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| Pretty Little Whore; Sequel to Pretty Little Rent Boy | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: July 18, 2011, 6:45 pm (1,120 Views) | |
| NineTails20 | July 18, 2011, 6:45 pm Post #1 |
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Frantic
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Warning! This fic was meant to be a lighthearted follow up to 'Pretty Little Rent Boy. No, really. It was. But then my Slutty Lars muse popped up, and dragged me down the road to Angst and all things Dark. Who was I to say no? So, be warned that this fic involves mentions of violence, drinking, allusions to drug use, and a lot of M/M sex. If this squicks you in ANY way at all, then I suggest you do not read this. I won't be offended if you don't read it......honestly. ![]() Advance apologies to the Kirk girls here. He's not a bastard in real life, but he is in this alternate one. To anyone still interested in reading this.......thank you,and I hope I haven't skeeved you out too much. P.S: Further apologies to the Danish speakers here. I used online translators for the Danish included in this fic, so it may not be totally accurate. Tisha. Another town, another gig Again we will explode Hotel rooms and motorways Life out here is raw... Lars took a slug of his drink, closing his one good eye as it burned a path down his throat. It was at times like this that he wondered just when he thought having Kirk as his 'special friend' was the best business decision he'd made. It wasn't as if he needed the money. After all, when your last album was still selling in the millions, and the last tour made you enough money to buy you a house big enough to drive your car through,money was the last thing on your mind. If he wanted to be honest with himself, it was the sex. He was good at it, he knew he was good at it, and Kirk fucking knew it. Within a week of starting to really hang out with Kirk, he'd had Lars blindfolded and on his knees, sucking dick. And not just one, but at least four, one after the other. He loved the fact that he could make people come apart with a well timed flick of his tongue. It was a kick to see how much pleasure he could give someone, to push them over the edge and leave them in a sweating mess. It was even better when they used and abused him, left him bruised and well fucked and in a barely coherent heap on the bed. To the casual observer, it looked as if Lars was beaten down to his lowest point and built back up from the resulting rubble. But that was bullshit. Lars reveled in the knowledge that only a pro could take the brutal fuckings he could, and still walk upright the next day, when his partner could barely get out of the bed. Another slug of vodka, another wince as it seeped into the cut on his lip. Dry ice was now swirling through the club, a pounding, hypnotic bassline bursting through the speakers and making his insides rattle. He shifted on the barstool, leather squeaking against the seat as he steadied himself. The vodka was hitting his bloodstream quicker than he'd anticipated. Fucking Kirk. It was him that got me into this mess in the first place. And despite himself, he laughed into his glass, the pain from his black eye and split lip seeming that little bit funnier. Strobe lights pulsed in time with the beat of the drum, Trent Reznor's voice drilling into Lars' head... Help me; I broke apart my insides Help me; I've got no soul to sell Help me; the only thing that works for me Help me get away from myself... Make up had nothing to do with the shade surrounding his eyes tonight. He hadn't even had the energy to open the small bag he'd left in the bathroom that morning, nor had he the time before Kirk paid him a visit. Lars was never in a good mood first thing in the morning. Or first thing in the afternoon. And especially when he'd had his throat fucked until he spit up blood and something resembling a baseball bat shoved up his ass repeatedly. The pain and bruises would subside, but the uneasy feeling in his stomach wouldn't go without a fight. "Where's my money, Lars?" "What?" Lars' voice was as raw his throat felt, and he rubbed sleep and last night's eyeliner away. "My money. Where is it?" By the sounds of it, Kirk wasn't in the best of moods either. Lars didn't give a shit. "Dresser. Drawer, top left, under my socks." He reached for his toothbrush and bottle of Listerine. No matter how much he enjoyed sucking dick, or how well he could do it, the taste of cum was something he would never learn to like. "There's only two hundred here, Larsy Bear." Lars cringed, inwardly. He really wished Kirk wouldn't fucking call him that. Bad enough he hated it, but the thoughts of Jason taking the piss out of him on a daily basis over it made him despise the nickname. He squeezed a generous amount of toothpaste out, sticking the brush under the water before answering. "Check near the back of the drawer. There should be at least another fifty bucks in there." The sound of Kirk rummaging through the drawer, swearing loudly as he did so, was drowned out only by the sound of the tap running, and Lars brushing his teeth. Lars bent over the sink and spat out a mouthful of toothpaste. When he looked back up, he saw a very pissed off Kirk holding up four fifty dollar bills in his hand. "Where's the extra fifty, Lars?" If Lars had been paying attention, he would have known that Kirk was keeping a very loose hold of his temper. If there was one thing that really pissed Kirk off, it was people shortchanging him. "It should be there. All I know is that I just took what was given to me when the guy was done. Forgive me for being in fucking LaLa Land, but I'd just been