Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/ works/14080236. Rating: Explicit Archive Warning: Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major_Character_Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage Category: M/M Fandom: Original_Work Character: Original_Characters Additional Tags: Anal_Sex, Serial_Killers, Torture, Schizophrenia, Crimes_&_Criminals, Brothels, Strippers_&_Strip_Clubs, Blood_and_Gore, Blood_Kink, Romance, Porn_With_Plot, Gang_Rape, Body_Modification, Hurt/Comfort, Vigilantism, Forced_Prostitution Stats: Published: 2018-03-24 Updated: 2018-03-27 Chapters: 2/? Words: 8851 ****** What Happens on Harm's Way ****** by KassiopeiaX Summary The terms of Flaere's contract are simple: fight freakishly modified opponents in the ring and win, or lose and face punishment prostituting himself on the lawless streets of Clear. Then things get messy when his psychotic second personality snaps and starts killing johns. Sex, strippers and murder: just another night on Harm's Way! (Yes it's porn, yes it can get hardcore, YES it has a plot, please read the tags!) Notes See the end of the work for notes ***** Stay in the Fight ***** Chapter Notes See the end of the chapter for notes Heat. All I feel is heat, from the adrenaline coursing through my veins to the crowd screaming at the top of its lungs. I have to block out the horrible things they're saying, the horrible things they're telling my opponent to do to me. I play back my coach's advice in my head instead: keep your center of gravity low - arms tucked close - protect your head - footwork loose - JUST THROW THE MATCH, GODDAMMIT FLAERE - maybe neglect that last part. The sight of my opponent, Mamba, with his reptilian slit eyes and wild black hair, not to mention tight abs and freakishly pumped arms, would make any sane man run in the opposite direction. But I already knew I wasn't very sane. All the advice flies out the window when his first punch makes contact, breaking my defenses. Alarms go off in my head, and then I'm on the backpedal, blocking over and over again, only to be knocked back each time. Mamba strikes like his namesake: with lightning fast, pointed jabs honed to deliver maximum impact to a concentrated area, and it's working. A brutal bodyshot makes my arms drop for the critical moment he needs to cut in and land a punch to the face. My neck twists sharply to the side as my face explodes with pain and for a moment I think he broke it - but no - I'm still on my feet. Barely. I stumble away, collapsing against the ropes. The entire side of my face throbs agonizingly; I can already feel it starting to swell. No air - no air... No matter how hard I gasp for it. You have to stand up. You have to fight, desperate thoughts flicker through the haze. Sweat drips from the tips of my orange hair into the heaving crowd. So many people, their contorted faces melting into a disturbing mass of flesh in my dizzy, probably concussed head. " Circus freak! " Mamba taunts, then bursts out laughing. "What should I do to this miserable slut when I take him down for the count?" The crowd eagerly chimes in like a death panel, "Break his fucking arm!" " Kill him! " "Fuck him in the ass!" Just some of the highlights. Mamba laughs again, hungrily licking his lips with an abnormally long tongue split down the middle. Silver rings are pierced into the sides. "Oh, I like that idea..." My skin crawls. "Let's get this over with, circus freak! You know you're just gonna end up taking my dick sooner or later... Save yourself a concussion." Might be a little late for that. His voice gets closer, stirring my skin into goosebumps. "Tag out, and let me handle this." A voice in my head, that only I can hear. Hunter. I tussle with him for control, gripping my head. "No, I can't fight both of you right now..." "You're going to get us KILLED!" "I can do this!" I whip around in a rage, catching Mamba in the jaw with a roundhouse kick. He staggers, shocked. I follow up with a right hook, then a devastating left, sending him crashing to the mat. I feel Hunter's influence in my head withdrawing, letting exhilaration rush into its place. I did it! I did it! Something dry and scaly wraps around my leg. I look down to see his black, reptile tail wound around my ankle. My heart sinks as fast as it rose in my chest. Why do I always forget that he has a tail? The ceiling and floor switch places as Mamba rips me off balance. I hit the red mat, with no time to react when he roughly flips me over, pinning me to the floor. There's fury in his golden eyes as he raises a fist. "M-Mamba-!" He doesn't wait to hear me out before laying into me. The first punch to the head is enough to shut down any hope I had of turning this around. Everything after that is overkill. Pain refuses to register anymore; all I feel is a dull, constant ache like the pounding of a drum, all I see is the blurry outline of my opponent on top of me. I hear the bloodthirsty cheering of the crowd, no points for guessing who the favorite in this match is. Mamba's fingers dig into my hair as he yanks my face close to his. "You should have taken a dive, circus freak , and I might have gone easy on you." The irony of someone like him calling me a freak makes me laugh, but it comes out slow and not-all-there. "I'm going to enjoy this..." He runs that disgusting, wet tongue along the side of my face. "Please don't..." I whimper, but I don't know why I bother. Mamba strips off my shorts in one swift movement, the air that I thought was so hot before feels frigid now on my exposed crotch. He lets me drop back on the mat, lowering his lustful gaze to more interesting features... I gasp for air as he runs his hands down over my heaving chest, brutally caressing every bruise he gave me in the fight. "Let's see just how flexible you really are." He seizes both my calves and folds my legs roughly all the way up by my head, splaying me wide open. Mamba whistles lewdly. "You look tight." Tears fill my eyes, not because it hurts - my body was made to move that way - but in anticipation of what's going to happen next. I hear shutters flashing and hide my face in my hands. Something