"Calling In The Storm"
by Osiris Brackhaus

 

The storm was wrecking Rampart Spaceport once again. The reddish, salty sands the chamsin was bringing with him howled through the dirty roads, hailed against the metal shutters of the sturdy buildings, obscuring everything further away than a few steps from sight.
No one in his right mind would go out now if he didn't absolutely have to, for the storm was fierce enough to peel off your skin if you were out unprotected, and the stronger gusts were carrying pebbles that had already brought down more than one man.

Nothing living moved in the small town, all ships were secured and waiting for the storm to disappear, all people huddled away in the safety of their homes. At least, those who had a home.

Those who were not so fortunate had to see where to crawl away from the flaying sands, the burning salt. Some of the homeless found shelter in abandoned freight containers, others sought refuge in the few narrow alleys the town had to offer. But the local predators, both human and alien, knew so as well.
Especially for streetkids without anyone particular to watch over them, life was a dangerous one in the wind-blown streets of Rampart Spaceport. Only very few managed to survive without selling themselves out in one or the other way, many paying with their freedom, their mind or life. Or all of them.

One of the exceedingly few who had managed so far without ending up a sobbing wreck, a slave or a drooling addict on the street was young Jim Hawkins, a sinewy boy of somewhere around sixteen years standard. His small frame might have suggested less, his wary eyes much more. Being something like a veteran among the kids of the port, he had managed so far not to end up in one of the local brothels, but instead was running the streets on his own. A risky business, but he somehow had skipped the dangerous customers and stepped low enough for no-one of importance to notice him. If he was pretty, it was something one only noticed on a second look, his intelligent, blue eyes, his sweet pout, the surprisingly delicate chin. It made customers come easy enough, but not when he didn't want them to.

Except, maybe, today.

The huge blond mercenary shoved Jim into the room he had just rented. The boy stumbled, but caught himself again with a curse, turned around and glared at his latest customer who blocked the door with his massive frame.
If the windows weren't shuttered, Jim would have considered simply jumping out into the street, but the young boy hadn't forgotten how his earlier attempt at escaping had failed. Unlocking the shutters' heavy bolts was something he didn't consider himself capable of. At least, not with this brute at his back.

Once again glaring at his 'customer' with renewed wrath, the streetkid wondered how he always ended up in the worst kind of all possible situations.
Jim had been cuddled away in his corner of Fat Malloy's Inn, his personal shelter from the storm, as that damned mercenary and his company had shown up all of a sudden. He had gained the permission to stay inside of the Inn during a chamsin for servicing said Malloy every now and then. An impressive price in Jim's eyes, considering that the man's nickname hadn't come from nowhere and personal hygiene was as scarce as water on this godforsaken dirtball of a planet.

When suddenly, the Inn's heavy, airlock-like door had opened, Jim immediately had known that something as askew. No one left his house during the storm, and all those who had been out as it begun would have found a place to hide long ago. But the five huge men that entered, all clad in massive cloaks of heavy, black cloth didn't look like the kind of wankers that would get caught in a storm. Their very expensive-looking, high-tech breath-masks didn't hint at small criminals either.
Jim had tried to huddle deeper into the shadows of his little corner, and at first, the mercenaries didn't seem to notice him.

The men had stood in the middle of the place for a while at first, apparently scanning the room for people they didn't like. But there was no-one else but them and Fat Malloy to be seen. Then, as if on cue, they all had swept back their hoods and lowered their masks, all of them revealing mobs of blond hair in different shades of gold, strong features and almost exclusively blue eyes. The apparent leader had his hair bound up in a warrior's knot on the top of his head, a short beard circling his mouth, a determined set to his lips.

These were no cheap hirelings, Jim had thought to himself as he watched them pick a table at the back of the Inn. These were expensive, well trained mercenaries, and the fact that they must have left their ship during the storm didn't hint at anything pleasant.

"Drinks", the mercenary leader had ordered, and there was a sound of cold precision in his voice that made the streetkid shudder. They were out on a mission, Jim realized. However much they might look like the typical set of mercenaries out carousing after having received their month's pay, these were on duty.
And that usually meant bloodshed. On a large scale.

