DEADLY PAINTING

by Blue

Chapter rating: T (language)

Warning: This story contains depictions of elicit sex for money. Most of the sex in this story will be homosexual. M/M, SLASH, YAOI, you get the idea. If you are against gayness, then scroll down and traumatize yourself! YA HOMOPHOBE!! -gets ax-

It wasn't my fault, ok? I didn't plan on missing the deadlines! I tried my hardest! I really did! But Miss Bitch just sits there, looking at me smugly, like a wolf looks at a dying deer. I was an easy target to vent her bottomless pit of malevolence on.

There were three things to know when dealing with Ms. Jeckill (A.K.A., Miss Bitch). First, she was probably one of the toughest bosses I have ever had to deal with in my entire life! She was, honest to god, a slave driver. She saw the cute little new artists with all their creativity and work ethic and dreams and hopes and you know what she did? She stepped them with her three-inch stilettos and watched all the happiness drain from them and then she threw them in a trash can, burned their little bodies and roasted marshmallows over their torched flesh!

The second thing to know about Ms. Jekill (total bitch, just in case I forgot to mention) is that she has this obsession with deadlines. I swear that she has a dartboard hidden in that dumbass pink closet covered in flower stickers and whenever she needs to assign someone a deadline, she throws a dart at a number and then subtracts three days from that number! Oh, and if she happens to hit a number with a value of three or lower, then she leaves it alone, because fate was already a bitch to the poor saps and she couldn't really make it worse without getting caught. And if you don't meet that deadline... let's just say you're so fucked it's not even funny.

The third thing? There are only two reasons why you got sent to her disgustingly, misleadingly, cheerful office: promotion or termination. And I don't mean super buff Arnold Schwarzenegger termination. It's much worse than that. The termination of your job!

...Can you hear the terrified shriek in the background? I sure as hell can, because I'm the one screaming! In my own mind, at least. Outside I'm as calm and composed as I possibly could be in this sort of situation.

I look her straight in the eye, forcing myself not to pee or whimper from her striking gaze. She meant business, and we both knew it.

I shift uncomfortably, wishing I had a notepad or something to doodle on. I'm the sort of person who likes to keep his hands moving, otherwise I go freaking nuts! All she does is clear her throat with this dainty little 'mm mm!' and crosses her arms in front of her.

From the very beginning, I knew she hated me. It's because I challenged her, I know. When she gave me my first deadline of completing a painting piece in a three day, I went nuts! Who was she kidding? There was no way she could do that, so why does she expect us? It takes me at least a week to complete a piece that big!

"Mr. Quellia, I hope you're comfortable?" she asked, or assumed. I can't really tell with her because she's a bitch and they tend to have hidden meanings in everything they say.

"Yeah..." I nod, looking her like she's a complete imbecile. Who asks that? Obviously I'm not comfortable, because I'm sitting in a really stiff chair and I can't slouch or anything and she's staring at me like I have a post-it note on my forehead that says 'I just blew up China! Teehee!'.

But nobody would actually say 'Actually, this chair sucks and the light about my head makes me feel like I'm about to get cancer because it's so damn bright and really I just want to lay on that nice comfy couch behind you and watch TV while sipping grape juice and ignoring you. So, no. I'm not comfortable you bitch! Fix it! Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiii–'

"That's wonderful Mr. Quellia! But to get back on the subject, I'd like to inform you of some 'problems' we've been having with you lately, ok?" she asks, giggling a little.

Ok, you crazy bitch from hell! Let me smile just as sweetly as you just did while wringing your neck! "Problems? What sort of problems, Ms. Jeckill," I ask back, exaggerating her title because she was acting really formal and it was a little annoying.

"Well, Mr. Quellia. You haven't been quite as on-time as we want you to be."

"Yeah? So?" I fold my arms in front of me, ready to hear whatever bullshit she has for me.

She pauses, smiling sweetly as though to tell me 'If you interrupt me again, I'll lunge at you and slit your throat with my perfectly manicured nails.', but then speaks again, "Well, it makes us question the fact that you're ready for a full-time floor position. An alternative would be a part-time assistant position. There are many who would be very glad to get a little help! I actually think I know just the person who needs you!"

"What?" I yell getting up. She fakes looking startled but in her eyes I can see that she think this is the funniest thing ever! I'm so making her day right now.

