Disclaimer: Do not own Marvel or The 100
Warnings for child abuse and child abandonment, and mentions of various types of misogyny, sexual harassment, drugging and mentions of potential sexual assault.
Love has no place in this
Being a sex worker? You had your share of different sorts of customers. Tall, thin, short, fat, muscled, average height, average build, white, black, brown, light copper, men, women, those that identified as neither or both, and so on. You would have many different types of customers, was the point.
So, when Clarke was faced with the five new customers who introduced themselves to her? An average white guy named Peter Quill, his large, muscled friend, Drax, who she wasn't going to assume the ethnicity of, but was clearly mixed race, an eccentric young woman also of mixed ethnic background, who called herself "Mantis," and a pair of young women who were lovers; a white, bald woman named Nebula, and a black woman with dark red hair named "Gamora," asking questions as to how they had even met, didn't even enter her mind.
Now, she'd like to think that she wouldn't ask a question that dumb anyway, but she knew a lot of people could be. People could ask dumb questions like that, you know?
The point was, even without thinking even asking dumb questions? The fact was that these five were odd. And she knew that. Quill talked about his endless sex life and wasn't all that competent, Drax took everything literally, Nebula was harsh emotionally and mentally, even if that was just an act, Gamora was sensitive, but clearly had as many issues as Nebula did. Mantis? Yeah….she was odd. But Clarke never judged. It wasn't a sex worker's job to judge. Unless they were dangerous, then there was no need to worry about judgment, was there?
Clarke knew a good list of people who had tried to get the attention of sex workers, who were indeed, dangerous. Who would be fine with hurting the young women and sometimes young men who they had sex with.
These were the names of people Clarke knew to stay away from:
Brock Rumlow.
Bellamy Blake.
Octavia Blake.
John Murphy.
Raven Reyes.
Those five were just bad people. Bad apples. Best to just watch them be alone like they deserved.
So, Clarke had no problems with these five, her newest clients; Peter Quill, Drax, Mantis, Gamora and Nebula.
They weren't amongst the "bad apples," as far as Clarke could see.
So, they began.
Quill fucked her in the cunt from behind. Gamora fucked her against the wall with a strap-on. Mantis fisted her. She rode Drax's cock on his lap. And she did the sixty-nine position with Nebula.
And they paid well. Again, Clarke had some suspicions about where their money came from. But didn't ask questions. All that mattered was that she got her money.
A few days later, she received a message from one of her other clients. Specifically, from Laura Barton.
Clarke saw the message on her email.
Laura and Clint Barton both had been talking.
And she said that they said they wanted her to meet Clint's older brother, Charles Bernard-"Barney" Barton and Barney's wife, Simone.
Laura said that Barney and Simone had been discussing having a threesome with a young woman and Simone had a mommy kink and Barney a daddy kink.
And you know? Clarke was positive that Laura had known that mentioning the "mommy kink" would instantly get Clarke in motion.
Clarke almost groaned when she had read that this Simone Barton had a mommy kink.
Because hell, yes, if that was the case, then Clarke would open her legs in seconds for Simone.
She was easy when it came to older women, in that way.
She wrote Laura back and asked when and where she was to meet Barney and Simone.
Laura had assured Clarke that she could come to their house and go to Barney and Simone's house from there, as Clint's brother and Barney's wife lived not far from Clint and Laura's house.
So, Clarke agreed.
She received the next email from Laura. Simone and Barney wanted to meet her in five days.
Clarke agreed to that.
And five days later, the day in between those five days, she spent the whole night with a young man, Eddie Brock, who fucked her doggy style the whole night. She had no idea where he got either his stamina or his money from. But she didn't ask questions, as usual.
She knew that she got a lot of judgment, working in the profession that she worked in.
But you got used to that sort of misogyny, even if no one should have to put up with it.
She had learned from a young age, that there weren't that many things she was all that interested in making a living in.
Her mother had been the doctor in the family and well, Clarke certainly didn't want to follow her mother's example, since Abby Griffin had abandoned her.
And her father had been an engineer and Clarke had never had any talent with machines.
Clarke loved drawing and painting, but she wasn't naïve. She knew it was rare when someone came along who could make a real successful living as an artist.
It was when she had discovered sex in her early teen years, when she had been fifteen years old, and had realized how much she enjoyed it, when she was with someone who knew what they were doing-and realized that she might be able to get something else out of it.