knocks at my door, but it doesn't feel like cock. I prop myself up on my elbows, looking down in horror at the scaly tip of his tail teasing my entrance. "What are you doing?" I quail. "Giving the people what they came here for." He grins, baring canines filed into fangs. I throw my head back, crying out as he violates me with his tail. It feels so wrong, so horrible encroaching deeper inside. His scales are smooth and hard, and his appendage is flexible, creating strange sensations as it feels its way through my tunnels. "Stop!" I gasp, shaking my head desperately. "You're in no position to negotiate." He means that literally as he thrusts. Perverse pleasure travels up from below, meeting and mingling with pain somewhere in the middle of my chest. My cries are reduced to soft panting as my eyes glaze over, staring at the white light overhead until it burns spots into my retinas. Mamba's face blocks it out as he crawls on top of me. I shudder when he drags his reptilian tongue over my neck, tickling it before moving on to my face. I see his fangs and split tongue hanging tauntingly between them. For a horrible moment, I imagine him swallowing me whole like an anaconda.    Mamba devours my lips in a hungry kiss instead. His freakish tongue fills my mouth, leaving almost no room for my own. He explores my cavern with the sticky, prehensile probe. The hoop piercings along the side clip the inner walls of my mouth. I actually choke on his tongue when it gets too far back. My eyes water - I can't breathe again. Meanwhile, I feel his tail pulling back out, only to be replaced with something bigger. His cock is as monstrous as the rest of him. Unreasonably big, more silver hoops stud the underside: one for each inch of meat and he's just showing off. I sob into his mouth in agony as he breaches my defenses another time. "Oh god..." Mamba moans. My protesting hole just wants him out, sending desperate SOS signals up to my overworked brain. "Circus freak..." Mamba hisses, his golden eyes flare and then he sinks his fangs into my neck. My screams are buried in the roaring of our audience. The taste of my blood flips a switch inside him, making him ramp up his thrusts. Mamba undulates against me like a snake, jackhammering my depths. His piercings rib my tunnels relentlessly. People are taking pictures and videos that I know are going to end up on the internet. I can't even look up my name anymore without being mired in pages and pages of porn. I hate it and yet, I feel so good at the same time, gasping and moaning aloud as I rocket toward climax.   "Mamba! Mamba!" I cry out in a raw voice. He latches down tighter in response, straightening my weakening legs to finish strong as he hilts deeply. Mamba climaxes inside me, leaving a warm and full feeling in my ass. He detaches slowly, pulling out and leaving me strangely cold in his wake. He snickers, looking down at me splayed out on floor, panting like a bitch and leaking like a whore. Mamba grips my face in one hand and licks my cheek. "Call me for a rematch anytime, circus freak." He drops me and swaggers out of the ring and into the fold of his adoring fans, adjusting his boxing shorts as he goes.   I pick myself up, sniffling softly. My mouth tastes metallic with blood and everything hurts from my face to the dull throbbing between my legs. I stumble out of the ring, feeling broken in more ways than one. I lost again... "Only because you didn't let ME fight," Hunter pipes up. "You would have killed him," I whisper, staring at an orange spiral of my hair hanging before my face. "Isn't that better than the price for losing?" "A victory isn't worth a life." "But neither is worth anything." "Shut up, shut up!" I hiss, straightening up as my coach storms this way. Coach Vitali Ruger stands at over six feet of pure beefcake. He wears his metallic silver hair in a short flare of a ponytail. His sculpted face has sharp edges and a strong jawline, currently set in a stern expression. "Flaere," he addresses me in a deep baritone that seems to reverberate from his chest. "I told you to throw the match." "I can fight," I insist, but I must not be making a very convincing case with my bloody face and busted lip. "You weren't hired to fight!" he hisses, leaning in close to my face with his muscular arms folded. "You're just mat candy ." I wince at the word. Mat candy , attractive and usually effeminate fighters who throw their matches so the audience can get their rocks off watching them be dominated and humiliated. We're not fighters, just glorified porn stars. "Besides, you weren't made to fight." Coach Ruger lifts my arm by the wrist, showing me my own lean muscles, strong but nowhere near as beefy as his or even Mamba's. "You were made to be a sex toy." He lifts my leg up next, folding it by my head with the kind of flexibility that a primadonna would envy. I keep my balance perfectly the entire time. "Don't tell me what I was made for..." I mutter. Coach Ruger drops my leg again with a sigh. "Look kid, you know I don't like doing this to you. It's just how the business works. It's how your contract works." I just stare at my feet. "You've got a long night ahead of you," he says. He taps out aether blue from a plastic bag onto the table and cuts the blue powder into lines with his credit card. "Sniff it up, kid. It'll make things a little easier." The drugs quieten Hunter, if nothing else. "You'd rather be a cheap aether whore than share the spotlight with me?" Hunter taunts me. I stare at the lines forlornly, wondering if he's right and maybe I should just relinquish control. No. I steel myself and do it, snorting the lines through a rolled up dollar bill. The high is better than lucidity. And sacrifice is better than bloodshed. "You're such a fascinating little frustration, Flaere..." Hunter muses. And you, Hunter, you're a monster.   ###   The damp, dingy street of Harm's Way contorts into a toxic wonderland in my drugged-up haze, filled with poisonous yellow light and jagged teeth of broken glass. Other prostitutes wander the street like strange and colorful mythical beasts. They flaunt their stuff: jewels, feathers, fishnet and fur, sometimes with nothing on but a smile to tempt johns. I don't know why they try so hard when they're so beautiful anyway. My strategy is a little more simple: I just wait to be noticed. It doesn't take long. Faces loom in and out focus, none of them lingering for very long. But I was just getting to know you. Each one brings different feelings. Pleasure. Pain . Even sadness when one of them calls me beautiful. I begin to cry. Hilarity as another calls me disgusting but takes me all the same. I abruptly burst out laughing, scaring him off midway. Some of them tell me they love me. Some call out to God. I start to forget: are we in church or in hell? The sound of roaring engines tears up our paradise. Whores and client run, screaming and knocking things over in their haste. Alcohol spills on the ground, pouring over my feet in a cold wave. The denizens of Harm's Way filter away through the connecting alleys too narrow for the police motorcycles to follow them. Police motorcycles. Oh no. One of the officers tosses a smoke bomb through the broken window of bar. White smoke pours out onto the street. Another one fires indiscriminately in the wake of the runners, laughing as he watches them trip and fall all over each other. I need to run. I stumble, but I'm too late as a motorcycle cuts me off, curving neatly in front of me and nearly running me over in the process. Whipping around, I see three more circling me languidly. The machines growl like a pack of lions. The officers' faces are concealed by bike helmets. They wear leather jackets and pants, all in black except for silver badges, like the reapers of the backstreets. "Well, well, well, what do we have here. A cute, lost little whore?" one of them them says, sounding amused, "You know, I could put you away for a long time for that." "I'm sorry," I whimper, dropping to my knees with my hands behind my head. The officer hops off his motorcycle. His boots crunch through broken glass. He tears off his helmet and tucks it under his arm. I gather up the courage to look into his eyes. I recognize him right away: Damon Black, the son of the police commissioner. He's every bit as handsome as his father was in his prime. He has pointed peaks of black hair and eyes so dark they have to belong to a demon. His cocky grin is full of malevolence.    Damon shoves me down on my hands and knees; I barely flinch when they come down on sharp gravel and bits of glass, my heart thudding wildly. There could scarcely have been a worse person under that helmet. Damon is that dangerous combination of infamous and untouchable. He reaches into my back pocket, pulling out a wad of banknotes. "I'll just be keeping this as evidence." And shoves it into his own. My heart sinks. The boss is going to be so pissed... That's when Damon pulls down my shorts. "What are you doing?" I question, afraid. "Cavity search, bitch." He has a funny definition of 'search' when I hear his zipper come down and feel his meat between my cheeks. "You have the right to remain silent," he says. "But I'd rather hear you scream." I do when he pushes himself in all at once in an already abused hole, ending in a ragged sob. His girthy tool stretches me to incredible limits. Damon thrusts deep as I let out tiny sounds that make no sense to anyone but my dom as he replies under his breath, "Oh fuck yes." I feel a twinge of pride, even through the pain. His gloved hands roam my bare skin, and one finds my cock, squeezing sharply. "Ow!" I cry out; he just snickers. Bent over and taking it in the ass, I have a great view of the other officers. They vandalize a liquor stall, smashing the case to liberate the expensive treasures inside. "Alright!" one of them cheers, finding a baggie of aether blue. "Hey Damon, you want some of this?" he calls over to the officer bent over me. "No thanks," he replies, holding my hips in place as he delivers. "I want to be all present for this..." I let out another whimper. A man who won't take aether is a man with plans... "Suit yourself." His buddy shrugs. The others crowd around for a cut. I let out a gasp of relief when Damon climaxes inside, pulling out in a backwash of cum. He leans back against his motorcycle and accepts a beer from one of his friends. All that expensive liquor they stole and he's still drinking cheap beer, like an alcoholic nihilist. I relaxed too soon when one of the other officers yanks me up on my knees by the hair. "Blow me, slut," he says, a little buzzed and a little high. Maybe... Maybe if I just do what they say, they'll let me go? Not that I had the choice to refuse them anyway. I take the second officer in my mouth, helpless. He moans as I bob on him obediently, his fingers running through my hair. Then he gets greedy, thrusting to the back of my throat. I cough; my eyes watering at once. He tastes like sweat and piss and I want to gag him back up but I force myself to do just the opposite and admit him into the sticky depths of my throat. He rewards me with a louder moan. Another cock peeks into my field of vision, demanding attention. The third officer wants in. I stroke him as I bob on the first one, struggling to keep coordinated. I just want this to end . Thinking it'll go faster if I do, I pick up the pace, sucking on one as I pump the other. I hear good noises: moaning and swearing. The grip in my hair tightens. I peek through the slits of my eyelids and see Damon looking me right in the eyes, chugging his beer. He doesn't so much as blink. My skin crawls. And then I really shudder when the officers hit climax. Gross... I wipe my face with the back of my hand, grimacing. Ominous footsteps. Damon is back. "Can I go now? Please?" I dare to whisper. "I don't think so, slut..." My back hits the ground as he pushes me. He signals to his buddies, and suddenly, there's one on each side and one behind me with his arm locked around my neck. "Let go of me!" I scream, starting to panic, but there's no one around to hear me. I thrash, but they hold me securely in place - I can't even overpower a damn cop. "You're so fucking pretty," says Damon, letting his gaze wander over my exposed body.   "He's flexible too," one of the other officers notes, testing my leg by rolling it in its socket. "I wonder... Just how flexible..." My eyes widen as Damon brandishes his empty beer bottle with a vile grin. "N-No," I beg, " No! " Then I scream when he starts trying to shove it in, holding it by the bottle neck. My body does everything it can to reject the demonic cop's advances, but he powers through, relentless. "It doesn't fit! It doesn't fit..." I sob. "Oh, it'll fit," he says irreverently, "I just don't know if you'll live through it." Cold glass breaches my dangerously stretched ring. "Please," I gasp aloud. "You think anyone is going to miss one nameless, faceless whore on Harm's Way?" Damon comments. He doesn't even look at me, focused on the steady progress of the bottle in my ass. My chest heaves in agony. "That's where you and I are different." His voice trickles in my ear like cold water. "Some people are just born important. And others... Are worthless ." He drives the bottle in. My entire body arches against the men holding me down. He tore me. Hot blood spills between my legs and drips onto the ground. But he's right. No one will notice another bloodstain on the filthy pavement of Harm's Way. The gleam in Damon's eyes fades away. He's bored of me. The bottle withdraws from my broken entrance, streaked with blood. The police, more criminal than the actual criminals, leave me on the street. I watch out of the corner of my eye, relieved, as Damon returns to his motorcycle. They're finally done with me. So why is he coming back? I don't even have the strength to lift my head, but I feel him tying a rope around my ankle. "Why..." I struggle to sit up. What I see makes my blood run dead cold: the other end of the rope is tied to the back of his motorcycle. I don't waste my breath begging him not to. It didn't work before anyway. I save it for a scream as the motorcycle accelerates, dragging me behind it on the unforgiving pavement. Cruel laughter echoes back.     ###   How am I still alive? I thought I was hurting before, but now, every inch of my skin is on fire, and it's doing its damndest to burn my soul out. Damon didn't cut me loose - mercy is not a part of his vocabulary. The rope snapped, but not soon enough to be divine intervention. Where am I? Or does that even matter? I roll onto my back, trembling all over. Bright red patches of  scraped skin make it look like someone made a messy attempt at flaying me alive. I lay a hand over my heart. WHY am I still alive? Hunter speaks to me as I stare up at the starless sky, "'Everything that exists is born for no reason, carries on living through weakness, and dies by accident' - Sartre." "What comes after that?" I ask him quietly. "We will either find out shortly, or we never will." My eyelids flag shut, too burdened by the struggle of staying awake. "Hey!" They flick open again, then widen. This must be the angel here to take me to the next life, because he fits no other description. His face is the color of porcelain and he has a glowing white halo of hair around his head, curling delicately inwards at the tips to brush his face. Why are his blue eyes so full of worry? "Help is on the way! Stay with me!" He takes my face in both hands. I want to... I want to do anything for him... "How?" I murmur insensately. "Touch me." He takes my hand and puts it on the side of his face. The wonder of touching his smooth, warm skin is ruined when I realize what a mess I'm leaving on it, staining his face with blood. "I'm here," he says desperately, "So stay here with me." His lip trembles and a tear rolls off the tip of his nose to land on my cheek. I can't believe an angel like him is shedding a tear for a creature like me. "You have to stay with me..." His voice breaks as he repeats himself. "Okay?" I grip his face more firmly, holding on for dear life. "Okay." Chapter End Notes Hi reader, hope you had fun, and if you did, don't forget to leave a comment/kudos! All my writing is in the same universe, so if you see character overlap between stories, that's probably why. - KassiopeiaX ***** The Other Side ***** Chapter Notes See the end of the chapter for notes I open my eyes to grainy, yellow light. The stark spotlight shining down on me is the only illumination in the big top. I'm in my mindscape again, and that means... Hunter can't be far away. I stand up warily, scanning the darkness. Beyond the circle, I can see the striped fabric of the tent, burned in places and billowing silently. The stands are all empty and the trapeze bars sway overhead, as if haunted. Circus tents are supposed to house wonders, but the wonder fled this place a long time ago. "Flaere, it's so good to see you." The voice behind me makes me whip around, fists raised at once. Hunter steps into the perimeter of the spotlight, but there's only space in here for one of us. He looks just like me, because he is me, but there's something not quite right in his graphite-grey eyes and the lopsided tilt of his smile. He wears his orange hair down instead of up in a ponytail like me. Carrot colored spirals fall in his face, but he doesn't move them. "What do you want?" I demand. "Relax." His shoulders shake slightly with mirth. "I'm not going to steal your precious spotlight. " That's a lie. I know he wants it more than anything. "I only wanted to check up on you." He feigns concern, reaching out to touch my face. I pull it away before he can. "I'm fine," I say, curt.   "I don't understand!" Hunter's voice sharpens. "Why do you protect them?! They don't care about you, about us , only I do!" He booms at me. I tremble but stand my ground. "You don't care about us, you just want to kill..." "Yes... Yes ..." Hunter seizes both of my hands in his, looking into my eyes with a crazed expression. "We should end them. Send them into the void where they belong... Where we all belong. And when we've had our fun..." A knife appears in his hand in a puff of smoke. He runs it lightly across the inside of my wrist, tracing along my inner arm over the artery pulsing with life under my skin. My eyes widen in horror. "I said no! " I shove him backwards, out of the circle of light. He stands eerily still in the darkness, hanging his head. His hair obscures his face.   "Let me out," he murmurs. My heart starts to beat wildly. "Let me out, let me out, let me out, letmeoutletmeout LETMEOUT! " He snaps, coming at me like a hurricane with the knife brandished. I scream.   ###   I wake up with a jolt, gasping as I sit upright. Placing a hand on my thumping heart, I will it to settle down. Where am I? It feels so soft... I run my hands incredulously over the fluffy white duvet on top of me, then bring it up to rub my cheek against it. I find myself in a white bed wearing a pale cotton shirt and breezy shorts. The headboard is shaped like a pair of wings, embellished with tufted leather, taking center stage in a pure white bedroom. I narrow my eyes in confusion at the oval mirror on the ceiling. "Rrrrawk! He's awake! He's awake!" The screeching voice nearly gives me a heart attack. I trace it to a white cockatoo with a yellow crest perched on a golden cage in the corner. The door to the bedroom opens as if on cue. "Oh thank goodness!" The angel from last night rushes into the room. He places a silver tray covered by a cloche on the bedside table and takes my face in his hands. I take the moment to stare into his eyes, disbelieving. "How do you feel? The doctor said to get plenty of rest." Doctor - the events of last night come rushing back like an out of control joyride down Harm's Way. I throw my sheets off in a panic to look down at myself... But the gaping red scrapes are gone, replaced by my beige skin again, tender pink in the places where it was worst. "I'm sorry, he said those would fade with time..." The angel runs his hand over one of the pink patches. He must be joking. In Clear, medical care is what you can pay for, and reconstruction and regen work like this costs a fortune . "I-I'm the one who should be sorry," I stammer, "I cost you so much time and money." I cover myself with the blanket again, ashamed to be whole again, then I remember it's his blanket and toss that off too. "Don't be ridiculous," he coos, stroking my hair gently. "You're safe here. My name is Esperance Plumeaux and this is my manor... You can call me Esper." "Esper..." I let the name roll on my tongue. "I can't believe what those dirty cops did to you," he goes on, "Do you want to tell me what happened?" Esper's warm presence numbs the pain of last night. I open my mouth to speak when the cockatoo shrieks, "RAPE! RAPE! RAWWWRK!" I blush deeply. "Stella!" Esper scolds the bird. "That was very rude." "Well she's right," I say quietly, rubbing my arm. "I'm sorry." Esper meets my eyes, overflowing with sympathy The touch of Esper's delicate hand placed over mine on the bedsheet makes my heart flutter. "I'm just glad... I wasn't too late." I stare at a point on the white sheets until my vision starts to dissociate. Why are you being so nice to me? "Anyway!" Esper chirps as if to lift the mood. "Are you hungry?" He lifts the cloche from the tray to reveal thin, rolled pancakes gleaming with fruity glaze. Berries and a dollop of cream top the meal, along with the elegant touch of a strawberry cut to resemble a rose. My mouth waters. "Wh-What is that?" "Crepes, silly." He giggles. I dig in, shoving bites of sweet pancakes and heavenly cream into my mouth as fast as I humanly can without choking. "Thank you, thank you, thank you..." I thank him over and over again with my mouth full. Before I can stop it, a hot tear runs down my face. "It was my pleasure, mignon." Esper brushes it away with a thumb, smiling. There's a touch of sadness in his sky blue eyes which is quickly gone again as he resets to his balanced, pleasant expression. "What is your name?" "Flaere," I say,  "Flaere Hunter." "Flaere... Come on, I want you to meet the others." He leads me through the door when I'm finished, wiping cream on my shirt. Stella swoops in from her perch, landing on Esper's shoulder as we go. The door widens out to a much larger space than I was expecting. A long corridor of doors extends on either side. Before us, a set of twin staircases spiral to a lower floor and a chandelier hangs in the space overhead. The sumptuous setting is accented by paintings and lush carpets; it all looks like too nice of a setting for someone like me. One of the doors open and a raven-haired head pops out of it. He shakes an enema kit as he yells, "Okay, who took my 2 quart bag? Buy your own damn equipment!" Then he notices us standing there, and far from being embarrassed he sighs and says, "Can you believe these guys? How am I going to prep now?" "You can borrow mine, Matteo," Esper says, sunny. "Thanks, Essie..." He turns his gaze to me. Matteo has blue eyes too, but they're deeper and darker than Esper's. "And who are you?" he asks, "A client? We're not open yet." Prep? Clients? The mirror in the bedroom... I'm starting to put two and two together and I think the immaculate halls of the manor are hiding a dirty secret. "Actually, that's what I wanted to talk to everyone about." Esper picks up a golden bell resting on a table and rings it. The clear, cheerful sound echoes down the hall. "Seraphs, meeting in the corridor!" It's so strange to find the ten most beautiful people in the world all in one place as the seraphs filter into the hallway... I feel awkward and tiny in their presence; the weight of all their stares is compacting me in my place. "Everyone, thank you for coming." Esper clasps his hands together in front of his chest. "I'd like to introduce you all to Flaere Hunter." He gestures at me, only to find that I've receded completely into his shadow. "Don't be shy, mignon." I allow him to gently nudge me back into view, lulled by the way he says it: 'mignon'. "I'm planning to give him the Gemini Room." At his words, the gathering erupts into protest. I don't even understand what's going on, but I understand anger when it's directed at me. "You can't just replace Nova like that!" Matteo bursts out. "What if they find him? What if he comes home and finds out you gave up on him for some random slut? " I flinch at the word. "Matteo, control yourself." Esper doesn't raise his voice by even an octave, but there's a flash in his eyes that makes the others quiet