Work Text:
"Hm~ We're running low on Office expenses. This month's quota has really been piling up.” Hong Lu observes in an exceedingly languid and listless fashion. “We're nearly out of our ammo stock, and the workshop's bills have really gone off the charts."
This month, like many before it, is accompanied by the red ink of bills in abundance; and of the many, many problems the month brought in its wake, the problem of money was ever the greatest.
Heathcliff gives a glance to the calendar pinned above a desk overrun with a mishmash of folders and stacks of papers. He looks at it, eyes going cold the very moment that they settle on the current date.
"Shite. We... have five days left, boss," he mutters.
"Hm? Five days until what~"
"You don't know? The Head'll have our guts for garters if we ain't got the readies for their taxes by the end of the week, never mind next month's tick." Heathcliff responds.
The expression on Hong Lu's face suddenly brightens as though struck with inspiration. "Well~! There's no point in wasting time—I've already had a plan in motion for a bit of money! It's rather simple, you see. Why don't we sell the body and the mind?"
Heathcliff sits motionless, blinking at him slowly in silence for a full 10 seconds. "Boss. Boss, you're a gormless sod."
"Come on. We don't have an abundance of options, you know. I'm sure plenty of folks around these parts would pay a good chunk of Ahn for the privilege of getting into the Full Stop's pants, right?" he teases, flashing a frivolous grin.
Heathcliff groans as he turns to a board covered in thumbtacks, photographs, and notes. The board was prior a dark void of uninhabited space, waiting to be filled with ideas, but it soon became an infestation of activity. Ideas bloomed into leads, and leads developed into investigations. And now, they've arrived at a solution.
"It'll work, y'know? So what do you think?" Hong Lu muses.
"Well," Heathcliff blushes, averting his eyes from his boss.
He was a fool. There was no way this idiotic idea would succeed. How would anyone react to an agency specializing in Fixing, taking clients, and killing for Ahn suddenly offering their bodies out to those with similar goals? This would simply lead them to lose credibility with those who actually saw them as reliable and get them ostracized and picked off by jealous enemies. This would get them branded as unreliable fools and lose the clients that remain.
However.
"Is there any way for us to keep our identities anonymous, boss?"
Admittedly, Heathcliff is not completely averse to the concept. It'd be difficult to pull with as small an Office as theirs. They'd need measures to protect their identities. Neither would be suited to having that done to them by random: Heathcliff because of general safety concerns, and Hong Lu because he isn't wise to having people mess around with his privates, period. But if that could be rectified?
"When I went to the Backstreets of Hongyuan, there were holes carved in walls to act as a window of sorts, only large enough for a fist to enter from an alley, with a sign pointing to the window stating the terms," he explains, walking up to the wall and making a circle with his finger. "There are those willing to lend the space. They may or may not even charge the person offering this service."
"...A glory hole. That's called a glory hole, boss." Heathcliff rolls his eyes. "That'd work, I s'pose, but those spaces are cramped. You might wind up gettin' splinters in your shins while waitin', yeah?"
"I don't mind. It'd be like a break from that hard labor in between combat. If I can sit for five minutes, it'll feel like heaven." He says cheerily.
"Honestly," Heathcliff sighs. There definitely are other ways to earn petty cash. Other Fixer Offices turn to work for hire as a short-term solution in times of fiscal turmoil, although oftentimes they'd take jobs they simply have no interest in fulfilling, simply as a quick source of income and reputation building.
On the surface, the Backstreets may look like a vast desert void of such opportunity, but deep within the crevice are places where the tumbleweeds rarely go—where people who don't ask questions hang out, doing business under the radar that would get them either blacklisted by the Hana Association or shunned by Wing-aligned people, or otherwise for the likes of a select number of individuals and syndicates operating there who care very little for what their compatriots think or the authority of the Wings.
So, Heathcliff justifies, it's not something he's opposed to. Especially if Hong Lu is fine with doing that.
"Let's hurry. Don't wanna make those hoity-toity, preachy Wing employees mad 'cause they saw our time was better spent pleasuring strangers than sitting on our asses doin' paperwork."
