Sara (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
scripted_sra) wrote2009-06-21 05:57 am
scripted_sra) wrote2009-06-21 05:57 am
Fake News (FPF) | Just Say No | R | "Stephen"/OCs
Title: Just Say No
Fandom: Fake News (FPF)
Rating: R
Pairing: “Stephen”/OCs; burgeoning, one-sided Jon/“Stephen”
Warning: Prostitution. Weird, dubious consent issues. Sad rationalizations.
Summary: Stephen wants to say no.
Word Count: 305
Disclaimer: All copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. This work is not created for profit and constitutes fair use. References to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
A/N: Fits into the same general continuity as this ficlet. I think this may spawn a full-length fic.
Stephen wants to say no.
Each and every time it happens, when he's sinking to his knees, scraping them on the cold pavement, when he's being pushed roughly against unforgiving brick, or the plastic stall divider in a grimy men's restroom, just before he lets his mind fade away, he wants to say no.
He never does, of course, because he needs the money, needs to survive, just needs, in the end—needs to be taken, to feel cheap, used, and ashamed of himself, needs to feel dirty.
He internalizes these desires over the years, learns to hide them, lock them up tight, shouts as loud as he can about morality, goodness, and common decency, and he thinks he’s beaten it, thinks he’s won, right up until that day. They bring in a new host—a new host, how dare they, when he’s been here so long, the job should be his—and Stephen plans to quit, because he has his pride, dammit. He’ll stay just long enough to meet the new guy, tender his resignation in person, but when Jon shakes his hand and smiles, saying, I hope you’ll be sticking around, Stephen freezes, entranced by his eyes, his smile, his sincerity.
No, he thinks firmly, years of determination, haughtiness, and ego to back it up. “Yes,” he says instead, and is rewarded by a heartfelt grin, a pat on the back, and the twin floods of shame and desire he’d long since thought buried forever.
That night he finds himself being pressed up against another stall divider in another grimy men’s bathroom by another anonymous man for the first time in a little over a decade, about to let his mind fade away, about to be taken, about to be used.
He doesn’t say no. He doesn’t even know if he can anymore.
Fandom: Fake News (FPF)
Rating: R
Pairing: “Stephen”/OCs; burgeoning, one-sided Jon/“Stephen”
Warning: Prostitution. Weird, dubious consent issues. Sad rationalizations.
Summary: Stephen wants to say no.
Word Count: 305
Disclaimer: All copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. This work is not created for profit and constitutes fair use. References to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
A/N: Fits into the same general continuity as this ficlet. I think this may spawn a full-length fic.
Stephen wants to say no.
Each and every time it happens, when he's sinking to his knees, scraping them on the cold pavement, when he's being pushed roughly against unforgiving brick, or the plastic stall divider in a grimy men's restroom, just before he lets his mind fade away, he wants to say no.
He never does, of course, because he needs the money, needs to survive, just needs, in the end—needs to be taken, to feel cheap, used, and ashamed of himself, needs to feel dirty.
He internalizes these desires over the years, learns to hide them, lock them up tight, shouts as loud as he can about morality, goodness, and common decency, and he thinks he’s beaten it, thinks he’s won, right up until that day. They bring in a new host—a new host, how dare they, when he’s been here so long, the job should be his—and Stephen plans to quit, because he has his pride, dammit. He’ll stay just long enough to meet the new guy, tender his resignation in person, but when Jon shakes his hand and smiles, saying, I hope you’ll be sticking around, Stephen freezes, entranced by his eyes, his smile, his sincerity.
No, he thinks firmly, years of determination, haughtiness, and ego to back it up. “Yes,” he says instead, and is rewarded by a heartfelt grin, a pat on the back, and the twin floods of shame and desire he’d long since thought buried forever.
That night he finds himself being pressed up against another stall divider in another grimy men’s bathroom by another anonymous man for the first time in a little over a decade, about to let his mind fade away, about to be taken, about to be used.
He doesn’t say no. He doesn’t even know if he can anymore.