Luckily, fat Malloy hadn't noticed one bit, and soon, the obese numbskull had been chatting amiably with the men at their table, telling them hundreds of things they most definitely could have perfectly lived without ever knowing. But the five men had listened eagerly, without adding a single word of their own to the conversation. But when drinks finally arrived, their mood had improved a little.
For all one could say about the low quality of Fat Malloy's Inn, his ale was one of the best in town. Not that there were much people in Rampart who would recognize the difference, but outlanders usually did. And these were more than a little surprised. Cheering their newfound hero, they enjoyed their drinks like men having been more or less starving since days, and soon, they were looking much more like the partying mercenaries they apparently wanted to be taken for.

Maybe it was their relaxed chatter, maybe the way that some of them really seemed to lose their alerted stance, that Jim somehow got less careful in his hideout.

Before the boy could even blink, suddenly all of the mercenaries had their guns out, nasty, black featureless things the streetkid had never seen before. And all of them were pointing at right between his eyes.

"Who's that?", their leader wanted to know, seizing up the boy in cool menace.

Too stunned to answer, and too afraid any movement might be his last, Jim couldn't bring out a single word. Looking into the deep violet glow of five gunbarrels at the same time didn't make you overly courageous. Yet to Jim's great relief, it had been Fat Malloy who answered instead.

"What?" His face puffed up in anger, the Inn's owner wobbled around the counter's corner to have a look at the boy. "What's that scoundrel doing here? I've no ideas how he'd got in here, honorable sirrah, and I sincerely have to apologize."

Well, maybe the relief had not been THAT great.

So Jim had made a great show of looking caught, cowering on the ground and had tried to make a quick escape to the door. But the voice of the mercenary leader had made him stop:

"Keep him here, innkeeper!", the huge blond man had called out, and the amused tinge to his voice made Jim's blood turn to jelly.

No, not this one, Jim had thought fervently. All the deities, please don't have THAT one fancy me as a little sport on the side!

"Ahh, I see...." Fat Malloy's voice had turned from acid into honey in less than a heartbeat. "You like them young, sir, huh?"

Wink, wink, nudge, nudge. And of course all mercenaries had broken out into roaring laughter.
Jim could really have done without Malloy pimping him this very one time. One day, I'll strangle him, the boy had promised to himself. For being so godlessly stupid.

"I'm not feeling good, sir", Jim had wheezed in his best 'stay-away-or-you'll-catch-it-too'-voice, even added a weak cough. Usually, that did wonders to shoo off customers he didn't want.

"Ah... He'll be feeling wonderful once you're through with him, sir! Or would the others like a ride as well? He's quite experienced." Malloy had REALLY been pushing his luck.

With a low, almost hissing growl, Jim had tried to dodge away from the Innkeepers fat hand that wanted to push him towards the mercenaries, and dared a mad dash towards the door. Of course, dodging that jellyfish of a man had been no challenge, but the heavy, metal door of the inn had been so all the more. Before the young boy had been able to unlock the huge mechanism, one of those bloody blond mercenaries had been standing at his side. The massive man had grabbed Jim's arm like a vice and pulled him up until he was only standing on his toes, grinning ferociously at the streetrat's attempts at freeing himself.

"You really want to let THIS one close to you, Captain?", the mercenary had asked, earning another round of laughter from his companions.

"Well, Gawwyn, I'm keeping up with you in my team, so what's your point?" This time, the team cheered their captain for his retort. "And that boy doesn't look ill in my eyes at all. Look how he's struggling!"

Apparently, his attempted escape had just worsened the situation even more. If that had been possible. Fat Malloy's frown was promising him a hard time of repairing their good relationship, a task Jim was all but looking forward to.
And the mercenaries had all been cheering their leader to have some fun on his own, to take a rest for the next days would be hard enough anyway. And to Jim's greatest dismay, the captain hadn't look as if he would decline. Far from it.
Instead, the bearded blond man had waved his fellow to pull Jim closer to the table. Eyeing the boy with calm, blue eyes, the captain slowly nodded.

"How much you take for a night?", he had asked the streetkid, and before Jim could have thought better of it, he had snapped icily:

"Two hundred credits."