She knew, even back then, that it would be considered a troubling thing for a girl as young as fifteen to think of such things, but it did admittedly, run through Clarke's mind.
She realized she enjoyed sex, and she knew that there was such a thing as sex workers. However, when she heard stories about them from the uptight social workers who put her in the orphanage where she grew up, condescending comments about "whores," she had a different idea of them.
But to her? It didn't matter.
And to be frank? That sort of self-righteous talk, of hearing men and women alike saying that anyone who slept around for money was just a "dirty whore," just made up Clarke's mind more as she got older.
After all, what better way of pissing off the people that pissed you off, than taking on a profession that you knew that they'd disapprove of, and what was more, becoming rich off of it?
So, yes, she, of her own free will, became a sex worker.
And she enjoyed it.
She imagined that it was disturbing for a lot of men and women to learn that a woman willingly and happily decided that she got to do what she wanted with her own body.
She suspected that a great deal of the time, when people threw misogynistic comments at sex worker women, it was because they were disgusted with women owning their sexuality and making a profit out of it, rather than only men benefitting from it and getting to say what women got to do with their bodies.
And Clarke, she wanted to do this and was happy to do it. It wasn't just for the clients. It was actually mainly for herself. She enjoyed the sex and it made her feel powerful, knowing that she was capable of fulfilling some fantasy that her clients chased after.
She wasn't delusional. She knew that she was no great beauty.
At the most, she was somewhat cute. She knew that.
But she also knew she had a body that many found attractive. And she just used it to her advantage, that was the part she imagined many in the society she lived in, would not approve of. But too bad for them.
However, she had learned that not only would expectations of women in the society she lived in, be a complication, but so would her clients.
She learned this, after her first meeting with her newest clients, Barney and Simone Barton.
On the day when she was supposed to meet with Simone and Barney, she made her way to the house, and got to their house, knocked on their door, and the door opened up, revealing a young woman with long black hair.
The woman smiled when saw Clarke and saw recognition in those eyes.
Clearly this woman had seen a picture of her.
"Clarke?" The woman said, "Clarke Griffin?"
Clarke nodded, forcing a pleasant smile.
"Yes, that's me," she answered, "Mrs. Simone Barton?"
Simone stepped back, allowing room for Clarke to step through the doorway.
"Yes," Simone answered, "Please come in. My husband, Barney is just inside."
Clarke stepped through and Simone closed the door behind them.
"Nice to meet you," Simone greeted, locking the door, "Please join my husband and me in the living room."
Clarke nodded as she watched Simone walk past her and walk to the living room and she followed after the older woman.
Simone reached the living room and sat down on a dark brown couch and there was a nice looking sofa chair the color dark red across from the couch.
Simone sat down on the couch, where there was a large, muscled man next to her with a strong looking jaw, and smooth, dark, short, somewhat wavy, orange-red hair.
Clarke went to the sofa chair and sat down on it, facing the married couple.
It was rare when she ever got involved with any person that was married. Were it a husband looking to cheat on his wife or his husband, she wouldn't accept him as her client. Were it a wife looking to cheat on her husband or her wife, Clarke wouldn't accept her as her client.
But were it a married couple? Like Laura and Clint Barton? Like Tony Stark and Pepper Potts?
Like Simone and Barney Barton? If both parties agreed? Then Clarke would happily accept them as her clients.
And well, since it appeared that both Barney and Simone were agreeing to be involved with her? Then she was all for it.
She observed Barney. She could see hints of Clint's face in this man's face. This man's face was firmer and a bit harsher. Like Clint's face was stern, but soft. Barney's face in the meantime, was chiseled, as if from a piece of stone.
His eyes, however, were the exact same shade as Clint's.
Barney, who was wearing a tight, black T-shirt, leaned forward, smiling. The smile, Clarke suspected, often looked like a smirk.
Barney said, "It's nice to meet you. You're very beautiful."
Clarke fought a snort of laughter.
She knew that that was the one of the most predictable things that a client could ever say to her.
If she had a dollar for every time she had heard a client or potential client, say that to her, she wouldn't even need to sleep with any of her clients.
But snorting in front of Barney and Simone, would not be a wise idea.
When you had two potential clients before you that could potentially pay you well, you made sure not to offend them in any manner.
