PB Fic: Similar Creatures
Oct. 10th, 2008 12:53 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
out_thereTitle: Similar Creatures
Fandom: Prison Break
Pairing: Alex/Michael
Rating: PG
Word count: 980
Notes: The teen-hooker cliché is a classic for a reason. I really couldn't resist it. Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sdwolfpup for betaing. Title comes from Pretty Woman quote.
Summary: "How much?"
Michael doesn't act coy, doesn't pretend not to understand. Instead, he shrugs and keeps watching the passing buildings. "Whatever you think I'm worth."
Self-deception has limited uses so Alex tries to avoid it where he can. He's not driving down this street because he's lost, he's not pulling over for directions. He's not thinking about Pam and trial separations as the twenty-something guy walks over.
Alex watches the low-slung jeans, the once-black t-shirt pulled tight across lean shoulders, and he knows precisely what he's doing by leaning over and pushing the passenger-side door open.
He doesn't try to justify this. Instead, he flicks on the indicator and pulls away from the curb.
His passenger slouches in the seat, looking out the window. Alex steals sideways glances as he drives, uses the rolling flash of streetlights to catch fine features, dark eyelashes, pale eyes, smooth jaw line. It occurs to Alex that the guy sitting beside him -- watching streets pass by, blinking, not saying a thing -- looks younger up close. A lot younger.
"How old are you?"
"Seventeen." Leaning to one side, he pulls a card out of his pocket. At the next red light, he passes it to Alex.
It's a drivers' license. Alex is good at spotting fakes because he notices the little details, notices when a logo is slightly off or a photo not quite aligned. He's pretty sure this one's real.
"Is it Mike or Michael?" Alex asks, handing it back.
The card disappears back into a pocket. "Most people call me Michael."
"Ever considered the dangers of handing your name and address out?"
"About as dangerous as picking up a stranger in a registered car," Michael replies.
Loosening his grip on the steering wheel, Alex says, "It's not registered to me."
"But you probably paid for it with a credit card and most places like to keep your details."
Alex nods, acknowledging the point. He's tempted to ask how Michael thinks he'd convince Budget to give his details to a complete stranger, but he knows how easy it can be to get information if you need it. "How much?"
Michael doesn't act coy, doesn't pretend not to understand. Instead, he shrugs and keeps watching the passing buildings. "Whatever you think I'm worth."
It's a fascinating piece of manipulation -- far more subtle than it seems -- and Alex has to laugh. "Does that actually work?"
"Yes," Michael says simply, watching Alex closely. "Guys who know what they want, know what they'll pay for it. Guys who don't know what they're doing, who come from out of town and drive around in hired cars, offer more out of embarrassment and guilt. They also need more reassurance, so it's fair enough."
"A sliding scale of what they're willing to pay. Interesting," Alex says, as he changes lanes, decides to circle back to his hotel. "Where would I fit on the scale?"
"Somewhere in the middle." Michael sounds serious, but his fingers are loose on his jeans, his shoulders relaxed.
Alex has never been able to resist his curiosity. "How come?"
"You're not looking for something quick and cheap. If you were, you wouldn't be talking this much. But you're not naive enough to overpay." Michael taps his fingers on the dashboard as the car slows for another red light. The silver Volvo beside him is blaring out music -- Spice Girls, possibly, though Alex doesn't pay enough attention to pop hits to be certain -- and Michael's idly keeping beat. The light goes green and Michael's hand stills. "Plus, I'm pretty sure you know the going rate."
"Implying I'm experienced at this?" Alex asks, keeping most of his focus on the road.
"Implying you're a cop."
"I'm not," Alex says reflexively. Michael stares at him, brows raised mockingly until Alex nods and adds, "Not police. What gave it away?"
"You looked at the license. Most guys look at the date of birth. They either don't care or they're too embarrassed to look for other details. You looked at it to figure out if it was real."
"It's real." Alex pulls into the hotel's parking lot, finds a space and kills the motor. He pinches the plastic of the key hard between his fingers and tries to -- honestly -- think about what he wants. And the substitution he'll have to accept. "How much for the night?"
"I have to be gone by two."
"Don't want the family to know how you earn the extra cash," Alex says, and Michael's calm momentarily breaks into shock and alarm. "You're too smart for this. Old enough not to be jailbait, young enough to be tried as a minor if you're caught. My guess is you're still in school, living at home with parents working night-shifts."
"Something like that." Michael leans forward, arms crossed, shoulders closed, everything shifting so quickly into wary defence that Alex almost wishes he hadn't said it. Wishes he didn't notice these things, wishes he didn't always have to prove he's right. (Knows Pam wished it too.)
But he knows who he is, faults and all. "So, until one-thirty?"
Alex figures Michael will bolt, will try to talk his way out of it, but Michael gives a quick shake of his head and says, "I can stay until two."
***
While Michael's slipping cash into his back-pocket, the skin of his wrists still red from the shower, Alex pulls out another twenty. "For cab fare home," he says as he hands it over.
Michael gives him a slightly confused smile, but he takes it. "Anything else?"
"I'm here for the week," Alex hears himself say. "I don't know if it's possible, but--"
"I can't make Tuesday. And I'd be late Thursday, but other than that," Michael shrugs. "I could meet you here."
"Good," Alex says, wishing he was wearing pants so he'd have pockets to hide his uncertain hands. "Tomorrow, at nine?"
