This is a yaoi (boyXboy) if you don't like that, then don't read it.

I don't own KH (Or Seifer and Hayner) but I like to use them as my play things XD

So this is basically a prostitution story. Though it won't be detailed, it will include sex. (Isn't that what prostitutes do?)

I see a lot of these types of stories, but they are majorly glamorized. (I should know. I have a friend that used to be a one) and I'm kinda sick of reading them.


He had often taken this word as a compliment. Potential clients had said it. Girls had said it when he had reached a hand out and brushed the pad of his thumb across their boyfriend's cheeks, asking if they wanted a better time. And of course wives had called him it when they found the truth of what happened between him and their husbands.

But he supposed he had been called worse than a flirt.


When asked in his younger years what he wanted to be when he grew up, he assumed he had answered the usual childish answers- Astronaut, cowboy, President. When he was in his teens, his answers had probably grown up some- Senator, Boxing Champion, and C.E.O.

But he was sure that he never dreamed of growing up to be a prostitute.


The grip in his hair was bruising to say the least. He was sure that several blonde hairs had been pulled out already by meaty hands.

He moaned, not because he wanted to, but because he needed to eat tomorrow. And after the man behind him had pulled out and he winced, he flopped on the bed, not acknowledging the money that had been slammed on his small dresser by the door.


He liked these few hours after a client (he refused to call them customers) by himself. It was a time to wonder how he ended up living in the ghetto and selling his body to get his next meal (or his next fix). Hayner would like to say that his parents had beat him when he still lived with them or he had been raped by an ex by an unknown man. But he doesn't remember anything of how he got here, but he knows that he likes the sex. He liked the feeling of having someone close to you, feeling the same pleasure coursing through your veins, making them like fire. Or the satisfaction that he felt afterwards, lying in the afterglow for hours, never wanting it to end.

But that wasn't what his life was like. He never felt full or satisfied, only bruised and broken. He once had a client that punched him over and over in the gut until he called him 'Daddy'. (He didn't tell Setzer afterwards, because then he would get his pay for the night taken away for forcing him to chase away a client.)


He wished he could remember what he was life was like before this. He didn't know if it was the drugs finally getting to him, or if it was a bad case of amnesia (Not that he had enough money to go to a doctor to find out). He didn't know how his life ended up like this. (But he thinks that if he knew, he would finally give in).

He remembered thinking that sex meant love. He thought it meant gentle kisses and sweet nothings whispered into his ear. But instead he was met with invading tongues and bruises he didn't remember in the morning. It meant being forced to give up everything he had ever come to rely on, wasting it on dreams that he was forced to wake up from.

It meant spending his measly pay on whatever drugs he could get (not that he could get much, but whatever he got he used) or slutty clothing that made him more appealing to potential clients.

There was a part of his life that he didn't remember. He didn't know what happened to it. Maybe it was something important. (Or maybe it was something that his mind wanted him to forget).


But the only thing he looked forward to every week was those few hours with the other blonde hair, (But with blonde hair lighter than his own) blue-eyed (not like his own dirt-brown was) man that never offered his name.

They never had sex. The man never even touched him beside the slight brush of their fingers when money was exchanged. Or the time when he had brushed a stray piece of hair that had fallen in front of his face behind his ear.

They mostly sat. Never talked, besides the awkward hellos and good-byes (Except the other man never spoke). He sat on the bed, buried in the cheap, stiff covers, while the other sat in the lumpy chair by the window. He often smoked a cigerette, and he felt the smoke wrap around him like a warm hug on a cold day. Now whenever he smelled the smoke, he was reminded of this man and he felt, comforted somehow.

He thought maybe the other blonde man was an undercover cop. But wouldn't he have arrested him already? They had been seeing ach other for a few months now. Then h thought that he was a virgin, and trying to muster up the courage to lose it to a whore that reminded him of somebody. But the other man was hot (he wasn't going to deny it), practically dripping with sex. How could he possibly be a virgin?

Who was this man?

Hayner felt like he should know.


A/N…Wow, totally different that my usually style.

Anyway, I should probably be updating my other stories, seeing as though I haven't in at least a month. But I've had a lot of things going on that I would rather not get into. But I promise that I will update at least 1 (Maybe 2) tomorrow if I have nothing else going on.

Yeah, so please R & R. I know this wasn't really well written, but i tried. I'll probably be changing things as i go along and such.