"Thank you," Clarke said, smiling at him, then she looked to Simone and said, "You are very beautiful as well, Mrs. Barton," she then looked to Barney as Simone smiled, "You're not too bad, yourself."
Barney burst out laughing, snickering, clearly liking Clarke's sass.
Clarke hadn't been entirely truthful about Barney's appearance. He actually was quite handsome.
Not in the same way Clint was. Clint was handsome in a rugged, but soft way. The way you'd picture a tough but endearing trucker, maybe. Barney was just handsome in the way you'd expect of a buff fighter in a ring that had no chill.
She hadn't been lying, however, in thinking that Simone was beautiful.
Simone was smirking at Barney, then at Clarke, clearly also finding Clarke's candor amusing.
"We'd like to know when would be a good time for you to start, if you'd like," Simone said, waiting for Clarke's answer.
Clarke nodded as she said, "Well, sure. But first thing's first. What are you hoping I'll do?" Her eyebrows lifted suggestively as she leaned back against the sofa chair, allowing the dip in her short V-neck, dark blue shirt to grow, "What is it you're hoping we'll do together?"
She almost thought of saying, "what are you hoping to do to me?" But she hadn't. It was best that she not be too lewd, just yet.
"Well," Barney said, looking to Simone.
Simone smiled back at him and chose to answer for them both, "I'm sure that Laura, my sister-in-law, has told you plenty. That we're hoping to…indulge the kinks we have. Barney has a daddy kink. I have a mommy kink."
Clarke almost twitched at the mention of the mommy kink. And she internally cursed when she noticed Simone looking at her, just when the older woman mention the mommy kink.
Apparently, Simone was observing her, as well.
When Clarke fought the twitch, though she was certain that some of that twitch followed through, she could have sworn she noticed the right corner of Simone's lips turn up slightly.
"And what else, may I ask?" Clarke asked, glad that her voice wasn't strained.
"Oh, nothing too unusual," Simone said, sounding playful, "I'm sure nothing you haven't experienced before. I have strap-ons I want to use on you. Dildos too. And Barney and I want to fuck you in both your holes. And perhaps, both share your cunt, with Barney's cock and one of the straps I have."
Clarke almost laughed in disbelief.
That was the bluntest she had heard a woman client speak, in a while.
Her eyes had widened. But she saw no reason not to accept these two as her clients.
"And there are a few…public areas we think we'd want to fuck you," Barney said, snickering at Clarke suggestively.
Clarke smirked. She wasn't surprised by that.
"Well, I think I'm good with that," Clarke confessed. She then added cautiously, "Can I ask you a blunt question?"
"Sure, of course," Simone answered.
Clarke nodded as she said, "I take birth control regularly, however, there is extra protection I'd like. Like condoms?" She tried to word it carefully, but in those sorts of things, it was difficult to be subtle.
"Oh, of course," Simone said, smiling, neither her, nor Barney appearing in any way offended, "We use condoms all the time. We've been married for five years and as you can see, there are no children in the household and no pictures of children. We use condoms for a reason."
Clarke nodded, smiling. That was a relief.
She neglected to mention that she also wanted to make sure that there was protection against sexually transmitted infections, but the fact that they were going to be using condoms during this, was enough of a relief for her not to have to bring it up.
"So, when shall we start?" Clarke asked.
Barney said, shrugging, "I don't suppose you're against starting now?"
Clarke again fought a laugh. She hadn't predicted that. She had suspected at times that clients would want to fuck her as soon as they met her, rather than wait for another "appointment," so, she often brought along possible objects to help her. Containers of lube. Condoms. Packets of birth control pills.
So, if Barney and Simone wanted to go now?
Well, she wasn't without preparation-for lack of better terms.
"Now?" Clarke asked, amused, "You sure?"
"Yes, I think so," Simone said, looking to Barney and they both nodded, then they both looked back to Clarke and Simone added, "Do you want something to eat or drink before? We've already eaten."
Clarke nodded. She had eaten something before coming here. But probably some extra sugar would be a good idea.
"Yes," she said, "Do you have any juice?"
"Sure," Barney commented, getting up from the couch and going to the kitchen, and Clarke tried not to smile.
Something that apparently, was a staple of Barton men, at least in Clint and Barney's generation, was that they often did what most people expected women to do. Clint was the main chef in the Barton house, helped clean all over the house, as much as Laura did, knew how to sew, and if Laura was to be believed, when the kids had been babies, he had changed as many diapers as she had. If not, even more.
