What the fuck is this?

He should have known, from its reputation for slick, sleazy grandeur, and the greenhouse-like dome structure encompassing this lush tropical garden, what to expect from the Porneapolis. Still, the main building’s interior was a surprise to him --- chrome-plated pillars hugged by neon tubes, glass jointed together at odd angles, heavy Ningen industrial techno pumping through the dense air and sea of patrons. There were internal balconies and stairs made of steel, all assembled like that of a warehouse, while a flat wide screen projector was at the stage. Little bells of familiarity were ringing in his head, perhaps because it was too much of Ningenkai’s Las Vegas red-light district for him.

Hell! Perhaps he had been going to the grimier, grittier lesser-known brothels too often, as accused by his minions. For their part, they were grinning like hyenas in heat would, rubbing their palms together in anticipation, comparing notes about T421, H417, M405… "Who?"

"T421, boss. He’s the cheetah who gives the best blowjobs among the young ‘uns here."

"Nah, idiot! H427 is better at it, with that little hot mouth like the opening to Hell ---"

"Yeah, now that’s a deep throat ---"

"A mean little bastard, too… Hey, he’ll be dancing solo first time tonight, right?"

As little bells tolled some more with odd familiarity in his head, he told them, "Shut up. The show’s starting."

As the idiots by his side shushed, he turned his attention to the still-dim stage, looking like something out of a livid dream. The stage flared to life with the image of a crackling bonfire and a boy appeared, a living jadeite statuette jumping out of a Hindu temple in his mind...

He has a jagan and eyes all over his body, all of those with luminous purple irises like amethysts, and his skin glimmered in the dark with its glazing of oil. He was in a chain-link tunic that barely hid all of those eyes, and tall, many-strapped, stiletto-heeled sandals that he danced in as if he were barefoot.

The boy then assumed a battle stance as he held two swords, one in each hand. Those swords flew with him across the room, on each table where he shimmied like a snake to the thumping of the bass, the dangling chains swaying with him…

His lips trembled on the rim of his glass. Oh gods. It couldn’t be him, right? But never before had his little self been more certain. It was straining against its silken trap, longing for its return inside the warmest place it has been in.

He tried to keep his calm as he drained his nth cup of sake. "Say, haven’t we met earlier?"

The child slithered his way into the seat offered him, like he must have done back then. He was more recognizable now that he had changed back to his normal, nearly human form. He was in the uniform of the Porneapolis --- tight black leather pants and the infamous platinum armband. His tiny mouth, looking like thin glossy slivers of cherries in the dimness of neon, parted to allow a deep voice out.

"We didn’t meet, Youko. We fucked."

He had to snicker at that. "You didn’t let me in on your sense of humor that night."

One of the fools regrettably butted in. "You’ve already met him, boss? And screwed him for free?"

"Oh yes we did. In fact he was begging ---"

"For him to get lost. He finished in a measly seven minutes with his balls like prunes and his prick stiff like a rotting zucchini. There was none of his legendary foreplay performances. It left so much to be desired, especially from a legend", the boy purred.

The others at the table slowly turned to him in disbelief.

He rocketed from his seat and across the table to grab the whore’s neck. Glasses and dishes of nuts flew and their contents spilled on the tabletop while some of them were crushed under his belly. The idiots were cheering him on. Not that he cared. What? Balls like prunes? Rotting zucchini? No foreplay?

"Why you little lying prick! Spreading shit like that ---"

"S-shit, huh?" He motioned to the rushing bouncers to halt. "It’s ---" he coughs, "about time the… whole Makai knew… that the legendary Youko Kurama… fucks like some mindless beast in heat!"

Some more pressure, he thought, will make the first bones yield.

Then and there, big hard rubies melted to liquidity. So he’s still a baby after all. "When I… first saw you I…" he gasped, "thought I… dreamed you to life."

The boy took a deep breath upon release and cradled his face in hands with calluses that hadn’t surrendered yet to lanolin. The red liquid irises swirled with unmasked desire. "I-I was starting to have visions of a brutish male impaling me with care and abandon, just the way I… wanted him to. I’ve been with so many males and they never cared about my needs. I was even more encouraged when they started calling you by your name… I thought you were my salvation."

Am I hearing this?

"Are you?" he whispered. The boy’s hips seemed to be undulating out of their volition on the stool.

Am I seeing this? "H-how much?"

"Doesn’t matter…" The boy was undoing his leather pants. Its zipper began at the backside and ended… at the front? "Eat me."

He coughed out the choking semen. It ran from his face, flowing on his chin and trailing down his neck. If this wasn’t a whore he sucked he could have swallowed that tasty liquid…

The situation dawned on his lust-foggy brain. He was on top of a table with everything on it overturned. Jagged shards of crystal were tearing their way into his tunic and his flesh. His face was inches away from the whore’s lap, his nether regions exposed and as seed-smeared as his face.

