Chapter Text
So time your gilded leaves have turned
From once upon a time to darkest hour
- Sonata Arctica, 'Only the broken hearts (make you beautiful)'
Loki was cold. It was the midst of one of the snowiest winters in history and his threadbare jacket and sweater were doing little to keep him from freezing. He stuffed his hands deeper into his pockets and hunched in on himself.
The stretch of street he found himself on was devoid of other people. Almost anyone with any sense would have gone home. There were few costumers to be had anyway in this weather and at this time of night. Loki however could not afford to go home: he had a rent to pay and though his apartment wasn't much by any standards, it was still better than being homeless. So he had gone out tonight like he did on every other night, hoping (and dreading at the same time) to find someone interested in him for the night.
It seemed like luck wasn't with him today though. He had been standing in his little allotted space for four hours now, watching cars drive by and pick up others. Those who weren't picked up called it a night one by one until Loki was all alone, huddled and miserable.
It was nothing new: Loki had been miserable for much of his life, certainly since his mother had left when he was 11. His two brothers had been older by several years and had managed to escape the house rather quickly, either by sleeping over with friends or graduating and moving on, never to look back or visit.
He couldn't blame them: their father Laufey was frequently in a very bad mood and had very loose hands when he was. Everyone that came too close was fair game and Loki learned early to find a bolt hole and not leave it if he could avoid it. But that hadn't been the worst of it. Loki shrugged his coat firmer around his shoulders as though it could stave off the memories of his youth.
When Loki had been 14, he found out about another vice of his father's: gambling. Laufey had a steady job and his income was certainly enough to pay the rent and the necessities, but it couldn't stand up to poker games with rather high stakes. Getting money for new clothes soon grew to be a problem, his allowance was canceled and their food dwindled down to the very basics.
Then one day, two men had showed up at the door. Loki could hear them talking downstairs and his curiosity got the better of him, luring him from his relatively safe room to sit in the darkness at the top of the stair.
“I don't have it now.” his father was saying. Loki imagined him standing in the hall downstairs, having let the men in, but not further than was absolutely necessary.
“We don't like waiting for our money.” one of the men said, “You promised to pay us today.”
“I had some unexpected costs.” Laufey ground out, “I can get it to you next week.”
“We're going to have to charge interest for the next week.” Man number two said. His voice sounded both bored and intense and Loki felt a shiver travel down his back. “You sure you can't pay now?”
“I'm sure,” Laufey said, “I don't have it.”
There was a 'crack' and then his father cursed, voice sounding pained. Loki drew in a sharp breath and took a quick step backwards. The floorboards shifted beneath his weight and creaked, alerting the men downstairs to his presence.
“Who's there?” the first one called.
“It's just my son, nothing to be worried about.” his father said, dismissing Loki like he so often did when he wasn't raging at him.
“Come down here, kid, let us have a look at you.” the second voice commanded. He knew that tone of voice: when Laufey used it, bad things happened to those that didn't obey. Slowly he came down the stairs, step by step until he stood on the lowest one.
His father had a hand cupped to the side of his face. A red mark was creeping from under it and Loki understood that one of the visitors had struck him. He would have laughed at his father getting a bit of his own medicine if he hadn't known that it would put him in the worst mood ever, which meant that Loki just might be sporting a similar mark sooner rather than later.
The other two men were clad in business suits. One's was gray and the other's blue. That last one had a buzz-cut that clashed horribly with it, the first one had fine brown hair that fell to about shoulder-length. He was also closest to Loki.
“Well, well,” he said, revealing him to be the owner of the frightening voice, “aren't you a pretty little boy?”
Loki didn't know what to say so he remained silent, throwing his father a quick look.
“He's not going to tell on you to anyone,” Laufey cut in.
“And what's there to tell?” buzz-cut asked, “That his dad has been playing poker with the wrong crowd? That we so kindly loaned him money which he promised to pay back today? That he broke that promise and tried to ship us off with some flimsy excuse?”
“I said I'll pay you next week.” Laufey bit out.
Buzz-cut hit him again, this time on the other cheek. “Next week won't cut it. You wouldn't even be able to pay the interest one the money you owe us.”
“Now, now, Manny,” his friend said, “I'm sure we can work something out.” he finally took his gaze from Loki and directed it back to his father. “You pay the original sum next week, and we'll deal with the interest in another way.”