Clarke had yet to figure out of course, if Barney was like that, but him getting up to get something for her, was a good sign. Then again, people were good at concealing who they were. So, who knew for now?
Clarke recalled how Clint talked about his father. About how his father had treated him and Barney.
Their father had been garbage. He had hit them, abused them. Abused their mother. He had expected his wife to be the one to take care of the kids and never do anything to look after the children. And he still expected to be respected as the boys' father, even if he didn't do so much as one thing to show any love for his sons, or showed any nurturing for their children.
Clearly, Clint wanted to be the opposite of who his father had been.
Was Barney in any way like that? Who knew? Clarke would find out eventually.
Still, even if Barney was Clint's brother? She had to take precautions.
"Excuse me," Clarke said to Simone and got up to join Barney in the kitchen.
When she entered the kitchen, Barney looked to her, curious.
Clarke smiled playfully at him, and said, "I'm willing to have sex with both of you for money, in any way you want. But I'm not stupid. I'll accept a drink from you. But I'm going to watch you pour it. And you're taking a sip of the same drink, yourself."
Barney's eyes widened, realizing what Clarke meant.
"Oh," he said, startled. He then chuckled, "Right, I guess you get scummy clients like that, all the time."
Clarke tried not to snicker. Because, well, it was the truth. Again, Clarke avoided some people that might try to sleep with her.
People that would definitely hurt her and get off on it, and would do it without her expressed permission.
And yes, also, people that would like to drug her and use her while she was unconscious and was incapable of saying 'no.'
And she was not risking something like that.
Barney smiled apologetically for not realizing before, opened up the fridge, and added as he looked at the contents of it, "We have lemonade, peach juice, apple juice, anything sound good?"
Clarke nodded. "The peach juice, please."
Barney reached in and grabbed the plastic pitcher of peach juice and closed the fridge door, going to the cabinets and taking out two glasses, pouring the peach juice into one glass, then the next.
He turned back around and put the peach juice back into the fridge, closed the fridge, went to the counter and saw Clarke watching him carefully.
He smiled at Clarke and reached out, picking up one of the glasses full of peach juice, picked it up and brought it to his lips, tilted it, pouring the juice down his mouth.
Clarke let out a small, relieved breath when Barney drank the entirety of his glass. Not drugged, then.
Clarke reached down and picked up the other glass, taking a couple of gulps of the juice.
After she nodded to Barney as she said quietly, "Thank you."
She then added, chuckling, "We should probably rejoin your wife, since I just got up and went to the kitchen, so…"
Barney nodded and he and Clarke went back to the living room where Simone waited for them.
"Sorry for the wait, babe," Barney said as he and Clarke went back to their respective seats.
"That's alright," Simone said, smirking and leaning back against the couch, "I was beginning to think the two of you had started without me."
Anyone could tell you from the smirk on Simone's face, that she was only joking around.
"So, when and where do we want to start?" Clarke asked, before taking another long gulp from the glass full of peach juice.
"Why not here and now?" Simone asked, and glanced at the windows, "Just need to close the blinds and we can do what we want. If you're comfortable with that."
Clarke nodded, as she placed the nearly empty glass onto the table. "Sure," she said, "Close up the blinds. We can do it anywhere in this room, if you'd like." She added, smirking, "But for the right price, of course."
Simone chuckled, "Of course."
Both Barney and Simone stood up, went to the windows and drew down the blinds and closed them.
Clarke said as she got up, "May I go to the bathroom first?"
"Of course, honey," Simone said, looking to Clarke, smiling, as she drew the blinds a the window right next to the front door, "It's down the hall, across from the kitchen, the second left."
Clarke nodded and went to the bathroom, closed the door, did her business, flushed and washed her hands thoroughly.
She then stepped out and walked back to the living room, where all the blinds were drawn and Simone and Barney were waiting for her.
"Okay," Clarke said, smiling at both of her new clients, "So, how do you want to start?" She made sure her voice was just suggestive enough for them to feel confident enough to begin in the way that they wanted to begin.
Barney looked to Simone, smirking.
Simone looked over at Clarke, and Clarke fought a chuckle when she saw the dark glint in the older woman's eye.
This was nothing new for her.
Simone and Barney most certainly couldn't shock her.
