One Night [1/2]

[semebay]

Title: One Night
Genre: Smut, General, Angst
Rating: R18
Warnings: Sex. Violence. Etc.
Original Publication Date: October 26, 2010
Summary: Curiosity was what took Arthur to the alleys in search of something different. What was only meant to take place on one night went above and beyond what he had expected to find there.
UKUS, Prostitute AU. Request by C



Arthur thought he was rather normal, compared to the people around him. Sure, he drank more than was probably healthy; he was a borderline chain smoker; and he had a tendency to get overly aggressive when he was pissed (in any sense of the word). His consolation for those flaws was the fact that, at least he wasn't in the same situation as the Honda person down the street. Arthur didn't have a houseful of cousins and siblings living with and harassing him all hours of the day. He also wasn't like that married couple a few doors down with the albino that was always trying to break in, or grope (both of) them.

His life, while boring, was normal (and probably smelled slightly of alcohol, but that was beside the point). He had been single for years after his ex-girlfriend ran off with his ex-boyfriend (in a move that still confused the hell out of him), and he couldn't be happier. He enjoyed being alone; he could read in peace, and could watch television or work on his embroidery if he ever got bored.

Arthur liked his life, and the stability that came along with it. He liked doing the same thing every day, and liked that he didn't have to worry about where his next meal came from. It was for that reason that Arthur would later question his decisions. He would wonder what had possessed him to think about the conversation he had overheard at work, between people he didn't even know. He had definitely been curious when he heard of a certain street where people could buy favors from “special” venders, though he had told himself it was only because he had read something about such locations from someone trying to get published. He sometimes wondered if the people writing the stories had ever gone to such places, to look into how accurate what they wrote was.

Later he would blame a stressful week and that lingering question in the back of his head. He would insist that he had not been thinking of that at all when he left the offices and unlocked his car door. He would tell himself that getting dinner and not heading home until darkness had no real reason, and that it was simply how things had turned out.

And he would say that he was lost, and that a wrong turn had sent him onto an unfamiliar street that he may have heard about from certain strangers. He turned off his headlights when he saw people lining the sidewalks, emerging from the darkness of the allies and wherever else they hid themselves. One person approached his car, and Arthur pressed his foot to the brake. He internally shouted at himself to keep moving and drive away, but when there was a tap on the passenger window, he didn't hesitate in pressing a button and lowering it.

The man outside the car leaned over, and looked in through the window. Arthur remained silent and stared. Blue eyes. Blond. Glasses. A cocky grin that invited him to speak. He wondered why he was there, and why he wasn't pretending he needed directions. He could ask where the nearest gas station was, and claim it was all a misunderstanding. After all, he'd been content with his hand in recent years, and he didn't need to be here.

“You gonna stare all night?” the man asked him, and Arthur shifted in his seat. “Or you broke?”

“I have plenty, thank you very much,” Arthur said dryly.

“Then you want some fun tonight?” The man's eyes sparkled in the darkness, and Arthur found himself nodding. “I should probably point out I have some rules: no kissing, and we use condoms.”

“That's fine.” Arthur clicked the button beside him, and the doors unlocked. The man opened the door and climbed inside, not bothering to buckle himself. The window was rolled up, and Arthur kept his eyes on the stranger in the seat beside him. “Do you know a good hotel?”

“If you mean “cheap,” then take Carter Avenue until you see the Boa.”

Arthur was going to shift the car out of neutral, but the man stopped him.

“What are you looking to get tonight?”

Arthur looked over at the man. He wasn't sure how to respond. Prostitutes offered themselves for sex, and Arthur really wasn't sure what he was supposed to ask for. Was there a certain protocol for buying sex? Was he supposed to order a certain type? Maybe he had chosen the wrong one, rather, maybe he should have driven on like he was supposed to.

The man seemed to understand. He motioned towards the road. “Sex then.”

“That sounds delightful,” Arthur said dryly, and the man beside him laughed. Arthur shifted the car into gear and drove forward and away from the curb, and away from the people that continued to walk up and down the sidewalks. The man beside him pressed his back into the seat, and looked over at Arthur while he drove. The inside of the car was dark, but the dim street lights gave Arthur the chance to look more at his passenger.