"Mr. Quellia! Sit down or I'll call security!" she shrieks. I sit down, because there's something so intimidating about the fact that she's about to strip me of all my pride and make me an assistant! There are no assistants in the studio! Not one! I'll be the only one taking orders, and that's gonna suck so bad! Especially since I'll be working part-time.

"What if I really don't want to take the part-time job?"

She laughs, "Then we'll fire you, of course! This is a blessing, Mr. Quellia. Demise Art Studio is showing you mercy by offering this position because we love your work! Even if it takes you excessive quantities of time to complete it..." she trails of, smiling.

"So what about my pay?" That's the first thing that comes to mind.

"It will diminish, of course. You will be paid half the wages you were being paid earlier and, as of now, you will only be working four hours a day instead of eight. You will come in from eight o' clock and leave at noon. You will be on time or you will find the studio's benevolence diminishes very rapidly.

I stare, wide-eyed. 'Oh my God! She's Satan! She's gonna melt my face with her eyes! She's go–' "Yes, Ms. Jeckill. I'll see you tomorrow and do my best to please you." My voice lacks any emotion whatsoever, and I can feel my eyes glaze over with self-pity.

"That's the spirit!" she cheers, but it's fake-sounding. But then she smiles her cold bitch smile again. "Goodbye, Mr. Quellia. You can go clean out your workstation. You won't be needing it for a while."

I slowly rise, trembling.

I wasn't good with situations where I had no idea what to do, because usually I panicked and cried a lot until someone else found a solution for me. This was the joy of living life on your own; you had to do everything yourself. And lazy people like me didn't do very good jobs when there was no one to help them...

"What's wrong Raen? Did someone step on your cat?" Gin asks just as I closed the door. He was walking past with a tub of various paintbrushes and tubes full of, what I assume to be, paint. He's smirking, but behind his eyes, I'm pretty sure I see pity and curiosity.

"Somebody ran over my cat with a steamroller and covered it with tar. Thanks for asking!" I fake being cheerful, but my voice has so much sarcasm that it probably would've made anyone's hair stand on end.

"Jeez! Just asking! You don't need to be such a pissy bitch about it. So did you get laid off?"

I blush scarlet, wondering if it was polite to ask somebody that question. I conclude that it is not polite and continue to walk, having no idea where I would go but I feel the need to maintain my dignity.

"Hey! You really are a pissy bitch!" he calls, but I ignore him. But he quickly catches up to me in a few seconds, the contents of his tub making loud noises as they jostle each other. "I'll take your lack of response as a yes. So we're never gonna see you again?" He looks a little worried. We had spent a few boring afternoons chatting while we tried our hardest to get as much work done as possible so we wouldn't need to stay up 'til one o' clock in the morning finishing our projects, and I know he doesn't have the 'people skills' necessary for making that many friends.

"No, I didn't get laid off. She's offering me an job as an assistant for someone for an indefinite amount of time," I reply, feeling less angry because he had shown genuine sympathy and worry for me. At least, I think he did. He could just be constipated...

"What the fuck? That's almost worse than being fired!"

I nod, "Tell me about it..."

There was a pause, "So, who are you going to assist? Is she going to do a raffle or a drawing? Maybe she'll have this giant stage and auction you off to the highest bidder while slowly removing your clothing to tempt them!"

"Somehow, that actually seems like something she would do."

"Yeah, she's such a nazi, it's pathetic. But don't worry Raen, I'll totally buy you if that happens and I promise to only force you to have sex with me only some of the time, ok?" he explains, chuckling at the end and winking. I turn to him, aghast.

"What the fuck?" I exclaim, my mouth open and I assume I looked just as horrified as I feel.

He laughs, "I'm just kidding! God! You don't have to ask so disgusted! You just bruised my ego!" he chides, pouting slightly. We arrive at the workstations now. Mine is right next to his, which is why he had followed me all this way.

I look at him for a flash of a second. I wouldn't have said he was ugly. He was actually attractive in a non-classic sort of way. But the idea of sex wasn't very appealing to me.

"Goodness, Raen! You act like a virgin sometimes!" Gin points out. I blush, but make sure I mumble a 'sorry' so he won't get suspicious.

Truth be told, he's right. But I'm not about to let anyone know that. It's not like it's any of their business and it's not because no one wanted me or anything. I just don't want to have anything to do with sex! That's all...

He throws his things on the table, listening with satisfaction to the very loud slam it makes, and flips off the other people who had the 'nerve' to look up and tell him to keep it down.