Again, the whole room had broken into booming laughter, even Fat Malloy added his own, high-pitched wheeze he called laugh.

"Let's say five. And we both know it's a good deal for you." The captain had still stared at Jim, and truly five credits were, if not regal, still a good sum. If that guy hadn't creeped out Jim that much, he'd actually have considered the offer.

"Ten." Maybe if he was too expensive, he might get rid of that creep. But that captain just blinked, smiled wide and said:

"Alright. Ten bucks for a whole night."

That was... outrageous. Ten credits... A sum Jim sometime didn't earn in a month. And that mercenary actually looked as if he would be able to pay.
The only question was if it was any good to have ten credits dropped onto your bleeding corpse.

"So you agree?" The captain seriously had been holding out his heavily gloved hand, apparently waiting for Jim to fix their deal. What a weird guy. Probably one of those who'd shoot me if I said no. Or take me anyway, just without paying.

Seeing no way to escape from the situation with less harm than accepting this creepy mercenary's over-priced offer, Jim had taken the offered hand, shaking it with a mirthless smile.

"Good Innkeeper", the captain had bellowed with a grin that bordered to feral. "I need a room!" With a sidelong glance at Jim at his hand, he had added: "That is, WE need a room."

And that was how they had ended up here.

Fat Malloy had charged the mercenary a price he usually would have sold his own mother for, and the captain had paid it without complaint.

Now alone in the same room with the bulky stranger, Jim realized for the first time that this guy really was huge. Not that kind of big, buffed-up flabby flesh he had seen on many of the older tough guys in town. This man was a fighter in his prime, and probably knew two dozen ways of killing me. With his left hand.

If Jim was afraid, he carefully didn't let himself notice. Customers like that could smell fear, and it made them all the more viscous. If I was lucky, he probably would just fuck me hard and then ignore me. But that intend stare that blond mercenary was giving him didn't look like that would be the case.

"What's your name?", the stranger wanted to know, and immediately, Jim's routines kicked in.

"You can call me whatever you want, Master." Look on his feet, look up through your lashes again. Flash a smile. Look away.

The mercenary made a rumbling sound that might have been a laugh. Or a growl. "Pretty experienced, huh? Don't have to be afraid of me, boy. Won't bite you." Shedding his heavy cloak, the man looked through the room in search of a place where to put his clothes. Strange, Jim thought. Very few customers had the nerve to remain calm once they had finally decided to rent him. I really have to watch out with this one. "You can call me Kai."

"Of course, Master." The words had been out faster than Jim could think of it, but the mercenary just grinned.

"Whatever."

Underneath his wide cloak, the blond fighter was wearing a featureless, black leather suit, probably armored. And despite his own reluctance, Jim felt a wave of hot blood run through his body. Actually, his current customer was rather handsome. Even if most of his frame were advantageous padding in his suit, that captain definitely was in great shape.

The mercenary took his time to unbuckle the heavy belt he was carrying his holster on, carefully setting the weapon onto the small table next to the bed. Stretching his neck, Kai sat down on the edge of the rather large, brass-framed thing, watching Jim with an unreadable face.

"Come here", he ordered calmly, underlining his words with a clear gesture of his hand.

Still insecure, the young streetrat approached his customer, torn between fear of a most definitely weird and dangerous man double his weight and curiosity about how much of his muscle were actually real and how much of it was padding.
Hardly any of his customers had been more than drunk, ugly, brutish miners that made up most of the population of Rampart Spaceport. Maybe one or two gangers that had just hit the jackpot and felt like having earned some fun. Hardly any of them had been even remotely attractive.
No, Jim thought to himself as he stopped just a few inches in front of the mercenary. There definitely had been not a single good-looking one in between.

The blond man took off his gloves and studied the boy's face with a faint, approving smile. Taking Jim's chin, he turned his head, touching his lips with a slightly callused thumb.

"How old are you?", the mercenary asked, and Jim blinked in surprise.

He wanted to talk? Now this is getting creepy...

"Sixteen. Standard."

