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nouveau_monday May. 11th, 2008 10:50 pm)
nouveau_monday May. 11th, 2008 10:50 pm)Title: None as of yet
Author: nouveau_monday
Pairing: Noah/Luke
Rating: PG-13/R for language.
Word Count: 1600ish
Summary: Noah is being interviewed by a reporter. Noah is not the Noah we know; he's a rent boy.
Spoilers: This is completely AU for the boys. So yeah, any relation to the story line is minor. Only facts I kept were the Colonel, Noah's mom, and Oakdale.
Disclaimer: As I said, this is AU. The characters belong to CBS and P&G and possibly others, but definitely not me.
Notes: All feedback greatly appreciated, as this is not inline with the characters at all. It feels rushed toward the end, but as I said, I wanted to get it down before I lost it. So please please please, critique away. Also, tell me about verb tense issues, because I kept vacillating between past/present and i'm not sure I caught all of them. Thank you.
Noah curls his back into his pillows and wraps his arms around his legs. "What do you want to know?"
"Well, how did you get into ... this?" The reporter brushes his hair away from his face. "It's not everyday someone grows up and says, 'You know what? Think I'm going to go out and, well, umm -"
"Get paid to take it up the ass by other guys?" Noah raises an eyebrow and cocks his head to the side. How old was this guy? Twelve maybe?
He coughs on his Diet Pepsi. Noah wonders idly if he's about to have to deal with a dead reporter. "Yeah. If that's, if that's," he swallows. "Hey, if that's cool. I didn't want to offend you. Didn't want to presume what you did." His hands sweat. His cheeks flush. "Or, umm, who you did it with."
Noah laughs. "So it's not the profession that bothers you, it's who I do it with that does?"
"God, no no! I didn't mean anything like that. Not at all. I just, you know, didn't want to -"
"Presume? Got that. Look, it's cool. I told you. Interview me. Go to town. Just don't use my real name, and no photographs." He glances at the alarm clock on his bedside table. "Look, I've got to be on the streets by evening if I'm going to make rent. It's not really a busy time of year for me." He shrugs. How long had it been since he'd had a drink? a cigarette? He sighs. Three years, seven months, thirteen days. The three coins from various home groups shine dimly in the soft light from the window.
"Oh, hell, I'm sorry. Do you need me to come back another time? That's cool, y'know. I could do this. I want a good interview. You shouldn't feel rushed." The reporter sucks on the end of his pen. "Really. It's not a problem."
Noah reaches out a hand, puts it on the guy's wrist. "Hey, kid, it kinda is a problem. I don't give out interviews usually. And I'm certainly not meeting you again. You could tell the cops. Hell, you could be the cops right now. This might be part of a sting. What do I know? What do I care? But this is your chance. So why don't you ask my faggot self why I suck dick for money and then go about your happy go lucky life." He snags the can of soda from the boy's side while his mouth opens and closes without any words.
"I'm not a cop. And I'm not a kid. And fuck you. I'm trying to help with this. You shouldn't have to whore yourself. That's crazy. You can't be older than me. Where's your family? Your friends? Doesn't anyone care about if you're hurt or worse doing this?" The blonde goes from shock to anger and white knuckles the arm of the chair.
And that's it for Noah. Interview is so over now. He unwinds his arms from his legs, smooths his wife beater over his stomach and crawls across the bed toward the kid. "How old do you think I am, kid? You never told me your name in the first place. One of the reasons I figured you weren't a cop. They always get anxious and introduce themselves. Practically bust out the wallet with the family pictures." He snorts. "As if I care that he's not really a queer, that's he got a wife and kids." Noah arches, then unwinds his body, so his chin rests on his hands on the edge of the bed. The reporter's lap is less than a foot away.
The kid squeaks again. "I'm almost twenty-two and a senior at Oakdale University. I'm getting my degree in journalism. That's why I'm here. I explained all of that when I asked you to do this." He opens another can and the crack of the metal separating makes his hands shake.
"Careful. You're gonna spill. And then you might need to take off those jeans of yours. How would you explain that to your precious professors?"
"You might like it too much," he mutters.
"Excuse me?" Noah wants to laugh as the kid's face flushes cherry red under his blonde hair. "Just so you know, unless you pay me, I don't like anything. That's how it works in my world. Don't know how it works around yours."
