Financial Security

Mr Seven came to drink at White Swan every now and then, but it was almost never on Danny's shifts. He worked in the evenings, but never until late - and when he did do late nights, it was Mondays, and Mr Seven didn't come in on Mondays.

This was a Friday night, and he was on until close. He'd swapped shifts with Mira so she could go out with her girlfriend, and of course, tonight Mr Seven came in at eleven on the dot. There were a bunch of his guys with him, all of them sitting around and drinking up on the third level.

Midnight was last call, and they kept drinking.

At half-midnight, they cleared everybody out, and Seven and his boys kept drinking.

At one, Mr Seven rested his elbows on the balcony, stared down at Danny, pointed at him with his cigar, and said, "Him."

Danny stared down at the sink, putting the last of his glasses in the washer, and then he picked up a tray and loaded it up with more champagne, ascending the stairs with it held at his shoulder, even and stable. Seven was already sank back in his seat as Danny refreshed everyone's glasses, and Danny tried not to look at him, which was very difficult.

He was a big man, broad-shouldered and stacked with muscle, and his hands were so big that Danny almost couldn't see the arm of the chair underneath where he was gripping at it. He looked painfully fucking rich in his tailored pinstriped suit, wearing all the fucking jewellery he wore - a chain around his neck, big gold rings, a stud through one ear. His shoes were made of red snakeskin with gold tips on them, and Danny stared down at them for a second, couldn't tear his gaze away from his reflection in the big man's toes.

Mr Seven's cigar was dangling from his lips as he watched him, and when Danny straightened up, he took it from his mouth and exhaled a cloud of smoke.

"You know who I am, kid?"

"I'm not doing this," said Danny, turning to stare at him defiantly, his lip curled. He expected a slap out of it, expected one of Seven's guys to grab him and hurl him over the balcony even, but none of them even flinched, even moved, even stopped their fucking conversations.

"Cute little accent you got there. Where you from, London?"

"Don't fucking— I'm not interested in playing your fucking game."

"No?"

"No."

"What fucking game is that?" He said fucking as if it was part of the phrase, didn't say it as if it was a curse or as if it should have evoked or communicated any kind of emotion at all. He didn't blink, didn't raise his voice, just kept his gaze on Danny.

"The fucking— The thing you fucking do. Taking the piss, playing at it like it's seduction, like I want to be here, like any of us have the option to say no. If you want me to take my fucking clothes off, just tell me to take my fucking clothes off."

"Okay," said Seven evenly, with a slight shift of his lips into a smirk, didn't even look angry. "Take your fucking clothes off."

Danny swallowed.

"That little play didn't go quite the way you wanted, did it, kiddo?"

Danny unbuttoned the stupid little waistcoat they made him wear, and dropped it on the floor. None of Seven's guys even looked over, maybe because none of them were interested in men, maybe because they were so used to this shit that it didn't register anymore.

Danny dropped his shirt on the ground.

"Had a little heart surgery?" asked Seven.

"Don't fuck with me," said Danny. "You've fucked trans guys before, you know what top surgery scars look like."

"Oh, you just got me at a disadvantage, don'tcha?" Seven puffed on his cigar and said, "You ask for the buttonholes?"

"What, you studying surgical strats?"

"I've cut open a guy or two," said Seven idly, and Danny's hands faltered on the buckle of his belt, which made Seven laugh, the sound low and smoky from the cigar. "What am I gonna see in those cute little Calvins of yours? Phallo or metoid?"

"I work for tips in a bar frequented by big fat mobsters, and I'm currently taking off my clothes for one instead of walking out over his sexual overtures," said Danny, kicking off his boots. "You think I can afford either of those?"

"Maybe you should try sucking up to a mobster instead of mouthing off to him," advised Seven. "Might get ya a little closer to one or the other."

"That a promise?"

"I suppose that depends on how much you're gonna cut back on the big and fat."

"You cut back first," said Danny, and Seven laughed again, his head tipping back against the headrest.

"Ain't you just the cutest thing?" he asked quietly, eyebrows furrowing slightly together, and then went, "Ah ah," when Danny's hands went to the waistband of his boxers. "Leave 'em for now. C'mere."

Danny stood for a second in his boxers and his socks, then approached Seven's chair. There was music playing, and Seven gestured for someone to turn it up, and Danny felt a dark flush run down the back of his neck, the front of his chest, burning in his cheeks.