No one would believe that the man beside him was a prostitute. He looked healthy, and wasn't covered in makeup or grime like Arthur would have thought before that moment. His shirt was tight against his body, and Arthur's stomach did flips when he noticed the muscles. He took a breath and looked ahead, and away from the jeans that were smooth against the man's legs, and managed to both hide and accentuate his muscles.

“You want any special services tonight?” the man asked, and Arthur glanced over. He pressed down on the brake when they came to a red light, and the car slowed to a stop. The roads were empty, and the man grinned. “I can top or bottom. Any position. If you're into heavier stuff, we can use ropes.” The man shifted, and Arthur could see that there was a bag on the floor of the car before him. “Any other kinks, you supply yourself.”

“I don't think we'll need any tools,” Arthur finally said once he managed to get past the lump in his throat.

The man picked up the bag and set it in his lap. “Sounds good to me.” He settled back in the seat. “You gonna be on top?”

“I would prefer it,” Arthur said. The light turned green and he took a left. Neon lights from cafes and fast food joints lit the interior, and Arthur swallowed. He was beginning to rethink things, but what could he do now that he had a prostitute in his car? It was a bit too late to back out.

They continued the drive in silence. The man looked out the front window and didn't spare a glance at Arthur. The night was silent and the air tense, and it felt almost like everyone knew that Arthur was doing something sinful.

At the thought, the turmoil in Arthur's chest increased. He felt almost dizzy, and when the man pointed to a shoddy motel with broken neon lights, Arthur was all too happy to get off the road. He had to force himself out of his car so that he wouldn't look terrified. He was sure that a lot of people acted nervous, but he didn't want to appear inexperienced. He also didn't want to appear experienced, as he didn't want the prostitute he had hired to think that he hired people often.

Then again, he was never going to see the man again. He really shouldn't have to worry about impressions.

Arthur went inside and got a room for the night. He didn't know how long it would last, and he certainly didn't want to get a room for only a few hours, just in case something happened. He could also use the excuse that he had been driving through and in need of rest. However, when he handed the cash over, he was sure that the tender knew exactly what was going on.

The man was waiting outside the lobby when Arthur emerged, and Arthur held up a key. “Two-seventy-one,” Arthur said. The man led the way, comfortable with the design of the motel, and waited for Arthur to open the door when they arrived. Arthur entered the room first, and the man followed. He clicked the deadbolt, and Arthur dropped the key on the bureau beside the television.

“So what do I call you?” Arthur asked.

The man pulled the curtains shut and looked back. “Ben is fine.” When the curtains were in place, he turned back and watched Arthur. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

Ben nodded. “Well then, let's discuss position.” He grabbed the bottom of his shirt and pulled it over his head, then let it fall on the floor. “You're topping. D'you want me to ride?” Ben lowered his voice, and he circled the bed slowly to meet Arthur on the other side. “I can suck you off.”

Arthur found it difficult to speak. Ben had grabbed the bottom of his shirt, and together they pulled it over his head and off. Ben was definitely leading him, inviting him to accept his offers with a cunning smile and lowered eyelids.

Arthur wanted to accept, but his voice was stuck in his throat. Thoughts of being revealed to coworkers surfaced, but he was sure there was some sort of confidentiality system in place. He took a breath.

Arthur kept his voice from shaking. He was already too far to back out, he might as well enjoy whatever it was he was going to get. “Do it.”

Ben grinned at that and grabbed the tops of Arthur's pants. He pushed him towards the bed while Arthur fought the buttons on his trousers, and then Ben pushed down.

Arthur sat on the edge of the bed, and Ben tugged at his pants. It took a moment before they were pulled from under him, and then Ben tugged at Arthur's underwear. It joined his boxers on the floor, and before Arthur could do anything, his cock was in Ben's mouth.

Arthur had to bite back a moan. He had been only half-hard before, but Ben wasn't at all bothered by that fact. He gently prodded Arthur's cock with his tongue, tracing shapes and patterns on the dark skin. It didn't take long at all for Arthur to feel an indescribable (but familiar) heat deep within him, and Ben reached forward. Arthur's hand was removed from the cheap motel blanket that he had clenched his fingers around, and Ben moved it to his hair.

Arthur was all too happy to grip Ben's hair and pull. Ben had no trouble taking him in deeply, and he slid his lips over Arthur's cock while the man moved his head. Arthur looked down and tried not to breathe loudly. The feeling of tongue and warmth from Ben's mouth was something he hadn't felt in years. Arthur moved his hips and thrust into Ben's mouth, shivering at the sensations. Ben moved faster, and Arthur look down to see that he was stretching himself with one of his hands (he wasn't sure when Ben's pants had disappeared, but he really didn't care).

