Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Blake says no one ever really loved him
They just faked it to get money from the government

-Amanda Palmer, "Blake Says"

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Claude has been out on this same corner with Richie and Jordy and the rest of the guys for what feels like forever but is actually only sixteen months, give or take a few nights. Ever since he blew out his knee beyond repair and couldn’t make it home again.

He’d tried panhandling to get home. He’d tried a little bit of everything, but desperation is a quick teacher and he’s been doing this for sixteen months and four nights, ticked down with kisses and quick touches that hurt worse than any hit on the ice ever could. The thing is, he’s been doing it that right amount of time between losing his soul and actually hoping that maybe this next time won’t be so bad. He still has his soul, and he knows this next time is gonna be just as bad as that last time, just probably in completely different ways.

There’s no favorite time to be out here, but fall isn’t too bad. He can wear his one coat and it’ll be enough for most of the night, and he can usually lean against Richie or James when he starts to shake too hard to answer questions properly. He can’t afford to be sloppy or weak seeming, because Claude?

Like it or not Claude is a professional.

He’s been doing it long enough that he knows that Pretty Woman doesn’t actually ever happen, at least not at street corners. Not to any of them.

He’s a hooker, and the guys picking him up each week in the cars are never gonna grab his wrist and stop him from leaving at the end of the session; not for anything good at any rate.

Because Claude also isn’t stupid.

But of all his clients, he sorta wishes this one guy would.

He has a really nice car, and an obvious tan line where a wedding ring should be, not that Claude lets himself care about that.

It’s his dime, it doesn’t matter if the guy has a lady waiting back home. Most of his clients probably do, and he sometimes wonders why closeted is the preferred choice for guys like this, because it seems a hell of a lot more complicated and filled with self loathing than just being what they are, happily. They look like they probably have everything, but they still come by and eye up him or Richie or one of the other guys and take them somewhere cheap and fuck them like they can drive what they want out of their bodies by doing this enough. But he’s really not here to judge anyone’s choices, because he fucking knows that sometimes they’re totally, 100% beyond your control in ways you can’t do a damn thing about.

The first time he’d met this guy it had been getting into late fall in Philly. It was a late night, really fucking slow like it sometimes is when there’s something heteronormative like a football game or something going on that night. He’s not sure if there was a game that night or not — it’s been a long time since he’s had the energy to care about something like sports. But on nights where there’s something aggressively normal like that it’s like their clients need to stay home and stay as completely normal as possible, and that’s okay because usually the next few days roll over them like windfall.

Claude had been leaning against Richie for some of his warmth, and Richie had been partway sharing his ancient leather coat with him. They both smelled like cheap sex, but it’s something Claude doesn’t even find himself noticing anymore. It’s like the smell isn’t on him, it’s inside his nose, and he can’t get rid of it no matter how many times he showers or sneezes.

The SUV was black, polished like someone who had a lot of time on their hands, and it’d been driving kind of too fast to be a potential client, so they’d ignored it. Not everyone was there for anything beyond the fact the neighborhood stretched somewhere between ‘A’ and ‘B’ on their GPS.

Richie had said something ridiculous, one of those jokes that would never have been funny except that they were both so exhausted they were close to tears. Richie had said something horrible and Claude had laughed, scolding him in French because he knew Richie wouldn’t understand a damn word of what he was saying, and the car had hit its brakes so hard that even in this neighborhood people stopped and took notice.

The fancy black SUV had come to that abrupt stop on their corner, and he’d thought the john’d been eyeing Richie so he hadn’t even looked up until he’d heard a soft voice calling “Hey. Um. You, with the red hair. Hi?” Claude’d looked up and black eyes had been staring at him really intently and suddenly his heart hurt because that voice sounded so much like home, in a way he’d never thought he’d hear since he ended up in Philadelphia. It’s Quebecois, proper Quebecois, and it sets his pulse to racing in a painfully familiar way.

The guy had started biting his lip, and yeah. His eyes were definitely fixed on Claude as he sorta half waved him over.