fucked through the mattress, yeah?" Strangely enough, even though Kirk had been standing right in front of him, Lars didn't see his fist until it was too late. Kirk's fist slammed into his cheek, pain radiating out from his cheekbone towards his ear. He twisted away, instinctively, as another blow rained down on him, but this punch landed square on his nose. "Don't EVER fuck me over, got it? I want that fifty bucks, and if it means that you have to shake your ass in a bar, I'd better have it by the end of the night!" Kirk was visibly shaking, his voice barely above a whisper. Lars was now slumped against the washstand, the cold porcelain making him shiver. He brought a hand up, gingerly touched his lip and wasn't surprised when he felt blood. "Just remember, Larsy Bear... I know something your precious James don't. And I also know something the press would have a fucking field day with. So, either you make that extra fifty bucks up to me now, or all I have to do is pick up the phone. Got it?" Lars just glared at Kirk, and spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor. "Loud and fucking clear." It was easy to make something as simple as fifty bucks. All he needed was a decent customer with some semblance of personal hygene, maybe a quiet bathroom, and he was good to go. So why, he thought, did he feel as if he was the ugliest person in the bar? Why couldn't he say no to what Kirk had dragged him into? And he visibly shuddered at the thoughts of people knowing he was nothing more than a paid whore... even if he did get off on the idea himself. And James... James would probably beat the shit out of him if he even thought that the little whore that showed up at his room wasn't just an act. And that scared Lars more than anything else. The club was now almost full to bursting point. A mixture of dry ice and strobe lighting filled the space, throwing macabre shadows on the walls. People pushed past him as he stayed firmly rooted to his spot, throwing back one vodka after another, with Jagermeister joining in every so often. Lars was starting to question the wisdom of sitting in a club that played Industrial music. The pounding throb of the drums were making his head pulse in time with the beat, adding to the pain of his eye, now swollen shut. Vodka wasn't making it any better. Owned. Totally, completely owned. Ever since he'd given up control at that party Kirk had thrown, Lars realised that Kirk now owned him. All it cost him was a dirty little secret. The door to Kirk's bedroom swung open,and Kirk showed his guests in. Lars was barely aware of where he was, other than Kirk's room. The bed was as soft as he'd remembered, maybe even softer. It was as if it was trying to swallow him whole,wrap him in softness. Maybe he shouldn't have had that last drink... "There you go. Isn't he beautiful?" Kirk waved his hand in the direction of the bed. Lars moaned quietly, turned over to expose a naked thigh. "Seriously... he's good. No, he's better than good. He's amazing." One of the men with him laughed to himself. "I take it you know this from personal experience, then?" "Oh yeah. Who'd have thought our loudmouth drummer had talents that lay elsewhere?" Kirk and his friends reached the edge of the bed, and he sat down, running a hand through Lars' hair. Lars all but purred, moving closer to Kirk. "Mmmm... jeg er træt, Kirk..." Kirk's voice was soothing, like warm honey dripping onto Lars' skin. "I know... you can go to sleep soon, Larsy Bear. I just want you to say hello to my friends." "Okay, så..." No matter how hard he tried, Lars could never quite remember everything that had happened that night. After the feeling of being wrapped in a blanket of what he thought was love and affection subsided, the waves of revulsion and regret would wash over him. All Lars knew was that the arms holding him semi upright were strong. They squeezed him tight, to the point where he thought his ribs would crack. Breathing didn't seem too important, the thought of being stretched and filled was almost too much to bear. The slightest touch set his nerves tingling. He opened his eyes, tried to stop the room from spinning wildly and failed. Hands skimmed up his back, chill bumps following their trail, and he arched back as a trail of precum was smeared across the base of his spine. The urge to just arch back and take the stranger's cock was too much to bear. Lars wanted to be stretched, filled, consumed completely. He pushed back, sighed as he felt the stranger's hardness nudge against his ass. "Holde mig... holde mig skrap..." He gasped. The stranger pushed his hips forward, filling Lars in one go. Lars grunted, before letting out a breath he didn't even know he was holding. His head flopped backwards and landed on the shoulder propping him up. "Ah gud... nu... venglist ga... jeg beder dem venglist..." He was aware of a hand being wrapped into his hair, pulling, gripping, holding him closer to sweat drenched, over heated skin, and he mewled softly as the cock filling him jabbed into his prostate. "Altsa artig... mere... mere..." Lars gasped again. He wasn't even aware he was speaking in his mother tongue as he arched back towards the source of pleasure. Breath washed over his shoulder, tongues laved wet trails over his stomach and back, and he was lost in the sensations. "Jesus fucking Christ. You said he was good, but not this good..." Lars could just about make out other voices in the room, but they sounded as if they were coming from farther away. It was as if he was drowning in honey,all sounds other than his blood pounding through his veins blocked out. He teetered on the edge of sensual overload, tears pooling in his eyes. "Ikke standse... ikke