Member-only story
Street Trade
Fantasy short. A streetwalker goes up to an old car with tinted windows.
Rated E, M/M, 2k. A sex worker on the street approaches a car he’s seen lurking around regularly, and finds the client inside is unexpected. Vampires, priests, and a sex worker, oh my.
Barti’s seen the same car hanging around the last few months — once every few weeks, he pulls up and parks somewhere unobtrusive, but visible enough to him and the other lads who walk this set of alleys. It’s an unassuming old Volvo, green, a bit battered, with tinted windows, but none of the boys who climb inside ever disappear or come back noticeably roughed up.
“Not you,” says the fella in the driver’s seat when Barti sidles up, and he leans forward to try to spy through the sliver of free space where he window’s rolled down — he sees the stubble on the man’s jaw and the dog collar around his neck, sees the beads and cross dangling from the windshield.
“What, Father, I in’t worth your alms and counsel?”
That makes him pause.
The priest rolls his window down a little more, and he sort of half smiles — he’s that grizzled sort of pale that makes a man more grey than white, and that stubble on his face is more than a day or two old. There’s dark shadows under his eyes.
