Pretty Baby was in red tonight. Dark red vinyl pants that hung down low on his hips. Red boots with just enough heel to make him feel taller, but not so much that he wobbled. Waist-length red fur coat, obviously fake, left unbuttoned but pulled tightly closed at the moment to keep out the cold night air, the collar turned up to frame his face just so. The shirt underneath that coat would be red too, mesh maybe, but skin tight and probably short enough to show off a little of his flat stomach. His underwear, if he was even wearing any, would likely be red too, though Paul had never seen enough of him to know if his strict color-coordination went quite that far.

Still, Paul knew he'd be wearing mascara, just a little, and a light dusting of glitter across his cheeks, maybe in his hair. The pouty red lips were all his own, though made to shine with a careful application of lip gloss. His only jewelry would be a watch, elegant but simple, and a tiny silver cross around his neck.

A car moved by, slowing purposefully, and Paul didn't even turn to look. Too expensive. People who drove cars like that weren't interested in him. For them, nothing but the prettiest and youngest would do. Sure enough, the object of Paul's attention sauntered forward. Quiet words were exchanged through the window that was only rolled half-way down, then there was an audible click at the door unlocked.

Paul watched Pretty Baby slip into the car and shivered. That wasn't his real name, Paul knew, but it was what everyone called him, and he couldn't argue with the description.



Paul did okay for himself. He certainly wasn't one of the pampered boy toys that rarely saw a street corner, but at least he wasn't a hard case, willing to do anything just to get a bit of food or his next fix. He had a apartment, tiny as it was, and ate regularly enough. He could still turn away a john if something about the guy didn't feel right, or wasn't meeting his price. It didn't stop him from getting ripped off or hurt from time to time, but that just came with the territory. A good night was five or six quick blow jobs in the john's car, maybe two visits to the sleazy little motel down the street that charged by the hour, for half and half or straight sex.

Paul smirked to himself. Straight sex. Yeah, right.

Pretty Baby was in blue. Light blue, head to toe. It was hard to tell in the yellow light of the street lamp, but he might have even been wearing blue eyeshadow. Paul stood across from him, leaning against a parking meter, eyeing cars as they passed. Pretty Baby stood back, away from the curb. He didn't need to make any extra effort to be seen. The kind of johns he went with came looking for him.

A oversized SUV slowed and pulled up beside Paul, blocking his view. He shook his hair out of his eyes and looked at the driver. Middle-aged, balding, glancing nervously into the rearview mirror, probably told the wife that he just needed to run to the store for something. Paul went to the passenger window as it slid down.

"How much?"

Some of the guys working the street would play with a guy like this, just to see how far they could string him along. That wasn't Paul's style.

"Twenty by hand, thirty-five for a blow. If you want more, it'll cost more."

"No, no, I...I have thirty-five."

In the end, the man gave him forty. "Keep the change," he said as Paul climbed out of the truck. Paul laughed, because it seemed like the appropriate response.



Pretty Baby was in pink. Even his blonde hair seemed to pick up pink highlights. In his fluffy pink sweater, he reminded Paul of a stick of cotton candy. At some point, their eyes met, and Pretty Baby favored him with a sweet, casual smile. Paul wondered if he knew his name. He was seriously debating going over to say hello when a Cadillac pulled up, and Pretty Baby went to work.

The night ended on a bad note. A john who had said that he only wanted a blow job insisted on going to the hotel. Once there, he demanded a fuck for the same price. When Paul refused, he got more than a little rough. In the end, the john got what he wanted. They always did. After he was gone, Paul lay on the matted shag carpet and stared at the ceiling. He wondered when he'd stopped feeling.



It was spring, and though Paul couldn't say if love was in the air, something sure was. He'd been busy. Busy enough that he'd built up a small savings. Every night he looked at his growing stash of money and thought about what he should spend it on. There wasn't really anything that he needed that he didn't have, and he couldn't think of anything that he just wanted. He supposed he could buy himself some nicer clothes to work in, but he was happy in his jeans and t-shirts.

Pretty Baby was in green. Not florescent green, like some of the pretty boys wore, but the rich green of just-cut grass. He even had a tiny green backpack. Paul wished he was close enough to smell him. He guessed that he'd smell just as fresh and alive as he looked.