Ben stopped moving. Arthur's arm stilled, and he watched as Ben slowly pulled himself back. His cock fell from the prostitute's lips, and his chest heaved. He needed more. He wanted to be back inside that mouth, away from the air that chilled his wet cock, and thrusting into the back of Ben's throat.

“Don't get ahead of yourself,” Ben said. He grinned at Arthur, his eyes dark with arousal, and he used his free hand to push Arthur back. Arthur went willingly, and then both of Ben's arms were there to support him when he climbed on the bed. Ben held a some packet in his teeth, and Arthur almost moaned at the sight, and the knowledge that he was going to get something far better than a mouth. At least, he hoped it would be far better than a mouth. He wasn't sure how a prostitute would feel, if constant sex would loosen the muscles, o-

Arthur's face burned with the thoughts. Or the feelings. Or the fact that Ben was above him, slipping a condom over his cock and rubbing him. Arthur pushed himself up on his elbows and watched as Ben rubbed lube onto the condom, then positioned himself slowly.

Ben was silent when he lowered himself down, and Arthur took a deep breath. He needn't have worried about tightness, or use, or anything like that. The fact of the matter was that it was tight, and it took everything Arthur had to not thrust up. He knew he had to wait, and try to make it easier on the person riding him, but Ben didn't seem to believe that. In fact, the man pushed lifted himself slowly and the lowered himself back down with a roll of his hips. He didn't wait for a sign; he started, and he expected Arthur to sit back and enjoy it.

And Arthur did. God, he did. He was unable to hold himself back, and his hands grabbed at the thighs on either side of him. His fingers dug into the sky as he thrust up, and then Ben finally made a noise that was somewhere between a whine and a gasp. Arthur thrust and Ben rolled his hips, and Ben adjusted himself to match Arthur's movements.

Arthur tried to thrust deeper. He keened deep in his throat, and held back the moans when Ben clenched around him. His entire body was on fire, but it was a good fire, and he jerked up until his body finally tensed, and his release hit him.

His hand was nothing compared to a tight body. There really was no comparison.

Arthur dropped his keys on the kitchen counter and opened one of the cupboards for a glass. He moved to the refrigerator for a drink, and tried not to think of what had happened mere hours before.

It was better than what the people in his firm wrote about. Hot, fast, sinful. Nothing could really capture the tension and pleasure that he experienced in those moments, and he rather hoped that no one would ever be able to describe it. He had done it; he had enjoyed it; but he never wanted to be reminded of it. He could only imagine what people would think, if they knew that he had had sex with a prostitute.

It wasn't as though the moment had been important anyway. It had taken little over an hour to complete three more rounds, and then Arthur had dropped him back off on that street, pockets full of bills, and a smile on his face that showed exactly how pleased he was. Arthur wasn't going to worry about the man; he had enough to worry about. There was no need to think of something that had already happened, no matter how enjoyable it had been.

Arthur checked the kitchen clock the see that it was almost three in the morning, and he locked the front door before he climbed the stairs to his bedroom to retire for the night.

Arthur didn't dream that night. At least, he didn't remember any dreams. He woke and prepared himself for work, and tried to think of what it was he needed to do. He had clients to interview, copies to make, drafts to edit. Oddly enough, the fact that he had a mountain of work to complete didn't have him rolling around on the floor and moaning about the injustices of reading badly written fantasy “novels.” He attributed it to a nice sleep, though his activities the night before may have had something to do with the lack of stress. Whatever it was, he shrugged it off. The only thing that really mattered was the fact that it was going to be an excellent day.

Contrary to what Arthur had believed, his sexual “adventure” wasn't broadcast to all of his coworkers. Work continued, the authors still tried to fool him with clichéd plots, and he still had to edit drafts. The week passed peacefully, and Arthur was quite content with how things were turning out. He still refused to admit that maybe getting laid had had some benefits, but in reality that was the only thing that had changed in the past week. He crushed the thought that getting laid more often would be a good thing, and worth looking into. He still had morals to uphold after all (he laughed at the thought).

