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I have no idea where this came from.
Goofy random-point-in-the-timeline bit of hookerfic. Now with more Colby! And introducing the super-handy brothelers tag.
but still no porn.
Safe and Sound
Colby rubbed his hands restlessly up and down his thighs. In two months he’d gotten used to the tight jeans, and how it was his job to get his ass smacked by random people on the main floor as much as to provide security, but it was still weird not carrying a gun.
He understood why. They didn't go into many situations that wouldn’t be made a hell of a lot worse by introducing firearms, and there was too much danger of hitting one of the girls--or boys--of hitting talent. Still. Half of any given night on ready-response was spent just sitting in the call center, waiting, and no gun meant having nothing to occupy his hands.
His hands closed into fists and he forced them open, then jumped as something struck his chest. It was one of those squishy stress balls, red-blue-yellow striped. He felt himself blush a little as he picked it up, squeezing it left-handed even as he looked around. Terry was frowning intently into her monitors, Don leaning over her shoulder, pointing at something, and David had his feet up on the edge of the desk, throwing darts at the far wall with one eye closed. It could have been any of them. Colby smiled, tossed the ball to his right hand, and leaned back in his chair.
He couldn't have said what it was; nobody actually made a sound--maybe an extra quick click of keys, maybe a hint of motion in the corner of his eye as Don and Terry both tensed over the monitors. Colby was already on his feet as Terry said, "It's Amita--go, go, go, now--" and he was first out the door, David and Don hard on his heels.
Amita's room was the third on the right-hand side of the access corridor, and the back doors didn't even lock. Colby busted through almost without breaking stride, yelling, "Security, hands up! Security! Step away!" The guy was shirtless, pants open. He looked like a deer in the headlights, throwing his hands up so fast he tossed the knife he was holding halfway across the room, and Colby caught a glimpse of blood, dark on the blade as it flew.
Colby knocked the guy aside with an open palm, because first through the door was responsible for getting between the client and the talent. Amita had rolled onto her side as soon as the guy stood up, and Colby hit the bed on his knees, bending over her without touching. She lay very still, her body long and slim and golden on the red silk sheets. Behind him he could hear Don and David snarling at the client, the meaty thump of the guy being put on his knees and into restraints. Colby looked over his shoulder, watching as Don frog-marched the guy out the door. David was snapping on gloves to pick up the knife, but he went to the doorway as soon as Don was through. He shut the door and said, "Room clear," loudly enough for Amita to hear as well as Colby, and only then did Colby look back down at her.
She was still lying on her side, her hands over her face, all obscured by the black curls of her hair. Colby couldn't see much blood--a little on the sheets where she'd been lying, and that was enough for a safeword call and a client taken away by force--but no gushing, no serious injury. "Hey, room clear," he said softly, reaching down to push her hair back. "'Mita? You okay? He's gone."
Her shoulder jerked on a fast breath, and through her hands he heard her say in a faint, shaking voice, "I'm sorry--"
Colby sat back on his heels, rubbing her shoulder. "No, hey, he cut you, you called us, that's--"
But the shaking of her shoulder only intensified under his hand, and Amita curled into a ball as she burst out laughing. Colby looked back at David, who was already grinning, leaning against the door, and then back down at Amita, who was half-sitting, trying to muffle her giggles with one hand. Colby smiled uncertainly, glancing at the blood beading up from a shallow cut between her breasts, as Amita said again, "I just--I had to, I couldn't keep a straight face anymore--I'm so sorry--"
Colby finally started laughing--the eyes on that bastard as they all busted in, his pants sagging off him--and scooted off the bed, looking around for Amita's robe. "Come on, let's go, I bet you need stitches," but they couldn't go anywhere until Amita stopped giggling, and that took a while.
