Work Text:
Giran takes a deep drag, the end of his cigarette crackling, the office deathly silent. Truthfully it is more a broom closet that stands in for his office. He surveys the young, scarred man sitting opposite his desk, jiggling one knee nervously.
“Are you sure you wish to do this?”
“Yes.”
“The clients you will get, if you get any that is, I doubt many would want you given the way you look, but supposing you do, they’ll demand all kinds of… things.” Giran pauses a moment to allow the information to sink in. “And once you accept a client – there isn’t any going back. The reason my establishment is thriving is because I give my customers exactly what it says on the tin. Anything goes. And I intend to keep it going. If you fail me as a worker in that department, it can have great repercussions on my business. You understand it’s the client who has the control. You must do everything they say. No questions asked. Of course, within agreement.” Something uncomfortable niggles at him when he says this. A memory of a certain former escort comes to his mind. She was a lively bright little spirit with her honey blonde hair and honey gold eyes, with an equally gold little impish grin. Until that incident happened with a certain client.
The scarred man nods.
“Or,” says Giran, “you could stick to pole dancing like you usually do. Your act on Friday nights has become unexpectedly popular. Not to mention you don’t look half bad under the glitter and smoke. And of course, the makeup and costumes my dear Mirko come up for you now and again, it only adds to that dark allure and taste some people have.”
“No,” insists the young man. “I want to do this.”
“If you don’t mind, may I ask, why?”
The scarred dancer quirks a brow, the most expressive he’s been since the meeting began. “Money.”
“Why?” probes Giran, not exactly expecting an answer or if he receives one, not expecting an honest answer at least.
“I like money.”
Giran sighs. Such generic answers. But plausible. Who doesn’t like money? “You’ve ever had sex with strangers before?”
The scarred man’s face closes off. “Yes, of course, I have.” He replies a little too quickly and that’s when Giran knows the man is lying. He sighs. It’s a shame to see young, troubled souls turn to sex work out of desperation. He isn’t keen to have workers like that in his establishment. He wants genuinely, enthusiastic sex workers, those having fun with their clients as much as the paying client is having fun, so it’s like a double bonus for the worker. But if the worker is only here out of necessity, desperation, some shitty sob story or the other, then Giran is quite reluctant to hire such people. He only wants those that actually love getting slutty, loves sex, loves cock and cum and cunt. Loves the three Cs as he likes to summarise it. Cock. Cum Cunt. All the better if his worker is up for double or triple penetration, threesomes and gangbangs, water sports, the whole shebang really. It is vulgar business, yes, perhaps, but it cannot really be all that sordid if it is all consensual. And that ‘C’ there is the most important one of all, though unspoken. Consent.
Sure, he might be a sleaze, but he is a sleave with principle and quite soft at heart. After seeing his mother waste away in a job like this, he made it his mission to not take advantage of people the way his mother was. He sighs deeply. And then, there’s that poor girl. It’s a real shame what happened to her and how he could not give her justice.
And the scarred dancer that sits in front of Giran looks ever so fragile like he’d break. There’s no way he could handle this line of work.
“Look, if you are that desperate for money, I suppose I could give you a pay rise –”
“I said I liked money, not that I was desperate,” cuts the man in sharply, a tad too defensive, curling a fist.
“Careful there,” warns Giran.
The man bows his head. “Please,” he says, “give me a chance. I just really like money.”
“And if you regret it later?”
“I won’t”
Reluctantly, Giran yanks his laptop forward to draw up a contact. Whatever. The young man insists this is what he wants to do, and that he’s happy. Well, then Giran hasn’t got anything bad on his conscience. Oh, that’s another C word. Conscience.
It’s just as well Halloween is around the corner. He could probably come up with a theme for the young guy here, something dark, gothic, and kinky to debut a new escort. There are all kinds of freaks and weirdos out there; someone is bound to have a burn fetish. October is without a doubt the perfect month to spice up sex with everything weird, freaky, and sinful. A night for taking candies from strangers. Or to stuff oneself silly with whatever joystick does it for them. It’s the perfect excuse to dip into some new, forbidden and kinky for the first time. A little bit of role plays perhaps, cop and convict, student and teacher, nurse and patient, hell, even a killer clown on the loose sex role play. Yes, this month is ripe for all things gory and sexy, leading down to a road of either treachery or a treat.
