Мне было лет семнадцать, когда приятель (старше меня) рассказал мне про отношения, которые он практиковал с девушками: звонишь ей, зовёшь в магазин, покупаешь что ей хочется, сумку там, или платье, потом едешь к ней или везёшь к себе заниматься сексом. Меня это шокировало.
Это же проституция! Неужели они не понимают? — спрашиваю. Приятель тогда рассказал, что, мол, девчонка недавно спрашивала "
А когда ты меня с родителями познакомишь?", на что он ей, конечно, ответил "
милая, у нас тобой чисто денежные отношения". То есть, не понимала.
читать дальшеВ английском есть название для всего, что касается секса. Люди, вовлеченные в такие отношения, например, называются sugar daddy/sugar baby. Сейчас, когда мне не семнадцать (но я всё такой же наивный), такая прямая форма отношений, буквально подарок — секс кажется мне честной и вполне здоровой, если оба партнера получают чего хотели и не испытывают иллюзий. Зато меня до сих пор шокируют общераспространённые и социально приемлемые формы использования секса как валюты. Еще до того, как я узнал про феминизм, мне казалось странным, когда женщины в отношениях говорили что-нибудь вроде "никакого секса, пока не...", то есть использовали доступ к своему телу как форму вознаграждения. И ведь это прямо-таки норма!
Так что у меня какой-то асоциальный твист в мозгу. Когда женщина за тридцать кладёт на стол 10к и говорит, мол, встретилась вот с бывшим, заработала, ха-ха. Я думаю, молодец, почему нет, раз вам обоим это комфортно. А когда женщина начинает говорить, что это мужик должен платить в ресторане, что стрёмно, если муж зарабатывает меньше жены, и прочие социально приемлемые вещи из патриархального строя — я искренне шокируюсь. (И потом эта же женщина презрительно скажет про другую, на дорогом авто: "насосала") Если вы думаете, что я желаю поговорить на тему гендера, сексизма и социальных бед, то вы сильно ошибаетесь. Я всё веду к слешному фанфику по Ганнибалу, который я прочитал на этой неделе. Сначала я услышал
эту песню, потом прочитал "Джейн Эйр". Тема "отношения и деньги" висела в воздухе, когда я увидел фик по Ганнибалу с тегом Sugar Daddy и полным отсутствием тегов про секс. Я решил, что это может стать отличным чтением для нескольких скучных часов, которые я должен проторчать на людях. Наконец разберусь в динамике таких отношений: может пойму, почему люди находят их привлекательными. Правда, аннотация к фику странная: «A seduction through physical objects. It starts with a scarf loaned to Will on a cold day, but Hannibal, as usual, isn't satisfied with anything small» — неужто авторка думает, что Уилла можно вот так соблазнить
покупкой вещей? Может, это один из тех фанфиков, написанных ради кинка? Но разве это это может это быть кинком, тэги невинные, а у фанфика почти
девять тысяч лайков....
читать дальшеЭто оказалось кинком.
Это оказалось моим кинком.
Два дня не спал, пытался понять, почему сцена, где Ганнибал покупает Уиллу айфон стоила мне трёх оргазмов. Просто приходят в магазин, и, блядь, телефон покупают. Ганнибал платит. До меня, хвала господу, дошло, после фанфика в 30 000 слов и сиквела в 60 000, почему деньги это кинк: это про власть и контроль. Практически ds из bdsm.
Сцена с покупкой телефонаThe electronics store sat under an arched colonnade at the edge of a small square. The architecture of the building remained intact on the outside, and only inside did it open into wide, white spaces with phones and tablets set up on pedestals in such a way as to suggest they were actually modern art.
Will only had a cell phone at all because Jack had insisted. He’d bought a Blackberry because it had been the last phone in the store with a physical keyboard. No physical keyboards here.
Hannibal had an arm curled around his waist and his eyes fixed on the iPhone display. He was talking to one of the salespeople, a young woman with a bright smile and short red hair. She’d started off in English, clearly pegging them as tourists, and done a rapid, blinking readjustment when Hannibal had launched into his questions and explanations in fluid Italian.
Will leaned into his side and let it wash over him. He knew about ten words of Italian, and one of them was pizza. Hannibal’s fingers moved at his waist, stroking lightly through the thin fabric of the shirt. It had proved, once buttoned, nearly as tight as the pants, stretched across his chest, leaving him conscious of every move he made. And every touch Hannibal brushed across his side or hip. Or lower.