"You've done this before," said Seven after a few minutes, but he hadn't touched Danny yet, had just sat back with his cigar, his palm hovering over Danny's thigh but not actually touching it.

He had given lap dances before. Years ago, yeah, when he'd still had tits, but he'd given them post-top surgery too, enjoyed it, normally. This was—

This wasn't enjoyable.

This definitely wasn't hot, wasn't enjoyable, and his flush definitely wasn't sinking downward, wasn't making his cock swell or his cunt get wet. And if it was, it was just the exercise, the way he was gyrating in the air just above Seven's huge body, the way he was naked with sweat starting to gather on his skin - it wasn't the way that Seven's gaze was slowly roving over his body, the way Seven's hand wanted to touch, but didn't, the way that Seven's lips curved around the base of the cigar so deliberately before he sucked on it.

"This make you feel powerful?" asked Danny, shifting his hips from side to side, his knees resting either side of Seven's waist. He tried not to think about how widely he had to spread his legs around Seven's thighs as he demanded, "You enjoy this, huh? You've gone through every other fucking bartender and server here. What, you feel big? Rich?"

"Uh huh," said Seven. "You got it in one, sweetheart."

Danny leaned back, but before he could say another word, Seven's hand actually settled on his thigh and slid up to grip at his arse, and it was even stronger than it looked, the fingers heavy and calloused. He had rings on every finger, and they were heavy and a little cool, even warmed by his skin. Danny hoped the noise that eked out of his throat would be hidden by the music, but he could see that Seven heard it.

"Fuck you," said Danny flatly.

"You'll need me to pay for one surgery or the other if you want that."

"Never heard of a strap-on?"

"I got sensitive guts, kiddo, I only take organic."

Danny choked out a laugh, and Seven grinned up at him, showing the glint of his several gold teeth - he'd lost them in a fight, had the implants put in, and it definitely wasn't attractive, wasn't fucking hot.

"You been avoiding me, huh?"

"Just don't work late," Danny muttered, and then exhaled hard as Seven's hand gripped tighter at one of his arse cheeks, his fingers dipping between his cheeks through his boxers, pressing against his hole through the fabric.

"That gonna change?"

"Why the fuck would it?"

Seven chuckled, putting his cigar in his mouth and reaching into his inside pocket. Danny stiffened when he saw the shine of the knife, but Seven just cut through his boxers, throwing them aside, then flipped the knife shut again and dropped it back into his pocket.

"Bit of a tremble there," said Seven.

"Some men tremble when people put knives between their legs."

"Huh," said Seven. "Learn something new every day." He was looking down at Danny's cock, which was sticking out from his pubes, a thumb-sized nub even before he was fully hard, and then his gaze flitted down to Danny's cunt, too. He was a little wet already, could feel it on his thighs. "You like getting fucked?"

"Depends on who by," muttered Danny, and as he shifted his hips now he clenched down on air, aware that it made his cock jump although he tried not to, tried not to be aware. Tried not to clench. Failed.

"Look at that," murmured Seven. "You like it in your ass or your pussy?"

"I didn't say I liked it," muttered Danny, and Seven hummed, then slid his finger up through the slick on his thigh, making him gasp out a noise. The tip of his finger traced the inside of his lips, already wet, and Danny was so sensitive it made a thrill run up his spine, made him choke out a noise.

"Mmm, I think I can see what you like," said Seven, and he didn't even press his finger inside, just circled the tip of his finger around the inside of his rim. He let out an embarrassing noise, his hips jerking with the feeling of emptiness, the ache to have something in him. "You want it?"

"Go fuck yourself," said Danny through gritted teeth, and Seven smiled up at him, then slid his middle and ring fingers up into his cunt, pressing the pads of his fingers against the roof of his cunt. He swallowed hard, pressing his lips hard together to keep from letting out a sound, but when Seven's fingers were sunk in him all the way, he felt the cold hardness of his rings dragging at the opening of his cunt, and the sensation made him whine.

"Why the fuck are you tending bar, huh?" asked Seven, raising his bushy white-blond eyebrows as he twisted his fingers in him, and Danny squirmed at the feeling of them, the drag and pull on his inner walls, his hips giving a sharp jerk when they played over his fucking g-spot. "You could make a lot more money doing this."

"Yeah, 'cause sex work never comes with attendant risks, does it, big man?"