Claude knew from a glance this guy had never done this before. He wasn’t as careful as he should have been. His door was unlocked when Claude got close enough to see, and he was looking Claude straight on, like he wasn’t scared of him seeing his whole face like that. He had a nice face, sorta long but well sculpted.

“Hello,” Claude had said, all soft and smooth. It was a trick he’d learned pretty quick. Turns out Americans almost universally seemed to have a thing about his accent, seemed to think anything French was somehow worldlier, something worth that little bit more.

Like lingerie and wine, people would pay that extra cash for Claude because it said “French” on the label.

But this man’s voice, he sounded like Claude’s family, a little bit like home, and he couldn’t decide why he would be bothering with something he already had. When Claude let himself look at him he looked more like Richie’s type, someone who’d like thick muscle and violently short hair and swaggering arrogance. His arms looked strong, but there was something delicate in his face and wrists that made Claude think he’d probably want to be held down by someone who could keep him down, and even before hunger had taken its pound of flesh Claude had inclined more towards the slender edge of the spectrum.

But it was clearly Claude he’d called over, slender and red haired and wiry, and he’d gone because his night had been mostly shit and any cash at all would have been nice. He hated feeling like he wasted a night like this, a night he’d actually rather be with someone in a crappy motel that at least had heating.

The john’s door had been unlocked and he’d leaned across the seat and pushed it open to let Claude in without any negotiations or anything.

Claude’s senses had gone high into overdrive. He wasn’t pretty enough to make a john forget his manners or anything like that, so he had to be careful. No negotiations sounded easy enough, got him out of the cold faster, but they were never a good thing.

He’d pushed himself back from the door, he had to talk a little louder to be heard but they were at a street corner in lower Philly late at night. He didn’t have any illusions that any of the people around didn’t know what he was doing here. Claude still questioned him Quebecois. “Aren’t you gonna ask me how much?”

“Am I supposed to?” The john’s eyes got a little bigger, and there that accent was. He wasn’t just mistaken, or homesick. It was actually there.

“What if I cost more than you can pay?” Claude crossed his arms over his chest. Not like he could fool him into thinking he was suddenly beautiful or anything, but he had his pride regardless. “Or you want something I don’t do? I’m not spending time on someone who can’t make it worth my while.”

The guy’s eyes had gotten a little bit hard at that, but he’d just shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, I can pay it.”

Claude sighed, took another step back. First, never do business with anyone who claimed that; they never could. Second, never go with someone that desperate, it never ended with anything less than some lasting bruises or nasty kinks and usually ended worse than that.

It wasn’t like he was offering to pay anything for Claude specifically, after all. Definitely not.

“Sorry, Buddy.” Claude turned his back on the amazing black SUV and the voice that had sounded like home, and he could see Richie making a face at him like he was insane, but Richie had been the one to give him those rules, and he didn’t need his judgment on something like this.

“Wait,” came the same soft voice, and against his logic Claude had hesitated. “Just a sec, please.”

So Claude had gone back, and the guy had pulled out a mess of bills from his wallet and offered them to Claude before he was even in the car, didn’t count them or anything before handing them over. Amateur. “Please? My name is Danny.”

Of course he’d had to make sure that they were real, that the stack had actually held 20s instead of ones or newspaper, because he wasn’t stupid and he learned from the stories. And he’d had to keep his expression carefully neutral, because it wouldn’t do to let the guy know he’d just bought his whole night from him, if he wanted. If the guy was gonna overpay, that was his problem.

“Claude,” he offered after a moment, tucking the cash away securely and climbing into the car. He could handle him if shit got freaky, probably. He . . . Danny? Danny was pretty small. “It's okay.”

“Where are we going?" Danny, or whatever, he sounded nervous, and Claude might have smirked a little bit when he directed him to a hotel that was good about looking the other way and always taking cash by the hour.

“You pay for the room, I like number 28,” Claude offered as part of the terms. “I don’t do bareback. I can bleed, but that costs extra, and I don’t touch piss or shit.”