"Nine," Michael agrees. He doesn't say goodbye, but he closes the door gently as he leaves.
Fandom: Prison Break
Pairing: Alex/Michael
Rating: PG
Word count: 980
Notes: The teen-hooker cliché is a classic for a reason. I really couldn't resist it. Thanks to
sdwolfpup for betaing. Title comes from Pretty Woman quote.Summary: "How much?"
Michael doesn't act coy, doesn't pretend not to understand. Instead, he shrugs and keeps watching the passing buildings. "Whatever you think I'm worth."
Self-deception has limited uses so Alex tries to avoid it where he can. He's not driving down this street because he's lost, he's not pulling over for directions. He's not thinking about Pam and trial separations as the twenty-something guy walks over.
Alex watches the low-slung jeans, the once-black t-shirt pulled tight across lean shoulders, and he knows precisely what he's doing by leaning over and pushing the passenger-side door open.
He doesn't try to justify this. Instead, he flicks on the indicator and pulls away from the curb.
His passenger slouches in the seat, looking out the window. Alex steals sideways glances as he drives, uses the rolling flash of streetlights to catch fine features, dark eyelashes, pale eyes, smooth jaw line. It occurs to Alex that the guy sitting beside him -- watching streets pass by, blinking, not saying a thing -- looks younger up close. A lot younger.
"How old are you?"
"Seventeen." Leaning to one side, he pulls a card out of his pocket. At the next red light, he passes it to Alex.
It's a drivers' license. Alex is good at spotting fakes because he notices the little details, notices when a logo is slightly off or a photo not quite aligned. He's pretty sure this one's real.
"Is it Mike or Michael?" Alex asks, handing it back.
The card disappears back into a pocket. "Most people call me Michael."
"Ever considered the dangers of handing your name and address out?"
"About as dangerous as picking up a stranger in a registered car," Michael replies.
Loosening his grip on the steering wheel, Alex says, "It's not registered to me."
"But you probably paid for it with a credit card and most places like to keep your details."
Alex nods, acknowledging the point. He's tempted to ask how Michael thinks he'd convince Budget to give his details to a complete stranger, but he knows how easy it can be to get information if you need it. "How much?"
Michael doesn't act coy, doesn't pretend not to understand. Instead, he shrugs and keeps watching the passing buildings. "Whatever you think I'm worth."
It's a fascinating piece of manipulation -- far more subtle than it seems -- and Alex has to laugh. "Does that actually work?"
"Yes," Michael says simply, watching Alex closely. "Guys who know what they want, know what they'll pay for it. Guys who don't know what they're doing, who come from out of town and drive around in hired cars, offer more out of embarrassment and guilt. They also need more reassurance, so it's fair enough."
"A sliding scale of what they're willing to pay. Interesting," Alex says, as he changes lanes, decides to circle back to his hotel. "Where would I fit on the scale?"
"Somewhere in the middle." Michael sounds serious, but his fingers are loose on his jeans, his shoulders relaxed.
Alex has never been able to resist his curiosity. "How come?"
"You're not looking for something quick and cheap. If you were, you wouldn't be talking this much. But you're not naive enough to overpay." Michael taps his fingers on the dashboard as the car slows for another red light. The silver Volvo beside him is blaring out music -- Spice Girls, possibly, though Alex doesn't pay enough attention to pop hits to be certain -- and Michael's idly keeping beat. The light goes green and Michael's hand stills. "Plus, I'm pretty sure you know the going rate."
"Implying I'm experienced at this?" Alex asks, keeping most of his focus on the road.
"Implying you're a cop."
"I'm not," Alex says reflexively. Michael stares at him, brows raised mockingly until Alex nods and adds, "Not police. What gave it away?"
"You looked at the license. Most guys look at the date of birth. They either don't care or they're too embarrassed to look for other details. You looked at it to figure out if it was real."
"It's real." Alex pulls into the hotel's parking lot, finds a space and kills the motor. He pinches the plastic of the key hard between his fingers and tries to -- honestly -- think about what he wants. And the substitution he'll have to accept. "How much for the night?"
"I have to be gone by two."
"Don't want the family to know how you earn the extra cash," Alex says, and Michael's calm momentarily breaks into shock and alarm. "You're too smart for this. Old enough not to be jailbait, young enough to be tried as a minor if you're caught. My guess is you're still in school, living at home with parents working night-shifts."
"Something like that." Michael leans forward, arms crossed, shoulders closed, everything shifting so quickly into wary defence that Alex almost wishes he hadn't said it. Wishes he didn't notice these things, wishes he didn't always have to prove he's right. (Knows Pam wished it too.)
But he knows who he is, faults and all. "So, until one-thirty?"
Alex figures Michael will bolt, will try to talk his way out of it, but Michael gives a quick shake of his head and says, "I can stay until two."
***
While Michael's slipping cash into his back-pocket, the skin of his wrists still red from the shower, Alex pulls out another twenty. "For cab fare home," he says as he hands it over.
Michael gives him a slightly confused smile, but he takes it. "Anything else?"
"I'm here for the week," Alex hears himself say. "I don't know if it's possible, but--"
"I can't make Tuesday. And I'd be late Thursday, but other than that," Michael shrugs. "I could meet you here."
"Good," Alex says, wishing he was wearing pants so he'd have pockets to hide his uncertain hands. "Tomorrow, at nine?"
"Nine," Michael agrees. He doesn't say goodbye, but he closes the door gently as he leaves.