So, when Simone said in a steel tone that honestly, couldn't even come close to comparing to Laura Barton, Natasha Romanov, Elektra Natchios, Jessica Jones, Hela Odinsdotter or Maria Hill's steel tone, "Put all of your things down and undress completely," Clarke obeyed, but she barely felt any shiver whatsoever, as she did as instructed.
Clarke already had a pretty strong sense of these two. They hoped to be intense uber doms, but they would pale in comparison next to Clint and Laura and Natasha. And possibly most of Clarke's other clients.
But it wasn't her job to compare clients, now, was it? No, it was the opposite. It was her job to sell the fantasy that each of her client's got her off in a way that no man or woman ever had in her entire life.
And she was very good at selling that fantasy.
The only difference between some clients and some others?
She didn't have to sell that fantasy.
Because some of her clients? Like Natasha, like Laura and Clint, like Maria, like Hela, like Wanda and Pietro, like the Defenders, like Frank-they actually did get her off, in a way that honestly, she wasn't sure she ever had before.
And worse, she was positive that they knew that.
But she chose to put that in the back of her mind and try not to think too hard about it.
She just got into a calming mindset, which was simply giving her clients the fantasy they sought.
She put down her bags, and began to pull her clothing off of her. She kicked her shoes off and slowly began to undress, making sure that Barney and Simone got a good look at her and were watching her the whole time.
When Clarke was completely naked, sticking right hip out slightly, she dropped the last clothing item, which she had had on, to the floor, that being her underwear, which she dropped from her right hand coyly, letting it drop to the floor.
She observed Barney and Simone's expressions.
Barney stared over her body hungrily and no, Clarke didn't miss the tent getting bigger between the man's legs.
And Simone?
Oh, Simone looked at Clarke, with an expression that was far, far darker than Barney's. If Barney was looking at her with thoughts of over a dozen things he wanted to do to her, Simone looked upon Clarke as if the older woman wanted to commit about a thousand ways of debauchery, to make Clarke scream.
Clarke could deal with that.
Again, Clarke fought a snicker.
It wasn't like a whole litany of other people hadn't already looked at her in this exact same way.
And still, the way in which Simone and Barney were looking at her, paled in comparison to some of the looks she got from Natasha, Laura, Clint, Tony, Pepper, the Defenders, Frank, Bruce and several of her other clients.
But no need for these two to know that.
"So," she said in a far too innocent and playful voice, "Are we just going to stand here and stare at each other? Or are the two of you going to come over here and have your way with me?"
Barney let out a small near growl and Simone snickered, her eyes darkening all the more as she and Barney at last, began to move closer to Clarke.
They advanced on her, and Simone pressed up against her, leaning close and kissing Clarke's lips hungrily.
Clarke felt Barney press up against her back, cupping her breasts and she moaned into Simone's mouth.
The next few hours were pleasurable and intense.
Clarke rode Barney's condom wrapped cock, called him "daddy," just like he wanted, let him fuck her doggystyle.
She rode Simone's fist, Simone had Barney hold Clarke tightly by her arms as Simone went down to her knees and ate Clarke out almost viciously, and yes, Clarke cried out "mommy," every time Simone touched her.
And Simone later fucked her with a strap-on several times. Again, Clarke cried out "mommy" during all this.
And yes, using the title, "mommy," of course, brought some very vulnerable feelings out of her-which she tried to ignore.
All in all, it was a pleasurable time and the married couple paid well.
And no, Clarke didn't miss the hopeful looks on Simone and Barney's faces, as Simone said, "You'll see us again?"
"Of course," Clarke all but cooed, as she left, glad, naturally, that she was several thousands dollars richer.
She was beginning to strongly wonder where most of her clients got their money.
But she decided to ignore that troubled thought.
She got back to her place, locked up, put the money away, undressed, showered and got ready for bed.
The next day, Clarke went to one of the nearby clubs, wanting to check on some of her friends.
As soon as she entered, the two bouncers at the door, Lincoln and Roan, nodded to her, smiling, recognizing her instantly.
She nodded to them, smiling and walked inside, looking around at the many busy tables full of laughing customers, all drinking or eating or both. Some of them had a woman or a man on their lap-and many of these men and women, of course, were giving out lap dances.
Nothing in this place was for free. Even getting to look at one of the dancers or strippers or sex workers' asses, would cost the customers the contents of their wallets.