Laufey looked at him suspiciously but said “Keep talking.”
“I'm willing to pay the interest for you in return for a … favor.”
“What favor?”
“I'd like to have your pretty little son's lips around my cock.” The man said in a totally casual tone.
The sound of a car pulling up to the curb brought him out of his memories to the equally unappetizing present. A man opened the window on Loki's side of the car and looked him up and down. The young man forced himself to stand up straighter and walk over. The car wasn't a pricey model or anything and it certainly wasn't new: someone who wanted some fun, but couldn't afford one of the classier prostitutes then. Well, beggars can't be choosers: he pasted on a smile and leaned slightly into the car.
“Hey there, sweetie.” the car-owner crooned.
Loki did his best not to wrinkle his nose at the sour smell of alcohol that came off of the balding office grunt. “Hello, mister.” he greeted back, “You looking for something?”
“I just might be.” the man grinned, slurring his words slightly. “You look affordable. How much for a fuck?”
“40 dollars for the rest of the night.” Loki said, “But you have to use a condom.” The guys mouth twisted for a moment and Loki held his breath, fearing he would refuse.
“Fine, but I don't have money for a room after that. We'll have to do it in my car.”
“Sure,” Loki agreed, although the man's demeanor was rubbing his instincts the wrong way. The guy leered at him and leaned open to unlock the door. Loki got in, immediately feeling a hand high up his thigh, squeezing and stroking. He smelled even more of alcohol up close and Loki forced himself to think of the money and how much he needed it. His stomach cramped with hunger to help remind him of how long ago it was that he had had a decent meal.
“I'm Dan,” the man said as he pulled back onto the street proper.
“Loki,” he answered. Most of them didn't want a name, maybe he was wrong about Dan being dodgy but someone in his line of work couldn't be too careful. It was different for those with pimps or who belonged to a group: someone always knew where you had gone or at least the plate of the car that took you. Loki had been on his own for as long as he had been working the street.
Dan didn't drive around for long, just backed into the first windowless alley he found and parked. His client sized him up once more and seemed to make a decision. The hand that had alternated between shifting the stick and laying on his thigh now gave him a rough squeeze through his trousers. “I want you bent over the trunk.”
Loki swallowed but got out and walked to the rear end of the car. Dan came around from the other side, smiling greasily as he took in Loki's long legs and pale skin. In this light it was easier to ignore the dark circles he had under them from lack of sleep and the way his body was too bony because regular nutritional meals where something reserved for other people.
The deed itself was mercifully short: neither man had undressed more than was necessary and Dan had been too drunk for a drawn-out session anyway. Loki retreated into himself, only the occasional grunt escaping him when the other pushed hard enough to slam him into the car. He came back to himself when Dan pulled out, unrolled his condom and tossed it aside. He gave patted Loki's as a few time as if rewarding an obedient pet before pulling out his wallet and throwing a twenty-dollar bill onto the trunk.
“There you go.” he said, pulling his pants back on.
“We agreed on 40.” Loki said while rearranging his own jeans. He still took the bill though: experience had taught him to take money when it was given him and before it could be taken away again.
Dan looked him up and down with a smirk. “A lowly whore like you isn't worth 40 bucks. You should be glad I even gave you 20.”
“We had a deal!” Loki protested.
Dan's eyes narrowed and Loki could now see the simmering anger the alcohol had hidden. He felt a spike of fear and backed away from the other man. Dan surged forward and though Loki put his arms up to defend himself, the blow to his stomach nearly took him down.
He coughed and instinctively tried to curl around the injury. Dan brought his knee up and it connected with Loki's nose, blood spraying out of it as pain surged through his head. He fell onto his hands and knees, but knew better than to hope that the subservient position would be enough to calm his attacker's frenzy.
“You good for nothing little whore!” The man shouted as Loki tried to scramble away. He tasted blood in his mouth, hot and metallic before a foot hit him in the flank and sent him sprawling onto his back. His head struck the concrete of the alley-floor and his vision blacked out for a moment.
He groaned as a weight settled itself over him and blows rained down on his ribs and face. His breath came fast and panicky when it wasn't literally being beaten out of him. He couldn't defend himself, only lie there until his world went black. I should have known, were his last thoughts, Father always said I would find an inglorious death. He'll be glad to know he was right.