Christmas Bonus

Christmas Bonus

Jean sat in a corner of the empty bar, a cloud of smoke hovering over his table from the half pack of cigarettes he'd already consumed. He pushed a strand of his black hair out of his eyes, staring down at his near empty drink. It was bitterly cold out, not a good night to be on the streets, but Jean had no where else to go. His last customer had stiffed him, in more ways than one, before stealing his coat, shoving him back out into the cold night air, and speeding away. All he had left was the ten dollars he'd hidden in his boot, the rest of his possessions still being held hostage at Mona's place until he came up with his half of last month's rent. But of course she wouldn't let him sleep there tonight. So much for Christmas spirit.

"Got a light?"

He looked up into the blue-green eyes of a lad not much older than himself holding an unlit cigarette between two black enamelled fingers. Jean struck a match and held it up to him, watching the flame illuminate his sullen features in the dim light of the bar. The kid plopped down into the seat next to him, slowly pulling on his cigarette. "Isn't Christmas Eve supposed to be spent with family?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Jean said with a sly smile.

Curt laughed quietly, "Yeah, well, families are over rated if you ask me. You sound pretty far from yours though. What are you, English?" He looked over at Jean, studying his face, before slipping the cigarette between his lips and extending his hand, "I'm Curt Wild."

"Jean Genie," he says, shaking Curt's hand lightly. "I hail from London, where I was born, raised, and eventually escaped. So what brings you here tonight, Mr. Wild?"

Curt shrugs, staring down at the table. "Nothing really, didn't feel like sitting at home. I, um, I've seen you around. In bars and stuff. Someone told me you um, grant wishes?" he raised his eyebrow up at Jean, not quite sure if the information he'd gotten about the man had been true. Jean just smiled and slowly nodded.

"Yes, the Genie grants wishes if you know how to rub his lamp."

Curt reached into his pocket and pulled out a hundred dollar bill, "Would this work?"

Grabbing the money with a smile, Jean stubbed out his last cigerette in the ashtray, "Where to?"

They stood and headed out of the bar. Jean wrapped his arms around himself tightly, having nothing but a pair of velvet bell bottoms and a thin silk shirt to protect him from the cold. By the time they got to Curt's apartment he was shaking all over and his already pale skin had taken on a blueish tint.

The apartment was only slightly warmer than the air outside. "The heat's broken," Curt says to the shivering man, more as a statement then an apology. He stared at the floor, picking at his chipped nail polish. "So... I've never done anything like this before. I just, ya'know, didn't feel like being alone tonight," he says quietly, the words trailing off at the end.

Jean walked the short distance between them and trailed a cold hand down Curt's chest. "Just tell me what your Christmas wish is Mr. Wild and I'll do my best to grant it," he said in a shakey voice, is lips still quivering from the cold.

"I can do whatever I want?"

"As much a hundred can buy."

Something flashed in Curt's eyes. A wildness, a surge of authority perhaps. He stood there a moment longer picking at his nails, his mind obviously searching through a hundred fantasies, trying to decide on one. "Strip."

Curt pulled away, and Jean undressed quickly, laying his cloths on a near by chair. He stood up straight, ignoring his body's protest as the cold air hit his bare skin. He watched as Curt walked around the studio apartment, rummaging through drawers, searching for God knows what. He looked up at Jean, letting his eyes roam over his body a few moments and then jerked his head toward the bed, "Go lay down."

Jean did so, letting out a soft sigh as he slipped underneath the heavy comforter. He heard the sound of metal rattling behind him and rolled his eyes. Great, another freak.

The sheets rustled and he felt Curt, now naked, slide in behind him. His hands were quickly grabbed and pulled to the headboard, secured with a length of chain and leaving Jean face down in the pillows. A sharp pain flashed through him as Curt, without warning, shoved himself inside.

Teeth and nails bit at his flesh, interrupted from time to time by soft kisses and soothing words, almost like Curt couldn't make up his mind if he wanted to use him or please him; clearly a confused youth on a power trip. Jean just bit down on the pillow, saying the right things when prompted and remaining quiet the rest of the time, thankful that his position meant he didn't have to paint any emotion on his face. The pounding went on for what seemed like hours for Jean as he passivley waited for it to end. Not soon enough, Curt let out a low growl and exploded inside of him, making Jean flinch as it flooded his abused passage.

After some time Curt unlocked Jean and helped untangle the chains from him. Flicking a lock of hair out of his deep green eyes, Jean started to stand from the bed, only to be pulled back down. "No," Curt said. "Not yet. You're staying."

Jean just shook his head and tried to loosen the fingers around his bicep. "That's it kid, show's over, Merry Christmas."

Curt held on to him tighter, looking up into his eyes, trying to keep his own hard and mysterious but Jean could tell they were almost pleading, showing some inner fear or perhaps desire. "It's Christmas, why should we both be alone, right?" He reached a hand to stroke Jean's face, "You're so damn beautiful. Stay with me."

Jean stood again, walking a little funny, and started pulling on his cloths. Curt's hand snaked around him again, "Look, I don't have any more money. Just stay here, spend the night at least." He laid back and grabbed onto the headboard, "I'll let you fuck me."

Smiling, Jean grabbed the chain and wrapped it securely around his wrists, locking them into place. A smug, but somewhat satisfied grin crossed Curt's face. Jean pulled the blankets up tightly around him and softly kissed his forehead. "Sorry boy, a hundred dollars buys alot, but it can't buy my love." He slid into Curt's worn leather jacket, found a pack of cigarettes in the pocket and lit one up. "Don't worry about the tip," he said and, ignoring Curt's protests, walked out the door, leaving a soft line of smoke lingering in the air where he had stood.