A/N: Originally written for kink_bingo, "prostitution", but I didn't get it posted in time.

Bought & Sold, Body & Soul

They all knew his reputation. They all knew to keep away from him. When he strut through the slums, every hair in place and every inch of clothing perfectly adjusted, they knew to scatter. When Gustavo came through, nothing good could come of it.

Max had grown up on the streets, but he hadn't been doing this long. Honest work had fallen off, though, and he had gotten desperate. He tried to convince himself it would be temporary. Just a way to get by and then, somehow, he'd see a light at the end of the tunnel.

It chilled him, made his hair stand up on end. Made him shiver with shame, made his skin crawl. He didn't want this, being pawed and looked over like merchandise.

But there wasn't any other way, not now. Not anymore.

Then along came Gustavo. He usually never stopped in those brief moments Max had caught a glimpse of him walking through the slums. He never usually looked, certainly never perused like the usual customers.

But on this particular day, he stopped. Turned his head and looked at Max. The younger man swallowed, lowered his head in deference.

"I'd like to speak with you."

Max wondered if he'd done something wrong. Maybe Pinochet was cleaning up the streets. Oddly, he felt no fear, just simple nervousness. Whatever would be would be.

Gustavo led him to a car and drove him to an apartment not far away, but in a better part of the city.

"Could I ask…" Max began. "What have you called me here for? How can I help you?" He didn't raise his head. He stared at the floor. Swallowed and let out a low pant. The fear was hitting him now, delayed but coming on strong.

"It's all right," Gustavo cautioned. "I'm not going to hurt you. I've been watching you for a while now. This place and this job aren't for you." He put his hand on Max's face, gently stroked it. "I want to offer you something better."

Max swallowed.

"Y-you do?" He was shivering.

"Yes. I'd like you to come be with me. I could fund an education for you, send you safely to a university. You'd be away from these horrible people."

"And… and what do you want in return?"

"Just you," Gustavo replied. "Don't ask me why. I don't even know your name, and I'm not a sentimental man."

"My name is Max."

"Max, then." The older man turned up Max's chin with his fingers.

"You won't hurt me?" Max whispered. His eyes were wide as he looked at Gustavo. The older man seemed so intimidating, so in control.

"Not ever," he promised. "I don't want to hurt you. Come sit down." He led Max to a chair. "I'll fix you a drink. You're trembling from head to toe. I'm sure you've heard things. But you are in no danger."

"Sorry," Max apologized, taking a seat. "I'm just a little nervous. I mean… you're a high-ranking military official and I'm just… me."

"You are sweet, though. So quiet. You always seem nervous, not like those brash horrible and uncultured young men you've been standing around with."

"But," and Max paused, not knowing yet what to call his host.

"Gustavo," he was prompted.

"Gustavo – I am simply in this line of work due to my circumstances. Things have gotten very bad for me."

"I can fix that." Gustavo held out his hands and grasped the younger man's in his own. "Would you like to stay? You are free to go, if you so desire."

Max shook his head.

"I'd like to stay." Gustavo looked pleased, and he disappeared into the other room before returning with the promised drink. "Take a deep breath. Drink. You have nothing to be frightened of." Max followed the instructions before slowly placing the glass back on the table. "What… do you like?" Max inquired, his voice low.

"I'll show you."

Somehow he left the chair and found himself on the bed, back against the sheets and his legs apart. Gustavo's lips were against his, but they had none of the coarseness he was used to these days.

The older man looked him up and down when he broke the kiss; it was hard to read his eyes. Then there were his fingers, spreading Max apart. They were slick.

"I…" he opened his mouth, kept it open as he waited for the pain. The pressure. The feeling of being claimed, of being owned and used and thrown away.

Instead there was simply the gentle push of Gustavo's digits, searching around as if they had no need to hurry, just wanted to take a look around. Nor did the older man take his eyes off of Max. There was a measured concern in the mocha features.

"Not going to hurt you. Relax." As if on cue, Max did. Gustavo stretched out the time the same way he stretched his body, before slowly withdrawing. Max gave a little groan of want, wriggled on the bed impatiently. Gustavo laughed. "I told you. You're safe with me. I'll take care of you, Max. No one will ever hurt a hair on your head."

Max breathed out; somehow, for some reason, he believed the words.

"Take me," he whispered. He wanted this. Needed it. Rationality had flown out the window.

Almost before he'd finished the sentence, Gustavo was inside him. He was true to his word; it didn't hurt, but it seemed to stretch him so widely, so perfectly, like they were ying and yang, two pieces of a puzzle that was somehow always meant to be together.

Max didn't know how his mind could be buzzing like this, could be reacting like this, when he'd given up love and embraced practicality and hope for some sustainable tomorrow where he could live and be safe. But maybe, maybe this was his hope right here, in human form with mocha skin and brown eyes.

Max was floating. Floating through space and time and things he didn't even understand, and he let out a yowl of pleasure when Gustavo pulled out and thrust back in. He'd never felt like this. Gustavo's offer seemed almost too good to be true in his swimming thoughts, the idea that he could feel this good every day.

"Please," he whispered, and that seemed to be the magic word to increase everything; the older man's lips met his own and kissed him deep. There was something in it he couldn't describe, something like want and possession and… something else, all mixed together in some bundle of energy soaring through him into Max.

He felt himself go over the edge, unable to stop it even if he'd wanted to. Gustavo was so good, played him like a fiddle or a harp, and soon the older man must have cum, too, because Max could feel it deep inside before he pulled out. It wasn't the normal feeling, that sickening dread of having to gather up his dignity and wash himself off. It was like planting a seed in the forest.

The older man's arms clasped around him and held him tight. Max breathed against him, unable to speak. He knew that any protest he could have come up with would fall on deaf ears; if not Gustavo's, then his own. The only sound he could think of hearing was his own panting.

He was done. Bought. And somehow, he didn't mind a bit.