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Assistant: Title: Hunter Green
        Author: insusurro insusurro 
        Chapter: 1/31 
        Summary: “You get unlimited art supplies and a place to work. I get to walk into your room and watch your paintings and you while you work whenever I want to. Deal?”He grabs Frank’s hand without a moment of hesitation and shakes.“Deal.”
        Contents: Chapter 1
    

    


  

  
  
    
    
  It’s the first day of November, two months into his last year of college, and Gerard has absolutely nothing ready.

  That’s not entirely true. He has a few ideas that are bouncing around in his head - ideas he doesn’t particularly like, but it’s way too late to dwell on whether he does or doesn’t - but the final products are nowhere near being done. Out of around fifty pieces he needs, he has started working on one, and that was back in October. He hadn’t touched it in two weeks, and ever since it dried, he had sacrificed his sleeping comfort and had some of his bed sheets hanging from it to cover it.

  It’s not working out, but that’s honestly the least of his problems. He can make it work. Or he could - if he wasn’t a month behind with rent after losing his sh@tty job as a barista (rightfully so, too - he did throw a coffee cup in someone’s face, but he couldn’t help it anymore. There is a limited number of times a man can explain to stupid New Yorkers that sugars are on the side, and no, he can’t get one for them because they can do it themselves, thank you very much).

  There are a lot of problems with wanting to be an artist and choosing art school as the way to do it, but buying art supplies is in the top ten. Maybe even in the top five. Gerard was fighting a headache for a week after calculating that he needed roughly between ten to fifteen grand in order to buy all those 72-inch canvases and countless ounces of paint, then fought it again after he realized there was no f@ck@ng way he could borrow that money from someone and, without a job, a loan wasn’t an option. Even when he thinks about it now, he doubts reaching such a high goal is possible. That being said, he will be damned if he doesn’t try.

  That’s why he’s here tonight. That’s why he is currently on his third drink in some posh-looking club in downtown Manhattan, feeling uncomfortable and embarrassed in his too-short shorts and a piece of fabric that can hardly be called a t-shirt. They say that desperate times call for desperate measures, and Gerard honestly thinks he’s lucky that he enjoys casual s@x as much as he does. He has no idea how people who aren’t willing to put their @ss@s on the line - quite literally, in this case - are going to get through this graduation project.

  He does have an idea how he’ll do it, though. His back hurts from keeping himself unnaturally straight, he’s self-conscious about the love handles spilling from his shorts, but he already had to politely refuse to go to bed with two men, and he has a third one staring at him from across the room. They’re all the same - much older than him, wearing expensive suits that could probably pay for half of Gerard’s life. The idea of sleeping with either of them makes Gerard’s skin crawl, but so does the thought of failing college.

  He smiles at the man, hoping it’s as flirtatious as he wants it to be, and reaches for his drink. Sober won’t do tonight. The man stands up, crossing the room, and Gerard’s blood pressure spikes. His mother would be so disappointed if she knew he was whoring himself out in New York City for some paint and a few canvases. He sighs, fixes the hunter-green handkerchief around his forearm, and braces himself for disaster.

  The man stops right in front of him, personal space be damned. Gerard politely opens his legs, letting him between them, and suppresses the shiver when the guy looks down at him. He must be in his late fifties, and when Gerard glances down, there is a gold ring on his finger. Married, then. Rich, married, and secretly gay. God, Gerard really hopes he will pay him handsomely for going so far out of his comfort zone.

  “Hello, pretty boy,” the man says, and his hand is already on Gerard’s chin, tilting his head back. Brave. Gerard shudders, hoping the man will interpret it as a sign of arousal, not disgust, and blinks. He has no clue what the etiquette is. Should he speak? Should he wait for permission? The guy pats his cheek a lot harder than necessary. “Do you talk, baby? Or are you still too young?”

  Oh, 
  
    Christ.
  

  “I–”

  “Don’t strain yourself, you don’t have to say anything. Daddy knows what the baby needs.”

  What Gerard needs is to leave, preferably right now. Or even better - yesterday. He grits his teeth, reminds himself that there are ten to fifteen grand in art supplies that he does not currently have in his apartment, and leans into the man’s touch. It’s gross, but it’s his third approach tonight, and things probably won’t get any better than this.

  “Sure,” he replies. He can’t quite force himself to call the man daddy, so he doesn’t.

  “You look like you need someone to take care of you. How about we get out of here, and I’ll show you just how well I can take care of my boys?”

  “How about you f@ck off?”

  Gerard tenses. He doesn’t recognize the voice - unsurprisingly, given that he doesn’t even know anyone who could be in a gay club in New York at this time, and it’s not like he’s made friends. The feeling of a foreign hand on his shoulder does nothing to calm his nerves, but it does make the man in front of him take a step back, hands lifting from Gerard’s face and into the air.