"It turn you on that I'm this big?" asked Seven without even hesitating, and when he slid a third finger into Danny's cunt, it wasn't the slight, pleasant stretch it had been - it was thicker like this, forced him to open up a bit and put pressure on his cock from underneath. He was breathing heavy, sweat on his skin, his cheeks burning pink. When the third finger was sunk into him and he felt all three rings this time, Seven actually pushed further up, made them pop into him, and he sobbed out a noise. "What kinda tip do you want for this, huh? You got a Venmo, something like that for your fucking transition fund?"

"Shut up," grunted Danny, rolling his hips down onto Seven's huge fingers, feeling the way his pinky played between his arse cheeks as Danny bore down on his fingers, groaning as Seven caught the rim of his arsehole and tugged at it on one of his downward thrusts. There was a gathering in the lower part of his belly, tension behind his cock, up inside his cunt, a deeper tension than he got from just a clitoral orgasm, and not one he felt often.

He was going faster now, was no longer trying to keep rhythm with the music and give Seven a lap dance but was instead grinding himself down as fast as he could on the other man's fingers, feeling them spread him open, feeling the thickness of his rings pull and drag at the opening of his cunt. He clenched as he thrust himself down all the way, felt the heat of Seven's ridiculously big palm on his thigh - he looked at Seven's face as he did it, just as Seven sucked at the almost-finished butt of his cigar, and how was Danny supposed to imagine anything fucking other than those lips wrapped around his cock?

The gasping noise he drew in was ragged and sharp, and as his cock jumped, Seven laughed low and smoky and slightly hoarse in a way that made his whole body thrill. "You can go faster than that, can't you, little guy?"

"I'm not that fucking little," Danny growled.

"I'm not talking to you, kiddo," rumbled Seven, and shoved his thumb hard against Danny's cock, pressing it back against his pubic bone so that the squeeze made his whole fucking body jump, made him feel like he'd been shocked. His hips jumped as he kept thrusting himself down, and he was moaning so loudly he almost couldn't hear it when Seven said, strumming his cock like it was a fucking guitar string, "I'm talking to this guy."

"Fuck you," choked out Danny. "Fuck you, fuck you, fuck, ah, ah, fu—fuck you—"

"That's it," purred Seven, spreading his fingers apart and making Danny suddenly jump, his thighs quivering, his knees a little bit weak. His head was tipped back, his throat feeling tight because of the taut position he was in, trying to focus on the gathering pressure inside him, the way he was feeling coiled tighter and tighter like a spring. "That's it, kid, let me see this fucking dick of yours jump. Tasty little mouthful it looks like, too - maybe I'll suck you off after this, huh? That what you want? Want me to suck on you like I suck on my cigar?"

"I hope you have a fucking heart attack," snapped Danny.

"Maybe I will," said Seven. "When I take you home tonight, sweetheart, and I fuck this cunt of yours raw before I pay for whatever surgeries your little heart desires, I'll have a heart attack right on top of you."

"You better put through the Venmo first," Danny managed to say, and then he lost all powers of speech, because Seven dragged one of his blunt fingernails down the head of his cock, dragging on the hood of it, and at the same time he pressed all three of his fingers hard against his g-spot.

This was probably the hardest he'd come in his life, but that was tragic and deeply fucking weird - it didn't hit him any less hard, and he couldn't help but writhe in his place, Seven keeping his fingers moving into him, his pinky playing against Danny's arse, his thumb dragging hard circles against his cock.

Danny was leaning over him, his hands dropped onto Seven's shoulders instead of the back of the chair now, his head bowed forward, and Seven laughed at him as he rode it through, his chest aching as he breathed hard. There was slick all down his thighs, probably dripped over Seven's wrist - Danny had only ever squirted once before, but he thought with a sort of dizzying suddenness that Seven could probably fuck that out of him too, given the chance.

"I'm not letting you fuck me raw," he said after a few seconds of leaning over Seven, breathing heavy.

"No?" asked Seven, pouting out his big lips, making his eyes do a sort of puppy-dog shine that didn't look right on a guy as big and fucking scary as he was. "You not gonna let me pay for any transition stuff, either?"

Danny's stomach flipped, and his mouth was a little dry at the idea that it wasn't just dirty talk, that Seven, rich evil cunt that he fucking was, probably could pay for it, pay for all of it, pay for whatever Danny wanted. American healthcare was bad enough, covering his T and his fucking asthma meds without insurance, but Seven, Arne Seven, he had real money, real fucking money...