"So, do you need any help cleaning out your 'workstation'?" he asks. We always mock the way the Bitch calls our tables 'work stations'. It was basically a table with a chair. And she keeps all the art supplies in a separate room. All I really need to do is grab my scrapbook and a few pencils that I brought from home and my table was 'cleaned out'.

"What happened, Raen? Are you finally ditching this dump?" Aggy, my other neighbor, asks nonchalantly as she set a pot of roses very gently on her table, much to irritation of Gin. I could see his eyebrow twitch, he loved throwing things on tables and couldn't stand when someone did it slowly.

"No, he's getting demoted and gets to be someone's bitch!" Gin explains with excitement. "The bitch is gonna auction him off and I already decided I'm gonna bid!"

I elbowed him in the stomach, and turned to her, "I'm not getting auctioned off... I think. But I am getting demoted," I corrected while Gin wheezes

She smirks, "Well, I wonder who gets to have an assistant! That's certainly new! I'll miss you, though. Now there will be no one to block Gin's ugly face from my view," she sighs.

"Hey!" Gin cries obstinately, "In the words of Mr. Shakespeare: I'm a pretty piece of flesh, bitch!"

"Maybe for a carnivorous animal, dick!" she retorts, sticking her tongue out. I take this opportunity to grab my stuff and slip off, figuring this was just gonna get worse and I really don't like conflict. Much to the surprise of many people, I'm not a violent person unless I'm aggravated.

"See ya," I mumble, but they don't hear me and simply kept insulting each other. A few people say goodbye to me and wish me luck as I leave, but I only blush and mumble my thanks to them. When I leave the building, it feels great for that warm air to just whack me in the face and relieve me of all my problems.

I walk down the crowded street without a care in the world. It's a warm and breezy day, and I'm thankful that I'm wearing a t-shirt - even though it was black. For a few minutes, I'm really able to relax and enjoy the fact that I'm alive and walking through a street crowded with people and they all have problems just like I do and that everything's gonna be ok... until I see a bum on the street begging for money and then everything hits me. I have no money.

Like, none. Seriously, I'm so screwed it's really sad. And if I don't find a solution fast, I'm going to be evicted from my apartment and be forced to beg my friends to let me stay with them. I think long and hard.

Do I even have any friends? There's always Gin, but I'm a little afraid that he might take advantage of me in my sleep. And Aggy's already living with a roommate, who I suspect might be her girlfriend. She gave off a 'vibe' that I noticed the second I saw her.

"Could you spare a quarter?" the bum asks me as I distractedly drift by.

Even though I know I'm officially on a really tight budget, he looks really sincere so I throw a quarter in his hat. "Here you go."

"Thanks!" he grins. He's wearing a smudged up baseball cap and torn jeans with a wife beater and a threadbare green jacket on top. I know I must look dazed but I smile as best as I can and continue to walk forward. I'm already barely surviving as it was. How am I even going to buy groceries if my paycheck is going to be cut in half this time? Maybe I should try getting another job... But then I laugh at myself, scaring a few people walking buy who then shield their children from my insanity.

I had no qualifications and Hune city has the most crowded job market I've ever seen. I literally had to get hit by a car so the person who interviewed me felt sorry and did her best to get me a job. Luckily my bones and budget healed quickly, but it was still difficult. Hune's a difficult place to live in, but I really didn't have the money to move.

As I walk, completely zoning out, I see a flash of red hair. Then, sudenly, a card slapps me right in the face.

"Fuck!" I shout, causing those who had covered their children to now pick them up and run away as fast as their legs can carry them. I tear the card from my face, realizing it's a business card with large black words on it and an address underneath it. I look around, trying to find the red hair that I had seen earlier.

To be honest, I'm pretty sure I'm being stalked, because over the past few weeks I had seen a women in red hair walk by and then disappear suddenly. With my eyes as wide as they could possibly be, I look back to the card.

"Need Cash? We'll Hook You Up!" the card reads in cheerful letters. I stare for a moment, before looking at the address.

It was on the next street, which I suppose explains why I got hit by a business card from the place. After considering a moment, I realize I have nothing better to do and start walking. It is, after all, really close. What could go wrong?

I stare, and it stares back. It's a very big house, and I'm a very small person. We have nothing in common, end of relationship. I walk up to the gates and press the buzzer. I can't believe there was a mansion district just behind the place where I work! It's surprising, and a little intimidating, but I quickly get over it.

