Hurricane

Leather

Hello little author's note here!
This story will be very nsfw (obviously I mean Dan is literally a sex worker) and will contain violence and drugs.

Here is a list of triggers:
-explicit sexual content including and not limited to BDSM (no rape or anything of the sort)
-extreme violence
-minor character death
-mentions of past domestic abuse (Dan ran away from an abusive household - the abuse is never described further than that and only ever used as an excuse for Dan knowing about his 'powers' from a young age)

That's it - I'd say this fic is tame as far as triggers go but it really isn't tame at all is it?

If y'all wanna see what inspired this then watch the video for Hurricane for Thirty Seconds to Mars - it is quite literally the inspiration for this entire fic and a lot of the scenes are directly influenced by it lmao sorry

(Hint: Vimeo has the uncensored version if you're prepared for it)

There is sex in this chapter btw - yes im moving on with the story that fast; it is necessary, I swear.

Read on!

(Also, for reference: Dan is written in first person and Phil in third person simply because it made more sense for me to do so)

New York City is not as it used to be, dirt now clogged the sin filled streets - tourists had moved on, and now it is a relic. Stuck in a time long passed, it's only residents the lowest of the low or the highest of the high; no middle ground in Sin City, not anymore. This is where you came to escape on the weekends, this is where you came to escape the law, and it's where you came when you had nowhere else to go.

It's easy to disappear in New York City - especially for a guy like me. At the click of a button and with a few rushed out words I can have a new identity and a new place to stay; nobody can find me, not even if they tried.

Of course, it isn't so simple as just giving me a new apartment - even in a city so devious as this one, I'm made to wait. Stewing in purgatory, tacking my life onto another's for the month while my new identity comes to life elsewhere. At least Vanessa is nice, one of the only friends I can truly call 'friend' in this city - one of the only people I trust fully. One of two, actually.

"You know we still have to work tonight, right?" Vanessa says, her sultry voice floating to me from the bathroom as she watches me in the mirror. I smirk, stretching out further on her - very comfortable - suede arm chair.

"I'm aware." I respond, removing my shoes from her upholstery at her glare.

"Good, you owe me for being caught!"

"It isn't my fault the Feds have been on my case ever since that lawyer bloke approached me in the street - broad daylight!" I bite out. "Bellend." A thousand times I've let it be known how annoyed I am. You're not supposed to talk about the Octopus, you don't acknowledge it - and when you're approached in the street by the one guy who didn't get the memo, and forced to give up pay to lie low, it's infuriating.

It suck keeping a low profile.

"I do not understand your English words!" Vanessa laughs, her dark lipstick contrasting beautifully with her exotic Mediterranean skin tone. Vanessa isn't her real name, but then again, not many of us use our real names anymore - I'm the exception, I'm not ashamed of my coworkers knowing who I am, only when it came to legalities did I ever use another name, any name I was given by the boss.

"I called him a dickhead." I explain to her.

"You are correct - he had tiny penis too!"

I laugh freely. "You're damn right! I barely felt it, had to fake a limp the next day."