The more time that passed, the more comfortable Arthur felt about his spur-of-the-moment decision. It was also easier to forget that it had happened. His life could continue. In fact, he received a promotion. It wasn't a great promotion; he still edited and talked with clients, but he also traveled. He was more of an agent, if that term could be used. He traveled to meetings and conventions in other states to meet with other company representatives, and while it could be tedious at times, the drive was always worth it.

A couple months had passed since that night, and he was content. His life was normal, slightly better than repetitive, and he was living a successful and comfortable life. In fact, he honestly felt as though nothing could bring him down.

Except one day when he passed through a town by his home while returning from a business meeting. Tired, worn and low on gas, he stopped at an old convenience store that looked like it had been abandoned years before. The only indication that it was actually still open were the lights in the dusty old building and by the dingy pumps. Arthur got out of his car and locked the door, his keys going into his front pocket. He half expected to get mugged on the fifteen-foot walk to the front door, but no one emerged from the shadows to steal what little cash he had on himself. His car was also left untouched by passersby, and he stretched his arms when he pushed open the door, and the chime announced his entrance.

Arthur walked directly to the counter, and pulled his wallet from his pocket. “Twenty in gas,” he said when he found the bills, and then he looked up at the guy behind the register.

The guy looked like he'd been in a fight. There was a large bruise on his cheek, probably left behind by someone's fist. Judging by the almost stiff movements that the man was performing, he wouldn't be surprised if whoever he had fought with was a beast. It had probably been a losing fight.

The guy didn't look at him. At least, he kept his eyes aimed in a different direction at all times, and kept glancing to the clock. He made a remark about closing soon, and Arthur handed over the cash when the guy had finally rung it through the register. Arthur looked up and waited for a receipt, and then he blinked.

Arthur blinked again. He couldn't remember the name, but he was quite sure he recognized the man on the other side of the counter. When the receipt was placed in his hand, he couldn't keep from asking if they had met before. And when the words had left his mouth, he remembered exactly how they had met, and where. He shut his mouth, nodded his head, and slowly made his way back outside to pump his gas.

Arthur didn't look back towards the store. He unscrewed the cap of the gas tank and inserted the nozzle, then turned on the switch and waited. The numbers on the pump changed to zero, and then he squeezed the trigger. He listened in silence as the gas filled the tank, and the hose jerked when the liquid passed through it. He watched the numbers slowly rise, and found himself looking past the pumps and to the store. The man inside had disappeared into a back room and then re-emerged to turn off most of the lights. Arthur realized that he had gotten back in town rather late; he had probably arrived just before closing. The man exited the front doors and locked them, and then he turned to watch Arthur.

The nozzle shuddered to a stop in Arthur's hand, and he quickly looked to see that the gauge read “20.00.” He pulled the nozzle from the tank and replaced it in the pump, then screwed the cap back on. The man was gone when he looked up, and he unlocked his door. Arthur slid into his seat and pulled the door shut, then shoved the keys into the ignition. He glanced around once more, somewhat surprised by the man's disappearance, then he started the car and pulled out of the lot.

It didn't take long at all to locate the man. In fact, it took maybe five minutes. A figure moved on the side of the road, and then Arthur realized that the man was walking somewhere. He told himself to ignore it, but honestly-wouldn't leaving someone to walk alone in the middle of the night be rather cruel? He rolled down his window and slowed the car to a crawl. The man looked at him suspiciously.

“You need a ride somewhere?” Arthur asked, and the man stopped in his tracks.

“I can walk it,” he said, and he shrugged. Arthur could see how he looked at the car, and he shrugged.

“It's no problem. I have nowhere to be.” Arthur made it a point not to point out that he recognized him. As far as he was concerned, he was simply being a good Samaritan.

The man shrugged again and crossed the street to climb in the passenger's seat. He settled back and sighed, and Arthur pressed his foot down on the gas.

“Just tell me when to stop or turn,” Arthur said, and the man nodded. Arthur glanced over at him, and took a breath. There was a drastic difference from the last time they had occupied the same breathing space, notably the lack of adrenaline, and the fact that the man was no longer trying to seduce him. In fact, the man looked as though he were bored. Arthur wondered if the bruise had anything to do with his lack of enthusiasm. There was probably something about being unable to work with blemishes on his skin, lack of customers, something like that. Arthur decided not to think about it.