down. "You know that I love and miss Nova as much as any of us. But he's been missing for months. We may have to reckon with the possibility that he may no longer..." Esper has to pause here for a deep breath, shutting his eyes briefly. "Be with us." He gestures at me. "But Flaere is here, right now. I found him last night on our doorstep. Officer Damon Black and his men raped him and dragged him behind their vehicles almost to death." They look shocked. Matteo closes his mouth and looks away, his brow furrowed deeply. " This is what has been happening to sex workers outside our walls. If we can offer comfort and shelter to even one of them, isn't that what Nova would have wanted?" No one argues with him. "Then it's settled," he says, finally turning to me. "Flaere, if you will have it, I would like to offer you a position at Seraph Manor." "This is just another cage," Hunter spoils my elation. But how could that be right? This place is beautiful and it's run by someone like Esper... "A gilded cage." "It's safer than working the streets and we can house and feed you..." Esper goes on when I don't answer right away. He shouldn't feel like he has to prove anything to me. "I'll take it," I gasp out loud before I dare to change my mind. Esper's face splits into a warm smile. "Then welcome to the family, seraph." Family. Then my face is warm too when he spreads his arms wide. I take the hug eagerly, enjoying his touch and his scent: he smells like french vanilla. Esper spins around gracefully on the tips of his toes and claps twice. "Seraphs, you are dismissed. Back to work, everyone!" They go, but not all of them seem delighted by what just transpired. I try not to look them in the eye. I know I'm just some street slut who just got lucky. "You are ever so pathetic, Flaere." "Thanks, Hunter, that really makes me feel better..." I mutter.   ###   "Okay, so if you want to be a seraph, you have to learn how to pole dance." Matteo explains as he climbs on the stage in the common performance room. I follow him, shy. There are two poles on stage and Matteo takes one. I guess that means this other one is for me... "Matteo runs the Scorpio Room. He's my best dancer," Esper says from the plush red spectator seat, supervising us. "Thanks Essie," Matteo says distractedly as he adjusts his outfit: a tight black crop top and tiny black shorts that he hikes up even further to reveal his sculpted ass. He wears black knuckle gloves and heels that look hard to balance on. He's so beautiful and talented, how am I supposed to match up to him? He warms up, taking the pole in one hand and taking a short walk around it, stretching his legs in places. "Let's start with some basic moves." I watch intently as he bends backwards alongside the pole, popping a leg flirtatiously. Then he hooks his leg around it and swings around. He makes it look so easy. "Try not to lose your balance," he instructs.   I grip the pole, fascinated with the way it feels in my hand. It almost feels natural as I climb up on it, testing out my balance. This isn't so bad... I find new ways to coil and bend around it, getting higher each time. A small giggle escapes me - this actually feels good! The pole is a conduit, grounding me as I let my body venture into daring poses and movements. I'm so high up now! Matteo is wrapping up his demonstration on the other pole, dismounting as he dusts his palms together. "And don't feel too bad if you don't get it right away, pole dancing is a difficult-" He cuts off when he sees me, slack-jawed. Esper is staring at me too, eyes wide. I find myself suspended upside-down on the pole, one leg wrapped around it and the other extended off to the side. "I'm sorry, I didn't do the move right..."  I unfold easily and dismount, chastised. "You're a natural..." Esper marvels aloud. "Y-You think so?" "Rawwwk! Pretty boy!" Stella croons from Esper's shoulder. "He needs polishing." Matteo folds his arms, looking away. "And I'm sure you'll be able to help him with that." Esper smiles.   ###   "You don't have to do this if you aren't ready," Esper reminds me. "I-I want to." I stiffen in the presence of the bigger seraph. Tall, tan and muscular, Ryker has gentle spikes of blonde hair streaked with black that almost have the appearance of a lion's mane. His olive-green eyes twinkle in amusement as he gives me a once over. We stand in the Leo Room, the one that Ryker works. The room is lit in a mellow, sandy yellow softens edges and gives everything a golden glow.   "He's terrified, Esper, give him a break." He chuckles. "He said he wanted to." "Well if you say so." With a casual shrug, Ryker drops his pants to reveal his 8-inch manhood. He's more excited than he lets on, standing fully erect. It throbs. Distracted by it, I actually scream on instinct when he places a hand on my shoulder. Esper winces. "Wow," Ryker comments, "Lesson number one, reserve all screaming for when he starts pounding you." "Ryker, I told you not to bite," Esper says sternly. "I'm just messing with him..." Ryker chuckles. He takes a step back as the angel cuts in to mediate. I feel no panic when Esper takes my hand, at least until he places it on Ryker's exposed chest. My heart pounds in my chest as if trying to break out. My eyes squeeze shut on instinct. "I want you to calm down, Flaere." Eper's voice comes to me like a lifeline. "I want you to realize that Ryker is not going to hurt you." He isn't... Going to hurt me... I suddenly realize that there is a heart beating under my hand, pulsing rhythmically. My brow relaxes slowly. I place my other hand on my own heart, using his as a metronome to calm my own until they're beating in sync.   