But Clarke wasn't here either to sell anything or to be amused over the customers and what they had come here for.
She was here to see the small group of friends here.
She found them, seated together on the black leather couch, surrounding a large, circular table.
"Hey, Clarke," Anya greeted, her teeth flashing which anyone outside of this group, likely would have seen as a threat, "Good to see you. It's been a while."
"Oh, yeah," Clarke said, smirking at where Anya and the others; Sterling, Finn, Monroe, Harper, Fox and Roma were seated, "And how long's it been since you were here, Anya? Last I heard, you were busy sticking your strap into the cunt of every rich young woman you got your hands on."
Anya snorted with laughter, her grin widening and she placed her right hand against her chest, feigning injury.
"Why Clarke," she said, sounding aghast, but everyone at the table and Clarke especially, knew better, "Surely, you wouldn't accuse this noble woman of doing anything except tending to the needs of lonely and neglected young housewives who have more than enough money to divorce their neglectful or cheating hubbies, but never do, for the sake of appearances, because apparently, appearing like a perfect couple is the most important thing ever, and only end up cheating too."
Clarke laughed, before she could help it. If there was one thing that Anya relished, it was the hypocrisy of supposedly "civilized" society.
According to Anya, civilized society was full of hypocrisy, and all the more fun for it.
Of course, Anya thought that the young housewives, which they had just been discussing, should file for a divorce, if they were really unhappy in their marriages, however, said young housewives, would do no such thing. Why? Because they were told that if they did it, they would be seen as "used goods," "less of a woman," a failure in love.
Similar backwards sorts of things that were told to sex worker women like Clarke, Anya, Harper, Fox, Monroe and Roma, themselves.
You sold your body for money? You were used goods.
You divorced your husband? You were used goods.
It was all the same thing. You were better off doing what you wanted and telling everyone to just shove their self-righteous comments up their asses.
Clarke shook her head, still smirking, as she sat down next to Anya, and Sterling and Finn moved over. "How have all of you been?"
Harper, Fox and Finn started regaling her with several of the fun they'd had with their clients and the amount of money they made.
After several hours of laughing and talking and yes, drinking too, it started getting late, and Harper, Fox and Roma, who all lived together, headed out. They hugged Clarke goodbye and went home for the night.
Later, Monroe and Sterling headed out. Then a half hour later, Finn left.
Which left Clarke and Anya alone.
It was late, and was on a Wednesday, so, while it was a club, and therefore, there were people around, happily trying to fuck one person or another, it was beginning to be somewhat empty, which was rather unusual around here.
Seeing that she and Clarke almost had privacy, Anya turned to the younger woman and said, "Clarke, can I be candid with you?"
Clarke snorted, and she could smell the booze on her breath as she said, "Aren't you always candid with me?"
Anya paused, then nodded, "Good point."
She then continued, looking at Clarke seriously, "Listen, I know you're good at what you do. You've made more money than I think most sex workers have your age, than I've ever seen. But you know that there's more to this life than money, right?"
Clarke eyed Anya sharply. "Bitch," she snorted, "You must be drunk."
Both women knew that that wasn't true. They had been drinking, yes, but not enough for their senses to fail them in any way.
"I am not," Anya grumbled, then she shot a look across the room, at where a clearly very shit-faced man that looked to be in his mid-forties, in an untidy black suit, was desperately trying to get a male stripper to take his money so he could fuck said stripper. Said stripper, who looked to be in his late twenties or very, very early thirties, shook his head and gestured for one of the bouncers to come over and carefully extract the extremely intoxicated man from the club.
Lincoln and Roan had gone home, but in their stead, were two much larger men; Nyko and Gustus, who removed the suited man easily and all but carried him to the door.
Sex worker men needed to be careful, too. There weren't nearly as many stereotypes surrounding them as there were sex working women, but they needed to be careful plenty.
Finn stuck strictly to women. But Sterling sometimes slept with men for money, as well as women. And he had his good set of stories about more than a few men he had met, who he had had to be careful of.
Anya continued, "You know that most of us know that eventually, we'll need to retire."
"I know, I know," Clarke said, fighting the need to roll her eyes, "We're not gonna be young forever, and when we start graying and getting wrinkles, we had better make sure we have enough money to stop working. Cause there's no one who wants to fuck an older woman."