"But, what about love? and monogamy? and coming home to someone? Don't you miss all that? Don't you want a family some day? You can't do this forever, y'know?" The kid gives up on writing notes and hopes the voice recording is clear enough. No one will ever hear this but him if he's going to sound like such a dumbass, but whatever. If it gets him enough notes for the story, it's all good.
Noah does laugh now. He finishes off the partial can he grabbed. Each swallow tips his head and neck back for the guy to watch. He stick out his tongue for the last fizzy sip, laps gently at the lip of the can. Point for me, he decides as he hears a soft moan that definitely did not come from him. "You're so cute. Never had love. Never cared about monogamy. Never came home to anyone. Family will fuck you up for good. Why would I want to propagate the idiotic American Dream ideal. Also, dude, I'm gay. Never gonna have the wife, or the two point five kids or the two car garage. At the rate I'm going, I'll be dead by the time I'm twenty-five anyway." He rolls onto his back, stares at the ceiling. The cotton ribbing of his shirt hikes up a little and his jeans hang off his hips. The kid swallows again.
"If you think you're going to be dead by twenty-five then you can't be that much older than me. My family is crazy. Like, really crazy. But it didn't drive me to what you're doing. So what the hell? Emo attitude aside, again I ask, why?"
Noah tips his head off the edge of the bed, covers his eyes with his palms. "When your dad tells you you're nothing but the no good son of a whore and that you don't even deserve the clothes on your back, you learn two things pretty quickly. One, if it was good enough for mom, then it's good enough for you. And two, if you don't deserve the clothes on your back, then maybe you better make money on your back without them on." He removes his palms and stares, upside down, at the reporter. "We almost done?"
"How much do you need to make tonight?" The words are out of his mouth before he knows what he's saying. That much is clear to Noah. The kid looks like he can't believe he just asked that.
Noah winks. "Don't you worry your pretty little head about it." And it is a pretty face. He would never have agreed to this farce of an interview otherwise. "I've been saving. Even if I only get one or two, it'll do until tomorrow. Maybe it's time to find a new location anyway. I hear Miami's nice this time of year. And in Nevada at least my ass could be legal, y'know?"
"You're leaving?" He shakes his head. "Wait. Don't distract me. I asked you a question. I've asked you a ton, actually, but I really meant this one. How much?"
"More than you can afford on a college boy's salary unless you've got a real hard-on for whores, and have been saving up. My sweet ass don't come cheap, kid." He slips out the word 'kid' as slowly as possible. He can't help himself.
There is fumbling in pockets. The recorder falls on the floor. "Look. I've got, umm," he counts the crumpled bills, "I've got five hundred. How much of your time can that get me?"
"You're serious?" Noah shifts back to his stomach. "You're willing to shell out five hundred dollars to what? Keep me off the streets for a night? Think you're doing me a favor? This isn't fucking Pretty Woman."
"I don't think that, Noah. I don't. I'm not naive just because I want to settle down some day. That doesn't make me dumb." He stands up, drops the money roll next to the alarm clock. He sits on the bed next to Noah and runs a warm hand over the stretch of exposed skin on his stomach. "I've got the money. I've been saving it. For you. I saw you in October when you started working the corner near Yo's. It took me this long to find out who you were, find out what your deal was. And now, as you so eloquently put it, I want to be one of those guys who pays you to take it up the ass. Noah, I'm gay. I've been out for seven years. But sometimes, finding someone is a pain. Finding someone as hot as you is definitely hard. Especially in this area. So, if you'd take the money and, you know, let me make you come screaming my name, well, I'd be much obliged."
"For five hundred, I'd even make you breakfast in the morning. And I'd make sure you were as much obliged as you think I'm going to be. I have a couple regulars, but if you got that kinda cash, I'd pick up another, no question." Noah likes the touch of this guy's hand. It's not angry, just thoughtful, and he doesn't seem nervous any more. "Got a name, kid? That way I know what to scream as I coming?"
The reporter stands up, strips off his shirt and pants efficiently. He fold them on the chair, then comes back to the bed. He straddles Noah's thighs and smiles, leans in toward Noah's face, flops blonde hair into both of their faces. "The name's Luke," he breathes over Noah's face. "Luke Snyder, and I promise, I'm gonna make this worth your while."