Hannibal’s hand settled over the curve of his ass, just cupping it, proprietary. Will shifted, torn between nerves, arousal, and irritation. Hannibal gave him an indulgent smile that made his face heat. "What color would you like, Will?"
"Is that the only decision I’m making?"
"Yes."
They looked at each other. Will looked away first. Honestly, he’d assumed that Hannibal would make this choice as well. His BlackBerry was a dark, dull gray. It fit into his life and would never cause comment. The iPhone came in gray as well.
"Will?"
He glanced up at Hannibal and then over at the saleswoman, both of them waiting for his answer. He saw himself through her eyes for a moment, in his thin white shirt and tight pants with an older man’s hand on his ass. Pretty enough for someone to spend money on. The opportunity to be someone else.
"The gold. Please." He smiled up at Hannibal the way he had sometimes at the opera, like no one else mattered. Hannibal’s face softened minutely as it always did, and he gave Will a little squeeze.
"Of course." He conveyed Will’s choice to the saleswoman. When she had gone to get it, Hannibal turned his attention back on Will like a spotlight.
Will tried to drop his gaze to somewhere safer, like his shoes, but that just bared the back of his neck for a graze of Hannibal’s lips and the ensuing prickle of nerves and warmth that marched down Will’s spine.
"A bold choice for you."
"That’s the point, isn’t it? I can get a case for it when we go home. It won’t show."
"If you want a case, I will buy it for you," Hannibal murmured. "But you might also consider that there is no reason to hide it."
Will couldn’t imagine any of the women he knew in the Bureau with a phone that flashy, let alone the men. On the other hand, it was just a phone, not a Lamborghini. Hannibal would buy him a Lamborghini if he wanted one. He’d probably take him to the dealership right now, sign the papers, and have it shipped home.
Will took a hard breath and shook his head. He felt dizzy. "Maybe you’re right. Can we get out of here?"
"As soon as I pay." Hannibal was watching him curiously, hand still on his ass, thumb now hooked into the waistband of his pants.
"What?" Will said.
"Did you know you left your wallet at the apartment?"
Will stared at him. He hadn’t known. He made an abortive move to pat his back pockets, but one was covered by the wide spread of Hannibal’s hand, and the other was empty. It had to be empty. He wasn’t even sure his wallet would’ve fit. If it had, he would’ve been able to feel it every time he moved.
"Are you all right?" Hannibal asked him. His face was calm, eyes steady, and Will made himself focus on that until the jump of his heart calmed.
"I’m okay," he said. It came out uncertain. Hannibal responded with a nuzzling brush of lips to his temple. People must be staring now if they hadn’t been before. Will couldn’t have felt more naked with his skin peeled back.
Hannibal gave him that assessing, considering look he had, head tilted and expression blank. And then he pulled out his wallet. "You should have something, just in case," he said. He peeled two hundred euro bills off a folded stack and passed them over.
Will’s breath left him like a punch to the gut. His hand didn’t feel entirely steady as he took the bills. He folded them twice and tucked them into his back pocket. Like an allowance. Like – he didn’t even know what this was like anymore. Or he knew exactly what it was like and didn’t want to put a name to it.
"Say thank you, Will. Don’t be rude," Hannibal told him softly.
That was a straight bolt of heat to his cock, and Will barely got the words out at all. "Thank you," he said, strangled and rough.
The saleswoman came back just then. Will had no idea what he must look like, but it was enough to make her eyes widen before she shifted her attention to Hannibal. She returned his credit card to him along with an electronic pad to sign. When the transaction was complete and Hannibal had the shopping bag in hand, he guided Will out the door and into the blessedly cool air of the street.
Will didn’t reach for the bag. He knew by now that Hannibal would give it to him when he wanted him to have it and not before. He concentrated on slowing his breathing, calming his heart, and willing his erection to ease. He didn’t put his jacket back on. He was too warm to need it, and it was more useful held in front of him.
They walked along the canal. The water slopped up over the sides. In places it got deep enough to cover their feet, and Will felt he must be sinking along with the city. He stopped, and Hannibal stopped beside him. The rain was spotting down on their hair and making rings on the surface of the green-brown water.
"At least tell me it gets to you too," Will said.
"Would you find it insulting if I told you that I often find it more intense than the sex we have?"
Will breathed out a laugh. "No. It doesn’t really surprise me that you’d rather mindfuck me than actually fuck me."