When the town car rolled up to the corner, Pretty Baby stepped forward. Without a second thought, Paul whistled. He was halfway down the block, but when Pretty Baby turned to look at him, a passing car lit his face and Paul saw that the green matched his eyes. He forgot himself for a moment, then shook his head. Pretty Baby frowned and glanced at the car again, then moved back.

Paul had learned to spot cops pretty early. They were good at coming up with new approaches, but he'd only been arrested once. He remembered the expression, "Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me." He didn't know if Pretty Baby had ever been arrested, but it wasn't a necessary experience. Besides, Paul doubted that he was a day over sixteen. If he was arrested, chances were that the cops wouldn't just release him on bail. They'd try to find his family, or put him in a home. Then he'd never see him again.



Paul had always tried to avoid the kinky ones, but sometimes the money was just too good. He outright refused to do bondage, but he'd been spanked more times than he could count. One night he found himself naked on his knees in a mildewed shower stall, his eyes and mouth squeezed tightly closed as a stream of urine ran down the side of his face. He was disgusted in an abstract way, but it faded as soon as he saw the hundred on the bathroom sink. A scaldingly hot shower and change of clothes later, and it was forgotten completely.

Pretty Baby was in white. He looked like an angel. A car stopped in front of him and the man in the driver's seat called, "Hey, Angel, come over here."



The same car had gone by three times. Paul watched it go by again and felt a twinge of something he couldn't quite place. Maybe they were just nervous, or maybe they couldn't make up their mind. He decided that, whatever they might offer if they ever stopped, his answer would be no.

Pretty baby was in black. He had mascara and eyeliner on, and he'd traced his mouth in dark lipstick. He looked like a little boy playing at being goth. He was as beautiful as ever, but it didn't suit him somehow.

A fat man driving an old sedan offered him forty for head, and Paul accepted. They went a few blocks down and pulled into a empty parking lot. The man leaned his seat back and let Paul do all the work. He didn't mind. He was an expert, after all.

It took a long time to make him come. For the first few minutes, it seemed like his cock was the only responsive part of his body. When Paul peeked up at him, he was still just lying back, his eyes closed, relaxed. He'd never had a client fall asleep on him, but he was beginning to wonder if there wasn't a first time for everything. After a while, though, the man's hand slipped up his back and into his hair. He moaned for the first time. Eventually he had both hands in Paul's hair, pulling a little, but mostly just combing it through his fingers. When he finally came, Paul wondered what had really gotten him off, the mouth on his cock, or the hair in his hands.

Not that it mattered. Forty was forty. Before he got out of the car, the john asked if that had been his usual corner and looked pleased when Paul told him it was. There were worse regulars, he supposed.

He was walking back when he passed the car. The car that had been circling. It was empty now. Despite the warm night, Paul shivered. He looked around and saw no one. A reasonable voice told him to keep going, but he didn't.

Then he heard it. Across the street, in a dark alley, there were the distinct sounds of a scuffle, then laughter. Not a good laughter.

The same reasonable voice told him to mind his own business. Some other voice, one that he couldn't ignore, turned him toward the alley.

He slid along the wall, and peeked inside. There were dark shapes further in, too dark and too far to make out the details. Slipping around the corner, he held his breath as he inched forward. Now the sounds of struggling were clearer, muffled curses and the tearing of cloth. Away from the streetlights, he could make out at least three figures, maybe four.

His foot brushed up against a pile of discarded scrap metal and it shifted with a faint noise. Paul fell into a crouch and froze, ready to run the moment he knew he'd been seen. None of the men at the end on the alley seemed to notice.

Pretty Baby was with them. An absurd thought that he must have considerably lowered his standards to do three men at once in this filthy alley passed through Paul's mind, then the reality of the situation set in. One of the men held Pretty Baby from behind, his hand clamped over the boy's mouth. Pretty Baby was struggling, but the man holding him was big and held on with no difficulty. Another one of the men stood in front of him, touching his hair, grinning down at the obvious fear in his eyes. His pants were unzipped and he hand one hand down the front of them, touching himself. The third man stood to one side, and Paul realized he was holding a video camera.