Author: nouveau_monday
Pairing: Noah/Luke
Rating: PG-13/R for language.
Word Count: 1600ish
Summary: Noah is being interviewed by a reporter. Noah is not the Noah we know; he's a rent boy.
Spoilers: This is completely AU for the boys. So yeah, any relation to the story line is minor. Only facts I kept were the Colonel, Noah's mom, and Oakdale.
Disclaimer: As I said, this is AU. The characters belong to CBS and P&G and possibly others, but definitely not me.
Notes: All feedback greatly appreciated, as this is not inline with the characters at all. It feels rushed toward the end, but as I said, I wanted to get it down before I lost it. So please please please, critique away. Also, tell me about verb tense issues, because I kept vacillating between past/present and i'm not sure I caught all of them. Thank you.
Noah curls his back into his pillows and wraps his arms around his legs. "What do you want to know?"
"Well, how did you get into ... this?" The reporter brushes his hair away from his face. "It's not everyday someone grows up and says, 'You know what? Think I'm going to go out and, well, umm -"
"Get paid to take it up the ass by other guys?" Noah raises an eyebrow and cocks his head to the side. How old was this guy? Twelve maybe?
He coughs on his Diet Pepsi. Noah wonders idly if he's about to have to deal with a dead reporter. "Yeah. If that's, if that's," he swallows. "Hey, if that's cool. I didn't want to offend you. Didn't want to presume what you did." His hands sweat. His cheeks flush. "Or, umm, who you did it with."
Noah laughs. "So it's not the profession that bothers you, it's who I do it with that does?"
"God, no no! I didn't mean anything like that. Not at all. I just, you know, didn't want to -"
"Presume? Got that. Look, it's cool. I told you. Interview me. Go to town. Just don't use my real name, and no photographs." He glances at the alarm clock on his bedside table. "Look, I've got to be on the streets by evening if I'm going to make rent. It's not really a busy time of year for me." He shrugs. How long had it been since he'd had a drink? a cigarette? He sighs. Three years, seven months, thirteen days. The three coins from various home groups shine dimly in the soft light from the window.
"Oh, hell, I'm sorry. Do you need me to come back another time? That's cool, y'know. I could do this. I want a good interview. You shouldn't feel rushed." The reporter sucks on the end of his pen. "Really. It's not a problem."
Noah reaches out a hand, puts it on the guy's wrist. "Hey, kid, it kinda is a problem. I don't give out interviews usually. And I'm certainly not meeting you again. You could tell the cops. Hell, you could be the cops right now. This might be part of a sting. What do I know? What do I care? But this is your chance. So why don't you ask my faggot self why I suck dick for money and then go about your happy go lucky life." He snags the can of soda from the boy's side while his mouth opens and closes without any words.
"I'm not a cop. And I'm not a kid. And fuck you. I'm trying to help with this. You shouldn't have to whore yourself. That's crazy. You can't be older than me. Where's your family? Your friends? Doesn't anyone care about if you're hurt or worse doing this?" The blonde goes from shock to anger and white knuckles the arm of the chair.
And that's it for Noah. Interview is so over now. He unwinds his arms from his legs, smooths his wife beater over his stomach and crawls across the bed toward the kid. "How old do you think I am, kid? You never told me your name in the first place. One of the reasons I figured you weren't a cop. They always get anxious and introduce themselves. Practically bust out the wallet with the family pictures." He snorts. "As if I care that he's not really a queer, that's he got a wife and kids." Noah arches, then unwinds his body, so his chin rests on his hands on the edge of the bed. The reporter's lap is less than a foot away.
The kid squeaks again. "I'm almost twenty-two and a senior at Oakdale University. I'm getting my degree in journalism. That's why I'm here. I explained all of that when I asked you to do this." He opens another can and the crack of the metal separating makes his hands shake.
"Careful. You're gonna spill. And then you might need to take off those jeans of yours. How would you explain that to your precious professors?"
"You might like it too much," he mutters.
"Excuse me?" Noah wants to laugh as the kid's face flushes cherry red under his blonde hair. "Just so you know, unless you pay me, I don't like anything. That's how it works in my world. Don't know how it works around yours."