Still, the massive man's eyes were drilling holes into Jim's head, and the boy noted with a slight irritation that he had never seen a man with such dazzling eye-color before. If there hadn't been that warning glimmer of a cold murderer in the back of those blue eyes, this would have been the moment where the kid would have left. Falling in love was the very last luxury he could afford.

"You're pretty young." Again, the captain brushed Jim's lips with his thumb, not quite smiling. "Kiss me."

As ordered, the youngster bent forward and kissed his customer, only to be grabbed by a heavy hand in his neck as he tried to withdraw.

"What - ", Jim snapped, but the captain's hand was fixing him like a rat in a dog's jaws.

"I told you to kiss me. Not to put your lips on mine." All of a sudden, his customer sounded pissed. "There's a difference." Grabbing Jim's hair with his other hand, the blond mercenary pulled the boy forcefully to him, kissing him passionately, wildly, forcing his tongue into Jim's mouth. The huge man's arms held him so tight he could hardly breathe, his short beard scratching the youngster's lips.

But as suddenly as it had come, the stranger let go of him, pushing the boy away so abruptly Jim had to struggle to keep his balance.

For a heartbeat or two, the streetkid was tempted to walk over to the door and leave. Whatever he would risk by leaving, it would be far better that what he would have to face when staying.

But before Jim could gather enough resolve to do so, the mercenary looked up again, his blue eyes so full of sadness and longing it made the youngster's plans of escape dissolve in confusion.

"I'm sorry", the blond man almost whispered. "I shouldn't have done that."

What kind of sick person was apologizing to a whore? Jim could hardly believe his ears. This man was mad!

"It's ok." Wiping his hand across his burning lips, Jim dared a crooked grin. "I'll charge you extra."

To his great relief, his customer laughed out loud, even though the sadness in his eyes didn't leave.

"You're really tough, huh? Still doesn't make it undone. Name your prize."

He was truly mad.

"Five credits each time you turn rough on me?"

"Hmmm." Pensively stroking his chin, the fighter looked at the youngster, then smiled softly. "Agreed. So we're at fifteen credits, now?"

Jim just nodded, speechless of disbelief. Either I'll be dead or rich by the end of this night, he thought. So my life in the dirt will end in any case.

"Where did you get that scar from?", the mercenary asked, and for a second, Jim was about to tell him how he had once ruined a metal railing with his face and a solar glider.

But then, as reason kicked in with a vengeance, the youngster snapped his mouth close. No, was he was not going to make friends with this brute. He was a customer, if a pretty one, and a mad one on top. Stay pro, Jim reminded himself.

"Look," the streetkid said after he had straightened out his thoughts. "You rented me for a night, you just want to fuck, I just want to do my job. Can't we leave the talking out of it and just get to the main part?"

The huge mercenary grinned widely, leaning back a bit onto the bed. "So you want to get it over and done with, huh?" Jim nodded, keeping his face serious. "You don't have to if you don't want."

The youngster shook his head in confusion. What? This guy was definitely mad. The whole thing was slowly beginning to infuriate Jim.

"Now to you want me or not?", the boy snapped sharply, producing a mirthful laugh of the fighter.

"Of course I want you. Come here." The blond man gestured Jim to come over and sit on his lap, which the youngster did. This for once was a customer he didn't really doing, and he wasn't going to let this one chance pass by unused. If this one was a mad, homicidal monster, he'd kill me anyway, Jim thought with a mental shrug. This way, I at least get a good time out of it.

The mercenary gently touched the boy's face, caressing the scar on Jim's cheekbone, smirking at the youngster's suddenly anticipative smile. "You're made of tough stuff, boy. You shouldn't be living in the gutters, you know?"

"Shut up. Just... shut up." Of course he shouldn't be living here. But if there were any chance at changing this, he would have done so long ago. Wouldn't he?

Closing his customer's mouth with a soft kiss, Jim started to open the mercenary's vest, surprised once more by the exceedingly expensive magnetic zip his fingers found at the blond man's collar. Between his legs, the captain's hips felt firm, muscular, warm; and the youngster more and more felt tempted to simply enjoy his job for the first time.
Taking his time, he pulled the zip down the mercenary's chest, realizing with a lustful quiver in his own chest that the clothing wasn't padded at all. Instead, it was a thin, skintight thing, and the thought that the captain's body wouldn't look any less enticing without it made Jim grin widely. Maybe this whole thing was going to be no so bad at all.