"True. The dignity of the common man, and the like." Hong Lu snickers.
Knees on the ground. Cold concrete below, pale blue walls. Flickering neon lights. No sound besides breathing. There's a sign: '366,000 Ahn per session.' Both sit in front of two holes, decently near the other.
"...Oof. Pretty hefty fee." Heathcliff whistles. "You sure any bloke's gonna cough it up?"
"There's always someone desperate out there," Hong Lu says reassuringly. "There's always people down on their luck, who've spent their time scrambling to get Ahn, and the only way they could feel alive is if they blow it on... well, getting blown, not to be crude~"
There's a kernel of truth in the boss's words. God knows in the prior Fixer offices, those willing and able to kill for a living—either from personal ambition, the want to do good, or in service to a cause—didn't get far without an outlet to lick their wounds and take their minds off the grim reapers constantly circling the horizon. A need for relief—or merely the simple fact of human comfort in a place so suffused with needless cruelty, meaningless death, and general violence.
"I hear footsteps," Hong Lu whispers. Heathcliff keeps listening; it's faint but definitely approaching.
Unzip, a door slams, and Heathcliff and Hong Lu see an index finger sliding into their holes in succession—which prompts Heathcliff to smirk as he observes its caution. He'd imagine people looking for that sort of service wouldn't take time to assess the conditions before eagerly slamming their dick or fingers inside, so this is definitely a green light from the individual on the reverse.
"...Is anyone even here?" They hear him mutter, diverted. They can sense he's trying his best to keep it shut.
Hong Lu strikes a peace sign through the opening, prompting a startled noise and the digit pulling out in a flurry. "S-shit, I thought it was deserted. Well..."
"Ahn first," Hong Lu pipes up, prompting an embarrassed groan in return. They hear rustling of clothes. He pulls out a wad of money from his front pocket, with a sigh alongside it.
"...Shit, here."
Hong Lu counts each piece. Sure enough, 366,000 Ahn in total. Good, he didn't give them change or underpay, despite his moping. "Okay~"
The client lines up their length into the hole. Their panting hitches for a moment before growing heavy in anticipation—which the Fixers hear clearly in the dead air—as they feel his warmth over the sides of their hands. "Can I begin...?"
"That is why I put my fingers out, dear customer." Hong Lu states in a flat deadpan. "How am I meant to work if you're wasting our time?"
"Of course," he murmurs apologetically. The stranger then slithers into Hong Lu's palm.
Heathcliff watches as his boss wraps a gentle palm around, feeling up the warm mass under his calloused digits. Hong Lu is far from delicate, and while he wouldn't call it amateur, his movements are surprisingly subdued. Despite that, they let out a subtle gasp but quickly restrains noise beyond the ragged breath.
His palms start with slow strokes. In the first moments of contact, he feels him shudder. The warm member twitches between his fingers. After a minute, his thumb rubs its crown and runs its pad along the sides, stopping periodically to press and apply light pressure. Their customer's grunts quickly give way to groans. They've hardly begun.
Hong Lu lifts the length and sticks out his tongue, licking its tip.
"W-Woah," the man squeaks. "You weren't kidding."
Hong Lu smirks. He moves lower, covering its length with soft kisses and the occasional nip, lapping at its tip as he runs his hands along it. Heathcliff listens to their patron, hearing their shaky, ragged breaths.
Their patron pushes it out a little further, causing him to jerk in surprise; his cock presses further inwards, rubbing slightly on Hong Lu's cheek. The flesh brushes their boss' mouth, and he opens wide enough for them to push inside his waiting maw. They shudder upon entry. He breathes loudly between the thin, plastered glory hole.
Heathcliff stares. His lips slowly part in a grin. A faceless entity, mere flesh, slides across the boss' tongue with ease. In these circumstances, where only the silhouette of a form is discernible across a crack, the boundaries of individual existence are as blurred and insubstantial as air. It becomes so very easy for Heathcliff to envision taking Hong Lu's place in a small corner.
Eventually, it'll come to be.