***
The clinic nurses took all of ten minutes to fix Amita up with fake-skin-glue and makeup, but she still couldn't go back out on the floor until her last client cleared the building. Colby took her down to the commissary, and they grabbed slices of pie and seats at the table where Charlie was sitting by himself, staring dreamily into space. He grinned when Amita started telling her story, and Colby allowed himself to be drafted for the purposes of dramatic re-enactment.
She went into another fit of giggles as she held a butterknife against his throat. "And he was all--he kept calling me girlie, like, is that supposed to be scary? Really? And asking if I was scared of him yet!"
Charlie groaned sympathetically. "I hate when they ask. It's never a good sign."
Amita shook her head. "I got him off! But he's still trying to be all rarr with his pants hanging open and this stupid knife out of the toy drawer, and I just--couldn't--"
Charlie grinned. "At least you didn't use your safeword because you were about to fall asleep, okay?"
Amita's eyes went wide, and she dropped the knife on the table and sat back down across from Colby. "You didn't."
"Not tonight! A while ago. It was a really long shift," Charlie said, shaking his head. "I was--"
"Manic," Don supplied, appearing behind Charlie and handing him a cup of coffee before sitting down astride the bench. Colby couldn't help noticing he sat close enough that Charlie was almost between his knees, but before he could dwell on that, it occurred to him that two-thirds of the ladies'-side ready-response team was sitting in the commissary. Colby shifted his weight, about to get up, but Don shook his head and mouthed lull at him, tapping his earbug; Terry would let them know when they were needed upstairs again.
"I was having an I-love-my-job day," Charlie said after a sip of coffee, not deigning to look at Don, though Don's eyes had gravitated automatically back to Charlie, watching him warmly. "And somewhere around hour fifteen and client six--"
"Eight," Don muttered, and this time Charlie did look at him, head whipping around, eyes wide. They launched into a silent, private argument right there, without moving a muscle or saying a word, and Colby had to look away; seeing his co-workers madly (badly, dangerous-to-know-ly) in love was somehow more disorienting than seeing them naked. Amita was watching him, her eyes sparkling over a bite of pie, and Colby smiled. It was weird as all fucking get-out, but this wasn't such a bad place to be.
but still no porn.
Safe and Sound
Colby rubbed his hands restlessly up and down his thighs. In two months he’d gotten used to the tight jeans, and how it was his job to get his ass smacked by random people on the main floor as much as to provide security, but it was still weird not carrying a gun.
He understood why. They didn't go into many situations that wouldn’t be made a hell of a lot worse by introducing firearms, and there was too much danger of hitting one of the girls--or boys--of hitting talent. Still. Half of any given night on ready-response was spent just sitting in the call center, waiting, and no gun meant having nothing to occupy his hands.
His hands closed into fists and he forced them open, then jumped as something struck his chest. It was one of those squishy stress balls, red-blue-yellow striped. He felt himself blush a little as he picked it up, squeezing it left-handed even as he looked around. Terry was frowning intently into her monitors, Don leaning over her shoulder, pointing at something, and David had his feet up on the edge of the desk, throwing darts at the far wall with one eye closed. It could have been any of them. Colby smiled, tossed the ball to his right hand, and leaned back in his chair.
He couldn't have said what it was; nobody actually made a sound--maybe an extra quick click of keys, maybe a hint of motion in the corner of his eye as Don and Terry both tensed over the monitors. Colby was already on his feet as Terry said, "It's Amita--go, go, go, now--" and he was first out the door, David and Don hard on his heels.
Amita's room was the third on the right-hand side of the access corridor, and the back doors didn't even lock. Colby busted through almost without breaking stride, yelling, "Security, hands up! Security! Step away!" The guy was shirtless, pants open. He looked like a deer in the headlights, throwing his hands up so fast he tossed the knife he was holding halfway across the room, and Colby caught a glimpse of blood, dark on the blade as it flew.
