Chapter Text
A dollar might just make that lane switch.
-
He wouldn’t admit it to himself. Denied that his college years were wasted in lieu of chasing a rap career that never took off. His hands are already digging for the tangled up headphones in the pocket of his worn out jacket, he needs anything just anything to be pumped into his ears to keep himself from thinking as he leaves the office building.
Another job interview. Another screw up. He doesn’t need to tell himself why he failed, already knows the reason. As he steps outside and the chill wind hits his face, drying out his skin with every draft, he doesn’t let himself concentrate on anything other than the pavement spinning under his feet and Kendrick Lamar’s perfectly executed beats in his ears.
He tries so very desperately not to think about McDonald’s rejecting him, or the fact that he doesn’t qualify for house cleaning without a driver’s license, as he continues walking all the way home. He can’t even afford the bus, but he avoids that thought too.
Do not think about it. Look at the cars. Do not blame yourself. Look at the trees. Go out and try again tomorrow. Look at the people doing so much better than you. Do not think.
But rent’s due this week and that nags irritatingly in the back of his neck, his landlord has given him extra time to get the money but he’s certain the old fucker will kick him out to live on the streets if he doesn’t have it by next Friday. Old nasty fuck. Whenever he squishes his greasy face near Hoseok’s, yelling in that gravelly old man voice every single person over sixty has, Hoseok just wants to strangle him. Whenever his fat hairy finger and uncut fingernail pokes into Hoseok’s chest to emphasize each syllable he’s spitting out, Hoseok just wants to grab his father’s old hunting knife and watch the fat fuck’s intestines drop to the floor as he guts him like an animal.
He almost doesn’t hear the car horns. He’s late to realize that he crossed a street against a red light, and his heart drops as he freezes in time with the screeching of tires coming to a halt. The drives yell at him from inside their cars, and with deafness accompanying the music in his ears, Hoseok thinks they just look like angry mimes.
He waves apologetically, and runs across the last bit of the street before watching at least one driver flip him off and drive away. Hoseok would take the headphones out if they weren’t absolutely necessary in this moment, but unfortunately they are.
The rest of the way home he pays better attention to his surroundings, and while walking up the fetid steps of the badly lit stairway to his apartment, he prays the old man landlord won't bust his battered door open and start yelling about how he's only a hair away from being homeless. Hoseok creaks the last few steps to his door and tests the doorknob. He sighs when he finds it’s unlocked again. The old man has gone through his apartment while he’s been away, it’s nothing new but it still manages to tick him off.
He closes the door behind him, doesn’t shed his jacket since it’s still cold inside and instead, keeps it on and zipped up. He turns the gas stove to its highest temperature and boils a pot of water on it in hopes of warming up the place.
There’s no feeling of coming home whenever he gets back here. The one room shithole is dingy, badly lit, colder than a morgue and emptier than his stomach. There's a couch and a bed. No TV, no desk, no chairs because there’s no dining table, and there is only milk and ramen noodles to live on.
He drops onto the couch, sighing and watching his breath turn to smoke and coil up into the ceiling, wishing he had cigarettes but he can’t afford those. They’re a luxury item for whores and teenagers and disgusting old men.
He opts to thinks about his mother, and the disappointment he is to her. She doesn’t know about any of this, of course, thinks her son is still in college and studying to become a literature teacher like his father because good children always follow in their parents footsteps.
If she knew how he lived, how he ate, how he spent most days jerking himself off to a particularly curvy stain on his ceiling or fantasizing about smashing an old man's skull into the wall until he’s but a mush of crushed raspberries in Hoseok’s palm, she would probably drop dead of a heart attack or aneurysm or whatever parents die of these days.
It doesn’t matter. She doesn’t know and is alive and well and happy that her son is a good student. In her mind he’s passing his classes with impressive grades, after all.
When he hears the water on the stove start to boil he gets up with a groan to plop a brick of ramen noodles and the disgusting shrimp salt packet they come with into the pot. He stares at the smiling cartoon shrimp printed on the plastic, wonders if it knows millions of it’s brothers and sisters have been juiced to flavor food for people like him. People who don’t even enjoy their taste, people who would rather eat dog shit than this.
It’s the only kind he has left, and he only got them in the first place because they were being handed out for free. He has a month’s worth of dick flavored ramen in his cupboard and probably only a week left of having a roof over his head. He imagines himself homeless, sitting on a street curb and crunching on dry noodles, or even trying to wet them with rain and swallowing down a soggy lump of dough behind a dumpster. It makes him laugh, and for the three minutes it takes the noodles to cook, he’s mildly amused.
