Business is Business

It was his nervousness that gave him away, really. Of course I had seen a picture - there is a very careful screening process - but really, who can trust a camera? They lie all the time. Nonetheless, there he was, probably a bit younger than he had said, and definitely better looking than the photo had suggested; not that physical attributes are terribly relevant to me. He was sitting a little too far forward on his chair, one foot bouncing absently in a jitter. His eyes glanced to the door every few moments, and then he spotted me. We're hard to miss, if you know what to look for. But tattoos these days are so prevalent that it could mean anything, and most people don't pay attention to where each foot lands until after they've taken a step, so why would they notice a crow on the hand of certain strangers? He was looking for it though. He got up, and came forward, meeting my nod with a nervous one of his own. He held out his hand to shake mine and my smile widened, just a little, as I declined with a small gesture. With a start he realised his mistake and withdrew, stuffing his hands into his pockets instead.

"So... what do we do from here?" It was a big enough bar that his words wafted up into the general miasma of conversation and lounge music. I am short, but I like to think that I have good projection to make up for it. My voice was light, but cold. Business is business after all.
"We go somewhere quieter. It won't work in anything resembling this noise."
Without waiting to see if he was following, I sauntered out and down the street. He hurried to catch up, and I could see him sneaking looks at me out of the corner of my eye. I let the silence stretch, thick with the boy's unspoken questions. Let him wonder, I didn't care. We reached the building and I led him up the darkened staircase to a small, threadbare room with two seats inside; one a chaise, one a plain wooden stool. The paint flaked its age onto the floor, and dust startled into flight from our entrance but settled lazily again in the stillness.

"Lay down," I instructed. He obeyed, though warily; we were alone, and I can't deny that my people have a reputation. Light filtered through a single window, casting stark shapes across his face, smoothing away imperfections until he might have been made of marble. I observed dispassionately that he had brown eyes. Did it matter? No. Not really. I took his proffered money and pocketed it. Taking a seat on the stool, I gently reached out and placed my hands on either side of his head. The effect was instantaneous.

We plunged, spiralling, into deep, cold water. For a moment we struggled, fighting the urge to swim, chest burning until we could take it no more! Then with a gasp, water filled us, flowing through our lungs, into our limbs and out our fingers, washing away panic with cool intensity. He was a but a babe in years, and the drops of his life washed away in moments in the sea of my consciousness.

It was a callous thing, this sharing. There is nothing like an equal exchange, and if he thought his greatest desires, his deepest fears were enough to sate me, he was very wrong. He had so few; they were so unimaginative. Spiders, loneliness, discomfort with his position in society, a desire for acceptance, a desire for supple flesh and willing lips, cats and his mother and his job and a thousand other details drifted through the cool dark.

He became aware of himself again, and we separated, floating, his expression made dreamy by the water's filtered light. I watched him impassively as he took breath after breath of my years, of my battles won and lost, of my silks and rags and riches. His nervousness was gone; he shared my victories, my defeat, my desires. We came together again, this time our bodies entangled, mouths meeting hungrily. I caught him and held him harshly in that weightless place, making my demands of his flesh, filling myself with the rawness of that need until all else was obliterated and the ocean finally fled me.

That darkness, that void where nothing of myself remained, lasted only precious few moments, but they were enough. I pulled my hands away and we were back in that empty, dusty room again. The monochrome semi-darkness assaulted me like noonday sun and I blinked and frowned at the boy on the lounge. His expression was still glazed; he lay, sweat and other fluids staining dark patches on his neat clothes. Finally after long minutes his eyes met mine. They were still brown, but they held some vague memory of that sharing. A tumbled understanding made unclear by his return to his feeble waking mind, but nonetheless, an understanding. I stood, and he gestured weakly.
"Wait! Don't go. Can't we talk?"

I left him as he was, not bothering to turn around. Business is business, and I had extracted my payment after all. Precious few moments, but they were enough. For now.