Title: Ever the Masochist

Summary: Sequel to Rat Trap Hotel by Pancakerabbit06 ; Geoff and Alan comfort one another as they drift to sleep

Rating: R for language and sordid insinuation

Spoilers/Timeline: None

Characters: Geoff, Alan

Note: Part of the Trashy!Whore! AU & sequel (of sorts) to Rat Trap Hotel by Pancakerabbit06

Geoff lays in bed, listening to the shower run. It never seems to matter how late (or rather, how early) it is, Alan always insists on taking a shower before he goes to sleep.

In an odd way, it pleases Geoff. He loves it when Alan hasn't any of the grime of the streets on him... when the lusting handprints are rinsed off. Geoff only wishes the water was hotter.

The blond rolls over onto his side of the bed, pressing his nose into his pillow. The bed may not be very comfortable, but at least it was clean.

That was Alan's doing. By the looks of things the bathroom would be next. Geoff could almost see Alan's hands twitch whenever the scuzz gets mentioned. A clean shower would be a good thing, Geoff thinks, and suddenly smiles as he notices Alan crawling up the bed in a t-shirt and boxers.

Geoff lifts the blanket, inviting him in, and though the bed is just big enough for two to sleep comfortably, they curl up together in the middle, Geoff playing the part of the big spoon and hugging the redhead tightly from behind.

The blond presses his nose into the crook of Alan's neck, like he had done with his pillow, and, like the pillow, Alan is one of the few things in the shitbox they call theirs that's clean. Every night when Alan gets into bed he smells clean, which makes for a refreshing change.

Geoff wonders how Alan does it. A night of renting his body out in some pretty dingy corners of London, and yet... he always manages to clean up so well.

That's what kills Geoff. How well Alan cleans up.

How good he looks when he doesn't have bruises on his face. The bruises always bother Geoff. Alan does well in hiding them, but Geoff always manages to see them. On his face...like tonight... sometimes on his arms and legs, or long purple ones on his shoulders where someone held him down too hard. Geoff hates these marks... he has his own, but... his don't bother him the way Alan's do.

"Alan?" He asks, nuzzling the sweet-smelling red hair.

"Hmm?"

"The bloke who hit you... the batshit Bible-thumper... was it that greasy-looking bastard? With the dark hair?"

"Uh-huh." From the heaviness of Alan's voice, Geoff can tell he's falling asleep.

Geoff sighed. "The motherfucker"

"Fatherfucker if you want to be technical."

The dry humour in Alan's voice, something that Geoff doesn't often get to hear, makes the blond laugh. He grinningly kisses Alan's temple. "Oh, my darlin'."

Alan chuckles a little.

"Other than the fatherfucker, how'd the night go?" Geoff asks. How many? He always wants to know. Ever the masochist.

Alan shrugs a little. "Not too many. Only three."

"....how much?"

"Three hundred-twenty-five."

"Jesus. How'd that happen?"

"Last john gave me most of it. He liked my hair, I think."

Geoff smiles, running a fond hand through the still-damp copper peaks. "Can't blame him for that, love..." he teases, and his other hand slips over Alan's tummy, dipping dangerously low.

And then it's Alan's turn to smile... a pleased smile, but one that says plainly thank you-darling-but-too-knackered-for-fun... and one that Geoff finds so deviously attractive, he thinks Alan should have it patented. Alan squirms his hips away from Geoff's hand, with that sleepy smile, driving his body back against Geoff's (which Geoff finds rather evil, thank you very much).

"So he gave you all that quid..."

"He wanted me to go down on him. Then he took me back to his hotel and fucked me." Alan shrugged. "Nice hotel."

Geoff goes quiet for a minute. "Well, it's a nice fold of notes, love."

"It's not bad, that's for certain... not for three clients."

"No." Geoff agrees. He's just happy there were so few.

"How many for you?"

"Five." Geoff guesses. That's about right.

"... how many pills have you taken?"

"Not that many."

"Geoff."

"Really not a lot." He pauses, feeling guilty. "I'm thinking of quitting the Vicodin."

"Why's that?"

"Mess up my sex drive."

Alan opens his eyes and turns his head a little to look back at Geoff. "The pills are what messes up your sex drive?" He smiles, darkly, and then mutters, "Can't be that bad when you were just trying to feel me up at six in the morning..."

Geoff grins. "Well, the whoring doesn't help... does make me a bit jaded. But the pills only make it worse. You're lucky I was only just trying to feel you up. If I weren't on those pills, I'd have mauled you the second you climbed into bed." He brushes his hand through Alan's hair again. "You know I like you when you're wet."

"Pervert." Alan stretches out, pleasantly. "And what about the Valium?"

Geoff's smile fades. "...I need those... to keep the edge off..."

Alan only shakes his head.

The blond frowns. "I'm sorry," he says, not sure why he's saying it.

Alan shrugs. "It's alright... whatever you need to keep going, I guess."

At this point, Geoff can't help but notice the slur in Alan's voice. He nudges the redhead gently. "Go to sleep, sweetheart," he whispers. "It's been a long day." And he burrows his face back into Alan's hair, closing his eyes.

Like this, he can breathe Alan in, and savor the sweet, yielding warmth in his arms.

And as Alan finally drifts off to sleep... just as the sun is rising... Geoff finds himself feeling completely serene. And it's enough.