeah, stop this already."
To say the boy looked confused would be the understatement of the year. He cocked his head to the side and narrowed his eyes in confusion.
"You fucking followed me for months, you want me right? Why else would you stalk me for months?"
He refrained from showing his surprised that the boy had noticed his presence, but pushed it from his mind in favor of getting the point across.
"I was concerned for your well being."
Saruhiko ran from the room with eyes laced in humiliation and fury. He had never been turned away before, by any man, and certainly wouldn't think that the first time it would happen would be because the other person felt sorry for him. How dare that man, damn his Kingship to hell, how dare he take pity on him when there was no reason for him to care. He didn't understand why the man hadn't taken what he had offered, hadn't flipped their positions and fucked him until he couldn't see straight.
Men had always wanted him, and had always let them because he got money from it. Mikoto Suoh was far too complicated- he sucked him off! He knew he was a good lay! He stalked him for over a month and scared away half his clients just by his aura alone! And yet now here he was saying that it had been because he was worried?
Fuck that.
He had grown up in a world where things were taken away and those who were supposed to care for him abandoned him on the side of a road at the age of seven. He had slunk into town and lived in abandoned buildings, being raped by men who too strong to fight against and it wasn't until he saw a whore take her pay that he realized he could use what had been once a torture to climb his way out of the gutters. It was unpleasant at first, more often than not his clients assumed they could keep him since he was small and looked harmless, but his knives always set things straight and earned him a bit more cash than he cost.
He did not know the comfort of a warm bed unless it was that slim hour he was pounded into one, did not know the kindness of an embrace because sometimes his clients got too rough and tried to hug his breath away.
He had enrolled into a middle school because teachers were easy pickings.
He had not expected to make his first and only friend with a virgin.
He was happy, yes, to find a friend, but with Misaki he felt utterly inadequate for the affection the other boy bestowed on him. Misaki endlessly confused him, because he never asked him for anything. He'd buy him an ice cream not ask Saruhiko to suck his dick in return, didn't let the boy stay over at his house in return for letting the boy bang him. He didn't get the boy's way of thinking, giving something for nothing, and merely filed it away under the things too confusing to worry about.
High school came and the days went by quickly, Saruhiko skipping class to get cash from teachers who would fuck him in the faculty bathrooms and at night he and Misaki would go back to the apartment they had rented together. Misaki's parents had disowned him for being gay, which once again didn't make sense to Saruhiko, but had found a home with Saruhiko.
Thought Saruhiko rarely slept in the bunkbeds they had bought, and instead found his sleep on creaking motel mattresses with his body sticky and raw.
He had long since learned to love it.
But it was a far cry from learning how to love himself.
;_;