And if there’s one thing Giran takes pride in about his establishment, it is being able to cater something for everyone, no matter how wild or farfetched it may seem. He isn’t one to kink shame after all.
As Giran writes the contact, he goes through the dancer's – that is to say Himura Touya's – rights for him. Stressing everything from consent to red alarm bells and how to call for help the moment he thinks something is wrong. Or how to activate the emergency private camera to start recording the situation, if Touya feels in danger.
To this day, even though it’s been three years now, thoughts of what happened to that girl haunt him. In short, a client had brutally assaulted one of his workers. Giran's establishment lost the lawsuit, the girl had to drop it because she was blackmailed. The defendant had money beyond Giran’s dreams. And poor, poor, Toga Himiko had gone mad ever since. Unable to cope with her trauma. Giran visits the girl at the hospital from time to time without her knowledge to leave care packages. He couldn't protect her like he wanted to do. Hell, if he'd let his newest sex worker ever be harmed.
*
First floor. Room 18. It smells like danger. He should leave.
Shimura Tenko drags his feet, in half a mind to turn back and run. But he tells himself, this time he’s going to do it. That he has to do it. He must do it. He hesitates a moment and then turns the doorknob.
There in the middle of the room stands the lithe figure of the scarred dancer, that has been haunting Tenko’s dream. For a moment he can do nothing but stare at man through his sun shades.
The dancer’s legs are encased in thigh-high stockings, the lace delicately stitched and weaved to emulate that of a spider’s web, the threads tantalisingly melding across the meat of the scarred man’s thigh. His crotch is but humbly covered with a scant piece of translucent fabric, held in place with equally delicate lace in the shape of a web spanning on either side of those slim waist. The rest of him is artfully bare but for a dust of glitter and a layered silver chain draped across his chest and waist, contrasting sharply against his dark nipples and accentuating his slim belly.
A kind of heavy yet dizzy rush sweeps through Tenko as he steps over the threshold and snaps the door shut, hardly daring to breathe, scarcely believing that he’s finally about to do it. Have sex that is. And with the scarred, beautiful stranger he’s been pining over the last few months no less.
Dabi.
*
“So erm what do you want?” begins Touya nervously. The man, no, the client, he corrects himself silently stands about the same height as him. But his build, Touya has no idea, given all the layers this mysterious figure is swathed in. Touya doesn’t even know what he looks like, what with his hood pulled up, dark shades obscuring the eye and a face mask shielding the rest of the man’s face. Despite where he is and what he has come here for, the man seems disinclined to peel his clothes off. He’s even wearing fucking gloves on both hands. Just what kind of client has Touya landed as his first-ever hook-up?
“Erm, whatever you usually do?” says the man.
Touya stares. The voice sounds young, yet there’s a raspy, hesitant grind to it. As if the person speaking isn’t used to using their voice. More pressingly, from what he heard from his colleagues - isn’t the client supposed to demand and command and ask and give all the instructions?
“I follow orders,” starts Touya carefully. “Any orders. Yours,” he clarifies. He feels sick. To his sheer shock, the man seems to stumble back a step, and he falters.
“Oh,” breathes the other. “Oh – erm – erm – um – oh shit – I didn’t really know that. What? Really? Like you do anything?”
“Uh, yeah, that’s how it works here… that’s why you pay. And the more you pay, the erm more I will do.” With consent, Giran drilled into him. He reminded Touya a few times that everything had to be done with consent of course.
“What do you usually do then?”
“Hah?” says Touya. What does he usually do? How should he answer? He’s never done this before.
“I mean,” the man amends, “what do your customers usually ask you to do?”
Shit. Touya feels sweat beads form on the side of his forehead. “Sex,” he whispers, because what the fuck – who is this weird ass fucker of a client – people are only here for one thing. Sex. What else. He feels sick.
“Yeah, I know that!” snaps the man, sounding annoyed, the first real emotion he’s shown. It causes Touya to jump. “I just meant, shit, I just mean…” he growls and reaches for his neck to scratch. “Fuck it! I’m leaving!” He says and turns to the door.