"Hello? If you wish to become a client, please fill out a form and drop it in the box next to the buzzer," a bored voice explains.

"Um... ok? I saw a business card and... I actually have no idea why I'm even here. I'll just be going now. Sorry to waste your time." I turn around, feeling sufficiently embarrassed.

"Wait!" a new voice commands, this time it's high-pitched and obviously the voice of a woman. The last one was a woman also, but much more sulky, making it harder to tell. "What did you say your name was?" she asks, ignoring the other woman's struggle to get the microphone back.

"I didn't say my name. But it's Raen Quellia..." I drift off slowly as the gates start to open.

"Get your ass in here!" she yells and the intercom clicks off. I shrug, figuring they must be really desperate or something. It's not like many people wouldn't feel intimidated by a huge mansion when they were obviously looking for work. Maybe they were going to ask me to be part of their cleaning staff or something? I didn't like cleaning that much...

I stumbled up to the door in more of a daze than I was before. The door swung open to reveal a woman with intense red hair.

"Oh my God! You're the girl who's been stalking me lately, aren't you?" I ask suddenly. It wasn't that I was horribly freaked out. I'd been stalked by random people before - especially in high school - but I figured I'd like to at least know who's stalking me so I can make a judgement of whether or not I should carry mace with me at all times.

She scowls, but quickly recovers and smirks, "I have no idea what you're talking about, but please come in," she offers graciously, but I can see that she is hoping I don't run away.

"Ok!" I reply cheerfully. It wasn't like she was going to rape me or anything and she was pretty short... ok, I was really short too but I was a little bit taller than her so I felt pretty good about my odds.

I follow her inside to discover a waiting room. I'm not surprised rich bastards always seem to have a waiting room so they can run around making sure everything in their house is perfect to impress their guests. And I'm not surprised that there's really nice chairs and lamps and a plasma tv. But I am surprised that there's also a fountain and a desk near the giant doors that, I assume, must lead to the rest of the house. The whole room is arranged like a giant hallway and the desk is empty so I guess the Red-Headed Stalker Chick must have to answer the door along with acting like a smug secretary.

She sits down, sighing and clicking the keyboard with skill. I decide to sit in one of the chairs and discover that it's actually soft along with being really pretty!

"Where's the freaky girls who answered the intercom? Are they getting their ritual ready so they can sacrifice me or something?"

She snickers as she types, "They only sacrifice virgins to their pagan god of freakiness."

I shift uncomfortably in my chair, coughing and laughing a little. "Oh yeah, haha! I guess I don't... qualify..." I offer, hoping she isn't even paying attention to my stupidity, but on cue she looks up, her mouth in a silent 'o'.

"Are you still a fucking virgin?" she asks, her face going red. I stare at her. She doesn't need to make such a big deal out of it. It's not like being a virgin makes it impossible for you to get a job or anything... right?

"Um, maybe..." I shift uncomfortably. But she just keeps looking at me. But then she just keeps typing and finally picks up her phone and mumbles into it. I can't hear what she says, but I can make out 'he's here' and 'virgin' and then squawking erupts from the other end. I can't really hear what the person is saying because it's obviously a woman with a smoker voice who croaks whenever she screams and it doesn't help that it's on a telephone five feet away from me, but I know they must be talking about me, and it's starting to freak me out.

Why do I feel like these people were expecting me? Why do I feel like they know more about me than I think? And why are they panicking about me being a virgin?

She hangs up the phone, "Um, the woman in charge kind of wants to see you. You're going to need to go to her office. I'll take you there, ok?" She gets up, but I don't.

"I think I want to leave!" I get up and start running.

"Wait!" the Red-Headed Stalker Chick calls after me but I'm just focusing on the door. They're going to sacrifice my virgin body to their god! They're going to rape me and video tape it and post it all over the internet and then I'll never be able to take it down fully and they'll blackmail me into being they're love slave and every morning they'll make me–

"Stop right there, bitch!" a high-pitched shriek yelled at me. Suddenly I felt something snap around my leg and jerk back, causing me to go flying face-first into the hard linoleum. Quickly I recovered, even though my cheek had just been ground into the sleek shiny floor. I looked at my leg and it looked like she had used a whip or something but quickly she pulled it back to her and it made crackling noises but I didn't get a chance to figure out what it was, even though it was white. It looked almost like... paper.

