Street Mice
folder
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult
Chapters:
1
Views:
623
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult
Chapters:
1
Views:
623
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Street Mice
It’s not as if he’s honest-to-god punishing, as too many people would love to think. They’d already found excuses to come up to him and declare in tongues that he needed Christ in his life or he’d never get to the be-damned cloud in the sky. Then again, if he’d actually cared, he supposed he could live in normalcy- nothing was impossible, in this day and age.
Idle fingers wrapped around the still-intact tissue left of the cigarette he’d bought off of the money he’d never found a need to earn. What was the point in paper pushing when he probably got thrice the income on pocketing other’s misfortunes? It wasn’t as if he dealt in identity theft- that’d get you caught, and quick.
No, strutting about in dolled up features and a plastic smirk got him enough attention to feed an obscure country into the media. He didn’t have issues- he didn’t honestly have problems, no more than your typical Joe from middle-class suburbia. Sure, he got maybe a bit cold sometimes, wearing fishnet shirts would do that to a guy, but otherwise, he loved his life.
He wasn’t required to do much of anything. He could stay out days at a time just watching drug lords fight for him to spread his legs. And if that wasn’t all of an ego boost, he didn’t know what could be. He’d grown to love the want and the lust that gave him both his food and less-than-legal substances.
He’d never have a relationship, he supposed. Commitment after so many years of learning to love the polygamy that came with the underground railroad of teens would drive him mad. After all- there wasn’t such things as love and romance, not here. There was fucking and sucking and those stupid enough to believe the pretty nothings you’d tell while slipping the leather wallets from back pockets. Not that those kind of things were his problems to deal with- he’d always found the police in need of things to keep their lazy asses busy. It wasn’t as if they cared enough to come to their parts of town and “clean up”. Not that any of them wanted the authorities roaming their streets. Their little town where outsiders were just as much prey as clients, consent optional.
His father, even, could scream at him until Armageddon to get back into the school that was just a miniature version of the real world with bad quality crack, and he doesn’t think he’d have it any other way. It was routine and familiar; him slamming the door at ungodly hours of the morning, a more masculine voice grunting about his orientation and proloctivities, maybe an argument. He’d go to bed, and start the cycle of tolling himself out for kicks the next afternoon, when days actually started, whether the media knew it or not.
Another idiot, another set of jeans and eyeliner. It all worked out in the end, every time. Sure, a few dickwads would die along the way- but what way of life didn’t eat a few of their own in the name of progression? Like two weeks ago, some scrawny kid- River- had taken down Granter. Too bad, Granter had always been generous in tipping, not to mention the gifts. He’d gotten his best pair of heels from that man.
But that was the way it worked, and he’d have to start working his way into this River kid’s graces soon enough, if he wanted to keep his place in the pecking order. Maybe this one would give him candlelight dinners from the city. Ricta had started that one. Then again, he’d been dead for nearly three years- and yet, holding onto the memories of horrified upper class faces would never grow old.
Either way, life would go on. River would grow old and lose whatever it was that got him there in a few years, and the entire thing would start again. It always did.
In the mean time, his only responsibility was to bat his eyelashes and inhale another breath from the dying smoke. Maybe he’d wear those heels Granter got him when he met the new kid.
Apparently, they showed off his thighs enough to knock a man on his face. And truth be told- he liked knocking men to their faces.
The embers inevitably died and the end was tossed when one of Granter’s cronies approached-
River could wait another day, he supposed, taking the arm around his waist with a coy smile that nearly always got to Granter’s guys.
“A hundred enough for a run?”
He couldn’t help but smirk to himself and pocket the offered bills.
After all, he was just in it for the perks.
Idle fingers wrapped around the still-intact tissue left of the cigarette he’d bought off of the money he’d never found a need to earn. What was the point in paper pushing when he probably got thrice the income on pocketing other’s misfortunes? It wasn’t as if he dealt in identity theft- that’d get you caught, and quick.
No, strutting about in dolled up features and a plastic smirk got him enough attention to feed an obscure country into the media. He didn’t have issues- he didn’t honestly have problems, no more than your typical Joe from middle-class suburbia. Sure, he got maybe a bit cold sometimes, wearing fishnet shirts would do that to a guy, but otherwise, he loved his life.
He wasn’t required to do much of anything. He could stay out days at a time just watching drug lords fight for him to spread his legs. And if that wasn’t all of an ego boost, he didn’t know what could be. He’d grown to love the want and the lust that gave him both his food and less-than-legal substances.
He’d never have a relationship, he supposed. Commitment after so many years of learning to love the polygamy that came with the underground railroad of teens would drive him mad. After all- there wasn’t such things as love and romance, not here. There was fucking and sucking and those stupid enough to believe the pretty nothings you’d tell while slipping the leather wallets from back pockets. Not that those kind of things were his problems to deal with- he’d always found the police in need of things to keep their lazy asses busy. It wasn’t as if they cared enough to come to their parts of town and “clean up”. Not that any of them wanted the authorities roaming their streets. Their little town where outsiders were just as much prey as clients, consent optional.
His father, even, could scream at him until Armageddon to get back into the school that was just a miniature version of the real world with bad quality crack, and he doesn’t think he’d have it any other way. It was routine and familiar; him slamming the door at ungodly hours of the morning, a more masculine voice grunting about his orientation and proloctivities, maybe an argument. He’d go to bed, and start the cycle of tolling himself out for kicks the next afternoon, when days actually started, whether the media knew it or not.
Another idiot, another set of jeans and eyeliner. It all worked out in the end, every time. Sure, a few dickwads would die along the way- but what way of life didn’t eat a few of their own in the name of progression? Like two weeks ago, some scrawny kid- River- had taken down Granter. Too bad, Granter had always been generous in tipping, not to mention the gifts. He’d gotten his best pair of heels from that man.
But that was the way it worked, and he’d have to start working his way into this River kid’s graces soon enough, if he wanted to keep his place in the pecking order. Maybe this one would give him candlelight dinners from the city. Ricta had started that one. Then again, he’d been dead for nearly three years- and yet, holding onto the memories of horrified upper class faces would never grow old.
Either way, life would go on. River would grow old and lose whatever it was that got him there in a few years, and the entire thing would start again. It always did.
In the mean time, his only responsibility was to bat his eyelashes and inhale another breath from the dying smoke. Maybe he’d wear those heels Granter got him when he met the new kid.
Apparently, they showed off his thighs enough to knock a man on his face. And truth be told- he liked knocking men to their faces.
The embers inevitably died and the end was tossed when one of Granter’s cronies approached-
River could wait another day, he supposed, taking the arm around his waist with a coy smile that nearly always got to Granter’s guys.
“A hundred enough for a run?”
He couldn’t help but smirk to himself and pocket the offered bills.
After all, he was just in it for the perks.