ahem.

[dira]

One hour forty-four more minutes until I am off to con_txt! Which, uh, I'm not sure I've even remembered to mention that I'm going to. But I am! Tonight! In one hour and forty-four minutes.

In the meantime, since I am bored, and since missmollyetc's squee is my command:

Hookerfic. Sort of. Being the first part of a WIP which may never be continued, let alone completed, and which thus far includes no actual sex, and which takes place in some sort of fantastical brothel so high-rent it might as well be science-fictional, and which probably refers to Charlie's job description in its glossy, discreet, text-only brochures as courtesan.

Ahem.


Clocking Out

Charlie waited a few minutes before he used his safe word, calculating risk and reward. He definitely couldn't get free without hurting himself excessively--the frame and bonds were intended to keep him in place if he fought, after all--but if he waited long enough, procedure would require someone to check on him, and then he'd be allowed back on the floor once he passed a med-check. If he passed a med-check. If he called for help, he'd be automatically off-shift, and the responsible client would go on the warning list and get a stern, and statistically significantly future-tip-reducing, lecture about adherence to house rules.

His fingers were starting to tingle, though.

Charlie cleared his throat, lifted his head as high as he could, and said in a firm, clear voice, "Non-Euclidean."

"Hey, Charlie," said David's voice from a speaker above him, "monitor shows your client left four minutes ago."

"Yeah," Charlie said, "left me tied up. Who's free?"

"Not me, I'm sorry to say," David said, the friendly leer in his voice making Charlie smile. "Colby's busy. Don..."

Charlie didn't bother to say, "yes, please," because David would only tease him more. Everybody knew Charlie preferred Don.

"...is breaking up a scuffle on the main floor. He's gonna be at least five minutes. Billy is..."

"I can wait," Charlie said, only a little hastily. "It's a three on a scale of one to ten, no big deal." After all, he could still feel his fingers.

"Uh-huh," David said. "I'll tell him that. Call back if you need somebody sooner."

"Yeah." Charlie squirmed as much as he could, flexing his hands. "Will do."

"All right, Charlie. David out."

***

Don hesitated for a second outside Charlie's door, glancing up and down the richly decorated hallway. He never paused to feel out of place up here among the private rooms when he was going in hot, pulling Charlie or Andy or Johnny or one of the Specials out of immediate danger, but this was different. He was technically off-shift after the fight, no longer fit for public view: his knuckles were stinging, and he could feel bruises rising on his ribs. His shirt was untucked and torn at the collar, and he'd wound up with whipped cream and cherry juice all down one leg of his jeans, sticky-wet as blood. But David had said Charlie needed untying, so of course he'd come up.

Charlie needed untying. Don opened the door and stepped in, smiling despite his weariness at the sight before him, and said, "Hey, Chuck."

Charlie's fingers fluttered at him, and Charlie said, "Hey, Don," a little muffled from being facedown in a pillow. Charlie was laid out naked on an arrangement of cushions in a standard open-topped adjustable tubing frame, lightweight and easy for johns to use but nearly impossible to escape if you were tied in. He'd tried it himself, during his training. Cords held Charlie's legs spread apart, fastened him down tight to the cushions at his shoulders and hips, and held his arms up behind him, bound together at the elbow and wrist.

Don walked closer, squinting at the raised welts on Charlie's back and the reddening of his fingers, and then tsked. "Drew blood," Don said, reaching for the camera in his pocket with one hand and tapping on his earbug with the other. "David, Charlie's client drew blood, make sure that's noted in their file."

"Got it," David said briskly, and Don clicked off as he started snapping the required documentation photos of Charlie's back. "You know," he said to Charlie, "one of these days the cushions will slip while you're waiting for me and you'll break your nose."

"They're designed not to slip," Charlie said, not remotely for the first time. "They're not just textured for my pleasure, y'know."

"Yeah, and you know this was at least a five, even without the blood," Don said, tucking the camera into his pocket and moving to free Charlie's wrists and then his elbows, so he could finally lower his arms after God and the monitors only knew how long. "You gotta report that correctly when you call in, Charlie."

"I was okay waiting," Charlie muttered, his fingers twitching as Don rubbed at the imprint of the rope. "And I didn't want them to send somebody else. I knew you'd come as fast as you could."

Don couldn't help smiling as he moved on to the cords that held Charlie's shoulders. One look at the knots and he pulled the knife from his belt. "Charlie, Charlie, Charlie," he muttered as he sliced. Charlie pushed up on his elbows as Don moved on to the cords that held his hips. "What did I ever do to deserve you?"

"Asked mom and dad for a little brother, probably."

Don looked up at Charlie's face. Charlie's eyes were bright, watching Don through the fall of his hair. Don turned back to his work, sliding the blade of his knife carefully between Charlie's skin and the rope. "See, I might fall for that, except I never asked for a little brother. I asked for a puppy."

