Tuesday: Prostitution

[jaune-chat.livejournal.com]

Hello, all. I’m jaune_chat and today's theme is Prostitution. Prompts can be anything of having to do with exchange of goods for services (particularly sex). Prostitution AUs, using sex to get something your character wants/needs, your character looking for something they can’t get otherwise, anything like that!

The rules still haven't changed:
No more than five prompts in a row.
No more than three prompts in the same fandom.
No spoilers in prompts.
If your fill contains spoilers, warn and leave plenty of space.

Prompts should be formatted as follows:
Fandom, Character+/Character, Prompt

Some examples to get the ball rolling...
+ Sherlock (BBC), Sherlock/John, some of Sherlock’s “experiments” about human response go too far for authenticity
+ MCU, Bruce/any, it was the only way to get money for science
+ Firefly, Inara/Mal, most of the time she despaired of making Mal understand her job

Not feeling any of today’s prompts? Visit the lonely prompt archive and brighten someone’s day. For more recent prompts to write, you can also use LJ’s advanced search options to limit keyword results to only comments in this community.

tag=prostitution

Comments

[canonisrelative.livejournal.com]

Dean’s glare said Ask me, I fucking dare you, old man. He didn’t. Just watched as his exhausted eldest, bruises like thumbprints under each eye from three sleepless nights, pushed past him into the bedroom. Called Sammy to him.

Sat him down and handed over the shoebox he’d been clutching like a treasure chest, so shiny-brand-new it hurt to look at and smelling like a store, a real goddamn store, all chemicals and bright lights, fake sunshine packaged up for people who were/weren’t/didn’t have to be afraid of the dark.

“Dean,” Sam breathed, voice full of reverence, eyes spilling over. The box tumbled to the floor. Spotless soccer cleats flashed a signal, twin lighthouse beacons among the rocky detritus of their lives strewn across the dirty carpet, warning him away. Too late, old man.

Sam clambered into his brother’s lap, grateful gibberish pouring out of him as he peppered Dean’s face with kisses as though his goal was one per freckle.

They were too old for this, and Dean knew it. Only half-laughing he pushed at Sam, told him to cut it out, until Sam stopped him with his small, serious fists bunched in the front of Dean’s shirt and thanked him so sincerely that push turned to pull and Dean buried his face in Sam’s neck, his beatific smile radiant against Sam’s skin, absolution sought and found. Too old for all that. Too young for the rest of it.

Dean’s eyes blazed, triumphant and daring and fever-bright with fear, meeting his over Sam’s shoulder, waiting for the order.

There were bruises around Dean’s wrists and biceps, a cut on his lip, a pained hitch in his stride and deep circles under his eyes. Sixteen years old until three nights ago. Centuries older than that since the night his father gave his brother to him.

John doesn’t ask. Just does it again. Gives Sam to Dean. Shuts the door and lets his boys have each other.

[stardust-made.livejournal.com]

Beautiful. Drenched in feelings without being cloying, powerful imagery and packing-a-punch prose. (Sat him down and handed over the shoebox he’d been clutching like a treasure chest, so shiny-brand-new it hurt to look at and smelling like a store, a real goddamn store, all chemicals and bright lights, fake sunshine packaged up for people who were/weren’t/didn’t have to be afraid of the dark.) So much in so little, you should visit the short form more often!

[elfgirljen.livejournal.com]

Painful and beautiful at the same time
Thanks for writing