"Tell me, pretty boy—" his grin became more lewd, "—do you take it from behind? Or are you the type who just lies there looking pretty while real men do all the work?"
His companions roared with laughter at that, slapping the table and making crude gestures.
Several other guests in the common room shifted uncomfortably, but no one intervened. This was apparently accepted behavior in the night crowd—the strong preying on the weak.
However, Julian's expression didn't change. He simply looked at the punk with mild interest, as if examining an unusual insect.
Then he smiled.
"Tell me," Julian said, his voice perfectly calm, "how much do you cost? I would like to rent you."
The laughter in the room cut off abruptly.
The punk's grin faltered, confusion crossing his scarred face.
"What?" he said stupidly.