Hong Lu presses his palms against the cavity and squeezes inwards to contain the shaft. He slides to the very end. He feels it twitching as it burrows into his mouth, brushing the roof of his throat. The taste isn't so delightful, but neither is it bad enough to revolt—indeed, for better or for worse, it tastes as one would expect a regular man to taste. Hong Lu sucks downwards. A wet pop follows with every recoil as his cheeks clamp inward to ensure he leaves with nothing but a mouthful of saliva.
"I'm close, I'm close—" The client calls. Hong Lu immediately recoils as the customer finishes on the concrete below, in the small gaps of light peeking from underneath the plastered hole, amidst the piles of debris. Hong Lu watches as a stream of pearly white liquid pools below.
"That was great. I'll tell my friends about you," they breathe, but even from Heathcliff's vantage point, it's clear they're barely keeping the exhaustion at bay—at least, in contrast to the initial apprehensive muttering that drew Hong Lu's eye.
As the shadow pulls out and disappears in silence, Hong Lu turns to Heathcliff with a light smirk on his face. The latter raises an eyebrow.
"Enjoy your time, boss?" Heathcliff asks. "Reckon I know which the punters'll be gaggin' for."
"I'm sure they'd be keen on anything we could provide. All mouths taste sweet to them. Everyone craves attention."
Heathcliff smiles sardonically. "They're proper keen to chuck away their Ahn for it, I'll give 'em that. Some blokes can never get their fill."
"I wouldn't exactly call it 'throwing,'" Hong Lu remarks. "We're not a cheap investment."
As Heathcliff nods, they feel another presence, accompanied by a shadow peeping out of a small opening. Forward of Heathcliff's preplacement is a slender finger. He reaches for the opening until it presents to Heathcliff in the obscurity. The fingers move outward until it reaches for the gunner, coaxing.
"Go on," Hong Lu laughs softly. "Have fun."
Heathcliff touches the stranger's index finger. It winces and retreats, but a similar presence emerges in its place: a slightly different texture, but much warmer. A cock.
Huffing, the stranger slides his hips forward, positioning his member firmly through the gap and onto the palms of his hands. Heathcliff traces a finger over the stiff flesh and gently strokes its entirety. There's a moment's pause before the cock's head leaks into the center of his palm. It grows sticky beneath his fingertips. He squeezes around its girth to watch it pulse further into his grasp.
From Hong Lu's angle, he has a perfect view of Heathcliff as he plays with the stranger. The corners of his lips lift, leisurely stroking it. His tongue pops out, and much like his boss, he brings his patron into his mouth—only this time, he has no problem taking the shaft to the end with no delay at all. A muffled groan escapes, growing increasingly ragged with Heathcliff's deepening vigor.
A gag escapes him now and then, and though he isn't the biggest Heathcliff's seen, their enthusiasm has them hitting the back of his throat a manifold of times. He responds by retaliating, driving his cock further until his nose hits the cold plaster. It's difficult to accommodate their full length, but after, he matches the stranger's pace and gives into the push and pull without fail, allowing them to have the run of his mouth and throat.
"Very impressive," Hong Lu whistles in quiet admiration. "You're quite a natural. I see you've already honed the skill for when we get to using them properly on greener pastures."
Heathcliff shoots a sharp look. The boss doesn't hide his amused laughter from his colleague.
"...I-I'm almost at my limit—!"
Heathcliff opens his eyes once the customer announces their presence in a choked gasp. The cock jerks violently, pressing it roughly up into its base. Inside his throat, Heathcliff feels a hot torrent flowing. He tries swallowing with grace but can hardly fight the coughing that ensues once they've left their dick on the corner of his lip.
The Ahn amount comes in full, fluttering to the ground like snowflakes, scattered under their feet. The man skitters from sight onto the misty sidewalk, out of the moonlight.
"Nice, Heathcliff. You're an A-list talent with your mouth in play."
"S-Shut your gob! It wasn't me who cooked up this little scheme first, was it?" Heathcliff protests weakly, trying to push Hong Lu's glee aside.
"Hehe. Well," he counts the pile with a broad smile, "if our two sessions can go this smoothly, it'll make for a smooth sail on our office finances. We only need two sessions to pay for this month's costs if we keep at the rate we are. We may even get extra with a two-for-one deal, given your aptitude."