The ride was awkward, to say the least. Arthur wasn't sure who it was that was pointedly trying to avoid the topic of their first encounter (it was probably both of them), but any conversation that was started was immediately halted. Conversation couldn't be maintained, and so the ride continued on in silence. The man finally had him stop at some side road where he could walk home, without showing Arthur where he lived. Arthur waved when he left, though he couldn't help but notice the houses in the area where they had parted.

When the man left the car, Arthur locked the doors and slowly continued on. He didn't think that any of the shacks could even be called houses. He ordered himself to ignore it; it wasn't any of his business anyway.

Arthur finally had to admit that maybe he had been slightly affected by his visit to the less desirable parts of the city. When other people noted how his mood had changed, he had known that something was different. And when he found himself at home reading books about people of questionable morals and occupations for fun, he had to sigh and think back. Never before had he been interested in such “loathsome” lifestyles or people. Of course, he began to wonder a bit more about the man he had slept with. In every story he read (all about female prostitutes, it seemed there were no books based on the lives of male hookers), there were a plethora of bad reasons that had led to prostitution. He was fascinated by the fiction, and wondered about the truth. He continued to wonder if the people that had written the books knew from personal experience, or accounts from others.

When Arthur found himself considering returning to that dark alley, he knew that he had to do something. Whether that something was getting laid, or simply talking with someone, he didn't really know.

His decision was made when he went to an upscale bar across town with a coworker. The German had insisted that it was the best place in town, and a good place to discuss work while not really discussing work (the comment had confused Arthur, but Ludwig was a weird guy anyway). They had settled in at the sleek mahogany counter, and Arthur took the time to appreciate the low lighting and the display of aged alcohols on the opposite wall. He ordered a beer (German, Ludwig had insisted he get something of quality), and listened to his drinking partner while he started in on changes in the company, as well as things like the weather or latest news stories.

Arthur didn't want to say that the conversation was “fascinating,” but it was rather nice. He found his gaze wandering to the large windows on either wall of the bar whenever Ludwig became boring, and then his breathing slowed.

The man didn't look like a prostitute. But Arthur could tell that the man he was walking with was a customer. He didn't question how he knew that fact. He just accepted it, and listened to what Ludwig was saying about raises in the future. He heard every word said, but at the same time he didn't. He was thinking about how his hand wasn't a very suitable replacement for a human body.

God damn, Arthur thought, annoyed, I need to get laid.

Arthur wondered if dressing in a band shirt and dark trousers would make him feel better about buying special services. He had considered staying late after work and going directly to that old alley, but had decided against it. There was something about wearing the clothes he worked in while hiring a prostitute that just irked him. Instead, he went home and had dinner, then changed before he navigated through unfamiliar roads and back to that alley.

The man wasn't on the street when Arthur arrived. He shrugged to himself. It wasn't as though he needed that particular person. There were plenty of other people waiting for customers. That didn't stop him from lowering the window for an approaching man, and asking what had happened to a blond man with blue eyes.

The person at the window frowned at the prospect of losing a customer and sighed. “Ben? He's in the alley. You want him?”

“Please,” Arthur said, and he chuckled internally when the person left his car to hunt down the man. Please. That feels really fucking out of place here.

It took almost ten minutes for Ben to show up, and he leaned against the car door. “You liked me that much?” Ben asked, and he arched his eyebrows.

Arthur sighed and waited for Ben to climb in. “You're not doing a very good job hiding that bruise,” he muttered, and Ben shrugged.

“My personality makes up for it.” Ben turned himself so that he was facing Arthur and leaning his back against the window. Arthur had started the car and headed in the direction of the motel they had been at before. He seriously considered asking Ben about the lifestyle, but kept from doing so. He could hold back his curiosity. It really wasn't his place to ask questions anyway.

It seemed as though the trip to the motel was faster than the last time. Once again, Arthur rented a room for the night because only renting for an hour or two seemed so typical. And once again, he paid in cash.

Ben was just as enjoyable as the last time. Arthur was more than happy to let him ride, or to push him into the mattress. He felt high from the tension and heat coursing through his body, and each orgasm felt better and more intense than the last. He hated admitting that he really fucking enjoyed what he was doing, but there were no names and no reputations in that motel room. No one knew who he was, and even if they did, it wasn't as though he was famous enough to warrant attention.