Pulling apart the black leather jacket, the streetkid noted the little, blond hair on the mercenary's chest, a fine trail of it running from his firm stomach down into his trousers. When he kissed his customer this time, there was nothing to be complained about in his kiss, passionate and longing as it was.

"You should be a bit more careful", the blond fighter said softly as the two separated to catch some breath. "Else your customers will fall in love with you."

Jim stared at the captain, speechless for a heartbeat. Then, far more serious than he initially had wanted, he whispered: "But we both know far too well that things like this don't happen, don't we?"

"Probably." With a gesture so gentle it was irritating, the mercenary pushed a strand of the boy's brown hair out of his face. "I know I should better just shut up."

"Absolutely."

Kissing the blond man on his cheek, Jim deftly got him out of his leather jacket. Broad shoulders gleaming in the low light of the cheap hotel room, the captain looked all the more out of place. Jim, in all his years, had never seen a man who's body spoke so much of health and care and physical fitness. For a man of his age, the mercenary's skin was so soft that the fact it was covering firmest muscle made Jim wonder what kind of person he was actually embracing.

But when with gentle insistence, the captain's broad hands lifted Jim's simple tunic over his head, little of those thoughts could withstand the deep longing those strong and tender caresses sparked in the youngster's body. Giving in to them was something Jim had sworn himself never to do, but even this was forgotten as the mercenary kissed him once more.
Leaning back his head with a soft groan, the streetkid let himself fall into the huge man's arms, both with his body and his heart, welcoming the storm that swept his soul.
Stupid, Jim chided himself mentally, stupid, stupid, stupid! This will only end in pain.

But the blond mercenary laid back onto the bed, pulling Jim with him, strong arms holding the youngster's sinewy frame. Each touch set another portion of his skin aflame, each kiss increased the buzz in his head until he could hardly hear his own thoughts any longer.

Passion was a thing like fire, consuming without barriers, without restrains, no reason strong enough to hold once the spark had caught.

Wriggling out of his trousers, Jim for the first time felt like he couldn't wait one moment longer. The massive body of the mercenary underneath him, he wanted to explore his latest customer's flawless body, consume him, take him in like a drowning man desired the air to breathe.
His own desire made the youngster breathe hard, made him feel like having just run the mile and yet feel like not even having started.

Suddenly, there seemed to be more hands in the bed than possible, both holding, embracing, exploring each other, groping, entangled in passionate mindlessness, both of them drifting uncontrollably on the white rapids their passions had all of a sudden turned into.
How the captain had gotten rid of his trousers, the youngster couldn't tell, but one moment, the huge man was wearing but his white briefs, proving to Jim that he was build rather impressively all over. It was rush, for both of them, and neither wanted it to end a moment too early.

Just as the streetkid wanted to slide his hand into the mercenary's pants, to touch the hardness he could feel through the thin fabric with his own fingers, this sweet naive moment was shattered. A heavy hand from nowhere grabbed Jim's neck, jerking him off the mercenary, hurling the youngster through the room. Painfully, the boy landed on a chair next to the door, crashing the cheap furniture.

"You'll die, Westerner!", a dark-robed figure standing next to the bed was hissing, aiming a gun at the man on the sheets.

Jim saw the blond man reach instinctively for his weapon he had so carefully put onto the small shelve next to the bed, but there was nothing.

"You and your debased family are so sick. I knew that would be your downfall one day." Still the assassin was hissing at the captain, completely ignoring the young kid in the corner. Which, usually, would have been perfectly right as no whore would ever dare to meddle. "You'll never again threaten our realm."

But this situation had stopped being normal long ago.

"And that it's me bringing you down pleases us to no end." Bringing his weapon in position for a killing shot, the assassin savored the moment of having his victim helpless in front of him. "Hope you burn in hell."

That was when a deep violet blast erupted from the assassin's chest, and with a choked gargle, the black-robed figure dropped dead.