It’s not even been two minutes. Touya panics. “No wait, wait, wait, please don’t go.”
“What?” growls the other.
“Look, you – you’re – you’re my first client, so please just give me a chance. I’ve never done this before okay? But I’ll do anything you want! Anything. Please don’t go…. My boss, otherwise, he won’t let me work anymore. Won’t let me have any other customers.”
The man spins around. “What?!” he splutters. “You’re a fucking virgin!?”
Touya panics, making a strangled noise in his throat, he is a virgin, but he didn’t mean that. He never said that. He is only trying to explain it is his first time being a sex worker with a client like this.
Touya had long ago given up the dream of finding real love and losing his virginity the ‘normal’ way. To the point, he doesn’t care if he is one or not. Hence, he’s willing to sell himself now. Because he needs the fucking money. It is the only way he can walk out of his parents’ house with his head held high, without taking a single penny from them. But more importantly, his goal - a dream of a kind – is to take his father to court for all the times he’s ever hurt him, his mother, and his siblings. His eyes blur. “No,” he lies. “I’m not, I just meant you are my first job for this line of work, here in this place.”
But the man suddenly strides over to him and grabs him by the arm. “But you are,” he spits harshly. “For fuck’s sake, you are one! Oh my god! Shit!” Just as abruptly, he releases Touya, and he scratches his neck more. “You’re a fucking virgin. Shit!!”
Tears spurt from Touya’s eyes. He is in deep shit. “I said, I’m not,” he lies desperately, voice shrill and forcibly cutting over.
“Quiet,” orders the man, “I’m thinking,” He looks like he’s about to reach for Touya again but then thinks better of it. Instead reaches for his neck to scratch out his dissatisfaction. It’s clearly not enough because then he whips off a glove for better access, muttering to himself, seemingly having forgotten there’s another person in the room with him. He moves to sit down on the silky futon.
A long moment passes and Touya holds his breath, petrified that the man will walk out now, lodge a complaint to Giran and then it’s over. All of it. It’s gonna be over.
“Alright,” the masked client decides, “let’s do this then.”
Shock flits across Touya’s expression but he channels it quickly and swallows. “What do you want? Where shall I start? I could begin by taking your clothes off?” he whispers tremulously, reaching forward, fingers trembling.
The man shakes his head, “No, let’s just talk first,” he says. “You’re shaking,” he then notes.
“I – I’m just a little cold,” says Touya softly, yet another automatic lie.
A heartbeat of silence. “Hmm, is that so?” For the first time, the man sounds almost amused. “It says on your profile that your body runs hotter than a fever, cos of your quirk and that you’re a smouldering catch, that one would be a fool not to dare to get close to your heat. For the sweet nectar you have to offer within is worth getting burnt.”
“Huh? What profile?”
“The book,” explains the man patiently. “There is a book we can choose from whom we want, supplied with a picture, a name, and a mini introduction about what flavour we’re getting. And apparently this month there’s a Halloween special. A trick or a treat by the name of Dabi. You.”
Oh. Touya berates himself mentally, of course, there is a catalogue thing like a menu, Mirko mentioned as such. What’s more, it’s October and after Giran drew up his contract, he remembered saying they had to come up with a sort of theme or idea for Touya’s debut. “I mean, yeah I knew that I just didn’t know what mines said.”
“Well, I picked you only because of that,” explains the man. “I get cold kinda easily and I really liked the idea of –” He cuts himself off and whatever he was going to say next, Touya will never know. Expect the scarred dancer can’t help but think the guy sounds lost. Wistful almost. It doesn’t improve Touya’s predicament though because as the client speaks again, he says the following. “But if you’re not running hotter than a fever like the book says – that’s like false advertisement right,” he asks. “Or is that a trick?”
Touya exhales sharply, “I – erm – I mean I feel cold, but maybe to others I feel warm, I don’t know.” He shrugs.
“Jesus, relax, will you? I was just saying. Don’t care either way. You gonna sit down?”
Touya moves to sit with careful deliberation next to the man but with space between. “Erm what should I call you?”
“Tenko,” answers the guy.