I let Ryker lay me out on the bed, climbing on top. Yellow light filters through his blonde hair and makes it glow. "Sex is a connection between two people." Esper's voice is like soft music in the background. "It can be passionate and intense, or soft and loving. Then there those who would misuse that connection to cause pain... Some manipulate it with spite in their hearts. While you're in this room, I want you to make a connection with Ryker. I can't tell you what kind it will be, but I promise you will be safe the whole time." Sex as a connection? I stare up into into Ryker's calm green eyes; brush the tips of his blonde hair with my fingertips. Usually it's just something that happens to me, while I squeeze my eyes shut, grit my teeth and cower in a corner of my mind waiting for it to be over. But I want to be here. I want to be present when Ryker draws a scorching line over my chest, devouring my features with his eyes. I want to kiss him. The thought refuses to go away, so I act on it, drawing his face down into a kiss. Ryker melts into it, his body coming down to rest lazily on top of mine. His eyes drift shut as he tilts his head, using his tongue to playfully tussle with mine like lion cubs on the savannah. Then he draws back to run it along my cheek, desirous and flirty, unlike Mamba who did it to intimidate. A remnant of that fear must have found its way onto my face because he smiles down at me sympathetically. "Hey, ease up, new guy." He lazily draws his dusky hand through my tresses. "You're really pretty, you know." I feel my face go hot. "You think so?" "Mmhm..." He sinks in casually and I feel my entrance dilate, but not the pain that usually comes with it... Just... Pleasure. An involuntary moan escapes between my parted lips. Ryker brightens, rewarded, and picks up his pace. Gasps and moans fill the room, getting progressively heavier. A naughty glint flits across his face and he grins. "Well since I'm doing all the work, you could at least tell me how I'm doing." Desperate to make a good impression, I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. "It feels good!" "Noted." He shrugs. "But I meant more like tell me about me. " "You're really hot..." "Mmm..." He closes his eyes, giving it to me harder as if to reward me, but I just flinch at the unexpected change of pace. "Tell me more." "You're... Big." I try to stay focused. Thoughts are rushing through my head. Thoughts of Mamba, thoughts of... Damon . I'm on edge, waiting for the pain. "Oh yeah?" Ryker doesn't seem to notice, plunging deeper this time. It feels like a violation. A tiny cry emits from my throat, barely audible. His handle on my hair tightens. I lock up in response, gripping the sheets tightly. My teeth clench. "And what else?" Ryker whispers. "You're... You're..." Tears brim at my eyelids. I squeeze them shut. "You're hurting me!"   "RAPE!" Stella shrieks. Everything... Stops. I muster up the courage to look. I find Ryker perched at the other end of the bed on his knees with his hands over his crotch, looking guilty. He actually stopped . Esper is at the bedside, although I don't know when he got there. "You are dismissed, seraph," he says quietly, "Go take a cold shower." Ryker gets up with a sigh, pulling his pants back on. "I'm sorry, Flaere," he says. "I should've known you weren't ready." Esper turns to me when he's gone, stroking my cheek tenderly. I stare into his crystal blue eyes until they calm me down, "Ryker isn't our most... generous lover. That was my fault. Why don't you stick to dancing for now?" I nod wordlessly, but my heart sinks in my chest. Even a classy prostitute has sex and if I can't do that, then I've failed him; and if I've failed him then I deserve to be kicked out of this gated section of heaven. "Oh, I have an idea." Esper gives Stella a walnut as a treat. "Stella my dear, show Flaere the money!" he says in a campy voice. She flutters down to his pant pocket and fishes out his wallet. I watch, fascinated as she uses her talons and grey beak to deftly pluck a wad of banknotes from inside. Folding and returning the wallet neatly to his pocket, Stella flits onto my shoulder and drops the notes into my waiting palms. My eyes widen. They're all twenties. Esper holds an arm out to provide Stella a perch to return to. He smiles knowingly when I look at him in disbelief. "Take the rest of the day off and go get yourself something nice."   ###   The sun is just starting to set on Harm's Way, illuminating even this disgusting end of the world with a peach and vanilla sky. "Come on, babe, I can pay." But already, the rats are starting to emerge. A sleazy man talks up a much younger dancer: much too young to even be an exotic dancer. He just keeps walking briskly. "I-I said no. I'm sorry, I have to get to practice," he stammers, uncomfortable. I keep my head down and head straight to the bodega. Workers are knocking down the fast food joint that once stood next to it. "Fuck!" curses one of the workers as he breaks through the wall with his sledgehammer, "What a shithole." I can't tell if he's referring to the restaurant or the entirety of Harm's Way. The bell on the bodega's door jingles cheerfully as I push through to the inside. "Hey, Flaere, meet anyone cute today?" the shopkeeper, Andres, chuckles. His eyes widen as I slide the twenty across the counter. "Or rich?"   "Something like that." I smile weakly. "I want the cards." "Sure," Andres says, reaching for the topless playing cards next to the cigarettes. "Not those," I pipe up, pointing instead to the colorful foil packages. "The Ultimate Fighter cards?" He raises an eyebrow at me. "You want those? " I nod eagerly. "Well, if you say so... They're pretty old, though." "That's okay." That's why I want them anyway... I marvel at the foil package in my hands. The sound of more debris and wall crumbling next door somewhat spoils the moment. "Hey, why are they knocking down Castellano's? They had the best falafel on the Way..." "Black mould, Flaere. Black mould," Andres says flatly. "Oh..." I grimace. I try not to think about how many years of my life I lost over falafel. "Yep, a total lost cause. The city has it slated for demolition." I'm not really listening to him anymore as I peel back the foil wrapping. The ultimate fighter cards have cool pictures of the fighters on one side and stats on the other. I've never had money that I could just spend on things before... "Look, it's the Punisher! And this one's Bullshark!" I place the cards on the counter for Andres to see. He probably doesn't even watch wrestling but he looks amused anyway. "You're really into these guys, aren't you?" "They're the best fighters in history," I gush. "You know they're all retired, right?" "I know..." That's why they're the best. They got out before the sport turned into a depraved freakshow. I turn over the last card in the pack and my eyes widen. "No way..." "Whatcha got there?" Andres asks. I turn the card towards him, trying not to scream with excitement. "Vesuvius! I got Vesuvius!" I stare at it incredulously. Vesuvius is huge, with a shock of flame red hair tapered down the sides of his head. I touch my own hair subconsciously. "Vesuvius, huh? Wasn't he a big deal back then?" "He was only the best ever! 