  “Sorry, buddy,” he says, eyes somewhere above Gerard’s head. “Didn’t know he was already taken.”

  “Well, he is,” the voice says. It’s deeper than the one belonging to the man in front of him and doesn’t waver when the stranger squeezes Gerard’s shoulder a little harder. There is a moment of silence between them, the heavy bass of the club’s sultry music pounding in Gerard’s ears, and then he feels the warmth of another body pressing close to his back. “Did you not understand me? F@ck off.”

  The man hesitates for another moment, considering if he wants to fight for Gerard, but apparently, Gerard isn’t worth fighting for. It makes him feel bitter when the guy steps back, shrugs, and walks away like he was never there. D@mn it. That’s a heavy blow to his ego.

  Then his savior, the knight in shining armor, walks around him, and Gerard’s jaw drops at the same time his ego skyrockets because - holy sh@t. 
  
    That’s
  
   the guy who felt the need to save him?

  “You might wanna be careful,” the stranger says, leaning against the bar. Gerard expects him to flag the bartender and order himself a drink, but he crosses his arms over his chest and simply stares at him. He looks different than the rich men in suits. It doesn’t seem like he’s trying very hard to exude power with his simple t-shirt and jeans, but then again - he doesn’t really have to. He might be the hottest man Gerard has ever seen in this club, if not in his entire life.

  “Careful of what?”

  “This color usually brings the creeps,” the guy says, reaching over to touch Gerard’s forearm. His fingers, just like the rest of him, are tattooed, but it’s too dark for Gerard to distinguish the patterns on his skin when he runs his fingertips over the handkerchief. He pulls his hand back immediately after.

  “I can handle myself.”

  “Sure,” the man snorts, rolling his eyes. The irony isn’t lost on Gerard. He sort of wants to lean forward and tap his fingers on the man’s chest, where his t-shirt proudly reminds the masses to 
  
    be nice, m@th@rf@ck@r.
  
   “You totally didn’t almost go home with that pedo.”

  “He’s not–”

  “Trust me, he is,” the guy sighs. “It’s a peculiar kink to have in the first place, but this guy does it for all the wrong reasons.”

  Gerard is probably going to be sick. “Seriously?”

  “You look very young, and that’s right up his alley. You’d be in diapers sucking on a dummy in under an hour.”

  Gerard is definitely going to be sick. “F@ck.”

  “Unless that’s your thing, I strongly advise you to reconsider the hanky next time.”

  Then he turns around like he wants to leave, and Gerard realizes that this is exactly who he should be chasing after. The guy can’t be older than forty, and he’s really f@ck@ng hot. He clearly isn’t a weirdo, either, given that he just saved Gerard from an experience he was severely unprepared to undergo, and although it’s not clear at first glance, Gerard has been on the lookout for long enough to notice the slight signs of wealth. This guy could fly right under his radar if it wasn’t for the Rolex on his wrist, which must cost at least twenty grand, if not more.

  “Wait!”

  The man stops, looking over his shoulder. He raises one eyebrow in a silent question, and Gerard has to suppress another shiver - but for completely different reasons.

  “What?”

  He swallows hard, stands up, and places a hand on the man’s chest. It’s nice under his palm, broad and firm but not overly muscular. Naturally strong, then, not just pumped full of steroids at a gym.

  “Take me home.”

  The man laughs, and there goes Gerard’s ego again.

  “No.”

  But he’s not one to easily give up.

  “Why not?”

  “Listen,” the guy sighs. He turns back around and scrutinizes him, his eyes roaming over Gerard’s entire body - from his legs to his hips and then his chest, before stopping on his face. He looks amused more than pitiful, and that’s perhaps worse. “You don’t even look legal enough to be talking to me, not to mention holding a drink in your hand. And I’m not looking for a child to look after. I f@ck@ng hate children.”

  “I’m not a f@ck@ng child.”

  “How old are you, then? Eighteen?”

  Gerard sighs. “Twenty-one.”

  “Your hanky tells me that you wanna be treated like a child, though,” the guy shrugs. “I’m not interested.”

  “Not treated like a child. I– I can blow you if you pay me.”

  “Oh, so you’re a hustler,” the guy laughs again, louder this time. “This just keeps getting better.”

  “Are you always such a d@ck?”

  “Only in the evenings,” the man winks at him.

  “If you don’t want to f@ck me, then why did you interrupt? He was going to take me home.”