“I’m –”
“Dabi. You strip dance on Friday nights, yeah, I know.” When Touya makes a surprised noise, Tenko elaborates. “Been here a few times beforehand, so erm you no longer strip and pole dance?”
“Oh no, I dance. I do both, I – erm asked to do this now.”
“Why?”
“Erm, you know how it is, make extra cash,” laughs Touya, trying to sound airily unbothered.
“No, I don’t actually,” replies Tenko. “My father gives me everything and he has more money than he knows what to do with and the only reason am here is cos I got a whole loada cash and dunno what to really do with it either. So usually I erm – I just come in here for a show or two, watch the dancers and then go home, but today Is the first time using the other services available.”
“Right”, nods Touya.
The room grows silent. So, his client is rich. He blinks. Shit, he should say something but what?
“So erm what made you erm – er – want to change your mind about the other services?”
The man scoffs. “Why do you think? Huh? To get off obviously. To get my fucking dick wet. To ass fuck someone. Why else?” It’s not strictly true. He only changed his mind because it’s Dabi here.
Touya mentally recoils. Mirko warned him, didn’t she, that some customers are into something called “dirty talking.” He tries to chuckle, but it comes out hollow. “Erm, yeah, course,” he nods. All of a sudden, he feels like crying. He can’t do it, can he? Get fucked in the ass by a stranger just like that? He doesn’t want to do it. Oh, God, he can’t do it. He can’t!
Then to both of their horror, Touya breaks.
*
Tenko finds it’s laughable the situation he’s landed himself in. He went out of his way to blow his rock. Pop his cherry. Wet his dick. Instead, he’s in a room with a fucking virgin. A stuttering virgin. A virgin exactly like himself. Wow.
He frowns. How exactly is he supposed to lose his virginity with another virgin? Jack shit is gonna happen tonight. It took him a very long time to gain the balls to ask Giran for the book. The book with the list of all the other sinful services available for purchase at the strip club.
Mirko smirked when she saw Giran hand him the profiles. He hates her with a passion. Stupid, fucking bunny bitch. But when he saw him – Dabi’s face – with a whole ass profile, to say Tenko was shocked is an understatement.
Tenko’s not the kind to believe in luck or signs or coincidences. He is far too logical for that. He knows for a fact that Dabi, the Friday night stripper does not do that kind of work. Yet, what is his photo doing in the book? When Giran confirmed it was indeed a new entry, a Halloween special for the weekend, and if there was a success to it, then the dancer could potentially become a regular escort, something in Tenko flipped.
He knew then he had to book Dabi for a few hours.
Tenko doesn't believe in love. At least for himself. He's too old now. Too ugly. Too jaded. The lovely fairy tale of loving and being loved isn't meant for him. Especially the being loved back part. Tenko doesn't mind that. The problem is he’s got so much love locked up in his heart but no one to give it to. He just wishes he could give it to someone. Anyone. And they don’t ever gotta reciprocate. All he wants to do is just love someone if only they would let him.
Except he’s never found anyone. Doubts he ever will. As such, Tenko's never been with anyone, intimate or otherwise. It’s gotten to the point that he’s been thinking about paying a prostitute to experience – what it might feel like at least just once – to love and be loved. Even if it is only a dream, an illusion, fake.
Expect Tenko’s never had the courage to pay for a night of pleasure from a hooker. A secret part of him wants to find someone worthy. Not just any stripper. That's why Tenko's restricted himself to watching the dancers. Ignoring the ones willing to offer more. And just dreaming about the pretty scarred dancer. Dabi. Who somehow, for whatever reason seems so different from the rest. Who would never be more than a silent dream in Tenko’s mind. That is until his dancer has moved on to offering sex.
Tenko's heart beats.
If he's honest, a part of him was always secretly holding out on the wish that his first time losing his virginity could somewhat romantic, even if he's gotta pay for it.
That is until the beautiful, scarred man breaks down in a panicked sob.
So yeah, a laughable situation. Tenko doesn't laugh though. How can he when the scarred figure slides off the dark silky blanket of the futon and lurches towards the floor on all fours in an unsteady manner, hardly breathing.