Colby knocked the guy aside with an open palm, because first through the door was responsible for getting between the client and the talent. Amita had rolled onto her side as soon as the guy stood up, and Colby hit the bed on his knees, bending over her without touching. She lay very still, her body long and slim and golden on the red silk sheets. Behind him he could hear Don and David snarling at the client, the meaty thump of the guy being put on his knees and into restraints. Colby looked over his shoulder, watching as Don frog-marched the guy out the door. David was snapping on gloves to pick up the knife, but he went to the doorway as soon as Don was through. He shut the door and said, "Room clear," loudly enough for Amita to hear as well as Colby, and only then did Colby look back down at her.
She was still lying on her side, her hands over her face, all obscured by the black curls of her hair. Colby couldn't see much blood--a little on the sheets where she'd been lying, and that was enough for a safeword call and a client taken away by force--but no gushing, no serious injury. "Hey, room clear," he said softly, reaching down to push her hair back. "'Mita? You okay? He's gone."
Her shoulder jerked on a fast breath, and through her hands he heard her say in a faint, shaking voice, "I'm sorry--"
Colby sat back on his heels, rubbing her shoulder. "No, hey, he cut you, you called us, that's--"
But the shaking of her shoulder only intensified under his hand, and Amita curled into a ball as she burst out laughing. Colby looked back at David, who was already grinning, leaning against the door, and then back down at Amita, who was half-sitting, trying to muffle her giggles with one hand. Colby smiled uncertainly, glancing at the blood beading up from a shallow cut between her breasts, as Amita said again, "I just--I had to, I couldn't keep a straight face anymore--I'm so sorry--"
Colby finally started laughing--the eyes on that bastard as they all busted in, his pants sagging off him--and scooted off the bed, looking around for Amita's robe. "Come on, let's go, I bet you need stitches," but they couldn't go anywhere until Amita stopped giggling, and that took a while.
***
The clinic nurses took all of ten minutes to fix Amita up with fake-skin-glue and makeup, but she still couldn't go back out on the floor until her last client cleared the building. Colby took her down to the commissary, and they grabbed slices of pie and seats at the table where Charlie was sitting by himself, staring dreamily into space. He grinned when Amita started telling her story, and Colby allowed himself to be drafted for the purposes of dramatic re-enactment.
She went into another fit of giggles as she held a butterknife against his throat. "And he was all--he kept calling me girlie, like, is that supposed to be scary? Really? And asking if I was scared of him yet!"
Charlie groaned sympathetically. "I hate when they ask. It's never a good sign."
Amita shook her head. "I got him off! But he's still trying to be all rarr with his pants hanging open and this stupid knife out of the toy drawer, and I just--couldn't--"
Charlie grinned. "At least you didn't use your safeword because you were about to fall asleep, okay?"
Amita's eyes went wide, and she dropped the knife on the table and sat back down across from Colby. "You didn't."
"Not tonight! A while ago. It was a really long shift," Charlie said, shaking his head. "I was--"
"Manic," Don supplied, appearing behind Charlie and handing him a cup of coffee before sitting down astride the bench. Colby couldn't help noticing he sat close enough that Charlie was almost between his knees, but before he could dwell on that, it occurred to him that two-thirds of the ladies'-side ready-response team was sitting in the commissary. Colby shifted his weight, about to get up, but Don shook his head and mouthed lull at him, tapping his earbug; Terry would let them know when they were needed upstairs again.
"I was having an I-love-my-job day," Charlie said after a sip of coffee, not deigning to look at Don, though Don's eyes had gravitated automatically back to Charlie, watching him warmly. "And somewhere around hour fifteen and client six--"
"Eight," Don muttered, and this time Charlie did look at him, head whipping around, eyes wide. They launched into a silent, private argument right there, without moving a muscle or saying a word, and Colby had to look away; seeing his co-workers madly (badly, dangerous-to-know-ly) in love was somehow more disorienting than seeing them naked. Amita was watching him, her eyes sparkling over a bite of pie, and Colby smiled. It was weird as all fucking get-out, but this wasn't such a bad place to be.