Work Text:
Of course Jere Pöyhönen liked Joker Out. Who didn’t? Sure, he’d take the job.
He wouldn’t go so far as to call himself a fan but the songs were catchy as hell and the band themselves were fun and creative and seemed like genuinely decent people. And they just happened to be very attractive.
He didn’t really have a favourite song or a favourite band member.
At least, he never used to. Before all this started.
Jere was a whore. An escort, a pleasureboy, whatever. That wasn’t all he was (Jere was a creative who just happened to be doing sex work until his real career took off) but the money was good and the hours fit well around his lifestyle. And, for the most part, the agency kept him safe.
By the end of that first night, Jere had come to know all of their names very well. The bassist, the one who had given such good hugs when Jere and his two female colleagues first came backstage, was Nace. The dark-haired guitarist with the smokey voice who was the first to offer them a drink was Jan. Jure was the sweet one, the drummer – he was the one who seemed genuinely interested in the locals’ stories. And the other guitarist (the one with the model’s jawline) was called Kris and mostly kept himself to himself until he had a few whiskys in him.
There was a fifth member, the frontman. That was Bojan.
Everyone was sweaty from the show and still riding the post-gig adrenaline high. Jere was used to going at his clients’ pace – some men were more forward than others – but the band were obviously as comfortable together as brothers (or maybe something more) and Jere had let Jan and Nace warm him almost immediately, all soft kisses and hushed words and gently exploring hands.
They were both so much taller than he was, but there wasn’t much that intimidated Jere these days. Physique, age, salary, fame… the job was the same. All he had to do was make people feel good, be discrete, and not get attached.
Jere never drank much on the job but accepted just enough on that first night with Joker Out to match their vibe and relax into it. These boys had a foreign style and strange language but sex was sex in any country. Jan and Nace continued to pass Jere between them while the girls were both entertaining Jure. The other two faded in and out of Jere’s attention at first, not seeming too interested in getting involved with the evening’s entertainment but being very comfortable with each other.
The frontman had his shirt open and the guitarist was letting whisky spill onto his chest, chasing it with his tongue. The liquor gathered in his belly button where Kris lapped at it greedily. Jere let himself stare, partially to learn about his clients’ tastes (the better he knew them, the better he could please them) and partially because… well, the sight was beautiful. The night was young and the obscenity was still minimal, just warming up. He was straddling Nace’s hips with Jan’s lips against his neck, but his attention was taken up entirely with that little trail of chest hair, that wet navel.
Only when Jere snapped back to reality did he realise that the frontman was staring back at him. The guitarist was looking up at his vocalist, waiting for a reaction he wouldn’t receive, because Bojan wasn’t paying attention to Kris’s tongue: he was only watching Jere, pink lips slightly parted, eyes deep enough that someone might fall into them if they weren’t careful.
Now, it was Jere’s turn to put on a show. It was only a job but he liked to perform, to be watched and appreciated and play up this sexually magnetic energy that existed within him when he worked.
Jan helped him out of the rest of his clothes and he let Nace finger his ass and taste whatever he wanted to taste. He gave them his heat and his noise and his skin and his mouth and his hunger. Jan and Nace ultimately finished on each other but they were generous and Jere let them get him off by hand, musician’s callouses around his dick and soft southern lips on his chest.
And all the while he had been building, about to let himself go, the frontman had been watching him; gritting his teeth, staggering his breath, his cock in his guitarist’s mouth, watching Jere.
Jere had found his release staring into those deep eyes on the other side of the room, at the same time as Bojan had filled Kris’s mouth.
“What’s your name?” Bojan had asked just as he and the girls were getting dressed ready to leave. It was the closest Bojan had come to him all night. He was better looking up close and with his clothes back on; there was a hesitance about him now which Jere found endearing.
He must have put on a decent show tonight; they were going to ask for him again. “Käärijä,” he had told him.
But Bojan had rolled his eyes. “I mean your real name.”
No. The rules were in place for a reason: being Käärijä at work and Jere in private was how he stayed safe, how he stopped anyone getting attached. Jere knew better than to take any risks.
He gave Bojan the gentlest smile he could manage. “Voi kultaseni, you have not earned my real name.”
Jere had been right: Joker Out had asked for him again. And not just in his home city; Jere and two girls (though not always the same ones) met up with the band regularly on their tour, travel expenses covered. Sometimes in the back of a venue, sometimes on the tour bus. It was a perk of the job: exploring new cities and using a clients money to buy himself nice clothes and get his nails done. Once the agency were happy that these clients were safe, Jere gave the band his work number directly. All it took was a text and Jere would be there.
And not only had Jere learned their names, he grew to learn their tastes as well.
Nace liked to share Jan’s cock between Jere’s mouth and his own and to be on Jan’s face while someone else was pleasuring him. Jan liked pain. Jure was all about skin touches and stuck mostly with the girls but wasn’t averse to sharing them. Sometimes it was competitive, Jere and Jure racing to see who could get their girl off with their mouth quickest. Of course, the girls were actresses, but everyone still had fun.
Unexpectedly, it was Kris who was the first to fuck him in the ass. It was on their second night together, everyone warm and nude after playtime in the sauna, and any inhibitions that had existed on the first night were long gone.