"Hey!" Tenko calls in a panic. "Hey what – do you? Why are you...!" He backs away, scared, and thoroughly confused. There's a strict policy against hurting sex workers. Giran’s establishment is one of the few in which sex workers are treated with every much integrity and dignity as the next person in another profession. He should probably call for the manager or something.
Just as the thought crosses his mind, the scared figure lurches towards him, as if guessing what he is thinking. "No, please no," Dabi cries. Breaking.
There’s an intentional scuffle and Tenko's glasses get knocked askew. In his haste to cover his ugly eyes again, whilst trying to minimise contact with the dancer, the hand without the glove makes contact with his sunglasses with all five fingers. Tenko watches – or rather feels – with horror as his first shield of defence is utterly and completely disintegrated. Gone. An ugly panic bubbles in Tenko's throat. He shoves Touya away harshly. “Get off me!" He shrieks. Hands instantly reaching to cover the now exposed part of his face. He can't be seen. He just can't. Touya falls back on the black sheets, expression twisted with fear and a kind of desperation Tenko can’t name.
"I can still do it. I can!"
Tenko freezes, paling. "Do what?” he croaks.
“Have sex!" sobs Dabi, his blue, blue eyes glazed, the muscles of his neck strained. His chest heaves.
Tenko backs away. "No, no we can’t, you're clearly freaking out,” He shakes his head wildly, trying to make sense of the situation. “You clearly don't want this. I – I'm not going to –”
"I'll do it!" Insists Touya through his tears. He can’t let his father win. He cannot. That man has been hurting Touya for too long now. Natsuo isn't home all the time to protect Touya like before. Touya's desperate. He can't put it past his father to escalate things. Won't. What’s more, it is the only way to uncover the truth of what happened here 3 years ago. He knew the girl. Toga. They were never friends. But Touya remembers her from school. If he can prove that somehow his father hurt that girl, he'll be able to convince the rest of the world that his father also hurt his mother the same way.
"But you clearly don't – I – you don't want this. Why are you here? Maybe I can help."
"If you want to help. Then just stay here. And – and just – I need to keep this job..." Touya implores brokenly. Needs to find the truth. "If we can just do the thing, you want and then you just go. That's enough." He begs again.
"You're first time shouldn't be like this." Tenko shakes his head again, resolutely, all kinds of emotions racing through his chest.
"But it's not my first time!"
"Dabi!" Tenko's voice is sharp. Shrill. That Touya freezes. For the first time, Tenko uncovers his eyes and lowers himself to the floor, to Touya's eye level. With trembling fingers, he impulsively unhooks his mask and displays his flaws, revealing his face voluntarily. “Don’t lie,” he rasps, something in him squeezing tight. At that moment he no longer cares about his goal, he just wants to help Dabi in any way he can. To just take him away somewhere far and give him all the love he can, until those pretty blue eyes no longer cry. He can't explain this compelling feeling.
Touya's stuttering breaths are brought to a harsh halt. Lava-bright eyes pierce into his soul as if able to see every single memory he's ever had since his existence began. It was just as he thought, his client was young. A pale face, scarred like his own but the markings of a different kind, shadows around his eyes, but it cannot mask his youth.
“Talk to me,” whispers Tenko with his compelling crimson gaze.
And Touya wonders could he really? Talk to a stranger, this man, Tenko, who’s supposed to be his client. Could he really just tell him his story, the reason for being here, the pain of his childhood, the trauma of his teen years, and above all the haunting past of his mother. The ghost of the girl he once used to go to school with, what his father supposedly did to her but was never convicted.
If anyone could understand, then maybe it is Tenko. He looks so earnest, so open, so full of warmth. So ready to believe and so ready to help. And his eyes … those red, red eyes look at once kind and unforgiving. A strange mix but a mix Touya decides to believe in.
*
Deliberately slowly, Giran removes his glasses, places them on the desk, then removes his cigar, places it on the ashtray and folds his arms, surveying the two youths in front of him in pure disbelief.
"What?" He repeats for the third time, eyes glued on the red-eyed client and the blue-eyed dancer. "You both want to do what?"
"You heard us the first time round," says Tenko.
"No, I didn't!"
"You very much did!"