'Watch out, I'm bringing the Pompeeeeiiiin! '" I mimic his catchphrase and burst out laughing. "You're a funny guy, Flaere." Well 'funny' is one of the nicer things that could be said about me... I indulge myself further in a can of soda and a pack of gum before I leave the bodega, the bell cheerfully ringing me out. The darkness robs me of my mood. Nighttime on Harm's Way has never brought me anything good. I slip my hand into my pocket to let it rest over the cards, as if I could borrow courage from them. I'm going back to the Manor. I don't have to stay here, I remind myself as I start walking. The workers are gone, leaving behind the shell of the building with jagged teeth cut into it from where they broke the wall. Then I hear it. Small, choked noises and the faint sound of flesh slapping against flesh, somewhere in the dingy alley between the bodega and Castellano's. "H-Hello?" I step fearfully into it. My eyes adjust to the darkness and I freeze in my tracks. The greasy man from earlier is on top of the young dancer. He has a hand clamped down over the teen's mouth so he won't scream, but tiny whimpers escape him anyway. Pushing him down into the overflowing garbage, the man grunts like a horrible pig as he thrusts. My head spins. I'm nauseous. I'm angry. I feel Hunter's influence spike my brain like a frigid icicle. And I don't... I don't stop him. Before I know it, I'm wrapping my fingers around the sledgehammer left lying against the wall. "Filthy pig..." I say in a hoarse voice. The larger man looks up with furious eyes. Which turn horrified when he sees the sledgehammer rapidly approaching. I strike him with it like a golf club, sending him flying off the teenager. He rolls a short distance over the dirty pavement and comes up coughing up blood and spitting out teeth. He's still conscious; he sees the murder in my eyes and tries to scramble up on his feet. "Where do you think you're going?" A horrible crunch of bone as I bring him down again with a shattered kneecap and the pig squeals, impossibly loud.   "N-No! No! " he finally finds his voice, screaming for mercy as he drags himself backwards along the pavement. He leaves a streak of blood on the ground. His face finally looks as swollen, bruised and ugly as his heart. "Isn't that what he said to you?" I jerk a thumb backwards at the teenager in the refuse. "Did you listen to him?" "Please! I'm sorry!" "DID YOU LISTEN TO HIM?!?" I roar. "I'm sorry, I'll never do it again, I swear to God!" Oh, they're sorry now... They're aaaaaall sorry all of a sudden... The pig's eyes widen as I raise the sledgehammer over my head with both hands. "God is dead," I hiss. It comes crashing down in a shriek of displaced air and human terror. I come down from my adrenaline high. I come way down. My vision is blurry, as if trying to censor my view. I see the man's prone body on the floor. His left leg is drenched in blood. Oh God... I slowly trace down from my grip, along the length of the sledgehammer... To the spray of shattered bone and blood and... squishy stuff? I drop the weapon, shocked. I'm covered in blood. A tidal wave of nausea hits me; I stumble to the other side of the alley where I empty the contents of my stomach, shivering against the wall as I gasp for air. There's a high pitched whine running in the back of my head. When I focus on it, it expands into the hysterical screaming of the teenager. I'm dry heaving again. I don't want to be here anymore. "You finally did it..." Hunter's laughter fills my head, quiet at first and then it grows deafeningly loud. "You finally did it, you son of a bitch!" So loud, so loud; and then suddenly, his laughter is on the outside. Hunter is on the outside. My body is moving, but I'm not in control, watching, trapped behind my own eyes like a pane of glass. Hunter takes over, laughing uncontrollably as he digs deep into the viscera. He marvels sadistically at the way the ruby rivers run between our fingers. Then he's rubbing it all over, staining our shirt and shorts. The white fabric blooms in scarlet. "Stop it!" I quail from inside our head. "You're- you're ruining our clothes!" Our clothes, as if he cares about that right now. "We can't go home looking like this!" I start to sob. "We're going to lose all the good things that have been happening to us!" "What good things? Your precious new brothel monsieur? Who had you raped on your first day?" "That was an accident..." I say hesitantly. "Then he sends you off with money like a pedophile uncle pacifies his nephew with candy... He just wants to use us like all the others." "That's a LIE. Esper has been good to us!" Hunter runs our hands over our face, as if trying to stain our soul with the sharp, metallic scent of blood. He drags them through our hair, tearing out my hair tie on the way. Our orange hair cascades down around our shoulders, highlighted now in rusty red. "Even if it was. Do you really think you're good enough for him?" His words cut me like a knife, but we are bleeding another man's blood. My crying quietens. "Don't worry, sweet little Flaere... Our fun is just getting started." He turns, grinning, to the teenager frozen to the spot. The boy's soft magenta eyes widen; he clamps his trembling hands over his mouth in abject terror. I feel every murderous intention running rampant in our head. "No, Hunter, please... NO!" Chapter End Notes Oh snap - literally? End Notes As always, comments and kudos are appreciated! (I do accept anons) Current update schedule: Weekly Tues/Wed Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed their work!