When it comes to eating them, he does it straight out of the pot because he doesn’t have the energy to wash two things. The stench of artificial shrimp attacks his nostrils, and he considers opening his windows to ventilate but that would leave the apartment even colder.
He slurps them down as fast as he can, simply for survival, and gulps the hot salty broth without breathing through his nose afterwards. The smell still lingers in the back of his throat as he puts the pot on the floor and lays down. He pulls his hood up, tries rolling it into a pillow, only to end up with a fat lump in the crook of his neck. He thinks it will do, and falls asleep in his jacket with worry aching in his chest and homelessness painted behind his eyelids.
-
When he wakes, it’s night and he’s freezing. He sits up with a stretch and stumbles to the bathroom. His dick feels like it’s about to fall off as he pulls it out of his pants into the cold air and tries to piss. It’s like he has sprung a leak with how the liquid trickles out at first before it finally manages to become a stream.
The faucet water is freezing when he washes his hands, and somehow even colder in the kitchen as he leans into the sink to drink straight from the tap. It’s painful in his throat, gives him brain freeze but he thinks he can handle a few more gulps before it gets too much. Suddenly, a harsh knock on his door almost makes him choke and bump his head on the metal tap.
A voice screeches from behind it.
”Hoseok?!”
He groans, straightening up and wiping the water off chin. It’s his landlord, and the fucker’s only knocking cause he hears someone’s home. Hoseok thinks he might as well just come in if he does that whenever the fuck he wants any other time.
”Hoseok, I can hear you’re home!”
”It’s unlocked.” As always.
A scoff is heard before the hinges creak, and suddenly he’s faced with the sweaty old man standing in his doorframe. He wonders how he manages to dress in a tank top in this kind of weather and still reek of body odor. The old man steps forward, swollen eyes squinting and making his round, liver spotted face look even more like a pancake than it already did. Once again there’s a sharp fingernail poking into Hoseok’s chest, and he is thankful for the shit weather forcing him to keep his jacket on.
”I hope you’ve been out working on your little field trips!” The old man growls. Hoseok tries hard not to roll his eyes.
”I’m tired of you living here messing up my apartment costing me repair money and not even paying your rent!” The geezer tries to yell, but all those years of smoking have taken their toll and the words come out more as a wheeze. ”I just came here to let you know I’ve changed my mind and I want the money by Sunday or else you’re out.”
Hoseok’s eyes widen. The fucker must have lost his mind.
”Sunday?!” He yells.
There’s no way he’ll have the money by then, there was no way he’d have the money ever in the first place but he won’t have time to make any sort of preparations for where to live by fucking Sunday.
”Y-you told me I had until next week!”
”Forget about that, I have another young man interested in renting this place and he could actually pay up every month.” The old man scoffs. ”I’m not gonna’ keep letting you off the hook, boy.”
Hoseok is speechless, life on the streets forming into an actual real possibility with every word of the conversation settling into his brain.
”S-sir if you could jus–”
”Enough!”
Hoseok’s breath catches in his throat and for a moment he considers strangling the man, strangling him until his fat round head pops like a pimple in his hands. But what good would that do.
”I want you out on Sunday, and that’s final.”
The landlord turns to leave, greasy hand grabbing the rusty door handle and coughing out his last few words before slamming it shut.
”Get the money, Hoseok.”
And then he’s gone. Poof. The dust of the door slam swirls around Hoseok like snow, the kitchen lamp buzzing in sync with his brain. It’s Friday. Friday night and in two days he will be homeless. The image of him eating soggy noodles on the street flashes before his eyes again and a wave of nausea flips his stomach upside down.
He stumbles, turning quickly and gripping the metal as his head drops into the sink. The noodles squeeze up his throat undigested and acidic, stomach contracting until he feels like he has no lining left. When the last of it has dribbled from his lips, he rinses the sink and rinses his mouth and pulls the hood of his jacket over his head. He leaves, dizzy and unbothered with locking the door behind him because why should he, and heads out into the street.
-
He doesn’t know where he’s going, doesn’t even know what time it is, he just needs to do something. He can't just sit in his apartment counting down the seconds until his life rips apart. The cold air hurts his face and numbs his nose as he walks and walks. He looks at the cars parked along the street, he looks at the trees planted into the pavement, he looks at the moon because there are no people out. His stomach burns, and he wonders how late it really is since all the shops are closed and the street is so empty.