"One more for tonight? Sure," Heathcliff suggests. The heat on the edge of his throat hasn't diminished yet; neither has the arousal under his trousers. Hong Lu had long picked up on his coworker's unassuaged needs.
"Yes," he confirms.
Hong Lu stands, grabs the sign, and wipes the cost of clean off. He writes, '732,000 Ahn two-for-one offer.'
"Fair dos... I reckoned that the last price was takin' the piss, but I never had 'em for..."
After minutes of dead silence, there's another round of shuffling heard in the shadows of a desolate corridor.
"Seriously?!"
"Seriously," Hong Lu giggles. "The prospect's tempting for anyone. Scarce city residents are willing to dual-wield the same firearm."
Likewise, the next comes forth, already poised at the opening. A handful of Ahn quickly enters, followed by a considerable-sized girth, immediately pushed deep into his hands with eager haste. They tremble upon meeting Hong Lu's fingers, immediately hunching over once the friction ensues.
"Come here." Hong Lu looks at Heathcliff and shifts to the side, with Heathcliff occupying the opposite. "Greet him the same way."
They get a good look at it. Heathcliff reaches out to touch it, running his thumbs in tandem with his boss' across its girth. A moan from the opposite side rewards the simultaneous stroking.
Hong Lu brings out his tongue ahead of time, lapping at the sides. A wet trail left in its path leads to his hands—Hong Lu reaches and prods the tip in Heathcliff's palms. The stranger presses eagerly onto the warmth, breathing raggedly. It's difficult to hear if their customer spoke due to how loudly the individual pants.
"Come. Let's lick him," Hong Lu prompts. Heathcliff nods wordlessly, eyeing his boss with rapt fascination.
On both sides of his cock, the duo press into a wet lick. Hong Lu teases around his client's tip. Heathcliff has already made use of the additional space by running up the base of his dick. They meet halfway at the middle, pressing with twin warmth, letting it brush under the bridge of their joined tongues.
"Mm," Heathcliff hums. It's difficult to describe in great detail; despite their identical techniques, their customers respond wildly differently depending on who's pleasing them and with what method. One advantage of having them parallel is getting an acute view of their peculiarities.
Glorified kissing, essentially. Hong Lu and Heathcliff meet tongues more than once, with the shared spit serving them as a guide to kiss across. And while on most occasions Heathcliff is quick to withdraw from contact, he stays fastened to Hong Lu's tongue and lips—no complaints mutter from either, much less an attempt to separate.
Eventually, they detach, strings of saliva and the warm taste lingering. They spend their next actions alternating from licking the underside to lapping across; eventually their pace meets at its tip.
"Close. Close," a ragged cry fills the corridor. Heathcliff and Hong Lu draw back, tongues poking out of their mouths expectantly for the full torrent of fluid, faces raised upwards. In unison, the stranger ejaculates a line on Hong Lu's lips first—and the stream ends a moment later, coming to rest on Heathcliff's nose and sputtering off on his face and sliding south the corner of their chin. Heathcliff shoots Hong Lu an irritated glare in the direction his client's aim took.
"Amazing. I'll definitely return..."
Hong Lu catches a sight of the individual fleeing. Probably some K Corp. feather looking to slack on his duties by fucking off to somewhere else. Not that he has a place to criticize a bird in his nest for slacking off, with him in favor of supporting a growing business.
"That's enough for today. I'm peckish," he muses aloud, wiping his lips. "We should get that off your face too."
"Bleedin' obvious, innit? How much dosh we got in the pot?"
Hong Lu grabs the stack. "About... 1,464,000 Ahn, give or take. Definitely overshot our expectations today."
Shit. The amount they've gotten on a single outing will cover the ammunition expenditure this month. Heathcliff reels, blinking wide. "Damn," he mutters. "They're making me reconsider my employment options."
"Better to put our bodies to use in a way we're getting a reward out of. Now come, I've got to clean your face..."
With a sly wink, he skips a couple of paces in front, drawing Heathcliff out of the shadows after him through a sea of streetlights.