Danny looked like he might throw up, but his voice was steady and rich with that accent when he murmured “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Claude had taken him to the hotel that first time, it was close and cheap but not very clean. He had been there before, of course, all the guys had, but Danny had seemed horrified with the conditions the moment he got the door open, and the first word out of his mouth wasn’t a request or demand. It was an apology for the state of the room, stale smoke and bodies in the air.

Claude had just rolled his eyes, if the guy wanted him to believe that he actually thought he was worth more than this then that was his problem.

The whole experience had been sorta surreal. Danny had reached out for him silently, fingers tracing the muscles of his forearm with a ticklish light touch, and Claude had gone to him because it didn’t do to refuse simple requests, even if they seemed odd.

Danny held him, long and slender fingers curled around the sharp bones in Claude’s hips, and he’d kissed him.

He doesn’t like it when the johns kiss him, he knows he’s paid for it and all that but it’s too much . . .

Too much.

So he’ll go as fast as he can, start touching them immediately to perk them up and then they’ll stop kissing him, but with Danny it was different.

Danny kissed like he meant it, like Claude was something beautiful and rare that he couldn’t get enough of. He was slow, taking his time just mapping Claude out, all chapped lips and restored heat as though he’d just recently come in from the cold.

Claude kissed back and it might have been because Danny wanted it but he parted his lips, allowed him in, because he also wanted it. Danny tasted clean, like sincerity and comfortable upper middle class, and he made soft noises that sounded like surprise to Claude’s ears as he moved deeper into the kiss.

Claude’s arms wound tight around Danny’s neck and held him there, thumbs rubbing at the soft spot behind his ears as he let the smaller man melt into him and took his weight. He breathed through his nose; all he could smell was sweet skin and expensive soap. It was delicious, and his eyes fluttered closed as Danny traced small circles onto his hips with his thumbs, tilted his head to allow Claude to lick the uncertainty and nervousness out of his mouth.

They hadn’t even fucked. They’d made it to the bed but Danny never let it get beyond hands skimming over the trembling muscles of his stomach, under his shirt. He was built.

Claude had tried. He earned his money, but each time his hands had wandered down, curling at the edge of Danny’s horrible dad jeans, he’d stopped him. Whispered things to him in French and pulled him up to kiss more, and more, until he’d pulled away and offered to drive Claude back.

He’d never offer to give the cash back, he wasn’t stupid, but Danny’s obviously uncomfortable shifting during the whole ride back had made something like responsibility gather in Claude’s gut.

“I could take care of that for you,” he offered, and blowjobs in a car were never the easiest thing but he could deal. He wished Danny had just let him take care of it at the hotel.

Danny turned red, flushed all the way down his neck and probably onto his chest, not like Claude could see though. But the blush mixed with silence was enough to tell him Danny wasn’t apparently into that or whatever. And that’s fine, he’s not gonna psychoanalyze why someone would bother to get a hooker to kiss.

He doesn’t kiss his johns once the job is done, but Danny’s hand fell on his hip before he was able to get out, and he sighed internally and let him lean over the parking brake and kiss him a little before Claude pulled away and got out of the car.

His name probably isn’t even Danny; no one in that nice a car is stupid enough to tell a hooker their real name.

He didn’t expect anything after that first time, it wasn’t his most resounding success, but when Danny’d shown up the next week at the same time, hair slicked back and wet like he’d showered just to come see Claude or something, he took the chance and got into the car with him. Danny was dressed in a suit that looked expensive, if a little questionably tailored, and he fished a bundle of cash out of his glove box and passed it silently to Claude, who counted it while Danny took him to a place that was further away but a lot nicer than the standby.

Some guys were weirdly particular about where they took their hookers. He’d heard about that, too. Richie had this one guy, once, always took him to this weird ass shed in what turned out to be his ex-wife’s back yard, fucked him against a wall so that he could look out the window at the house.

