note: the challenge was to write one of the Boys as a hooker
"The Price We Pay"
"Two hundred dollars? You're out of your mind."
"Then I'm also out of here." The tall, thin blonde shrugged nonchalantly. Pissy customers were really no big deal, it wasn't the first time a high roller had balked at his fees. Fuck them. They either wanted what he had to offer or they didn't; beautiful men with money were a dime a dozen. He kept his face straight at that thought, but chuckled inwardly as he turned toward the door, his head held high with a confidence that was borne of years on the streets.
"You're leaving? Just like that?"
"Have a nice night." The door closed behind him, and he strode to the elevators, mumbling under his breath and beginning the countdown. Five ... four ... three ... two ...-
"For what?" He didn't turn around, he knew what was coming, it always did.
"Fine." The obligatory audible sigh was next. "Fine, I'll-" He looked up and down the deserted hotel hallway and lowered his voice. You just never knew who might be skulking in the shadows, even after all these years. "I'll pay, all right? Just ... come on, back inside."
Nick turned back slowly, looking for the world as if he had better things to do, when in fact this tall, handsome man was his only meal ticket so far this week. Never let them see you sweat it. The first and foremost rule of his profession, ranking only just above 'don't get attached'.
Once back inside the room, Nick dimmed the lights. "What'll it be? My ass or my mouth? Two hundred bucks gets you your choice."
"That was blunt."
"This isn't the honeymoon suite, okay? Take care of business and then I'll be Suzy Sweetheart for you, or whoever you want."
"What if I want both?" He was being a dick just to be a dick, and honestly, to see how far he could push things.
"That'll cost you. Another hundred."
A nod of his head sealed the deal, and the next hour was spent in raw, blissful fantasy, one man living out what he never could have, the other remembering what once had been.
= = = =
Nick zips his skin tight jeans, and pockets the wad of twenties that wait on the dresser. Combing his fingers through his unruly mop of blonde hair, he turns back for one last look at the stunning man in the bed, the sheet bunched around his waist. "That was different, Kev."
At the sound of his name (because names are never ever exchanged, that being the third rule of the trade) a dark, graying head lifts, his emerald eyes filled with confusion.
"It used to be my name you called out all those years ago, not AJ's."
"Nick?" The name is torn from the older man's lips as recognition dawns.
"Have a great life, man. It was a real slice." He pastes the usual smirking smile on his face as he saunters out the door and on to the next job. Some day he'll get out of this business. Some day soon.
~ 9/29/05 ~
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