A/N: Again with the oneshots! But this just sort of came to me, while at a friend's house. Beginnings of mature stuff, but in general pretty T-rated.

Told in an unknown prostitute's point of view, on the subject on the notorious flirt, Courfeyrac.

… Is it bad that I pictured Killian!Courfeyrac whilst writing this? Hur hur… o.o

He may be unable to fall in love. But he isn't fireproof to everything. Not even to lust.

Those were my last thoughts before I fell asleep. I'd been on the streets, doing my job, flirting a little, pickpocketing as I saw the chance, when I made the mistake of pickpocketing Monsieur Courfeyrac, who- as you might've guessed- caught me in the act.

He wasn't angry for long. The ripped dress must've given away my identity, my job. His lips twitched into a cheeky smirk, and I did all I could not to flinch and back away. I may have been a dirty whore, but something about him really drew me in, and I hated it.

Men were always cruel, ruthless. They used you, even pretended to love you, and pushed you aside the next day. They simply didn't care.

This man was no different, of course. But he had that sense about him that made me feel… almost worth his time. He radiated an aura that I knew could never exist. An aura of compassion.

I'd heard about Courfeyrac through a chain of women who had slept with him. Some were prostitutes by force, others because they thought it to be fun. Some were even somewhat respectable women- albeit, only one or two.

He was a student at the university, and laughed at the world. He was one of Les Amis de l'ABC, the group of students that disapproved of the French government. Maybe that's why he picked up women like me. He wanted us to feel an ounce of love in our miserable lives. Or maybe that was part of it; maybe he wanted us to experience something more…

I hated it. I hated him. He didn't truly care, he couldn't. We were the scum of the street, nothing more, nothing less. We had nothing to offer, nothing but ourselves.

He led me across the town. I could feel the stares of many a passersby, glaring at me with utter disgust and contempt. I felt like a mouse, quiet and small, unable to speak.

Courfeyrac, with a glance at the people hurrying past us, wrapped one arm tightly around me and continued to his apartment. I marveled up at him.

"Ignore them." I did. I only wish I could've ignored him, too.

We made it to his apartment building after a while. It was a real nice place, with fancy furniture, ornate designs on every door, and a strange sense of homeliness to it. That was, until a man and his wife, I assumed, walked to the main doors, whispering conspiratorially to each other. I could scarcely overhear them.

"Another girl, did you see?"

"They never stop coming!"

"Wonder how much she's being paid!"

"With Courfeyrac, who knows?"

"Poor boy deserves better!"

The last comment made me flinch. I'd never been happy with my life. I'd known no home other than the streets. Prostitution had been my last chance at earning a sou here and there. It wasn't the worst of my life- my ragged appearance from little food, too much work, and literally living in an alleyway had filled that spot long ago.

Courfeyrac must've heard them as well, for he tensed, looking down at me. The fact that I had to look up to meet his gaze made me feel ten times smaller.

He stepped aside, sliding his arm from around me and dropping it to his side. He produced a key from his pocket, opening his apartment door and ushering me inside. I complied silently.

The apartment itself was absolutely beautiful. A gold and green patterned couch sat behind a dark brown coffee table on one side of the room. On the table were numerous books and an abandoned cup of some drink. Behind that was the kitchen, simple but luxurious. Anything better than the streets was luxurious to me.

Opposite the couch and table was a hallway containing two doors. I swallowed hard. One would lead to his bedroom.

At that moment my hate for the student reached its peak. My face screwed up in anger, my fists clenched. Why should I go to bed with him? What prevented me from running away with his money?

False hopes. False love. That was all.

"Mademoiselle?" I heard him say. I turned my head to look at him, only to feel his lips press against my neck. I shuddered.

He reached for my waist, grabbing me and yanking me around to face him. My eyes grew wide. He was staring at me with an intensity that scared me to near death. I began to shrink back, but his lips crushed against mine before I could really pull myself away from him. His arms curled around me, one hand sliding up my back. I melted in his embrace almost instantaneously.

My compliance only made him bolder, much to my temporary dismay. He reached up to tilt my head, kissing me harder. The same hand slid down to my thigh, pushing the skirt away and dancing his fingertips over my skin. I shivered, gripping his shirt and pulling him down a little. He bent over slightly to give me better access.

I hardly knew where the wall had gone until I could feel it against my back. I could feel his lips twitch into a smirk. I raised an eyebrow, forcing my lips from his. He only trailed them across my jaw and grinded against me- the source of the smirk, I guessed. I let out a breathy moan, then snapping back into my thoughts, pushed him away.

He took a deep breath, offering a playful pout. It was all a game to him, I bet. "Something wrong?"

"Why?" I found myself asking. He cocked an eyebrow.

I took this as my cue and continued. "I mean… I don't… I'm a common prostitute. And you seem like a decent man, with a far better life. You've got more than any woman like me could ever give you. Why bother with us?"

Slowly, he began to grin. "You'll see." His lips met mine once more, his hands toying with the waist of my skirt, tugging at it slowly. In my confusion, I found no strength to resist.

The next morning, I was… comfortable. Which could only mean…

I groaned, rolling onto my side. Of course he had gone. No man ever stayed. Why would they? They always wanted us for the night, they never paid for anything more.

Upon rolling over, I heard something crinkle against my arm. Looking over, there was an envelope. It was addressed, "My lady of the night…"

With a frown, I sat up and took hold of the envelope, pulling a piece of paper out. But that wasn't the only content. Out spilled a franc. Another. Twenty francs!

This couldn't be for me. Never had anyone, nor would anyone, pay me so much for one night. It was ridiculous!

The paper read,

This is for you. Do you understand now?

-C

Be as it may that Courfeyrac wasn't capable of falling in love, he wasn't fireproof to all emotion he could have toward someone. He wasn't fireproof to compassion.