Arthur pulled the coarse hotel blankets up to cover himself when he shivered from the cool air, and he rolled onto his stomach. Ben didn't seem at all bothered by the cold, and simply lay back on the bed while he waited for the next round. Arthur took a breath and looked over, barely able to see in the darkness of the room. He stared at Ben for a long time, and then he squinted. There were splotches over Ben's abdomen and legs, and they were far too dark to be from cum or-

“Bruises?” Arthur asked, and Ben looked over at him. He didn't look at all alarmed by Arthur's words, and he nodded. “What happened?” It was only after the words left Arthur's mouth that he realized how inappropriate and invasive they were, but Ben only shrugged.

“Someone didn't pay.”

Arthur almost nodded, but then the implication of the statement caught up with him. He looked harder at the prostitute, and the bruises made sense. What confused him was how easily Ben brushed aside the comment, and the fact that he had been raped. He hesitated, and couldn't keep himself from continuing.

“Do... Are there a lot of people that don't... pay?”

“It's not exactly rare,” Ben muttered. He looked at Arthur and twisted his lips. “You ready to go again?”

“Does it hurt?”

“No.”

Arthur doubted it. He sighed and dropped his head on the pillow. “Not yet.”

“Funny old man,” Ben chuckled, and Arthur batted at him halfheartedly with a hand. “You were more into it last time.”

“You always get so cocky after the first time? You weren't so talkative last time.”

“I was. You just don't remember.”

“Delightful.” Arthur shut his eyes and relaxed into the pillow. “What did you do last time, after?”

Ben shrugged. “Last time? Went home.”

“The first time, then.”

“Went back to work.”

Arthur took a deep breath, and coughed when the stale motel air filled his lungs. Ben watched him, and Arthur rubbed his eyes.

“Can I buy you for the night?” Arthur asked him, and Ben looked confused. “I can pay.”

“You sure you're up for it?” Ben laughed, but Arthur shrugged.

“I didn't say I wanted sex.”

Ben stopped laughing. He stared in silence, and Arthur turned over onto his back.

“Unless you want sex.”

Ben shrugged. “I'm good without.”

“Then go to sleep. Or something.” Arthur shut his eyes, and didn't fail to hear Ben's chuckle.

“You really are an old man.”

“Hush.”

Ben let Arthur drive him all the way home the next morning. The drive wasn't nearly as awkward as the ride from the gas station; in fact, there was conversation, and a multitude of topics to cover. Ben had been quick to point out the band shirt and lack of “professional” attire. Arthur had shrugged and asked if he wore the same clothes between jobs and home. Apparently not, as Ben had laughed and nodded.

When Arthur dropped Ben off at his home, he didn't feel at all better about the thoughts he had kept since dropping Ben off the first night. His “home” was an old housetrailer, beaten to shit and looking as though it had been the poor victim of a hurricane. The roof looked like it was bowing under the weight of something, and the front steps were missing. Ben had to hold onto a bar by the door to pull himself up, and then he unlocked his front door while balanced precariously on the edge of the frame. Arthur watched until he was in the house, and he took another moment to stare before he finally backed off the lawn and searched for the way back home.

He had expected Ben to live in a slightly better place, truth be told. With the money made from two jobs, one would think that he could afford more than some desolate trailer in the middle of an area that screamed “murder” and “hardship” at the people that passed by.

Arthur almost wished that Ben had never let him give him a ride. The truth was, he was far more interested than he had been before, and he wasn't really sure how he was going to rectify that problem.

It turned out, hiring Ben again helped. Ben had insisted on at least one round, for his image or reputation or something like that, but Arthur found it difficult to really get into it. There was no problem getting aroused; he just found that he was far more interested in simply hanging around. Arthur hired him again, and again. Eventually the sex was gone, and they would end up at some random hotel in town and out. Ben hadn't changed; he was random and excitable. But Arthur was sure that there was something there, that he couldn't place his finger on.

Maybe it was Ben becoming careless. Arthur learned his name one night, when Ben had gone off on a tangent and let loose personal information (mostly about his cats. When Arthur asked about them, Alfred had revealed that living alone was lonely. He needed company).

Arthur found himself liking the conversations, and the time they spent together and relaxed. He liked that there were no expectations. He tried to ignore the fact that he was essentially paying someone to be his friend. As far as he was concerned, the cash could go into repairing Alfred's shitty trailer. He had enough money for that much, at least.