A single car drives by, headlights blindingly bright and music pumping loud enough that Hoseok can still hear it as it drives along the road and turns left where it ends. For some reason, he decides to take that route too.
Of course when he makes the turn the car is long gone. He sniffs, heading down the road into the city where he knows there are clubs. He can’t afford to enter them, but there will be people around and he needs people.
Cars pass him as he gets closer to downtown, all of them blasting music with heavy beats. He walks by a McDonald’s and doesn’t peek inside because that’s where he applied for a job and didn’t get it. His mother would be proud.
He sees the party-goers, smells their cigarettes before even hearing their laughter. The club most of them are gathered around is called Octagon, if the bright neon sign above it is anything to go by. The line is long, and Hoseok guesses it’s either early into the night, or it’s a popular club. He walks closer, intending on moving on but he’s still unsure where he’s headed.
The people in line all look young. He notices one kid hectically patting all over his butt and digging into his pants, and for a moment, Hoseok wonders what kind of drug the guy is on.
As he walks past the line, he thinks he might head to the train station and take a good look at where he’ll have to live soon, when he spots something scraping along the pavement. A lonely green rectangle limping its way forward. His eyes widen, and he quickly stomps his foot down on it, staring in awe for a moment. He bends down with shaky fingers. Picking it up, he examines it, and his heart skips a beat.
It’s a hundred dollar bill.
He can’t stop staring.
Not enough for rent, he thinks, but certainly enough to put a dent in it and that’s good enough right now. What are the odds.
He glances behind himself at the line of people waiting to get into the club. For a moment he considers using the money to enter, but there’s no way he would get past the bouncer with how he’s dressed. It’s a stupid idea anyway, and a waste of money that he really needs. He quickly crumples the bill up and stuffs it into his jacket pocket. He turns to leave when a voice suddenly calls from behind.
”Hey! Hey you!”
His heart stops. He doesn’t want to turn around.
He keeps walking and prays it’s not the money someone’s after, tries to act nonchalant even when he’s once again called out to.
”Yo dude wait a minute!”
There are footsteps behind him, and Hoseok almost breaks out into a sweat when a hand grabs him by the shoulder and huffs out, ”I think you picked up the money I dropped.”
When he turns around, he recognizes the stranger as the possible druggie from the line, the one who was patting all over himself. His weird behavior clicks in Hoseok’s mind.
”Hello?”
He doesn’t want to give the money back. He needs it more than this guy, and so he lies through his teeth.
”I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The other looks stunned for a moment, probably thinks Hoseok is crazy before assuming he’s just trying to be funny and a laugh splits his face in two.
”Come on dude, I literally saw you put it in your pocket, now give it back.” He folds his hand out with a smile, expecting Hoseok to place the money in his palm.
Hoseok doesn’t know what to do, for a moment he considers just running for it but he knows he’s out of shape. He eyes the stranger up and down, notes how his legs are long and don’t look like they’re about to snap any minute, so he doubts he could outrun him. Unsure what to do and desperate not to hand the money over, a childish stubbornness takes over him.
”Finders keepers.”
The guy’s mouth falls open. Seconds pass before he stares down to Hoseok’s battered shoes, then back up at his face.
”Excuse me?”
”I said,” Hoseok tries his best to look intimidating. ”Finders. keepers.”
The other scoffs, looks around as if the trees and buildings can confirm to him that Hoseok really is crazy. He runs his hand through his hair in disbelief. ”Is that so?” He stares him up and down again ”Dude, what are you poor or something?”
Hoseok’s stomach drops. He’s certain he looks like a deer caught in headlights right now, feels as if his big secret has been revealed to the world even though it was never a secret in the first place. The stranger smirks. He’s noticed.
He takes a step closer and Hoseok freezes.
”You know what,” he says. There’s something dangerous in his eyes, and Hoseok wishes he had stronger legs.
”You can keep the money,” he takes another step forward, the hairs on Hoseok’s neck stand up straight as the other leans his face close enough that the alcohol on his breath can be smelled and whispers, ”If you service me.”
He wants him to back up, he reeks of vodka and Hoseok is confused and unsure how the guy isn’t stumbling around or slurring his words with how he smells.
”What do you mean?” His heart is beating painfully against his ribcage because he knows exactly what the guy wants and the look on his face isn’t suggesting anything else.
”Let me have sex with you,” he grins. ”And you can keep the money.”
