Cupidity - chapter one

[louiselux.livejournal.com]

Title: Cupidity
Authors: emungere and louiselux
Fandom: Saiyuki, AU
Rating: explicit m/m throughout
Notes: sort of a demented, porn filled cracktastic saiyuki au where Gojyo is Hakkai's boytoy.

Cupidity
Chapter one




The craigslist ad had stopped Angel dead. It'd sounded like a joke.

Looking to make your dreams come true, from Prada to diamonds to Tahiti. Your body and soul in exchange. Pictures and correct punctuation and spelling required.

He'd gotten an email back with a place, date, and time--for an interview. Which had also sounded like a joke, but here he was. The building soared above Central Park, all glass and stainless steel and exotic plantlife in the lobby. The concierge didn't even look at him funny for the painted on jeans and ripped tank.

He hadn't been expecting anything like this. He definitely hadn't been expecting to be handed a temporary key card for the elevator that took him straight up to the penthouse. The doors opened onto an expanse of tumbled white marble tile and pillars that tapered towards the high ceiling.


Angel had a picture of the guy he was supposedly meeting. He'd been way too hot for craigslist list, and he was too hot for this place by a whole nother order of magnitude. Angel had assumed it was a fake, or at least Photoshopped. It wasn't.

Robin Goodfellow had black hair and bright green eyes, a sharp suit, and a mildly disapproving expression.

"Well, you'll need new clothes. Where did you get those, Target?"

"Uh. Salvation Army?"

"I should've guessed. Take your clothes off."

"Excuse me?"

"You answered the ad. You can see I wasn't deceiving you." He gestured briefly at his crazy-ass expensive apartment. "I certainly won't take you on without knowing for certain what I'm getting. I had quite a few other responses, you know."

"Whatever. Not as hot as me." And what the hell. Angel wouldn't mind getting off with this guy, even if that was all it was. Not at all. He peeled his tank off over his head and started unbuttoning his jeans. "Underwear too?"

"Yes please."

He said it in sharp snappy tones like he had somewhere else to be and checking out Angel's junk was just another tiresome task he had to get through.

Angel shrugged and kicked off his ratty sneakers, glad at least that he'd put the clean socks on this morning, and shoved his jeans and underwear down. He kicked them off and stood up straight.

Robin Goodfellow was staring at him, not like he was shocked or anything, but like he was totally not paying attention to anything else in the room apart from Angel. It was kind of weird, but it was hot too. He shivered as the guy's gaze travelled over his body, settling on his dick for what seemed like forever.

"Turn around," the guy said. "Slowly."

Angel turned, hand on his hip, trying not to feel stupid. Thinking about diamonds, vast penthouse apartments and Prada made it a lot easier. Wow, this room was huge. He hadn't fully appreciated that before. One entire wall was made of glass and the view made him want to run over and press his face to it.

When he came round to the front again Robin Goodfellow was watching him, arms folded. He still had that faintly disapproving look on his face.

"Like what you see?" Angel said, with his best killer smile. He smoothed a hand over his stomach, letting his fingers slide lower. His nipples were getting hard. "How about it?"

"You have a beautiful body."

"Uh. Thanks. I'm clean, too."

"Yes, thank you. I saw your details. Come here."

"Sure."

The guy smiled, faintly. It wasn't an entirely nice smile. So, this wasn't like any other pick up he'd ever made in his life, but what the hell. Angel's mouth went dry. Robin Goodfellow was unzipping his pants.

"I'd like you to fellate me."

"You'd—what?"

"Suck my cock."

He was looking directly into Angel's eyes as he said it, looking into them hard. Did anyone ever say no to this guy?

"Fuck. I mean, sure. Yeah."

"Good."

The tiles were hard and cold on his knees and he shivered again. The guy's cock was already sticking out of his expensive pants. It was hot – nice and thick, quite long, little bit of precome just slicking the head already. Angel licked if off then took him straight into his mouth, as much and as deep as he could. He wanted to impress. Robin Goodfellow made a soft noise and placed his hands on Angel's head. He didn't grab his hair or pull or anything, just rested them there. They felt heavier than they should.

"Do you understand the concept of 'body and soul'?" he said, softly. "I hope you do." He made tiny thrusts with his hips, working his cock in deeper, and Angel opened his mouth as wide as he could. His jaw ached. "It seems to me like you might."

Angel sucked and licked. The sounds he made where the only sounds in the room, apart from the faint soft breaths above him. Was there anyone else here? There must be maids and shit. Maybe they got paid enough not to see. The fingers in his hair tightened faintly and the cock in his mouth jerked, getting harder.

"Suck the head, harder," the guy said, just a breath.

He pulled out before he came. Angel held still and it spattered on his neck and across his jaw. The guy gazed down at him, them licked his lips once and began to zip himself back up. He handed Angel a handkerchief.