It was kind of weird to be driven to a hotel so far away from convenience and speed, but he tried not to think about it. It had clean sheets and a nice smell and a kitchenette in the suite, almost like a mini house or something. The bedroom was offset from everything else and it was nicer than Claude’s desiccated studio, but he tried not to stare and wonder what a place like this cost per night.

They’d made out on the sofa, Danny making soft sounds that seemed torn between guilt and arousal, his hands roaming Claude’s body almost shyly. But Claude knew what to do about that and just ground his body against him, straddling his lap and kissing him deep and dirty until Danny was too out of breath to protest when he nudged his knees apart, took his dick into his mouth and swallowed him down. It was weird not knowing what Danny really wanted him for, and this simplified everything immeasurably. He took his time with it, though, because Danny was clean and tasted good, and he swallowed afterwards which usually got him a good tip but also because it just seemed appropriate for the circumstances. He licked his lips a little bit, then he rolled his eyes to look up at Danny, not for approval or anything, but just because he sorta wanted to see him. Danny looked utterly enthralled by him.

Danny made him coffee in the kitchenette afterwards, curled up against him on the sofa and carded his fingers through Claude’s hair, kissing his temples. Claude had gone along, pliable as a puppet.

And he tried not to think about it during the subsequent weeks, either, except that it was nice to be in a bed that seemed clean and safe with someone who seemed to enjoy him.

He can’t deny that he enjoys that Danny’s kind to him. That his hands in his hair are never too tight, that he holds himself with rigid restraint, letting Claude set the pace instead of making him choke on his dick like most of the johns do. If Claude wants to take it slower, or maybe just jerk him off, then Danny lets him do that. That sort of control is weird to have but Danny seems totally okay with giving it to him after that first time. If he hadn’t pushed they never would have gotten anywhere, and wasn’t that a fucking weird thought?

Most of the johns just want him fast and dirty, but Danny seems to have this whole reality inside his head where Claude is something special and he wants to take care of him, treat him soft and gentle, and he’s not gonna argue with that because it’s weirdly nice for him, too.

It’s all on Danny’s dollar, so he’s not gonna say anything about it one way or another. It’s not about him, never was. It’s about Danny getting what he wants, and if Danny wants to act like Claude is someone he could come home to every night, someone he has to treat sweet because he cares about him, then that’s what Claude’s gonna let him do. It’s sorta a novelty to have someone who tries to fake something domestic with him. Danny makes him coffee and watches TV while curled up against him, most of the night. It's only later that he makes out with Claude on the sofa before taking him to the bedroom to fuck him until they’re both sore and even Claude is a little bit strung out on pleasure.

Normally Claude doesn’t even try to get turned on, he hates the feeling of it. It doesn’t mean anything to the johns if he is or not, most the time, so it’s easy to just let his body hate what’s happening and go somewhere inside where he doesn’t have to think about what’s happening around him. With Danny it’s totally different, because Danny will kiss him and jerk him off slow and steady. Danny wants to see him be into it so he tries to look like he is. It’s almost embarrassing how easy it is with Danny, both how badly Danny wants him to enjoy it and how simple it is to get into it with him. He doesn’t have to close his eyes until he’s somewhere else; he can just be there with Danny and it’s enough. Danny’s totally what he’d be into under other circumstances, and he’s got calluses on his hands that feel familiar and completely delicious against his dick, and he’s willing to work at Claude to turn him on. He gets this intense look of concentration on his face, like Claude’s cock is some sort of puzzle he wants to solve. It’s kinda hilarious and also awkwardly hot.

Sometimes Danny makes him more coffee in the machine afterwards, and that’s weird but technically Danny is still paying for his whole night so he’ll just drink it with him and maybe watch some more TV or maybe blow him again, and then Danny takes him back.

And sometimes maybe Claude lets himself close his eyes when Danny kisses him goodbye in the car, lets himself really feel the way his hands card through his hair as Danny holds him close.

He knows it’s not healthy at all, but somewhere in those weeks where Danny wanted him so badly to pretend he cared he maybe started to for real, and he can’t help it.