Dizziness washes over Hoseok. It’s like the question catapults him into outer space where it’s impossible to breathe, and even though he knew it was coming he is speechless. This is a new dimension, a foreign country across the globe that he’s only ever heard whispers of and never actually seen. This is a request to hand over his soul and see what happens to it.
But rent.
Rent is due on Sunday and Hoseok has no money, nowhere to go, and only a box of ramen to his name.
And so he looks up, and nods slowly. The smile on the stranger's face grows wider and Hoseok notices a mole on his chin that he wishes he didn’t because he wants to forget every detail of this when it’s over.
The stranger holds onto his wrist, gives nods to his friends still in line and exchanges some words with them before he drags Hoseok away.
Hoseok feels deaf. A layer of saran wrap covers the world, making it shiny and plastic and unreal as they move along and he’s not sure if he is actually walking. Into a new country he goes, into a new dimension and he is terrified. The stranger is smiling, and they turn a corner and now the streetlights barely reach them.
His bubble pops when they stop in an alley and the other lets go of his wrist. He looks up at him in confusion.
”Here?”
The stranger chuckles, closes in on Hoseok and examines his face again.
”Yeah,” He grins, hand snaking around Hoseok and squeezing his ass. He jumps, panic settling in his chest. ”You got a problem with that?”
He tries to push himself away, but the other is stable on his feet.
”I-I just thought we were going somewhere more private.”
”This is close to the club,” He argues. ”I’m going back afterwards.” And then he wraps around him, arms long and probably strong enough to kill him like how a boa constrictor would. He hugs and kisses him and Hoseok doesn’t know if this is how it’s supposed to go down.
They stumble further into the alley, and he feels slightly more shielded until the guy’s hands reach for his jacket zipper and Hoseok is nauseated again. The stranger pulls it down and the cold rushes in to attack Hoseok’s torso.
He’s only got a t-shirt on beneath, and when freezing hands sneak under the fabric and smooth over his warm stomach he yelps. He tries to pull away but the stranger’s got his arm behind Hoseok’s back and is laughing into the crook of his neck.
”Don’t worry baby, I’ll take care of you,” he chuckles.
Hoseok exhales through his nose when he kisses him, it feels like he’s inhaling the alcohol.
”What’s your name?” The stranger mumbles against his lips. Hoseok considers lying and giving him a fake one but then there’s a particularly hard squeeze to his ass and he gasps into the other’s mouth.
”Hoseok,” he pants. ”My name is Hoseok.”
The stranger detaches for a moment, his other hand coming up to tangle into Hoseok’s hair.
”I’m Jungkook.” He smiles and Hoseok wants to smile back but he’s got that look in his eyes again. Hoseok whimpers when his head is suddenly shaken through the grip on his hair. Jungkook looks different now, much more ominous in the lack of light. ”Say it. Say my name.”
Hoseok can’t look away from him.
”J-Jungkook.”
And the stranger, Jungkook, crashes his lips back onto Hoseok’s, tongue slipping out and into his mouth like a snake. His other hand moves down to his ass again, and as he’s being groped, Hoseok thinks murdering the old man landlord would have been a better idea than this.
Jungkook moans into the kiss and a sudden realization hits Hoseok that this guy might actually be on drugs. He tries to pull away for the billionth time, but Jungkook is strong and he barely manages to mumble his words before the lips seek him out again.
”Are you on anything?” Hoseok pants.
Jungkook grins against the kiss.
”Molly,” he leans back, stares at him and through the dim light Hoseok notices how blown out his pupils are. He wonders how he didn’t see it before. Jungkook smiles. ”What, you want some? It’s gonna’ cost you.”
”No, fuck no.” Hoseok shakes his head and grimaces. He’d never do drugs, never tried them thanks to his mother.
His blood runs cold.
He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He doesn’t know how he ended up here. He feels the world quiet down again, the stars die above him like streetlights, and the ground is plastic and glossy as Jungkook whispers something before Hoseok’s head is pushed down, down, down. Cold asphalt meets his knees, and when he stares up, Jungkook’s pearly white grin is the only thing shining in the dark. Hoseok thinks his teeth look deadly. Jungkook unzips his pants and pulls himself out of his boxers. Soft.
He taps his dick against Hoseok’s lips.
”Suck.”
His skin is cold and Jungkook hisses, hand moving back to Hoseok’s hair. He tries to jack him off like he would himself, but Jungkook is cut and lacks lubrication. As he brings his palm to his mouth to spit in it, a ’tsk’ comes from above him.