  “And make you sh@t in diapers. Or have you forgotten that part already?” the man shakes his head, then his smile falls. He looks stern again, like - Gerard can’t believe he’s about to say it - a father about to deliver a scolding. It should not be getting him as hot as it is. “Listen, kid. We look after each other here, especially the vulnerable newbies who are about to be used. I did you a favor, trust me. And, by the way, going home is the best idea you’ve had tonight, so maybe do that.”

  “I’m either going home with you, or I’m not going at all.”

  “But you’re not a child, huh?” the guy sighs. He looks up, staring at the ceiling for a moment like he is considering if putting Gerard over his knee and spanking him is a good idea (oh God, Gerard thinks, oh that’s hot), then shrugs and lowers his gaze to his face. “You know what? Fine. I was leaving anyway.”

  Gerard’s stomach drops. “Yeah?”

  “Sure,” the guy nods. “But I’m gonna need to make sure you’re not lying. You got a driver’s license on you?”

  Gerard struggles for a moment but then produces his driver’s license from his pocket. He hands it to the man without hesitation and watches how the guy turns it in his tattooed hands a few times before handing it back to him.

  “Alright, Gerard,” he says, and Gerard’s knees go all weak upon hearing his name in that voice. “Follow me.”

  “Will you tell me your name now that you know mine?”

  “Why?”

  Gerard scrambles after him when he starts walking toward the exit. He feels clumsy, and his heart is pounding in his chest when he imagines all the things a guy like that could do to him. He wonders if he’ll want him to blow him in the car while he drives and if he’s into rough play. Gerard considers himself a versatile man, and he wouldn’t necessarily mind if that walking perfection decided he felt like f@ck@ng his throat.

  “I will need to address you somehow, right? I can’t just keep going, hey, you!”

  The air is crisp outside, and he shivers in his skimpy clothing. The guy sees it but doesn’t comment on it. He, unlike Gerard, has been smart enough to have a jacket on him, and he sighs and hands it to him after a few moments without a word. It hasn’t managed to warm up from his body just yet, but it smells f@ck@ng lovely when Gerard puts it on - fresh and woody, the heady scent making his head spin. How the f@ck did Gerard strike such gold?

  “You can always call me sir if you want,” the man laughs. His car is one of the nicer ones, a pitch-black Mercedes parked by the curb, and Gerard barely stops himself from whistling when the guy opens the door for him. It feels like the dumbest thing he’s ever done - getting into a car with a stranger - but he’s too far gone to back down now. He gets inside, watches how the stranger closes the door after him, then waits until he gets behind the wheel.

  “Sir,” he tastes the word on his tongue, and it feels a lot better than Daddy ever could. He licks his lips, glancing at the man. “Alright. Would you like me to entertain you during the drive, sir?”

  “No. Unless you have a death wish.”

  “I don’t, sir.”

  “Sh@t, that’s gonna get old really quickly,” he shakes his head when he pulls into the moderate traffic of New York streets. The car is warming up fast, some punk album is playing quietly from the speakers, and Gerard forces himself to relax. He’s nervous, but all things considered, his night could’ve gone a lot worse. “The name’s Frank.”

  “Frank,” he repeats. “And where do you live, Frank?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  “I would,” Gerard says quietly. He chews on his bottom lip for a moment, watching the world go by through the window, then tries a different approach. “What should I expect from tonight?”

  “What are you expecting now?”

  “S@x?”

  Frank laughs, shaking his head. “Of course you are.”

  “That’s obvious, right? But won’t you tell me specifics? What are you into?”

  “I guess that depends on how much money you wanna make,” Frank hums. He drives them into Holland tunnel, and Gerard’s already fast-beating heart speeds up even more. “Tell me how much you wanna make, and I’ll tell you what you’ll have to do.”

  Jesus. Gerard digs his fingers into his naked thighs, biting his lip so hard it hurts. He can’t ask for the whole sum. That’s ridiculous. He’s nowhere near pretty enough to ask for thousands of dollars, but if he could at least cover the rent, then he could spend what little he has on his account on the next round of art supplies.

  “Two and a half.”

  “Thousand?” Frank clarifies. Gerard nods and gets another round of laughter in return. “Oh, you’re cute.”

  “F@ck you.”

  Frank glances his way with a grin on his face.

  “Oh, you sweet thing,” he says, dropping his hand from the steering wheel straight onto Gerard’s thigh. It’s warm and looks huge and dark against his skin, and Gerard shudders. Frank doesn’t squeeze, doesn’t try to reach higher to get to his d@ck, doesn’t slide his fingers to the inner part. He simply keeps it there as he steers the car further into the tunnel, still giggling to himself. “You have no idea what you walked into.”

  “What?”

  “Twenty-five hundred, holy sh@t,” Frank shakes his head. “You wouldn’t be able to sit for a week if you named that price to the guy you wanted to hook up with.”