And Richie doesn’t hesitate to remind him he’s an idiot when he turns aside other tricks waiting for Danny’s car to pull up, but whatever. It’s more cash for Richie, and Danny always shows up.

Claude sometimes feels like that’s the only thing he can depend on right now, and that’s probably why he actually gives a shit that Danny wants to kiss him, why he kisses back like he means it instead of kissing like he’s being paid to tolerate it.

So that’s something like a routine for Claude. Danny comes once a week, on Saturday nights, always after midnight, and he hops into his car and they go to the hotel that Danny likes. It’s nice to have a plan, sorta.

He sets his Saturdays mostly free for Danny, too. He remembers the one time he got caught late with a guy who wouldn’t take no for an answer.

He hadn’t had a spare second to wet wipe between jobs and his hair was clean but still a little ruffled, he definitely smelled like sex and someone else’s spunk and Danny had acted like his whole world was falling apart when Claude had gotten into his car.

He’d taken Claude to the same hotel, but he’d taken him to the bedroom right away. It was a deviation from the norm enough that Claude was thrown off, but then Danny and taken him further, into the bathroom.

He stripped him slowly and gently, like Claude was the one needing attention, kissing him softly, hands everywhere, and then he’d guided him into the shower with so much caution Claude couldn’t even manage shock, though he should have. Danny had climbed into the shower with him, bodies slick with water and soap, hot with steam, and then they’d showered together. Danny washing him clean, not like he was disgusted and wanted him unsullied but like he was worried and needed to check him out from head to toe for injury.

Somehow that moment felt more intimate than all the times Danny had come down his throat. He’d showered with him immediately, and then he’d just . . . well, he’d just held him.

He’d curled up on the bed with Claude while they were still wet and held him to his chest. Every time Claude had gotten antsy and tried to initiate something, had tried to make sure Danny was getting his money’s worth, he’d just kiss his hair and stop him.

Danny ended up falling asleep with Claude, and he’d had to wriggle himself free and leave on his own, walking back to his street and hoping Richie was still there to give him a ride home.

He’d tried to return the cash Danny had given him that night, left it on the bedside with Danny’s phone, but the next week he’d just gotten double what he’d come to expect so he didn’t mention it again.

And he understood where it came from. Some guys didn’t like to be reminded that Claude wasn’t theirs. They didn’t like to remember that he had other clients, and usually he was good at making sure they didn’t have to. Some of them looked disgusted, made him wash in the bathroom with cheap soap and hand towels, called him names that didn’t sting so much when they were true, and some of them didn’t even seem to notice or care. No one had ever looked after him like he was something that needed that care. He felt like he’d frightened or worried Danny, like he’d somehow done something that Danny hadn’t signed up for. It was crazy, but it was there.

So after that he starts refusing clients all Saturday evening until Danny shows up, just so he can feel like he’s earning the ridiculous amount Danny is ready to pay him.

And the good thing is Danny pays him enough that he doesn’t have to feel like he’s slacking not taking clients while he waits for him. And Richie gets those Claude refuses, so it works for both of them even though he can feel Richie judging him like the asshole he can sometimes be.

Sometimes Danny was earlier, or later. Sometimes he smelled of close packed bodies and sweat, like he’d just gotten out of a bar (though he was always stone cold sober) and sometimes he looked sorta sad, like he was deeply disappointed in something, but he always came either way.

Claude can recognize his moods, read which of those two Dannys he was gonna get before he even got into the car, and he could plan accordingly. On those nights when he seemed quiet and sad he’d talk to Claude a lot. Not really tell him much, just that his job wasn’t going so well, he’d messed up and disappointed his co-workers, and Claude would listen because if Danny wanted to pay to talk, that was his business.

He liked listening to Danny talk. His voice made him feel like he was home again. Those nights Danny needed him to be the aggressor, to hold him down and kiss the doubt and regret out of him, fuck him slow and almost painful on the motel sheets until Danny released whatever he was carrying inside himself, wrapping his arms and legs around Claude and pulling him in deeper if that was possible. Until Danny came apart under him, crying his name like a prayer, like it meant something.