"Heh," said Seven, sliding his fingers free and wiping them on the outside of Danny's thigh, making his leg hair shimmer with it. "Considering it now, aren'tcha, kiddo?"

"It turn me on to call me kiddo? What if I'm only eighteen, huh? What if I'm barely legal?"

"You're twenty-seven and you were born at the Manchester Royal Infirmary, and you live on Washington, third floor apartment. You're about 8K in debt, paying off those pesky fucking college fees even though you fucking dropped out. Full name Daniel Keaton, Pisces... I think if I ask my assistant, she can rattle off your social security number for me."

Danny stared down at him, his whole body going cold, and then immediately after that, going very, very hot again. His cock twitched, and he clenched on air, and he fucking hated himself for it, for whatever goddamn insane danger daddy kink this was.

"You like older guys," rumbled Seven, self-satisfied and smug, his lips smirking. "You like a guy with white hair - you like guys who're bigger than you. Guys with big dicks. Bet you'd like the finer things in life, too."

"And what do I sell you for all that, huh? Exclusive rights to my cunt? My fucking— loyal service? My soul?"

Seven tapped the head of his dick with the butt of his cigar, and Danny heaved in a gasp at how close the glowing end of the stub came to his belly, but didn't quite touch.

"Let's start with this," said Seven in a rich, full-bodied purr. "First, I'm gonna take you home. I'm gonna suck on this t-dick of yours until I feel like sucking on something else, no matter how many times you try to tap out, and then I'm gonna put my cock inside you. Ass, mouth, cunt, I don't really care - but you'll take it raw, and we'll keep going until I'm in you to the fucking root. Best pick the hole carefully, kiddo, 'cause I'm packing a beer can in these pinstriped slacks of mine, and I don't fucking stop for nobody."

Danny's head was spinning, his heart thumping in his chest, his whole body thrumming with it, with want, with terror, with need. He knew damn well that even for him, this was pretty terminally fucking stupid, that this was dangerous, but he didn't want to listen to logic or reason when his cunt was still throbbing and Seven had put his big fucking meaty hand back on Danny's arse.

"And I'll pay for your fucking surgeries," murmured Seven. "Win-win."

"That what does it for you? Paying for me to get a new dick, what, so you can use it?"

"You got something against trans allies?" asked Seven, arching his eyebrows.

"You're not a fucking ally, you're— the worst kind of goddamn chaser—"

"Chaser with money," said Seven. "You don't want money, huh? You want to fuck some dude with a pencil dick and two cents to his name instead, go without a brand new dick just to show how high your standards are?"

"Fuck you," hissed Danny, and then moaned because Seven grabbed hold of him, pressed his fingers into his open cunt while the heel of his hand pressed hard against his dick. "Why are you even still talking? It's not like I have a fucking choice."

"'Course you have a fucking choice," murmured Seven, putting two fingers either side of him and sliding them featherlight over his lips, making him whimper at the oversensitivity, making him fidget without easily being able to lean away, because pushing himself up on his tired knees just made Seven follow him, press harder against his cock. "You can stay here, get your fucking tips, keep trying to dig your way out of your debt, dream of having enough money for so much as a consultation with your phallo guy, or you can let me take you home, dress you up nice, fuck you as good as you want it."

"And leave me in the river after?"

"Nobody mentioned the river, kiddo," said Seven, and grinned again, showing his teeth. "But wouldn't you rather it after than before?"

Danny swallowed, staring down at him, and against his better judgement, almost against his fucking will, he ground his hips back down against Seven's hand, and Seven laughed, squeezing his cunt as a whole handful, making him grunt.

"Here, sweetheart," said Seven, and put his cigar up to Danny's lips to let him take the last drag. He didn't know much about cigars, but this one had an almost nuttiness to it that he'd never had from a fucking cigarette, and it took him by surprise even as he inhaled, then blew out smoke.

The taste of it lingered on his tongue, against the roof of his mouth.

"Like that?" asked Seven quietly, tossing the end into an ashtray.

"It's not the kind of shit I can afford," said Danny.

"Mmm, what a coinkydink," said Seven, and both of his hands came to rest on Danny's arse, pulling his cheeks apart, fingers slipping up between them and making him groan at the playful tug at his arse with one hand, his cunt with the other. "Afford is exactly the kind of concern I can take off your mind."