Bojan had been watching closely the entire time, but it was Jan who was kissing him, muttering encouraging praise to him in his southern accent the whole time Kris was inside him from behind. He thought at the time that he could get used to that; being sandwiched between the two guitarists. It was easy to get lost between them, the air so hot and his body so full, their words ("show me what Finnish whores can do", "you want me to make him cum while you're inside him?", "he is pretty - I want to break him") seeming like they came from far away.
But he knew better than to enjoy it too much. Even his regulars never stuck around forever. Sooner or later, even his favourites would get caught or move away or marry. Usually, he never even found out what the reason was. They just... stopped.
At least with the band, everyone was on the same page: this was just for the tour. And in the short time they had together, the arrangement was never quite the same.
One night, when Kris finished inside him, another of the boys would be ready to tag in and fuck him themselves. One night, Jere would be on his knees and swapping his mouth between them as they stood around him. One night, he and the girls would be lined up side by side ready to be used, stealing kisses between giggles.
And Bojan… well, Bojan still hadn’t touched him. Maybe he didn’t like Jere, didn’t find him attractive, and was simply outvoted when it came to booking entertainment. Or maybe he had… problems. It wasn’t Jere’s place to question it. He shouldn’t even have been curious, this was just a job.
Until it wasn't.
It was when Bojan finally joined in, the first time he touched him. No, not much got to Jere any more. He had seen it all, done it all, feigned enjoyment and surprise for anyone who wanted to feel special for an evening. But, with Bojan...
It was the night that Jere and the girls had finally opted to attend the band’s gig as part of the audience. Jan and Nace had spotted him first but Bojan’s reaction was the strongest. For the rest of that song and throughout the show, Bojan seemed to be singing directly to him, dancing for him (flirting with him?).
“You came to a show!” He had exclaimed when they had met backstage, Jere as sweaty from dancing as the band were this time. The band's wild, clammy, post-gig euphoria was something that he had grown to love and now it was part of him as well.
“It only fair,” Jere shrugged. “You enjoy my performance, I enjoy yours.”
Something in Bojan’s expression darkened. “Is it always a performance?”
Oops. He wasn’t supposed to remind clients that this was work. They didn’t have a good time if they didn’t think he wanted to be there. But he had already put his foot in it now, and Bojan was a decent guy. He could be honest with him.
“It’s my job.”
Jere watched Bojan think about this for a moment. “Is it safe?”
“When I am with people like you.”
Behind them in the back of the venue, the crew had opened a bottle of whisky and were fighting over playlists.
“But not always?”
There was no point being dishonest. “No, not always.”
Jere’s usual playmates were exploring with the girls for a change: Nace doing one of them from behind while she ate out her colleague who was playing her tongue around Jan's cock piercing. Kris and Jure were just chatting, drinking, touching.
“Can we go to the bus?”
The words were quiet, spoken directly to his ear. Why was there something so exhilarating about this?
Yes.
A brief flash of cold Nordic night air on their skin, and suddenly there was just the enclosed darkness of the bus bunks. Comparative silence and a bed that smelled like him. Bojan's love was warm and strong and slow.
And he said things he probably didn’t mean.
One night, Jere hadn’t even realised they had another gig when he got the text. The name of a venue he didn’t recognise, a time, a question mark. But the message gave Jere pause. It wasn’t from the general number.
It was from Bojan.
Jere had no other bookings, he had planned to take a night off. He googled the venue and realised that it wasn’t a venue at all: it was a hotel. He certainly wasn’t expecting the content of the next message.
Bojan Cvjetićanin: Is it okay if it’s just me? No band.
His answer was simple.
The atmosphere was very different without the rest of the band there - sweet and playful and easy - and in the end, Bojan didn’t even want to be inside him. They just spent the evening talking about nothing and everything, a few kisses and touches and Bojan drifting in and out of sleep in Jere’s arms. This wasn’t particularly rare: a lot of the men Jere saw wanted companionship as much as sex, but he hadn’t expected it from someone as young as Bojan.
They had agreed on a couple of hours.
Jere broke his rules.
In the morning, Bojan sat on the edge of the bed in just his underwear while Jere was getting dressed.
“We’re flying back to Slovenia today,” he said, not looking at Jere. That hesitancy again. “You could come. You know, if you want.”
He was sweet.
“And deprive your Slovenian whores of some very enjoyable work?” Jere crossed the room to sink a smooch into Bojan’s neck. “I couldn’t.”
“You don’t want.” Bojan wriggled where he sat as though if he looked awkward enough, his offer (or himself) might have been swept out of existence. “That’s okay, I didn’t mean to-”
“Will you unlock your phone for me?”
Bojan did so, passing it to him, trusting.
When he passed it back, there was a new contact: Jere’s personal number. Dressed now, he watched Bojan studying it, the number and the emojis he had added, and...
“Have a safe flight home, Bojan.”
The sun was climbing and his car was waiting. It was time to go.
“See you later,” Bojan tested the word on his lips, “Jere.”
Jere was just a pleasureboy; he knew better than to get attached. But maybe things could be different when his real career took off.