Those nights he’d be extra careful with Danny, taking his time sucking him off, prepping him really, really well before doing whatever Danny asked him to. But his favorite nights were when Danny showed up smelling like a bar, when he was excited because he and his co-workers had done something great, were celebrating, and for some reason Danny left the bar before closing and came to see Claude instead of taking the celebration home.

Those nights were fun, because Danny was downright playful, teasing and joking and riding high on victory and Claude couldn’t help but soak up the atmosphere, tease back.

Those nights were pretty damn intense, Claude can’t lie and say he doesn’t look forward to those nights, because Danny will talk to him in French, tease and joke with him in French, and when the sex comes it will be like a game, a mutual push and pull where Claude can lose himself in the sense and sensations of Danny and actually forget he’s being paid for every sound and move he makes.

That was the other thing. Most guys, they were easy. They liked to think they were living out their own private porn shoots, and they’d tell Claude what to say and when. They’d want him to moan and compliment them and writhe while they called him a fucking whore, and he would.

Usually while making a grocery list in his head.

The first time he’d tried it with Danny, Danny had completely shut down.

First time he’d tried even mild dirty talk around Danny, he’d had a front row seat to how quick someone could lose an erection. And he wasn’t even saying half of what some of the guys wanted him to say.

Danny had completely lost it, and Claude had to work twice as hard to win him back, had to kiss and hold and make out with him for over an hour while whispering quiet apologies and endearments into his ear before Danny had gotten back into the swing of things.

All from something as simple as asking him if he wanted to fuck his, Claude’s, face with his cock.

So, clearly no dirty talk. Which was really okay. Claude didn’t like needing to do it, didn’t think he was even all that good at it, so fine. It was kind of nice to have a guy whose preferences seemed to dovetail with his own so well.

Of course Danny liked it when he made sounds, but they had to seem sincere, nothing too overblown or porn track-y, so Claude actually had to pay a lot closer attention than normal, had to really let himself go and feel it instead of just reacting like how he’d thought his client would want.

It wasn’t hard. Danny seemed like a sincerely nice guy, he certainly wasn’t at all hard to look at. Sometimes he’d fuck Claude, but usually he’d want to be held down, so Claude had been at least half right the first time he’d met him. He always paid attention to what made Claude lose himself, even for just a second or two, and he learned him.

Danny was muscled, but it was all lean, like he worked for it instead of living at a gym or something. His hair was always really soft in Claude’s hands, and he had this way of smiling that made his whole face sorta light up and glow. Claude had never seen eyes that dark get that bright and brilliant before Danny.

He was funny, and clever, he could make jokes that only worked in French and made Claude laugh twice as hard, and he was as careful as a kitten with him.

He paid attention to Claude, so much that he never had to fake his responses to him. It took Claude a while to get used to that, but he was nothing if not adaptable. He was paid by Danny to do what Danny wanted, and if what Danny wanted was for Claude to relax and really feel him, not just give lip service but really mean it, then Claude could do that.

Each time he found himself crying out when he came, pressing closer to Danny and holding on for dear life, he had to remind himself that was all it was, even though Danny was spread out and pliable beneath him, watching him like he was a gift.

He felt and let go and gave himself to Danny because that’s what Danny paid him for.

Certainly not because he was falling for Danny.

Because he wasn’t that stupid.

He knew that it could be hard; it was why Richie never let himself have regular clients. Apparently he’d had a guy named Jeff, back before Claude had ever moved to Philly, and he learned about the danger of feeling for regular clients the hard way.

He’d seen photos of Jeff, because apparently Richie was secretly a sap. He had spiked bleached hair and he sorta looked like a douche, but if that was what did it for Richie he wasn’t gonna judge him.

Jeff had been some sort of trust fund baby or something; he’d gone to Richie for almost a year before he vanished off the face of the earth. Richie had maybe made the mistake of actually giving a shit about this Jeff guy, but he didn’t give him an explanation or anything, he’d just not come one night, then the next, until he just never came back at all.

