Warnings: prostitution of a minor (but still above the age of consent), strong language, some sexuality issues
Author's Notes: IDEK what this is. Just trying to get a feel for this sadly under-shipped ship, I guess. Actually, I really wanted to write stripper!Roy smut, but then worked out that the age differences before Ollie was marooned didn't work... And by the time I realized I could've just discreetly ignored that, this happened instead :s
Roy's had to do a lot of questionable things in his life, in order to get by. When he was a kid, he used to pick pockets, just to put food on the table. He was pretty damn good at it too. And he was pretty fast on his feet, so he never really worried about getting caught. It didn't hurt that he had the face of an angel in those days as well, all freckles and innocence. No one suspected him at first glance.
Of course, as he got older, and his features began to lose some of the softness of childhood, things got harder. Teenagers tend to have a shifty look about them anyway, prone to causing trouble at that age, so the shopkeepers kept a closer eye on them to begin with. Especially in The Glades. Not only were the kids in that area needier than most, but they were a lot shifter too, forced to grow up too fast and marked by the jaded edge in their eyes.
Unfortunately for Roy, that meant there were a few awkward years when he was too old to pass unnoticed as a shoplifter or pickpocket, but not yet big enough to start straight-out mugging people.
Some of his friends started doing odd jobs for the local crime-bosses, working as snitches or lookouts, or doing deliveries for drug-dealers… but there was no way Roy was going to get involved with that. He knew all too well where that was likely to end up, and he wanted nothing to do with it.
Stealing cars brought in some good cash every now and then, but it wasn't a regular income. Most people knew better than to leave their crap unprotected in The Glades.
So he tried to find other jobs, legit jobs even – washing dishes, delivering pizzas – but in the end, minimum wage really didn't cut it either. It wasn't long before he found himself leading men down dark alleyways, selling his "personal services" for money.
In the beginning, that awkward in-between phase his body was going through came in handy. At sixteen, he was still just soft enough to be "pretty," and most men were fine with just looking at him, watching him while he got off for twenty bucks a pop. But Roy knew that if he wanted to start making the big bucks, he was going to have to be more… hands on.
The night Roy gives his first blowjob… is the night he first meets Oliver Queen.
Of course, he doesn't know it's Oliver Queen at the time – wouldn't have even known who the hell Oliver Queen was at the time. All he knows is that some rich asshole has just thrown up all over him.
It happens like this – He's hanging out with a couple of other working boys, down the street from a couple of bars and a strip-joint, when Queen stumbles outside with one of his friends. Roy's just picking up his first john for the night, but he always keeps a wary eye on his surroundings, so he doesn't miss it when Queen's dark-haired friend stumbles over to one of the other boys on the corner.
"Tommy?" Queen exclaims, jaw hanging open as his friend heads towards a dark alley with the other boy.
"Why don't you head back to the club, Ollie? I'll come get you when I'm done. Fifteen – twenty minutes tops," Roy hears the guy slur in response, and the look of utter bewilderment on Ollie's face is priceless. Roy huffs chuckle as he negotiates a price with his own john.
Unfortunately, Queen is so wasted, he starts walking in the complete opposite direction of the club, and right towards Roy. It's like the guy doesn't even see them in his path. But Roy sees him coming, weaving a path of such drunken determination, all over the sidewalk, that Roy has no other choice but to catch him, when he lurches right into the middle of Roy's negotiations.
And that's when Queen hurls on him.
"Shit," the john backs away. "Maybe next time, kid," he says, walking off. Just like that.
"Great," Roy mutters, pulling off his worn and now-ruined hoodie and dumping it in a nearby trashbin. Not only has he lost the john, but he smells so strongly of spew, he probably won't be able to pick up anyone else tonight either.
"Oh my God, I'm so sorry!" Ollie slurs, finally clueing in to the situation.
Roy narrows his eyes at the guy. He's probably so drunk, Roy could easily get away with picking the guy's pocket. He probably won't even notice, let alone remember what Roy looks like, and it would go a long way to covering Roy's losses for the night, if the guy's as rich as Roy thinks.