standse..." If it wasn't for the two strong arms around him, holding him semi upright, Lars was sure he'd be a puddle of goo on the bed. He couldn't take much more but never wanted this to end. And then Kirk's voice, full of pride. "He's amazing... never seen him like this before. So beautiful...." Several minutes passed in near silence, save for the sound of skin slapping against skin, and Lars gasping loudly as pleasure washed over him. And then a mouth slid over Lars' cock. Warm, wet, and just too much for him. He cried out, voice filled with unshed tears of joy as another stranger began to suck him off. He tried to push forward, tried to make the other guy take more of him in but found himself impaled on the cock filling him to the hilt. "Nej... nej... for meget... bedes... venligst..." He said one thing, but his body wanted all it could get. Held in place, unable to move, he just let go and let himself be fucked and sucked. Hands grabbed his hips, pinning him to the body behind him. He couldn't move, couldn't escape. Lars wasn't capable of rational thought any more. All he could do was just take it. White heat was building up at the base of his spine, sparks went off behind screwed shut eyes, he wasn't even sure what language he was speaking in. His head thrashed from side to side, lungs burning as he sucked air in. "Min gud... min gud..." His voice bounced off of the walls as he finally came,hips bucking wildly back and forth as he felt warmth fill him from behind. He came harder than he could ever remember coming before, a mix of pain and pleasure so intense he cried out loud. The last thing he remembered was someone gently placing him into bed,and the scent of Kirk's aftershave as a blanket was tucked in around him. So now Lars found himself sitting in a local club, propping up the bar, and not really bothered if he earned that extra fifty bucks for Kirk or not. The last shot of Jager was starting to kick in, a dull warmth radiating from his stomach outwards. His eye had stopped throbbing now, and the cut on his lip had stopped bleeding... but that didn't mean he wasn't hurting. And no amount of ibrupofen would make this kind of pain stop. Minutes passed, Lars' thoughts broken only by the bartender asking him if he wanted another drink. He ended up waving the guy away, and turned to face the now heaving dancefloor. One song bled into another, becoming just one long playlist of Lars' misery. Minutes passed, Lars toying with the idea of just leaving and to hell with Kirk's precious fifty fucking bucks. He was soon shocked out of his thoughts by a hand rubbing across his ass. "Hey." Lars turned to find some random guy standing beside him. Tall, dark, every inch a stereotypical Goth. He wasn't sure if the kid was either hitting on him or looking for business, but he was a pretty little thing nonetheless. Brown eyes looked Lars over appreciatively. Without even thinking about it, Lars licked his lips and turned on the charm. "Hey yourself." Oh yeah. This he could definitely work with. He'd always been a sucker for long black hair. The streak of purple that ran through it was a bonus. If he was lucky, he could always add to his marks tonight. Wouldn't Kirk just fucking love that? "Been watching you prop up the bar all night. Drowning some sorrows?" Lars smiled as best he could with a split lip. Maybe he could make the buzz last a bit longer... "Wasn't my first choice... but yeah. I guess you could say I was." The kid turned to face Lars, ran a hand over his bruised and swollen eye. "Whoever did this to you is insane." No. Not going there. No feelings involved with him. Or you. Just business, that's all. Lars rubbed his hand up along his thigh, and hooked a thumb into the waistband of his pants. "Amongst other things, but there's not much I can do to change that." They looked each other up and down for a few moments, taking each other in and trying to wordlessly size the other up. Goth Boy was so horny, Lars could taste it. Oh yeah. Game on... "Let's not beat about the bush here. I know what you want," Lars said, all sex and business. He moved closer to Goth Boy, close enough to smell patchouli and sandalwood. Goth Boy shivered as Lars stretched to whisper in his ear. "And no-one else in this club can give it to you like I can." The kid smirked. "Really?" "Oh, yeah," he replied, licking a wet trail across Goth Boy's ear lobe. "Really." Lars took the kid by the hand and began to lead him to the men's room. This was what he was,underneath the rock star facade... A pretty little whore. |
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| larscriancinha | July 19, 2011, 12:29 am Post #2 |
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Larsybaby
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The concept was perfect, I loved it.
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| Isis | July 19, 2011, 2:41 am Post #3 |
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TEA + CUDDLES
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You KNOW I am with this. Poor Lars. :/ Kirk is a real bastard in this, I swear. Sigh... CAN'T WAIT FOR THE NEXT INSTALLMENT.
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| Burnout | July 19, 2011, 5:59 am Post #4 |
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Poor Twisted Me
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Oooohhhh!!! This was really good! I love your writing style! Kirk
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| BleedingSoul | July 19, 2011, 8:46 am Post #5 |
Frantic
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OMFG!!! Kirk is creepy! but I loved it.
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but I loved it.

4:49 AM Jul 11