Richie still looked hurt about that, even though he pretended he wasn’t. Hookers didn’t get to have a say in what their clients did with their lives, any more than they got to have a say in their own lives.

He could see Richie looking at him all pitying some days, but he ignored him. Claude kept doing it because Danny paid obscenely well, because it was nice to have a client whose wants meshed so well with his, and because it was easy. It had nothing at all to do with hope or sentimentality and everything to do with convenience.

It was Danny, and nothing hurt.

So one night, when Danny didn’t show up, Claude knew better than to say anything to Richie. He’d been passing on clients all night, but it was close to morning and Danny still wasn’t there, and Danny had never been this late on him before.

Richie had been out a couple times already, but Claude had hung around waiting, except Danny never showed up. And then he couldn’t take a different client because if Danny showed up he didn’t trust Richie to cover for him.

It ended up where he didn’t make anything at all, and it blew because his rent was due soon and he really, really needed that money. But for whatever reason he just kept waiting until it was too late to make even a portion of the cash back.

Clearly Claude was an idiot, and Richie reminded him of that plenty of times as he gave him a lift home in his ancient piece of shit car.

Claude had to take clients he would have preferred to pass on for the rest of the week to make up for Saturday. He has bruises on his wrists, a cut on his lip from a guy who liked to see him bleed while he sucked him, marks he normally never has on his body by the time Saturday rolls around again. He’s a tough guy, he can take it, but he doesn’t want it and it always makes him feel worse, in ways even injuries on the ice couldn’t. And he makes up his mind that he isn’t gonna wait on Danny this time. Danny had obviously found someone, maybe someone at one of those bars him and his coworkers went to, and he didn’t need to get his rocks off with Claude anymore. Maybe he’d gotten too expensive. Claude couldn’t imagine a lot of jobs where dropping the sort of cash he did every Saturday was sustainable for long.

So the first car that pulls up, he negotiates and leaves with them. Richie gives him a thumbs up and he rolls his eyes. The guy turns out to be pretty easy and Claude is back in time for their version of rush hour, picking up another client and not letting himself wonder if maybe he should hold off for another hour, because Danny always seems to avoid the rush.

That guy was really detailed with what he wanted, and he doesn’t get back until it’s time to head home, and he resigns himself to the idea that this is gonna be Saturday from now on. Danny was a nice distraction, but he seems to be gone now, and that’s okay.

Sunday, though, Jordan calls him over to apologize for trying to poach his client, and Claude just looks confused.

“Your regular, Danny. He came by while you were gone. He looked sorta bothered that you were gone, so I offered to go with him. I wanted to tell you myself, before someone who didn’t get it spilled. I wasn’t poaching on you, Claude. He just left, though.”

Claude’s stomach is knotting and unknotting so fast he’s getting sick. “He came by?”

“Yeah, but once he saw you weren’t here he checked up on you and left. Sorry, man. I didn’t know how long you’d be gone or anything.”

“No, it’s fine.” It’s not Jordy’s job to know his schedule or anything.

The next week is a little better than the previous. He gets a few fresh bruises on his hips from guys who like to hold him too hard, but there’s nothing weird that makes him bleed or anything this time around.

He doesn’t have money to make up, so he can afford to be picky again.

But he’s still not sure if he can afford to wait for Danny on Saturday. It’s a tossup. The extra cash he got from Danny was a blessing, but it’s also almost out. Is it better to get some extra from someone else in case, or is it worth risking it and holding out, hoping that Danny’ll come?

Richie tells him what he’d do, but Richie’s kind of an asshole so Claude decides to wait at least until Danny’s regular time on Saturday before he passes him off as a lost cause for another week.

He doesn’t really owe it to him or anything. Doesn’t owe him anything at all, but the idea of going off for another week makes him a little strange inside, makes him feel something at any rate, so he settles himself into Richie’s side to wait out at least the next few hours, in all too rare optimism.