"Then tell it again!" Demands Giran, "I need to get this straight!"
"Let me take Touya home with me," replies Tenko in a steely voice.
"You can't just pick him up like a sack of potatoes and carry him home," Giran expresses. "He's not grocery!"
"Touya wants to go home with me," cuts in Tenko.
"This is not how this works. What of his contract?" he snaps in a tired voice.
"I'll pay it off," insists Tenko.
Giran glances at Touya. "You've not spoken."
"I lied to you..."
“I don’t understand.”
"My name isn't Himura Touya. The ID is fake. Along with my age. I'm not 25. And I'm not a Himura."
Something cold sinks in Giran’s belly. “No –”
"I'm a Todoroki.”
"The Todoroki?!" Squeaks Giran, his entire face palling. It all comes back to Giran in one swooping moment. How, not too long ago a man by the name Todoroki Enji used to visit. This was 3 years ago. One day, one of his workers, Toga, came to him sobbing wretchedly. In that moment Giran knew. He just knew what happened. And yet, it became a classic case of “he said, she said”. At that time Giran’s establishment didn’t have a private safety camera installed.
It resulted in Toga filing a lawsuit against Todoroki Enji, who denied everything and still wanted to enter the establishment as he pleased. There was a bitter battle. Unfortunately, Enji is a man of resources and he had dug up some past history on the poor girl. Threatened her to drop the lawsuit or he'll go public with her past. Giran could only helplessly watch the saga unfold. The only thing he could do was ban Enji from entering or going anywhere near any of his workers ever again.
The last thing Giran expects is to discover a Todoroki spawn working for him. "Why?!"
“I wanted to find out for myself exactly what my father did. At the same time, I need to get away from him. H - he hurts our family. My younger brother and me most of all. I wanted to expose him. When that lawsuit happened, I felt so relieved, thinking that finally, someone was standing up to him. That he'll get what he deserves. Then out of nowhere, the case was dropped, and read on the news the girl was suddenly happy to settle everything privately outside the court. When I knew for a fact, that poor girl who worked for you was definitely raped. He raped my mother. And makes inappropriate passes at me - I - I just had - I couldn't just let - I needed to do something!" Touya breaks down.
Immediately Tenko cradles Dabi in his arms, shushing him soothingly. Then glances at Giran.
"I want to book Touya exclusively for the rest of his contract. I'll pay whatever I need. But no one's to ever touch him. No one. And in the meantime, we help Touya investigate. Is there is a way that Touya can meet with the girl? Or talk to anyone here at all who might have been used by Enji here, to let him talk, and gather evidence. This time, I'll be the one paying and managing everything. I'll reopen the lawsuit against Enji on behalf of Toga. We'll get her justice. Touya will document everything from his side too. And we'll keep your name out of it if you so wish.”
Giran feels older than his years. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he nods at last. This is a lot more than he bargained for this Halloween. Not exactly how he wanted things to go with his new escort, which didn’t last all that long it seems. Had it been anyone else, Giran might have been sceptical about the whole situation. He might have questioned Tenko’s intentions more deeply. Might have expressed anger at being deceived by Touya. But he knows Tenko, seen him here for a few months now, a regular on Friday evenings and had never once caused trouble. And he knows that beneath that cold visage, Touya’s a gentle soul.
“Go on then, get out of my sight now! I need a drink. It’s already been too long a night,” he grumbles at the two young men half-heartedly. And waves them off, reaching for his cigar once more.
*
That Halloween night, Tenko indeed carries his – new? – boyfriend back to his house. Maybe not as a sack of potatoes. But as a sexy, scarred, webbed-clad dancer sitting in his arms like a bride.
And if Shimura Kotaro has any comments to make at his wayward son returning home with a scantily dressed man in a spider-themed lingerie, he stops short when he's met with a pair of defiant red eyes, mirroring his own.
He just nods at his son, making a note to talk in the morning. Until then, Tenko can enjoy his Halloween treat in peace. And if a secret part of him is relieved and proud, Tenko's got a friend or boyfriend at last, well that's between him and Nao.
And if Tenko and Touya do in the end indulge in a sweet treat or two of their own in the darkness of Tenko's bedroom, well that’s between them.