However, that carelessness wasn't a good thing. Prostitutes had customers and colleagues. It was something Alfred had tried to explain once, but he had stopped when Arthur showed his confusion. He had shrugged it aside, and said that it wasn't important.

On the contrary, it was very important. For the most part, Alfred didn't have regular customers. There were two or three that he would meet with in between time spent with Arthur, but all other work was through people that picked him up, much like Arthur had done the first night. Arthur knew it; he also knew that their relationship was far from normal. A “friends with benefits” type relationship, except that he still paid for the friend. In fact, he often wondered if it was all worth it. Paying for a friend, no matter how much he liked said friend, seemed so wrong.

That was probably why he didn't pick up the phone when it rang in his office. He read the unfamiliar phone number on the Caller ID and stared for a moment. An unknown caller, likely a cell phone. He vaguely wondered if it was Alfred, and that he had somehow found his number. He shrugged and let it ring, though the fact that he didn't answer bothered him. He wondered if it had been Alfred. Would it matter? Would it have been to change their meeting time, maybe the fee?

It was only when his secretary entered his office six hours later that he paid any attention to the call. She told him it was a friend: an “Alfred.” Arthur had contemplated having her tell Alfred that he was out, but instead he picked up.

“Kirkland,” Arthur said, but it wasn't Alfred that answered.

“Been trying to reach you,” the unfamiliar voice groused. “He said to call you.”

Arthur didn't need further explanation. He took the address and left the office, keys in hand and wondering exactly what it was he was walking into. What would make Alfred have someone else call for him? What could possibly warrant bringing a stranger into their fucked up customer-partner-friend relationship? He thought about it all while he drove, until he found himself in that same old alleyway in the middle of the day, unhidden by the darkness he had found solace in. He was under the sun and anyone passing would be able to see him, and probably identify him if they knew him.

A man in black pants and a blue shirt was waiting at the end of one alley. He leaned against the brick walls of an abandoned building, and Arthur locked his car. The man pointed with a thumb, and shrugged.

“Just found him there when I was walking,” the man told Arthur. He shrugged before disappearing into a passage, and Arthur was left to walk down the alley alone.

Arthur had never actually been in the alleys before. It was rather disgusting. There were boxes and old trashbins arranged to hide people and protect them, whether they were fucking or avoiding something. It didn't take long at all to find Alfred; all he had to do was follow the red trail that had been left on the ground. The trail led behind some old bin, and the man behind it looked up and waved.

It was disgusting, really.

“I didn't know who to call,” Alfred offered, and Arthur took the time to look at his hands, his face. Bruises and cuts, a broken finger or two, torn pieces of fabric wrapped around his head.

“We need to-”

“I'm not going to a hospital.” Alfred chuckled and leaned back against the wall. “Seriously. Uncool.”

“This won't fix itself.” Arthur knelt before him, and he reached forward to gingerly touch Alfred's forehead. Alfred flinched but didn't make a sound. “I know a doctor that's trying to publish a book right now.” Arthur pulled his hand back. “I'm sure he'd help you.”

“You're his agent or something, right?” Alfred grinned. “How would that look? You getting secret medical attention for a hooker.”

“He doesn't have to know,” Arthur said. He wasn't sure what else to say, except, “Don't call yourself a hooker. It sounds wrong coming from you.”

Alfred raised a hand and prodded at Arthur's arm with a pinky. “You're a strange guy, old man. And how the hell're you gonna hide it anyway? I think it's a bit obvious if you call him out to an alley and-”

“My house is close. I have spare clothes. Though, from what you say about your fast food infatuation, they're probably too small.”

“It's not an infatuation,” Alfred protested. “And I can go back-”

“You'd get mugged or worse in your condition.” Arthur sighed. “I have an extra bed. You might as well stay. But for now we should really leave. This place is disgustin-”

“How long is the invitation for?” Alfred asked when Arthur helped him stand. At Arthur's confused look, he tilted his head. He winced, as the tilt disoriented him. “I mean, your extra bed and all.”

Arthur shrugged and led Alfred down the alley, away from the boxes and grime. “As long as you need.”

Alfred fell silent, and didn't make a sound until he was seated in the passenger seat and they were on their way to Arthur's home.

“Can I bring my cats?” Alfred asked, and Arthur looked over.

“I don't see why not.”

Alfred relaxed into the seat. “Cool.”