POISON

VIP

The amount of time it took to start a conversation with someone to coax them into buying dances was growing more effortless by the day. Every time he approached someone new, Gerard felt more confident. Older, or around his own age, it didn't matter. He'd improved from past mistakes and learned exactly what to say and what not to say. It was easier if the men were older because being approached by a younger man boosted their ego.

If their conversation went well, they'd pay generously, and Gerard would allow them to touch within his boundaries. Following that, they nearly always wanted him in a VIP room, where the prices were five hundred dollars and up, no matter how much time was spent in there.

Being led towards the private area of the club was like winning a game.

Tonight was an annoyingly tedious Monday. However, three hours into his shift, he was being led by the hand towards the VIP rooms. The one leading him there was a businessman wearing a navy-blue suit, shirt untucked.

On the way, they passed the bar, and before he was dragged out of sight, Gerard blew Frank a kiss, able to see his blush under the pale blue lights.

Considering slow shifts were generally spent lounging around on rich red chairs until he caught someone's attention, his outfit wasn't too extravagant; thigh high boots, black jeans laced up along the sides, and a loose mesh shirt that was more rips than actual material. As for accessories; garters, and a thick black leather choker.

At the desk, the man paid for two private dances, requesting an hour, meaning there'd be loads of free time for extras – Gerard smirked at that. So far, he hadn't made an awful lot of money, and he was hoping this customer would change that.

After Gerard had done what he'd been paid to do, he'd asked if the man wanted anything else. However, he hadn't expected to be charged extra on top of the thousand he'd already spent.

"That's how this works." Gerard stated in the least condescending tone he could manage. The policies hadn't changed, so trying to cheat them or get out of paying never worked. "We have time left, don't you want–?"

"You know what I want." The man cut in harshly, his previously pleasant demeanour vanishing in a blink. "You're nothing but a cheap whore, and you're here to serve me. That's how this works."

With a sigh, Gerard got up off the man's lap, arms folded. This conversation was all too familiar; nothing phased him anymore. "If you don't like my prices, honey, you're welcome to leave. But I promise I'm worth it."

"You're mine for the hour." The man stood too, bringing their differences in stature to light; the man was taller, broad-shouldered, while Gerard was rather slender. He had to tilt his head back to meet his gaze, and wished he hadn't because there wasn't anything remotely kind in those eyes.

"I'm not yours." Gerard scoffed, taking a step back, looking the man up and down. "Who the fuck gives you the–?"

By his choker, the man yanked Gerard forwards. Two fingers hooked under the leather, knuckles digging harshly into his neck, making it difficult to breathe.

Gerard tried to pull away, but that made the tightness worse, and his breath caught in his throat. Their gazes were locked, his wide eyes focused on the man's sly ones. If he didn't retaliate, he prayed that the man would just leave.

"You're think you're worth it." He dragged him even closer, pulling the choker up higher so that Gerard was forced to stand on the tips of his toes. "You're not."

"I am." He tried to smile, but he was becoming increasingly aware of how much this hurt, his brows knit in a frown, jaw clenched.

In a club like this, Gerard was here to be used and bought with pretty things and money, like a live doll for others could control. He was lesser, just an insecure man that hadn't been smart enough to finish college. He was here to be bossed around, treated like fucking dirt, and looked down upon for doing this job when those same men demanded his services.