"But, what about love? and monogamy? and coming home to someone? Don't you miss all that? Don't you want a family some day? You can't do this forever, y'know?" The kid gives up on writing notes and hopes the voice recording is clear enough. No one will ever hear this but him if he's going to sound like such a dumbass, but whatever. If it gets him enough notes for the story, it's all good.
Noah does laugh now. He finishes off the partial can he grabbed. Each swallow tips his head and neck back for the guy to watch. He stick out his tongue for the last fizzy sip, laps gently at the lip of the can. Point for me, he decides as he hears a soft moan that definitely did not come from him. "You're so cute. Never had love. Never cared about monogamy. Never came home to anyone. Family will fuck you up for good. Why would I want to propagate the idiotic American Dream ideal. Also, dude, I'm gay. Never gonna have the wife, or the two point five kids or the two car garage. At the rate I'm going, I'll be dead by the time I'm twenty-five anyway." He rolls onto his back, stares at the ceiling. The cotton ribbing of his shirt hikes up a little and his jeans hang off his hips. The kid swallows again.
"If you think you're going to be dead by twenty-five then you can't be that much older than me. My family is crazy. Like, really crazy. But it didn't drive me to what you're doing. So what the hell? Emo attitude aside, again I ask, why?"
Noah tips his head off the edge of the bed, covers his eyes with his palms. "When your dad tells you you're nothing but the no good son of a whore and that you don't even deserve the clothes on your back, you learn two things pretty quickly. One, if it was good enough for mom, then it's good enough for you. And two, if you don't deserve the clothes on your back, then maybe you better make money on your back without them on." He removes his palms and stares, upside down, at the reporter. "We almost done?"
"How much do you need to make tonight?" The words are out of his mouth before he knows what he's saying. That much is clear to Noah. The kid looks like he can't believe he just asked that.
Noah winks. "Don't you worry your pretty little head about it." And it is a pretty face. He would never have agreed to this farce of an interview otherwise. "I've been saving. Even if I only get one or two, it'll do until tomorrow. Maybe it's time to find a new location anyway. I hear Miami's nice this time of year. And in Nevada at least my ass could be legal, y'know?"
"You're leaving?" He shakes his head. "Wait. Don't distract me. I asked you a question. I've asked you a ton, actually, but I really meant this one. How much?"
"More than you can afford on a college boy's salary unless you've got a real hard-on for whores, and have been saving up. My sweet ass don't come cheap, kid." He slips out the word 'kid' as slowly as possible. He can't help himself.
There is fumbling in pockets. The recorder falls on the floor. "Look. I've got, umm," he counts the crumpled bills, "I've got five hundred. How much of your time can that get me?"
"You're serious?" Noah shifts back to his stomach. "You're willing to shell out five hundred dollars to what? Keep me off the streets for a night? Think you're doing me a favor? This isn't fucking Pretty Woman."
"I don't think that, Noah. I don't. I'm not naive just because I want to settle down some day. That doesn't make me dumb." He stands up, drops the money roll next to the alarm clock. He sits on the bed next to Noah and runs a warm hand over the stretch of exposed skin on his stomach. "I've got the money. I've been saving it. For you. I saw you in October when you started working the corner near Yo's. It took me this long to find out who you were, find out what your deal was. And now, as you so eloquently put it, I want to be one of those guys who pays you to take it up the ass. Noah, I'm gay. I've been out for seven years. But sometimes, finding someone is a pain. Finding someone as hot as you is definitely hard. Especially in this area. So, if you'd take the money and, you know, let me make you come screaming my name, well, I'd be much obliged."
"For five hundred, I'd even make you breakfast in the morning. And I'd make sure you were as much obliged as you think I'm going to be. I have a couple regulars, but if you got that kinda cash, I'd pick up another, no question." Noah likes the touch of this guy's hand. It's not angry, just thoughtful, and he doesn't seem nervous any more. "Got a name, kid? That way I know what to scream as I coming?"
The reporter stands up, strips off his shirt and pants efficiently. He fold them on the chair, then comes back to the bed. He straddles Noah's thighs and smiles, leans in toward Noah's face, flops blonde hair into both of their faces. "The name's Luke," he breathes over Noah's face. "Luke Snyder, and I promise, I'm gonna make this worth your while."
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