Behind the smoking corpse, Jim was standing. Naked, shivering from both shock and lust that both flooded his veins, he was holding the mercenary's black gun, his teeth shoving in a feral snarl.

Without a word, the massive blond man jumped off the bed, knelt down next to the motionless, still-smoking body and with a swift, well-practiced motion, broke the assassin's neck.

"Just to be sure", the captain said as he looked up. "Are you ok?"

"What... who was that?" Still shivering, the youngster wondered how this could have gotten this bad. Why had he suddenly acted to safe this stranger? He couldn't seriously expect any gratitude, and having killed someone always made people notice you. And being noticed was a thing almost always followed by being killed.

"We'll see. Business, probably." The captain didn't seem overly concerned about the naked youngster in his room, instead went over to the corner of his bed where his black leather outfit was lying. With eyes almost popping out of his head, Jim watched the black material suddenly seem to grow liquid and flow up the mercenary's arm, covering him, tuning into the black featureless suit again within no more than a blink.

"Holy shit", the boy whispered, the gun in his hand sinking. "A morphsuit..."

Raising his wrist to his mouth, the huge blond fighter ordered: "All clear, DON'T shoot!" He hadn't even closed his mouth as suddenly, the door flew open with a bang, showering the men inside with a gust of wooden splinters.
All four remaining members of the mercenary's gang swarmed into the room, securing the small place before Jim could even think of what to say. Suddenly, a simple fuck turned into an attempted assassination, then technical equipment only spoken of in legends popped into being, and at the center of all things there was a boy who just wanted to lead a simple life unnoticed by anyone in particular.

Silence spread in the small room, nothing to be heard but the heavy breathing of six men. Then, slowly, the captain walked over to Jim, putting his huge black stormcloak over the boy's shoulders. "Here. Are you ok?"

The streetkid nodded slowly. Nothing was 'ok', but there was not point in telling.

"Gawwyn, search that guy." Without caring for his companion, the captain put a heavy hand on Jim's shoulder, looking deep into his brown eyes. "I'm in your debt, young man", the mercenary said with a sketched bow.

"It's the one we were looking for." Gawwyn sounded most excited.

"Is he dead?"

"Definitely, sir."

"Does he still have the chip?"

After another moment of silence, the mercenary searching the corpse gave a soft gasp. "Yes! Your Highness, he's still been carrying it!"

"Vanity is a luxury people of his profession can not afford." Though still serious, the caption seemed relieved beyond words. "Is it still encrypted?"

The blond man on the floor closed his eyes and concentrated for a moment, then said: "Yes, Sir. He tampered with it, but apparently achieved nothing."

"Very good." Smiling widely now, the mercenary captain nodded to Jim once more. "You've saved the lifes of many valiant men, mine among the least of them. You've acted far beyond your duty, and I acknowledge my debt with my men to bear witness." With those words, the huge man knelt down on one knee in front of Jim, bowing his head to him.

The youngster just didn't get it. Were all people around him going mad these days? Malloy would have kittens when word got out that someone had been killed in his establishment.

The captain looked up in Jim's eyes again, and seeing the confusion, he gave a short, encouraging nod before he stood up. "Leave us alone", he ordered. "I think the danger is over. Gawwyn, give word that we return to alpha proceedings. We're calling in the storm." With a look at the corpse on the floor, he added: "And take that garbage with you!"

Chuckling softly, the mercenaries left as silently and swiftly as they had come, even thinking of softly closing the door behind them.

Only when he was alone with that 'captain', Jim's thoughts came out of their stunned stupor. Letting himself drop heavily on the last remaining chair in the room, the 'mercenary's' gun still in his lap, the youngster looked at the man he had just saved.

"You look like having many questions", the blond man stated, giving an encouraging smile, and sat down on the corner of the bed.

"But will you answer me if I ask?"

"Sure. Why shouldn't I?"

Giving the blond man a wry grin, Jim wrapped the cloak around him a bit tighter, eyeing the huge man pensively.

"Who are you?"

"I told you. My name's Kai." Chuckling softly at the rude gesture Jim flashed him, the blond fighter added: "Prince Kai might help you more. Prince Kai of the West Realm, second son of King Pender, Duke of Thilia, Chief Commander of the Royal Army."