"Clean yourself up and get dressed. I'll let you know."

"What? That's it?"

No reply, not even a glance. Angel watched him walk away. He opened a door at the far end and went through, not looking back. The elevator pinged discreetly behind him and a guy came out, built like a tank and looking about as friendly.

Angel's clothes were cold from lying on the floor. He wiped his face off and yanked his jeans on, feeling dumb all over again. He didn't know what to do with the handkerchief so he shoved it in his pocket. He'd got a lot of replies, he'd said. It was a freaking weird way to get free blowjobs.

Tank Man ignored him as he dressed, but herded him subtly into the mirrored elevator as soon as the last knot in his sneakers was tied.

"So, you enjoy working for that guy?" Angel said, as the elevator hissed smoothly downwards, falling faster that Angel was entirely comfortable with.

Tank Man didn't even look at him. "Everyone enjoys working for Mr Goodfellow," he said. "Although I don't. I am employed by the Building."

Uh huh. Angel looked at him carefully. Maybe there was brainwashing going on. He licked his lips, wanting to get rid of the salty bitter tang in his mouth. He'd been hard all the time he'd been sucking the guy, like really hard. He could still feel how turned on he'd been. Fuck. He slammed his fist against a patch of dimpled stainless steel panelling. It made a hollow clang. Tank Man frowned.

"Sorry. Just. You know."

"Yeah. I know. This is your floor. Please leave."

He stepped out in the exotic plantlife. The concierge divested him of the temporary key and made him sign out, like he was a real visitor. Back on the sidewalk the noise of the street hit him full in the face like a slap. He looked up. Somewhere right at the top was that guy. He'd probably forgotten about Angel already. Yeah.

His cellphone rang as he walked. Andy's voice drilled right into his ear. Oh, yeah. The job.

"Oh, hi."

"It's two thirty. Where the fuck are you, Angel?"

"I had to meet some guy—"

"Dear God, save me. You were supposed to be here at eleven."

"Yeah, sorry. But I had to meet this dude, and—"

"Oh, also save my ears the fucking pain of listening to your excuses. Dough balls don't cook themselves, Angel. This salad won't slice itself. I had to do it." Andy's voice was rising with each word, like someone was cranking up a pressure valve on him. "Me! The lunch rush gave me blisters! You said you'd be here. This is like the third time in two weeks."

"I'm sorry, yeah, but-- "

"Save it for someone else. Look, come pick up your stuff. I don't want you at my place anymore."

"Aw, what? Come on, I'm sorry. Just one more night?"

Andy sighed. "No. Sorry, but you make me crazy. Who was this guy anyway? Did he pay you or something?"

"No. It wasn't quite like that—"

Angel stopped. He didn't know what it was like. He blew some rich guy and now he had to wait for a thank you note or something? Andy made an exasperated noise.

"Jesus. Actually, I don't wanna know. You’d just better go, and leave the key."

The line went dead. Angel stared at the screen. He almost missed the shouting.

Angel's luck always ran like this. Mostly pretty poor, occasionally disastrous like the first time he'd run away from home. He touched the silvery scar on his arm, hardly even aware he was doing it. There was always poker. He had a great poker face. And a hot hot body.

"Fuck. Bad day," he muttered.

***

He'd picked up the army kit bag from the Salvation Army on his last trip. It looked like a sad deflated khaki sausage. Andy hadn't phoned back. The only bright point today was that he didn't have that much to pack. Everything fit in the bag, the bag fit over his shoulder, and he fit nicely on a bench at Grand Central Station, wedged into a relatively clean corner.

People swept by in minor waves, the high tide of rush hour already passed. Angel watched them. He liked this about New York, the way you were never alone even when you were. You could walk out on the street at three, four, five in the morning, and there would people out there living their lives. Maybe they'd also be ready and waiting to mug you or give you the finger, but it didn't seem to matter. New York made him insulated somehow.

Part of it, for sure, was knowing that the majority of the people around him didn't think he was going to burn in hell for eternity. Fucking Utah.

It was dark out already. He'd slept here before, slumped over like he was just waiting for a train. He'd slept in subway stations and under overpasses, but he was hoping he could do better tonight. He still had his cell phone, and there had to be someone in his address book who would put him up.

"Hey, Jude, it's me, Angel. Listen--" Jude hung up on him. So did Josh and Sarah and Betty and Gabe. Maybe he needed to try another approach. Or maybe he should just head straight for the back room at Lugo and count on poker winnings to get him a place to crash tonight.

He hated spending money on somewhere to sleep though. He could sleep just about anywhere, but eating out of dumpsters was just asking for a trip to the hospital--one he couldn't afford.

Names scrolled by on his phone screen. Some of them he could barely put faces to. He was about to try Barney when his phone blooped to tell him about an incoming text message.

It was from Robin Goodfellow.

I want you. Give me your location, and my driver will pick you up.