Again, that was another misogynistic stereotype that tended to crop up. That when a woman got older in any way, she was somehow less desirable, yet men remained desirable supposedly, even when they aged significantly.
Clarke knew for a fact that this was bullshit. Older woman could be just as desirable as some older men. And some older men could be not desirable.
The default expectation, was that all men were more desirable than older women, all the time. In every way, men were seen as more valuable.
But Clarke could easily tell you exactly how desirable older women were. Pepper Potts, Hela Odinsdotter, Sylvie Laufeysdotter, Maria Hill, Laura Barton, and quite recently, Simone Barton.
And there were others, as well.
But try telling that to a society that kept putting every man that existed on a pedestal and only put women who they considered "pure" on that same pedestal.
"It isn't just that," Anya said, "And you know that some older women still work."
Clarke nodded. She knew that too.
Anya went on, "I'm saying that this life isn't very fulfilling unless you want it to be. Don't forget about Lexa and Costia."
Clarke fought another snort from coming out.
How could she forget that?
Lexa White and Costia Weston? They both had worked here for years. But eventually, they had left it together, had lived together, now had "regular" jobs and were married.
Clarke remembered talk of them feeling like the job was not fulfilling. That giving a client what they wanted sexually all the time, and not giving themselves or each other what they wanted, was exhausting.
"That was them," Clarke grumbled, "Lexa and Costia clearly weren't into being sex workers and that's perfectly fucking fine. It's their own business. So, they left and are married and have different jobs. Good for them. So, what? Doesn't mean that I'll leave my job."
"Of course, it doesn't," Anya agreed, "I'm just saying, if you decide that this life isn't giving you what you want or need, there are always options."
"And you?" Clarke asked, glaring at Anya, "What is it you want out of life?"
"Oh, me?" Anya asked, smirking almost dubiously, "Why, getting to fuck all the hot rich chicks this side of Philadelphia."
Clarke chortled, feeling like she could chuck a beer bottle at Anya.
She loved the woman as a friend and big sister practically, but Anya honestly didn't know what she was talking about, and Clarke would stand by that statement.
Everything came to a head, two days later, when she met with the Defenders.
They were at Matt's place again-because while the others' apartments were under construction, since they were rolling in more money all the time, enough money to make their apartments bigger, Matt still had the biggest apartment out of all of them, on being account of apparently, having been a lawyer beforehand.
Clarke at the time, was on Jessica's lap, nuzzling into the older woman's neck as Jessica reached under Clarke's shirt and stroked Clarke's breast's through the blond's bra, and Danny began to kneel down next to them.
Danny kissed Clarke's neck and closed his eyes, and he just hadn't been able to help but say the words.
He, Luke, Jessica, Elektra and Matt, all knew what the other felt for Clarke.
They could pretend all they wanted, but they all knew.
And they all knew better than to say it out loud. But Danny? Well, one might call him more naïve, than the others.
And the words just came out, against Clarke's ear.
"We love you, Clarke," he whispered.
Almost as soon as he said it, he felt Clarke tense up, then felt Clarke try to squirm out from between him and Jessica.
Clarke got up to her feet, gasping, staring at Jessica and Danny both, her eyes eyeing them.
Jessica was glaring at Danny, having a good idea of what Danny had said, but Clarke got a good look at Danny's face and eyes.
Clarke knew what the difference was between infatuation and actual love. She knew the difference between someone falling in love with another person, from someone just thinking that they had fallen in love.
Even Clarke, cynical as she was, knew the difference.
She had met plenty of men and women both, who genuinely believed that they had been in love with her, but hadn't been.
They just had lusted after her. Had been infatuated with her.
And Clarke had a damn good look at Danny's face and eyes right now.
It wasn't just infatuation. Not just lust.
Clarke clenched her jaw.
This was bad.
This was very bad.
"Dammit, Danny," Jessica snapped, "Did you have to tell her now?"
Clarke tried to fight the shiver that she felt. She remembered what Danny had said. He had said, "We love you," not "I love you."
Meaning he was speaking for every other Defender in the room.
"What the hell did Danny do?" Luke asked, exiting the kitchen, opening up a beer bottle.
"He just told Clarke how we felt about her," Jessica snorted, glaring at Danny again, but then looking at Clarke worriedly.
Clarke almost let loose a pained laugh. Dammit, all of them?