"Um, Tiffy, I don't think that's going to make him want to stay here," Ms. Red-Headed Stalker Chick murmurs, but Tiffy - a tiny girl with spiky green hair who's glaring at me - points to the floor in front of her.

"Ok, Mr. Raenie-poo, unless you don't want to get your hiney kicked, you'd better crawl over here and lie down like a good boy so we can take you so see Madame F, 'kay?" she commands with a sulky/pissy voice and I soon find myself crawling like a freaking dog and then lay down in front of her.

"Good boy!" she bends over and pats me on the shoulder. I take it like a bitch because I'm terrified and for a little cute girl, she could probably kick my ass in two seconds flat. "Now get up and follow us!"

I quickly get up, praying she doesn't kick me or something. I had completely forgotten about my plan to leave, because now I was more interested in meeting this Madame F. They must've been really desperate for someone to literally drag me here.

We walk through about two hallways with a lot of doors. Doors that are shut and for all I know, there's a pill of skulls behind one of those doors.

Or maybe an enormous porn collection.

Or maybe a magical wizard who kidnaps kangaroos and impregnates them with his demon spawn?

But after a really long time we finally get to a door that I'm allowed to go through and slowly Tiffy opens it. "Madame Francinia?" she asks hesitantly. I try not to laugh. What kind of a name is Madame Francinia?

Very carefully I walk inside when Tiffy points at the door, "Go inside!" And find myself standing in a very large office with a desk right in front of the window at the end. And in the desk is an older woman who I guess must be Madame F. And she's a typical old rich woman. She obviously has botox and collagen injections very frequently because her skin is stretched tightly over her face and it looks rock hard. She also has bright red hair just like the Red-Headed Stalker Chick and it's put up in a chignon.

She looks at me with stern eyes and then looks at the other girls and they leave immediately.

"Sit down Mr. Quellia?" she asks. I feel like I did two hours ago when I lost my job, but I still sit down. "Would you like anything to drink?" Her voice is heavily accented. It sounds Russian, Maybe German? I never can tell, they both sound really husky.

"No," I answer blandly, looking over to the window. "I feel just a little assaulted, thank-you. One of your people tripped me and forced me to come here."

She reaches under her desk and pulls out a bottle of wine. "Are you sure? You look like you could use a drink." She smiles and beckons me with the bottle, but I shake my head. I'd rather not drink anything.

To be honest, I'm afraid there's going to be a date-drug inside that glass and they're going to sell me to some underprivileged family in South Asia so I can be they're slave and make their lives better by working my ass off.

...What? I'm a cautious dude! Sue me! I shake my head vigorously and fold my hands in my lap.

She nods and puts the bottle back after pouring herself a drink. "So, you need money? What exactly are you willing to do for that money, Mr. Quellia?" She leans forward in her chair, resting her chin on her elbows.

I think about it for a second.

I am pretty desperate, and I sort of need an apartment and I don't want to go back to my parents. I NEED THAT MONEY!

"That depends on how much you're going to pay me," I respond cooly.

"What if we let you live here and pay you four thousand a week?"

If I had accepted the drink, I'm sure I would be spraying it all over her face by now. She was going to give me that much and let me live in the giant awesome mansion?

"Are you being serious!?" I ask her, for once getting really riled up.

"Of course! You're perfect for the position we have in mind!" she exclaims behind her smile - or what would be a smile if her face wasn't so stiff. It's more of a sneer.

I freeze, I forgot about the catch. I actually have to work. Is it going to be intense slave labor?

Are they going to make me wax every floor in this house with a toothbrush?

"What exactly is the position?" I ask. I'm very suspicious. I'm always suspicious.

"Oh, you're going to be a whore! Duh!" she answers and chuckles like she just said something really clever.

Suddenly I feel just a a little nauseous...

A/N: Yeah, this chapter was orginally both one and two combined, but I figured that was too long and people wouldn't finish it so I cut it in half. The chapters will get gradually longer, I hope!

Please review! I beggeth you! I need love and money and food, but I ESPECIALLY need reviews! So please? I'll give you free head if you review, I pwamise!! -puppy dog eyes-

... Ok, maybe offering someone oral sex while trying to sound cute isn't the best idea. REVIEW! READ!

Oh, and also, this is going to get pervy. I do plan on sex, so DON'T worry! This won't be boring like Culture Shock was!