As much as he tried not to believe this outrageous claim, it all made kind of a sense in Jim's eyes. "What was so important with that chip?"

"Troop data. That guy had stolen them and would have been able to wreck our entire war. He was hiding here."

Thinking for a moment, the youngster shook his head. "I don't believe the Commander of the Royal Western Army is hunting spies in a dirthole like Rampart Spaceport. Why are you here?"

Right then, a massive explosion further down in the city rocked the building, shaking the floor so heavily dust clouded up from the walls and made plaster fall from the ceiling.

"What the -", Jim started, then stared at the noble on the bed. "You've brought your army with you..."

"Taking Rampart spaceport without our enemy knowing too soon will give us the anchorhead we have needed."

Two more explosion shook the place, and Jim felt like jumping out of his skin. "You're bombing out the spaceport's ground-to-orbit defenses..."

"Yep."

"You just used me as a bait!" the realization hit the youngster like a hammer.

"That had been the plan. In the beginning, at least. That guy surprised us all by showing up in this room directly. And you surprised us most of all."

Jim just stared at the blond man in front of him, indecisive if to feel cheated or flattered.

"Has anybody ever told you how pretty you are when you pout?" The prince's smile seemed genuine and so guileless Jim couldn't help but grin as well.

"You're impossible", the youngster snorted in mock anger, jumping again as a whole series of bombardments shook the building and made the light flicker. "Gods, how long will this last?"

"A few hours, maybe more." The blond prince shrugged. "We don't want to kill more people than necessary."

"How can you stay that calm?" Again, explosion from the spaceport rocked the place.

"Don't know", the blond man replied with a shrug. "It's nothing out of the ordinary for me."

"Yeah, right." Jim didn't feel calm at all, but he didn't have any better idea of what to do than sit and wait. He surely would no-where be safer than with the attacking army's commander. Scrubbing his itching nose with the back of his hand, the streetkid said sassily: "It sure feels good to have a Prince owe me one."

"It's the whole realm that owes you."

"Great. But it's not the realm that's sitting in front of me..."

Both laughed heartily, even though another series of blasts made the light go out for a few seconds.

"You're really beautiful when you laugh..."

There was a note in the Prince's voice that made Jim want to leave immediately. Just don't get too attached, the boy thought, just don't. Nothing good will come of it. But as he stood up and started to scan the room for his clothes, the Prince's voice held him back once again.

"You can't leave now."

"What? Why shouldn't I?"

"I've rented you for the whole night..." The blond man's grin made absolutely clear that he wasn't intending to waste one minute of it.

"You... you..." Jim was speechless. But only for a moment. "You haven't paid me yet."

Laughing out loud, the huge man searched his pockets for some coins, then put them onto the nightstand. "Here you are. Fifteen credits."

"More." Grinning despite himself now, the streetkid crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Danger supplement."

"Alright. Five more?"

"Five credits? Don't be ridiculous! That was well worth fifty."

"I'll give you ten."

"Fifteen."

"Twelve."

"Agreed."

Another blast shook the place, so hard it made Jim stumble. Grinning widely, the Prince put some more coins on the small table, waving Jim to come over.

"Alright, so where did we got interrupted?"

Dropping the cloak off his shoulders, Jim walked over to his customer sitting on the bed. This was madness, but a rather pleasant one, he thought to himself.

Once again sliding onto the massive man's lap, the youngster gently kissed him, running his fingers through the blond hair. Suddenly, the black suit on the prince's skin dissolved again, flowing off him despite the young streetkid sitting on top of him.
Stifling a soft squeal, Jim watched the black mass slither out of the bed almost discreetly.

"I think I like your outfit", the boy stated, gently beginning to nibble on his customer's ear.

"I think it likes you as well", the Prince replied with a soft groan. "I didn't order it to leave..."

When suddenly, an especially heavy set of explosions shook the building, both just held tight, smirking as the light stayed out for good.

"Well", Jim whispered softly into the blond Prince's ear, "Seems as if your men take care of all the details..."

"Believe me, there are some things I prefer to take care of on my own..."

"Shut up. Just shut up. And kiss me."

----

The end.

 

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