Author: Draco volans PM
A short drabble about Nian, a young male prostitute in the steampunk city of Dumar, and his daily difficulties in working the streets. Prostitution. Dubious consent. Magic. Steampunk-ish. Oneshot. Slash. COMPLETERated: Fiction M - English - Words: 1,358 - Reviews: 8 - Favs: 7 - Follows: 3 - Published: 10-02-11 - Status: Complete - id: 2957466
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This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
"Don't look," his voice commanded as hands, rough with calluses, trailed over a naked back.
"As the good sir wishes," the youth stated dully, swallowing back contempt.
Nian had met this sort before. The type that was so ashamed at consorting with a prostitute that, they would not even look him in the face. He didn't mind as such, the gentlemen's coin was as good as the next, and good coin was hard to come by in times as perilous as this. It also counted that he wasn't that eager to remember the man's face either.
Nian felt his pants being pulled down to dangle amidst his legs. Better there though, than upon the filth of the side alley floor he had led the John into.
"Lords, what a beauty."
He bit his lip as the man thrust between his cheeks, rutting furiously, and distracted himself by counting the alleyway bricks before his nose. Nian had counted seventeen when he heard the man gasp by his ear, and felt the warm trickle of fluids trail down his thighs.
A pair of coins was tossed with a clatter to the ground between his legs, and the man hastily tucked himself away, and hurried off without a backwards glance to the boy. Nian was used to that though. Most of his customers fled his presence the moment they climaxed. The safer marks did anyway. Urges once sated, they would hurry off battling the stigma they felt at using a whore, practically running to escape the shame of paying for it. As if their shame was something he cared for.
Nian bent to the ground the retrieve the couple coins, wincing at the pain the man's careless thrusts had caused him. Rolling the metal in his hands to remove some fluid that had landed upon them, he scrutinised them carefully. Two silver coins. Enough for a decent meal or two. The boy pocketed them into his jacket, before reaching around behind him.
He almost gagged in revulsion at the feel of seed on his tender opening. Wiping it away as best he could, he began chanting under his breath, a repetition of low, indecipherable words. His entrance stung as the purification spell did its magic, erasing the evidence and damage the man had left behind. It was a simple enough incantation, and was a godsend in this line of work. Even at his tender age of just fifteen, not an uncommon age for workers in the poorer regions of the city, the life expectancy for whores was a mere twenty years. He'd likely be dead from disease already if not for the spell-work, and in truth protection aside, he slept more soundly in the knowledge that the day's filth had been destroyed in a thoroughness that only magic could render.
Nian pulled his pants up, shuffled down his threadbare white undershirt and many buckled, open jacket that had been hiked above his shoulders during the encounter, back into proper place. Clothes fixed, he ventured out of the septic alley, into the chaotic bustle of the adjoining street. Light and sound assailed the boy's senses as the harsh desert sun beat down upon the bazaar. Adjusting his sun-goggles, he glanced around to ensure he was unnoticed, before losing himself into the crowd. He saw other children, some for sale like him, scantily dressed in trousers and various leathers, loitering around corners and alleyways, youthful tans, not yet overly reddened, on display. Just another of the market's wares.
Prostitution despite its ancient roots and despite a flourishing trade presence, was illegal in the city of Dumar, punishable by death. Well, more often a public whipping, but then, anything was punishable by death if it so took the Guard Captain's fancy. However the penalty for magic was worse. All magic users, regardless of social standing were sent to conclave. There they would be 'educated' in the art to best serve the High Family of Dumar. With war looming, demand for magic users was high, although few mages emerged alive from what was already an infamously deadly institution, to serve as the warrior slaves of the oligarchy. Nian preferred selling himself on the streets to such a fate, and kept his meagre skills a closely guarded secret.
Making his way through the sea of merchants and patrons, the boy made his way to his next mark, this one scheduled in the derelict house with the red door east of the bazaar fountain. He would be waiting inside. Entering his way into the building a man fell before his sight. It was not a fat, balding merchant with diseased jowls as were his typical purveyor. Rather a strong, beefy, thirty something city guard.
"Ah! About time, Rat. You kept me waiting."
Nian grew numb. His patron had obviously been found out by the guard. And not just any guard upon examination of the man's cuffs. The man was a sergeant. There would be no sense running as doubtless the officer had a man or two outside waiting and watching for he, the so called Rat, to walk into the trap. There could be no escape and his magic, secret as it were, was too plebeian to fight off a soldier.
"I have done no wrong sir, I know not what you mean," he tried, attempting to lie his way out. The guardsman only smirked.
"None of your protests, Rat. The man you were to meet and serve," the guard sneered, "was no discrete thief. He told us all about you to save his back from the stockman. A lesser penalty to his pocket, in lieu of his hide. An act of kindness from my part. You understand me Rat?
Nian swallowed. He understood perfectly well. It was a common enough pastime for the city guards. Catch out a whore and engage their services for free as payment for the generosity in not handing over to be whipped. It hadn't happened to him before, but he had heard the tales of those whores who refused a guard. It bore not thinking about.
The boy lifted his head slightly, inwardly defiant yet resolved to his fate.
"And how does the good sir wish me?" Nian asked, careful to keep his tone and expression neutral, lest he come across as resistant. If he wasn't careful it could be less of his back and more of his neck on the line. A scorned city guard could easily have him in the noose.
The man leered and stepped forward, shoving the youth to the ground. Nian's face twisted in pain as his body hit the hard tile floor. He stifled a cry, and wincing, pushed himself half up, looking up fearfully. The sergeant undid his trousers, giving Nian a hungry look.
"How does the good sir wish you?" the man mocked.
AN: I wrote this on my phone late last night as a bit of an experiment with a new app. Worked pretty good, but editing is a pain to do, as it was difficult to get the cursor where I wanted, and the predictive text was predictably annoying. But it was extremely easy to email to myself after. So 'PlainText', check it out if you're so inclined. It's free, and it's good enough for bashing out a quick draft/drabble, or keeping folders full of notes and ideas. I should really buy a tablet though.
There wasn't any real point to the plot, I just made it up as I went, unapologetically so. But I admit Nian is an intriguing character I wouldn't mind developing further. I could do a lot of things with him. Nicer things than here anyway. I feel kinda bad for doing that to him.
Until next time.
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Constructive feedback always appreciated.