Charlie wagged his ass as Don moved further down. "Well, I shudder to think how that might have turned out."

"My brother, the comedian," Don muttered, but he was smiling as he slit the cords on Charlie's ankles. "How are your hands?"

Charlie's fingers flexed and he winced. "Tingly."

"Yeah," Don said, walking over to the cabinet for the first aid kit, "see, buddy, that's a five." He heard a faint rustling and added, "Don't you move."

Charlie was lying still, face down against the cushions, when Don turned back toward him with the kit in his hand. Don tapped his earbug again. "Hey, David, what's the status for med-checks right now?"

"Yellow tags and up. If Charlie needs stitches he might be waiting a while."

Don crouched down at Charlie's side, pulled on a glove and wiped away the trickle of blood running into the groove of his brother's spine. It was barely a cut; blood beaded up along a short stretch of one whip-mark, just under Charlie's shoulder blade. "He's green," Don said. "No stitches."

"He'll go on the list for a morning-after check, then," David said. "Try not to rough him up too much overnight."

"Got it," Don said, uncapping the antiseptic spray. Charlie flinched at the sound, but held perfectly still under the actual sting when Don applied it. "Is there a removal protocol tonight?"

"Back stairs," David said, "out of sight."

"Good," Don said. He pressed the gauze to Charlie's back for a count of ten before he took it away to check the bleeding. It had slowed to a seep already, and Charlie didn't even seem to notice the pressure against it. Whatever was in the spray bottle worked fast. Don rolled up the gauze and tucked it back into its wrapper, dropping it on the floor for clean-up to catch. "I'm not exactly display-ready myself."

David chuckled, warm in his ear. "Aw, you know they love you when you're roughed up."

"Yeah," Don said, setting his ungloved hand on the back of Charlie's neck, rubbing at the warm uninjured skin hidden by his hair. "That's what I'm saying, I'm gonna have my hands full of Charlie--"

"That's enough," David said, laughing. "That's enough of that, I'm out."

Don grinned and tugged out his earbug. "Okay, buddy, how about you roll onto your side for me."

Charlie pushed back against Don's hand, easing onto his side, facing Don. Don slid his hand down to Charlie's throat and then over his chest, tracing the skin reddened and printed with the texture of the cushions. "So," Don said, "how was your day at work?"

Charlie closed his eyes and smiled as Don scratched gently at a red line on his belly, squirming contentedly. "Mmm," he said, almost low enough to qualify as a purr. "Yeah. Not bad. Got off a couple of times. My four o'clock brought candy." Which meant E, from the dispensary downstairs--if he'd ingested anything unfamiliar, Charlie would have been yanked after his med check. They were being careful about that after last week. Don let his hand slide down to Charlie's thigh, and Charlie made another little throaty noise, snuggling into the cushions.

His eyes popped open abruptly, and Don watched his pupils contract--he was safely off his dose from the afternoon's second client, they wouldn't have let him back on the floor if he wasn't functional. "Hey," Charlie said, "how's my tip? It should be on the table."

Don gave Charlie's hip a brief, friendly squeeze and then got up to check, yanking his glove off as he went. He dropped it on the table and picked up two crisp bills, rubbing them together so Charlie could hear. "Couple hundred," he said. "Want me to hold it for you?"

"Yeah," Charlie said, pushing up on one elbow into a classic centerfold sprawl. "I'm a little short of pockets."

Don folded the bills neatly into quarters and slid them into his back pocket, then went to the wardrobe and opened a drawer, reaching under the silky showy stuff to drag out a pair of soft fleece pants. "Okay," he said, coming back to kneel at Charlie's side, the centerfold resolving at close range into his little brother, skin reddened, looking tired around the eyes but still smiling the soft private smile he only showed to Don. "Time to sit up."

He set his hand under Charlie's side and levered him up, getting his other hand under Charlie's knee to pull his legs around and over the edge of the restraint frame. Charlie slouched forward, leaning his face against Don's shoulder, and then raised a hand, tugging at Don's torn collar. "Hey, how was your day at work?" Don opened his mouth, and then heard Charlie sniff deeply. "And why do you smell like cherry syrup?"

"Had to break up a fight at the sundae bar," Don muttered, looking down Charlie's back at the reddened stripes of skin. The blood on the cut was already starting to dry.

"Oh," Charlie said, starting to sound sleepy, "who's that tonight?"

"Ellie," Don sighed. It would have been all right if she just stared into space with the toppings down her back, like the sundae bar girls were supposed to, but Ellie did love to flirt.

"Enough said." Charlie rubbed his face against Don's shoulder, settling with his cheek down, his forehead tucked against Don's throat. "So other than that? Nothing exciting?"

Don leaned his cheek against Charlie's hair and set one hand carefully on the undamaged skin of Charlie's hip. "Nah," he murmured. "Nothing exciting."

***

Part 2: At the End of the Day