Clarke searched Jessica's face-and yes, she saw it there, too. Clearly, they all had been keeping it well from her, just as much as she was able to conceal her own issues from all of her clients, but there it was.
Clarke turned to Luke, staring at him and watched as his face softened and Clarke almost seethed at the emotions she found there.
Dammit. Just fucking dammit. All this time?
"How long?" Clarke growled, her "party girl" persona dropped, making it very well known right now, that she was absolutely pissed, "How long have all of you felt this way about me?"
Elektra came to sit down at the counter, next to Luke, smirking, but Clarke could see the façade which the dark-haired woman had always used around Clarke, lifting, and could see the soft yearning that was there in Elektra's dark eyes now, "For a long time now, Clarke. But are you really that surprised? We've felt that way for you, for ages. And really, you might as well have told us to fall in love with you. You've been so good to us, is it really such a shock?"
Clarke's hands clenched, then she opened them and raised them to her head, rubbing at her forehead. She wasn't getting a headache, but she felt like this had the potential to do it, alright.
She shook her head then.
This was a complication that she honestly had hoped she wouldn't have to deal with, ever.
But she sucked in a breath and dropped her arms as she released the breath and nodded, "Alright, fine," she said, "You all are in love with me. You know what? Fine. Whatever. But there's no reason why we have to cut things short. I'll still fuck you. You pay me. And we can do the usual routine."
Matt, who obviously had heard everything, thanks to his hearing-which was sharper than anyone who's eyes worked, walked from the bathroom where he had just finished up and had washed his hands and said calmly, no sunglasses covering his eyes, "And you're just going to pretend that you didn't learn about this? You're just going to ignore this?"
Clarke scoffed, "And why not? It's not like love will pay the bills. I don't need that complicating everything."
Clarke looked to Jessica as she said, "You understand, don't you, Jessica? Better than anyone here?"
Jessica looked at Clarke, sighed, and Clarke mentally kicked herself for bringing it up. Because shouldn't she know not to?
Out of everyone here besides Clarke, herself, Jessica had a complicated relationship with that emotion-love.
She treated it as a pestilence, and Clarke supposed that she herself, did the same thing.
But given Jessica's history, Clarke couldn't say that she blamed the older woman.
Clarke observed Jessica carefully and noticed, feeling her stomach fall, how Jessica turned away from Clarke, as Jessica said wryly, "Yeah. It's a waste of time. Doesn't mean that Danny didn't tell you the truth, when he said it."
Clarke tensed up.
So, Jessica wasn't even going to pretend that she didn't feel the same way about Clarke.
Clarke was having a hard time processing all this. All of them were in love with her?
Whenever one of her clients had claimed to be in love with Clarke in the past, she had just disbelieved it.
It had been an easy thing to do, because Clarke had been abandoned by her own mother at a young age, thrown from foster home to foster home, returned by adoptive families.
She had more or less been convinced by everyone else, that no one would love her.
So, assuming that whenever anyone said that they loved her, were either lying to her or lying to themselves, had been very easy for Clarke.
But it was when the love was genuine, that was a problem. And Clarke was always able to tell when the emotions were genuine.
And this? This was genuine. Genuine love. Genuine desire to be with her.
And it was a serious problem.
Clarke shook her head as she answered, "Look, this adds nothing for me. So, let's either do this and have fun, and you can pay me. Or we don't do anything and I was asked to come here for nothing."
Clarke watched their faces, again.
Danny and Matt both winced. Luke's mouth tightened. Elektra narrowed her eyes. And Jessica's jaw clenched and she looked like she wanted to snap, but said nothing.
"Alright," Elektra said at last, "We can continue, if we all can pretend that we just didn't have this discussion." She said that, but Clarke wasn't sure that even Elektra believed it.
Clarke observed the others.
None of them looked eager to treat this as if it was just a business transaction, involving sex and money and nothing else.
Clarke scoffed, grabbing what few things she had and started heading out. "Fucking great," she growled, as she left.
She assumed it was a one-off thing. Nothing to worry about.
And she felt like she had ever reason to assume that, as she went throughout the days, going form client to client and getting paid.
However, she was about to learn better, about a week later, when she received a call from Pepper Potts, asking Clarke if she could see the older woman and Tony, in a couple of days.
And Clarke knew that Tony and Pepper always paid well.
So, she agreed to it, and decided to be on her way there after two days.
With Tony and Pepper, she would get her next unwelcome surprise.