  “I–”

  “For twenty-five hundred, he could gather all of his friends and gang bang you until you passed out, and then some. You have no f@ck@ng idea what kind of people you wanna do business with.”

  “I’m not doing business with them,” Gerard grunts. “I’m doing business with you, and I wanna know what I need to do for twenty-five hundred.”

  “You’re not getting twenty-five hundred from me,” Frank shakes his head. They exit the tunnel, and Gerard starts recognizing the surroundings. His apartment isn’t far, and he’s surprised a man like Frank would live out here. He must have a house on the outskirts.

  “How much will I get from you, then?”

  “I will give you two hundred,” Frank says, glancing at him again. Gerard’s thigh tenses when he finally squeezes his skin, but his hand disappears a moment later. A chill of excitement runs down his spine when he imagines it - Frank’s huge, expensive house and his massive bed, his hands gripping him everywhere. Getting paid for having s@x with that guy is a steal. Gerard would totally do it for free. Hell, he’d pay 
  
    him
  
   for it.

  “And what do I have to do for it?” he asks coyly. When Frank doesn’t immediately reply, he decides to take matters into his own hands. “You can f@ck my mouth if you want. Or you can f@ck my ass. You can be rough, too. I don’t mind.”

  “You have a really dirty mouth,” Frank snorts. He turns the car right, and now Gerard is speechless. That’s his neighborhood, but– “Should’ve maybe seen that coming, seeing how I can literally see your b@lls falling out of those shorts.”

  Gerard looks down, his cheeks turning red. The fact that his b@lls are not, in fact, falling out of his shorts is worse than if they were. The embarrassment of falling for it is overwhelming, and he knows he’s blushing when he looks up at Frank’s face.

  Frank’s smile is gone. He slows down, then turns to park the car on the side of the road. Gerard’s stomach sinks even lower, and he’s sure his blush has spread to his collarbones and chest.

  “What the f@ck?”

  “You wanted me to take you home, so I took you home,” Frank says, turning his way. He leans close, forcing Gerard’s heart into a sprint, but his hand bypasses his d@ck and reaches into the glove compartment until he produces a wallet. He holds his gaze when he opens it and pulls out the bills, handing them to Gerard. “Here, two hundred, as promised.”

  “But–”

  “I’m not going to sleep with you, Gerard,” Frank sighs, leaning back. “And you shouldn’t be going to clubs with a hunter-green handkerchief on your arm unless you are aware of the consequences, especially not if you’re alone. You don’t know these people. Most of them don’t even use condoms, and you are more likely to end up in a hospital with severe trauma than with money in your bank account.”

  “What?” Gerard stares at him. From the corner of his eye, he can see his apartment building right outside Frank’s car, and it makes him even more embarrassed that he hasn’t realized where Frank was taking him. He asked for a driving license, for f@ck’s sake, not his ID. Of course, he did. He wanted to find out his address. Sneaky f@ck@ng b@st@rd. “No, wait, but–”

  “Get out of my car, Gerard, and find a different way to make money.”

  Gerard blinks at him. “You’re a f@ck@ng @ssh@l@.”

  “I’m the only man you talked to tonight who is actually not an @ssh@l@,” Frank replies. He leans over him again, but it’s only to grab the handle and push the door open. “Get out. You can keep the jacket.”

  He’s too proud to stay in there and beg, so he does the only thing he can - he gets out of Frank’s car, feeling like a f@ck@ng idiot. He’s still clutching his money when Frank leans over the passenger seat and yanks the door closed, and that gives him pause. He knocks on the window right as Frank turns the engine back on, and his heart is going a thousand miles per hour when Frank rolls it down with raised eyebrows.

  “Why the money?” he asks. He can understand the good samaritan act, but he honestly cannot wrap his head around the fact that Frank paid him. “I didn’t do anything. Why did you pay me?”

  Frank’s grin is somehow both sweet and wicked.

  “You are a pleasure to look at,” he says, and Gerard has to take a step back, considering how hard it hits him to realize that, despite everything, Frank finds him attractive. He gets a wink from him for good measure, too. “Goodnight, sweet thing.”

  He’s gone a moment later, and Gerard finds himself standing on the sidewalk like a moron, in his tiny shorts and a jacket that’s hanging from his shoulders like a sheet. He looks down at himself, the money in his hand, up at his apartment complex, and decides that he’s had enough. No one has ever embarrassed him more than Frank had tonight.

  He can’t deny, though, that falling onto his own bed feels a lot better than sleeping in a crib would. He doesn’t dare take the jacket off when he buries himself under the covers and falls asleep almost immediately. That night, he dreams of tattooed hands tracing his skin.'
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