He looks up, and now he can see Jungkook’s eyes glowing in the dark too. ”I said suck, I didn’t pay you a hundred bucks for a shitty handjob.”
And so he listens, holds the soft flesh in his hand and pokes his tongue out to lick the tip. Jungkook sighs above him.
He could drag this out, or he could just get it over with. The night is cold, his jacket is open and his legs are going numb, so as he engulfs Jungkook in his entirety Hoseok reminds himself he can’t survive a night on the streets in this weather. He bobs his head back and forth, feels Jungkook harden in his mouth with every stroke of his tongue and every press against his throat.
It’s only when he’s fully erect, and Hoseok has a grip on his thighs to balance himself as he chokes down the length, that the other actually makes a sound.
”O-oh, fuck–” he grunts into the air. ”Oh fuck just like that yeah, suck it, mm,”
Hoseok can’t see but he imagines Jungkook’s head tilted back, breath evaporating into the air and tinting blue in the moonlight. Jungkook’s grip in his hair tightens, and he’s now pushing and pulling his head to the rhythm he wants. ”Ah, you’re a good little slut aren’t you?” He groans. ”You like that huh? You like my cock?”
Hoseok chokes as the other starts thrusting into his mouth in time with the bobbing of his head. He needs to pull back for air but Jungkook’s not loosening his grip.
”You want my money baby?” Hoseok taps on the other’s thigh to signal that he needs to breathe, but he’s being pushed further down. ”Nuh-uh, you want my money you better stay right where you are sweetheart.”
His eyes roll into the back of his head as Jungkook jerks his hips in mini thrusts with Hoseok’s nose crushed into his pelvis. He thinks he might pass out and vomit all over himself when Jungkook suddenly pulls him off.
Hoseok gasps and chokes on air, his head is pushed back, tears running down into the creases of his ears and snot glistening above his lips. His face is tilted up, and then he’s staring right into that grin again.
He hasn’t had nearly enough time to catch his breath before the other smirks and grips his jaw, forcing himself back in. His hips move so violently that Hoseok is scared they might get caught with all the noise he’s making. Jungkook’s hands tangle back up in his hair.
”You’re gonna’ let me cum in your little mouth,” he moans. Both his arms jerk Hoseok’s head down his length with a fervor he knows would’ve made him throw up if he hadn’t already done that in his apartment. ”You’re gonna let me cum in your little whore mouth and then you’re gonna walk away with my cum in your stomach and my money in your pocket.”
Hoseok’s face is ice cold, snot running over his lips and onto the other’s cock. He fears the taste will permanently embalm itself onto his tongue through all the friction.
When Jungkook cums, he pushes his dick impossibly far down Hoseok’s throat, and once again black dots cloud the edges of his vision. He keeps him in that position for what feels like eternity, not letting go even when Hoseok tries to pull himself off. Jungkook continues to deny him air, and Hoseok thinks he will be mummified for the rest of time with a dick down his throat. He will be displayed in museums for little kids to come back and look at again and again as they try to solve the mystery of the cock-eating whore of the 21st century.
That is, until Jungkook finally pulls himself out and lets Hoseok fall back onto the ground. He’s coughing and wheezing, and practically feeling the cum dribble down his esophagus, and definitely down his chin. His lungs burn with the sudden influx of ice cold air, and he almost rather wishes he died by the other’s hands.
”Ah, fuck.” Jungkook groans, dick still in the air. ”Fuck, that was good.” A shiver runs through his body and he shakes himself like a dog before tucking his penis back into his boxers and zipping himself up. Jungkook looks on as he coughs, and it bothers Hoseok that he can’t read his expression. He squats down, digs in his back pocket for a while before pulling out a piece of paper. Hoseok stares at it.
Hi! My name is Jungkook and I’m a drunk fucktard. Please call this number if I’m lost or passed out:
”That’s my number on there,” He grins. ”My friend usually takes care of my phone when we go out.”
Hoseok just stares. He wonders how much more money Jungkook has on him and how many friends he has to report him missing. Hoseok doesn’t know which dimension he is in right now, and he’s painfully aware of that being Jungkook’s fault as the other throws the piece of paper at him.
”Call me, I might need you again sometime.” And with that Jungkook grins and ruffles Hoseok’s hair, ruffles it after destroying his throat and almost suffocating him to death. Jungkook stands and walks away.
Hoseok watches him leave, and when he’s out of sight, he grabs the paper and crumples it up.