A Fuckton of Polygrumps

Red Light

Synopsis: I watched a documentary about prostitution on Netflix (It's called Whores' Glory and it is absolutely phenomenal but I digress) and it gave me this idea for a little fic. Arin's a pimp, Ross and Dan are two of his most profitable working boys, and Brian and Barry are clients. 

"Quit hogging the mirror, Ross," Dan groaned, elbowing his way in front of the vanity in their dressing room.

His accent was still thick with New Jersey dripping on every word.

"Fuck off, I have a zit on my forehead," the Australian whined, elbowing back.

His accent was also thick, though the American influence was rooted in him. After all, he'd been living in the United States for at least two years.

With what little mirror space he had, Dan looked his face over. He kept the stubble because that's what most johns liked on him. Johns liked him in contrast to Ross because some liked men who looked older. Some women did too. Then he looked at his hair. He let it grow out. Johns liked to pull on it. His eyes drifted to the scar down his left eyebrow. He always wanted to cover it with makeup or something but Arin liked it. He said it was a conversation starter.

Arin knocked on the door, a grin on his face as always. He leaned in the doorway, flashing a wad of cash, which was a customary greeting. Ross is the first one to cling to his waist and beg for approval.

"Hey, beautiful," Arin purred, his calloused fingers cupping Ross' chin. "You gonna make me some money?"

"Yes, daddy," Ross giggled.

Dan was too busy taking advantage of the open mirror to even notice anyone was talking. He was trying to decide on whether to even put on any eyeliner or blush. He didn't need either, but they looked nice on him.

"Danny, hurry up. Johns are starting to trickle in."

"I know, just give me a second."

"Baby, look at me."

Dan sighed and turned around. Arin's charm was what got him into this mess in the first place. He strolled over, pressing his hands onto Dan's shoulders.

"Just a couple more tricks, okay?"

"You said that last time. I'm out. I'm done, Arin. I'm fucking tired."

"You don't mean that, baby boy," Arin scoffed, his hands moving to Dan's chest.

"Yeah, I do-"

"Remember why you decided to work for me."

His tone was harsher now and he moved on hand to Dan's long neck. His touch was still tender, but firm enough to almost be threatening.

"Tell me," he demanded, his lips to Dan's ear. "Tell me why you're still working, then."

"You promised me you'd talk to an agent about getting a record deal..."

"But first you have to make the money so I can buy you a studio, remember? I have connections. Just make the money and we'll talk."

"But-"

"Just a few more tricks for daddy, okay?"

Dan sighed and nodded reluctantly. He'd been living out of a car when he met Arin, struggling to make enough money to fund his music career. A degree in anthropology and floral biology weren't doing anything for him and music was his passion anyhow. That's what got him into this mess. He'd never seen as much money as Arin was flashing when they met. The thing was, he knew what he would be doing. Arin didn't lie about that. It seemed easy enough: have sex and get money for it. He didn't have a problem with that. Still, it'd been months since he agreed to work.