His face felt as if it was being roasted in the boy’s juices under everyone’s stare. As for the child, his just came out of the freezer with its unperturbed expression. Oh shit, he’d better get himself up from the table if he wants to be rid of all these nosey voyeurs, of the broken glass, the blood, the cum, the burning hollow inside him. The cunt was telling him, in a neutral tone worthy of his now-dead shrink, of "somewhere where we can go wash up this mess. So far, your bill’s worth twenty-seven gold pieces, not including the drinks and the damage. Just to remind you."

Gods, the entrance to that shit hole was already worth thirty gold pieces. He can’t remember how much sake he had already drunk, and he only had fifty-three coins left! The fun hadn’t even begun yet! Why did he let that whore get off first and order him to follow to gods know where they would go next? Wasn’t he the customer, the one calling the shots? Shouldn’t that be the least logical thing to happen between a professional cunt and a customer?

But why, in the first place, was he expecting logical events to occur in a place known for slick, sleazy grandeur?

It’s hard to walk when you’re drunk, even with someone already carrying much of your weight. It’s harder still when he is shorter than you by about two feet. It’s hardest when he was chuckling about how you, famous for your deadly, omnipresent calm and control, had just made a fool of yourself. "Not that you should worry about your reputation --- all the fuckers in here live by thrills a minute, but they won’t remember the last one." Yeah right. And a minute lasts for three centuries.

He must be among the fuckers the boy was referring to. He had to admit he is. He had actually lost count of the stashes of treasures he had buried in the span of years he wasn’t counting either. He didn’t count lovers or one-night stands or victims. He didn’t count calories from a leg of roast wild boar or the miles he had run. Ah, fuck math! The only accounting he involves himself in is in the number of jewels he will be betting on an ongoing tavern brawl. After that, the mental tally sheets will be thrown to the dumps of forgetfulness.

But oh, if he were to be allowed to remember only one thrill for the next three centuries, it would be the thrill of being with this strange little whore, this serpentine kitten of a satyr right here, in a bathroom of blue marble and porcelain annexed to a suite in Makai’s most expensive brothel.

There was something about this boy, something he can’t yank out of his gut feelings’ darkness to examine in the light of cold reason, which drew him in. He felt himself being sucked into this sexual pulsar from that first encounter in the forest by a gravity pull so strong that he ravished the child within an inch of life, that he blew him in public dangling from a table, that he had himself chained to this shower head by the elbows, his view veiled by a rain of hot water as… as…

… as the slut had an orgy with the bathtub and the soapy water, writhing in the manner earthworms would after a sprinkling of salt, making little dying ecstatic high-pitched gasps of pleasure that would be like that if suffocating earthworms had voices. The small bones and muscles had dissolved into liquid under his skin in his climb to a carnal nirvana on his knees, and gods, he, the poised and controlled youko, can’t wait to break free of his chains and fuck to oblivion.

He tugged at the chains forcefully enough to bust the pipe above him, and the water came down, no longer a veil of rainfall but now a curtain of a waterfall through which he went, bent down and mounted the boy without ceremony. They quickly established a galloping pace to which they grunted, louder louder louder loud! Ah. If nirvana had hands surely it had just gripped their viscera in a vise-tight grip before letting go and leaving wonderfully painful bruises.

It made him a bit sad to see those bruises fade as the minutes glided away, and, oddly, sadder still to see the boy wipe them off like makeup. "Your bill is now eighty-three gold coins for the sex. The cashiers are still trying to determine how much you ought to pay for the earlier mess and for the drinks. But since I figured you can’t pay for it, and since we don’t accept promissory notes…" The low voice dipped further. "We decided to broadcast this thing live to the other patrons."

He craned his neck in the direction the boy pointed, and the lens on the hidden camera by the vent swerved to him, accompanied by a mechanical whirr.

He matched the whirr with his own small growl of annoyance.

The kid placed consoling hands on his shoulders, as the cherry slivers curved seductively upward. "Come on, wasn’t it an improvement over our first gig in the woods? You can still come around after a good raid next time. You know my code --- or don’t you?"

Silence.

"Or if you like we could… hang out sometime. Anywhere within ten miles of here I could meet you. I’m off in two days, every week. No strings attached, and it’s for free too…"

Instinctively he licked his lips. His little self had not been at ease all night and its posture straightened further at the suggestion.

"Oh, Youko… Don’t you get a kick out of showing-off this way?" The consoling hands were tracing invisible circles slowly and gently on his shoulders.

Does he? A lover of the thrills-a-minute lifestyle? "Why don’t you kick me, hm? As part of the show."