But just as Roy finishes that thought, the guy pulls out his wallet anyway, shoving a bunch of twenties in Roy's direction.
"What the hell is this?" Roy huffs, completely baffled.
"Just take it, man. Buy a new jacket with it or something," the guy says, pushing the money at him again. Roy sees something like a hundred dollars there, maybe more. It's a whole lot of cash – way more than his hoodie cost – and Roy should just take it and go, but he finds himself bristling, backing away.
"I don't need your charity," Roy snaps. Sure, he was about to steal the guy's wallet, but Roy still considers that earning his pay, at least.
"Come on, man, don't be like that. I'm trying to make things right here," the guy says, and there's something genuine in the guy's eyes when he says it, something earnest, that just gets to Roy.
It doesn't hurt that the guy's kind of good-looking too. And the whole clean-cut blond-haired blue-eyed thing isn't even Roy's type. He likes 'em darker. Edgier.
"Okay, look, come with me," Roy mutters, grabbing the guy's hand and pulling him down the nearest alley.
"Wha..? Where are we going?" the guy half slurs, half laughs, stumbling along after him in the dark. Roy shoves him up against the wall and goes to his knees.
The first thing Roy thinks is that the guy smells like… money – clean, free of that layer of sweat that inevitably comes with the working-class types Roy's used to. And is that… cologne? Even though the puke smell hasn't really left his nostrils, and the alley doesn't smell so great either, Roy can still tell that the guy smells good.
"Oh… Oh wow…" the guy moans when Roy finally gets his lips on him.
Roy doesn't have a lot of experience when it comes to blow jobs, definitely not with giving them, but he tries to remember the kind of things he likes when he's on the receiving end, and puts that to use.
The first thing he tries is using his hand as well as his mouth. The guy's kind of big, and Roy can't fit him all the way in his mouth without gagging, so he closes his hand around what he can't suck down and pumps it in time with the bobbing of his lips.
"Oh yeah…" the guy hisses in approval, running his hand through Roy's hair, so Roy guesses he must be doing something right. Once he finally settles into some kind of rhythm, he even manages to add a little twist with his hand, swiping his tongue over the head whenever he gets to the end of the guy's cock.
The guy nearly falls over at that, and Roy has to stop to push him up against the wall again. He starts to wonder if he's really doing that good a job, or if the guy's just too wasted to tell the difference. Then again, Roy's surprised the guy can even get it up at all. Maybe upheaving the contents of his stomach helped with that a little.
In any case, it isn't long before the guy's hand is in Roy's hair again, and he's fucking Roy's mouth, babbling encouragement and other nonsense things. Roy thinks he even hears a name in there somewhere. Maybe two. But that's none of his business. His business is the messy end of a blowjob, and the hundred dollars he'll feel a lot less guilty about pocketing afterwards.
When the guy comes, Roy doesn't swallow, regardless of how clean the guy tastes. Roy's not an idiot. He knows he has to be as safe about this as possible. Hawking it out on the ground, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, making a mental note to carry a bottle of mouthwash around with him from now on.
"Wow," the guy breathes, sluggishly zipping up his fly. "I didn't expect that to be so…" he trails off, shaking his head with amazed disbelief.
"Yeah, it was good for me too," Roy deadpans, turning to leave.
"Hey, wait," the guy reaches out for his arm, stopping him. "I'm going on a yacht trip soon, but… maybe I'll see you when I get back?" he asks. Like he's asking some girl on a dinner-date or something. Huh. Maybe Roy really did do a good job.
"Whatever," Roy shrugs his arm free. "I'll be here." Always. He sure isn't going anywhere else.
But he isn't going to hold his breath either. The guy's so drunk, he probably won't even remember this in the morning.
It's a cold walk home through The Glades. Roy's going to have to get a new hoodie first thing tomorrow.
Maybe a red one.