Paul's fingers found a thick pipe laying at his feet and curled around it. The reasonable part of his brain that had been so loud only a few moments before had shut off. In fact, it was as if all of his brain had shut off. All that was left was instinct, and rage.

He moved quickly, so silence was unnecessary. The pipe scraped loudly as he jerked it free from the pile. Only the man with the video camera turned, just quickly enough to capture a image of the pipe crashing into it. Paul made quick work of him, swinging the pipe from his shoulder like he'd been taught to swing a bat, in some other life that included baseball games and pizza parties and little plastic and aluminum trophies.

The second man had the good sense to take his hand out of his pants before lunging at him, but Paul was quicker. He aimed low this time and caught him in the most sensitive of areas. When the man folded, both hands covering himself, Paul brought the pipe down on his head. It bounced off with a strange hollow sound.

He'd turned his back to the third man but heard Pretty Baby's cry as he was roughly tossed to one side. Paul swung around blindly. The pipe connected with the side of the charging man's head. He stopped abruptly, swaying a little, then crumpled with his eyes still open.

Not caring if he'd killed him, all of them for that matter, Paul went to Pretty Baby. He was in a heap on the ground, sobbing, trying to crawl away without getting anywhere. When Paul touched his shoulder he shrieked and lashed out. A punch glanced off the bridge of his nose, making his eyes water. Sitting back on his heels, he blinked and shook his head.

"Oh my God..." Pretty Baby was saying. "Oh my God, oh my God..."

When Paul blinked the tears from his eyes, he saw that Pretty Baby had pulled himself into a ball against the side of a dumpster, staring at him with a distinctly frightened expression.

"It's okay," he said. His voice sounded like it was coming from far away.

"Did you kill them?"

"No." He didn't know. He didn't care. He just didn't want Pretty Baby to be afraid of him. "We should get out of here."

Pretty Baby seemed to hesitate, then nodded. "Okay."

Somehow, Paul got to his feet and helped Pretty Baby up as well. He was surprised to find the pipe still in one hand, the end gleaming with blood. He dropped it clanging to the ground. They wove their way out of the alley, giving each of the fallen men a wide berth. As they passed the man who'd been carrying the video camera, he stirred and groaned. For a brief wild second, Paul wanted to go back for the pipe and lay into him again. Only Pretty Baby's hands, clutching at him, kept him from doing so.

When they reached the street, they sped up, hurrying back toward familiar territory. Pretty Baby stayed close at his side, clinging to his arm like a life preserver. Paul kept glancing back, waiting for any one of those men to find his feet again and come after them. No one did.

They reached the intersection where they'd both been working earlier, though it seemed like a lifetime ago. Paul kept walking, and Pretty Baby stayed with him. When he became more sure that they were safe, relatively safe, he looked down at him. The dark lipstick he'd been wearing was badly smeared, but it didn't hide the small split in his lip. His left cheek looked red and swollen. Taking in his mussed hair and the rip in his shirt, Paul decided that he'd gotten very lucky.

"Where are we going?" Pretty Baby asked after they'd walked several blocks.

Paul wasn't sure. He looked around and recognized the street. "My place."

"Okay."

Just like that. No fear. No questions. Just, "Okay."

They walked in silence for a while longer. Paul slipped his arm around Pretty Baby's shoulders and he huddled closer to him. When they reached the steps leading up to Paul's building, Pretty Baby pulled away enough to meet his gaze.

"What's your name?"

Paul couldn't remember at first. Looking into Pretty Baby's green eyes, he couldn't remember anything before that night, that moment. It was as if everything before then had been a dream, and he'd only just woken up in that alley, with that pipe under his hand.

"Paul."

"Paul," Pretty Baby said, his voice quavering suddenly. "Those guys..."

"I know."

"They were really going to hurt me."

"I know."

Sighing, Pretty Baby rested his head against Paul's chest. "Thank you, for saving me."

Paul carefully put his arms around him. It felt strange, but...right. It felt right. He couldn't think of the last time anything had felt right.

"What's your name?" he whispered into the blonde hair under his cheek.

"Brian."

"Brian." Paul took a deep breath. "That's a nice name."

THE END