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fellowshippers2005-02-17 12:01 am
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The Sharks story… The ramblings of a loan shark (NC17 Shark/Charlie)
Author: Pippin’s Penny
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Charlie & the shark
Disclaimer: I don’t know them, ummmm, they are not even real people.
Summary: The shark has his own thoughts on their little affair…
Angst, implied character death, sex
A/N This is a follow up to The Loan, this is the sharks POV.
You might want to read The Loan first if you haven’t yet
Yeah, I remember when I first laid eyes on Charlie Pace… he was attractive and sexy even, in a rough around the edges cheeky sort of way. I had never been attracted to lads before, but I felt such a strong pull towards him. I knew he was going to be trouble. I was right. I figured that Charlie was gay or at least bisexual, and I might be able to use that against him in my favor, another slimy trait my father taught me, again, I was right.
When my Da told me that Charlie’s payment was coming up and I should go pay him a nice ‘reminder’ visit, I was… excited. My father would not be as impressed with Charlie’s quirky charms as I was. You first need to have a soul to appreciate charm. No, Charlie would have been beaten senseless or worse.
He was a bit surprised at our visit. When he told me about his “gig”, I went to check it out, purely for ‘business’ sake I told myself. I made sure to stand in the back where he couldn’t see me. When I saw him on stage, he took my breath away. He had all this eye makeup on, like a lass, but his moves… fuck, he moved like a man. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. That is when I began to experience strange unorthodox thoughts about him. Or should I say my body experienced it. In my line of work, I deal mainly with men. I hadn’t met anyone quite like him before, and I certainly never had ‘those’ kind of thoughts for another man before Charlie.
I was at first highly disturbed and even angry at Charlie for it. What would my old man say? He’d fffuckin’ beat the livin’ shite out of me, that’s what he’d say.
Yeah, I sometimes stutter, have ever since I was a lad. It gave my father yet another reason to torment me and it got worse when I was nervous. He had teased me my whole life by calling me a ponce because I‘m not as tall, smart, or tough as he is. I unfortunately inherited my mother’s diminutive height and her soul, although he could not destroy and change my height, my soul was another story. My only other sibling, an older sister, was virtually ignored by him, he had no use for her, lucky lass. I was forced to follow him around to learn the family business.
I always wondered, if mum had lived, would things have been different? Would she have protected us from that son-of-a-bitch? Would she have read us bedtime stories, taken us to the zoo and treated us to ice cream? Let us act like children instead of forcing us to behave like perfect wee adults.
Before Charlie, I knew my life well. After 30-some years, I was even pretty settled into it. I had stopped questioning it, stopped cursing my old man, even stopped hating myself and just existed each miserable day, I was like an urban ghost. People would not look at me and I did not look at them. No one needed me and I didn’t need anyone else. Charlie changed all of that.
I went to Charlie’s flat after that first gig. I had intended on collecting money or letting William and Dominic go at him for a bit. He of course did not have the money. I had no intention of asking for a hand job! He just looked so helpless and vulnerable. It is my nature to use people, to discover their soft spot and dig at it with an ice pick. But for some reason, I found myself so oddly attracted to him, even protective. I think I had already decided to pay Charlie’s loan at that point.
The image of Charlie on stage haunted me. I remembered how he looked on stage, how he moved. So, I sent the boys out, and I handled Charlie myself. I had to keep the tough façade, I needed Charlie to keep his distance, and I, mine. I was not very nice to him. I called him a whore and I talked my shite.
“Oh, sorry father, Charlie can’t pay you today; he needed to buy more make up and… tight jeans.” I taunted.
“Mr. Fucking Rock Star… poncing around in your eyeliner and nail varnish like a French whore, do you think you deserve special treatment? You think that because you shake that little arse of yours everyone will fall all over you? Do you think that will work on me as well?” I hissed at him.
I looked him over like a piece of meat, I stared at his arse, I intimidated and belittled him. I began to hate myself again. I told myself that I was doing it for him, to protect him. But I was really doing it to be near him, I needed to have him in some small way.
He quickly agreed to my offer, smart lad, smart fucking sexy lad.
His long fingers, damn, he was perfect! And fuck if I did not get the best fucking hand job. So close, so close… fffuck, so close. When he looked at me with those eyes, his lips, I could not help myself, I leaned in and let my lips touch his, and he allowed me. And I came, fuck, I came so hard. That lovely lad even continued to rub me after I came. What the fuck do I do now?
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